Hundreds take time to honor the sacrifices of the Vietnam War

Ruckersville, May 25, 2009 - Memorial Day.
With the sticky warmth of impending rain against the skin—and surrounded by the lush greens of trees and leaves—it is not hard to imagine the quiet rustle of brush and the metallic click of a readied rifle as you walk through the door of the Vietnam War Foundation Museum, opened for visitors on this special day of remembrance. 
A nervous glance up and behind and there he is - a Viet Cong sniper.  You are an easy target—and very glad that he is not flesh and blood but the plaster or plastic or whatever material that makes up the life-sized mannequins positioned throughout the large exhibit area.
This is no ordinary museum experience of roped-off exhibits and dry lectures on history.  Hidden in a hollow of Ruckersville, the Vietnam War Foundation Museum is a place for hands-on exploration of the equipment of war and a chance for each visitor to hear the memories of an unpopular and losing conflict told by the troops who survived it. 
The museum is normally open by appointment only, offering a unique experience for each visitor.  So on Memorial Day, almost 400 people took the opportunity of an open house to travel back to a difficult time in our nation’s history. 
This is not one perspective of the war.  It is not about politics or sides.
From the psychedelic-painted Volkswagen bus outside the entrance to the olive drab of Vietnam-era military décor, this exhibit of items is strangely personal.  These are pieces of people’s lives, collected, passed from one to another, sometimes rescued from the refuse. 
Craig LaMountain, the original collector, has found others who share his passion for preserving history and have formed the Vietnam War Foundation.  The museum is the heart of their effort to educate people too young to know about this time personally and to help those who lived this decade to remember. 
Considering the almost 9 million American troops involved in the Vietnam conflict and the more than 58,000 who died as a result of battle, it is amazing this museum is not profoundly glum.  Instead it shows what Americans have always taken to war: camaraderie, commitment to duty, frustrated comedy and iron will. 
The room is dominated by a Huey helicopter whose life can be traced directly back to war-service.  LaMountain tells how he saved it from afterlife as a beer can. 
“I went to get a helicopter from the National Guard to add to the collection,“ explains LaMountain.  “I walked with the Colonel out onto a line with 10 of them ready to be scrapped for their aluminum and the colonel pointed out the one he said I should get.“
“It wasn’t the prettiest,“ LaMountain comments, “but the colonel said he could tell it had been in battle because of all the patches.  So, I got it.“
Then he explores the scars of its history: dried blood beneath the floor board, the many patched bullet wounds, the acid-washed tail where men retched outside the door as the metal bird swooped down to pick up wounded. 
On this day, foundation board member Dick Thompson gives children lessons in flying as they sit in the Huey’s pilot seat.  More than a few adults note how the interior of the helicopter appears child-sized, the roof too low for a grown man to stand-up tall. 
Congressman Tom Perriello and State Delegate Rob Bell, who were honoring the day at different events, take time to stop by and marvel at this gem of collected history hidden in Greene County. 
“The museum fits right into my ‘See the Fifth’ initiative to bring tourism to the 5th District,“ says Perriello.  “During these tough economic times, Virginians can rediscover some of the best summer attractions right here at home.“
But the politicians and the exhibits and the visitors are not center stage for this day of remembering and honoring sacrifice.  This is a time for the telling of personal stories by those wounded physically and emotionally by the horrors of the war and the bitterness of an angry populace. 
Some of the men relate anecdotes of their time in conflict.  Most of the stories have an element of humor with just a painful whisper here and there as they speak of a lost comrade.
It is in silence their long-suffered pain is most cutting. One or two men grimace for an instance as they look upon the recreation of bamboo cages used to house American prisoners.  Others tenderly caress the metal skins of the vehicles and weapons who had served as friends and protectors throughout their long tour of duty. 
No one, not even the children, interrupt the men during these quiet, intimate moments.  The crowd just ebbs around them, talking and examining but leaving still the ones stopped in time with their memories and the ghosts of lives lost and lifetimes forever scared by battle.