Of distant memory - Hamburger Hill, 1969

There has been one memory that has lasted for thirty years and I've gone back to it as often as I've replayed events that took place that day on the hill. Since finding Ray these past few years I've found at times that I've recreated part of how we crashed when my mind erased most of the pain and suffering. I've had to edit my version in part with the true way events happened. I've gladly done so. There is one part that needed no editing however. It was only the other night, as I was talking to Ray (Felix) Knight, that I realized what it all meant.

When we were shot down that day on the hill Ray was able to clear a spot in the trees by tossing hand grenades around. After the Huey helicopters landed some five hours later he was at the end of his limits. Only later would he find out that three vertebrae in his upper back were crushed and inoperable. He finally collapsed onto a stretcher and had to be placed into our medivac ship beside me. He received the best of care and concern and was conscious for most of the ride to Phu Bai. I on the other hand only came conscious for a brief time as the vibration in the flooring brought me around. I remember looking up at a medic leaning over me who spoke tenderly telling me that everything was just fine and to relax. We were saved. It was his words and his actions in that briefest of times that gave me final peace and calmed me into restful sleep. When I woke again three days later I was on the road to recovery.

We as pilots have heard many times the praises and good cheer given to us for our heroic actions. We've gone into some of the fiercest battles to save and support our friends and honor our commitments to duty and most of all to each other. I'm here today to add that as much as we gave our best in this there is another brave hero who gave every day and was often forgotten till the very end when it mattered most. Without his services many such as myself and others wounded in battle would not be here today and without him we'd see the panels at Arlington stretch out to the horizon.

As much as we gave to save the wounded it all started with the dedicated and bravest of us all - the medic. Without him there would be no Thanksgiving for many families. Without him there would be no Christmas, no Fourth of July, no reason to smile. Memorial Day would somberly come and go and the memory would linger forever save for the medic's actions. When a medic dies we all die a little more and lost forever is the knowledge of just who might additionally have been saved had he lived. When a medic dies all heaven turns out, all angels weep. When a medic dies all kingdoms are in silent morn till his spirit passes into final peace beyond.

That late afternoon when I received life and comfort there was an angel medic over me and his halo was of golden glow greater than all the sunshine in this world. My pain disappeared in that moment and my joy was in life. That afternoon I saw what I dearly hope to see again in the future. I saw the face of God.

The other night Ray told me who our medic was. While our medic was representative of all medics mine had a name. His name was 'Doc' Joe LaPointe. Now after these many years I, and you, know the rest of my story.

( Joseph G. LaPoint Jr. was killed in action at Lamar Plain on June 2nd, 1969. His continuing love for mankind was reflected in his final actions. He was awarded the Medal of Honor in honor of all of us yet here. )