Memorial Day

Memorial Day brings memories of friends and family who have passed away and of time spent at various cemeteries on this day. Besides my own family and loved ones, I most often associate this day with my high school and college friend George Brian Allison. His is one of the 50,000 or so names engraved on the Viet Nam Memorial Wall. It is his death in that war that has left me always questioning the minds and the motivations of leaders who decide to send young people into battle. How does one differentiate national defense from something different than the desire to dominant regions and resources for purposes of national self interest?

George was a complicated guy; an impish redheaded, freckle-faced boy. He was simultaneously funny, friendly, sarcastic, smiling, sneering, creative, aloof, and downright difficult to deal with. We spent a lot of time together through junior high and high school. Shop class is one of the memorable scenes I associate with George at school. We talked a lot as we worked on our projects. We stuck pretty close together, always working at the same table and doing similar projects.

Driver's Ed was another similar case. George had the most hilarious laugh. When he got tickled, his nose and lips would curl and contort and his pale complexion turn a rosy red, as a humorous or tense moment got the best of him. And believe me, Driver's Ed provided us with many a funny time as we sat in the back seat while some very inept students attempted three-point turn arounds and parallel parking in the 1962 Chevrolet stick shift vehicle. The harder we tried not to laugh out loud, the more difficult it became.

Heading off to college at Northeastern State in Tahlequah is another unforgettable time. We each had packed our stuff into our cars and drove our two car convoy down the main street of Chelsea and out Highway 28 toward Adair. He was driving that green 1953 two door Chevy, the one his folks bought new and then gave to him when he turned 16 in 1963. I was driving the 1951 Ford two door hardtop that I had bought from the Simmons family after it had sat parked along Route 66 in Chelsea for quite a while. It was a solemn but exciting Sunday morning.

When George was killed in Viet Nam in April, 1968, I felt so bad for his parents, John and Mildred. I only saw them a couple of times after his death. Years later, on a Memorial Day in the late-1990s, I called them and enjoyed a nice talk.

More recently, I saw Wayne Stinnett, who is now married to George's sister and enjoyed talking about George and getting an update on the family. John and Mildred have passed on by now. Last year, I also talked to Lloyd Huffman who still lives in Chelsea. He is friends with George's nephew, Donnie McPheeters. Lloyd obtained some pictures of George and the 1953 Chevy which George had done a lot of work on prior to his death. I am now happy to have electronic copies of those photos.

In earlier years, my memories of Memorial Day involve time spent with my cousin Bobby Middleton at Salem Cemetery, a small rural cemetery southeast of Henryetta, Oklahoma. I recall the two of us sitting in his family's red 1959 Rambler station wagon listening to the radio broadcast of the Indianalpolis 500 race while the older folks decorated the graves of our ancestors. A large family gathering of aunts, uncles, and cousins was usually held at Nichols Park in the afternoon.