Dennis Norwood
For four days a remarkable exhibit was ensconced on our city’s riverfront at Ross’ Landing. A half-size replica of the original Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial that resides in our nation’s capitol took up residence in our city from July 28 through Aug. 1. It is even now on its way to its next assignment, a posting in Ft. Jennings, Ohio.
Even at half-size, it stretched from Power Alley to Chestnut Street across the green expanse that is home to a Riverbend Stage and other concerts, where people stood to honor Chattanooga’s own Fallen Five. It was impressive in its size, but even more for what it represented. While inanimate in nature it came to life for many that took the time to pay it a visit during its all-too-brief stay here in the Scenic City.
As a photographer I was in its presence on three different occasions while it was here. Two of those times were while on other assignments, yet I was drawn to the ebony partitions as if it were my primary reason for being in the area. It has a way of mesmerizing one with its stark beauty that hides the anguish of a nation. By all accounts the war was not a popular conflict.
My own memories, as a high school student, are of nightly news reports featuring Walter Cronkite or headlines in the News-Free Press which always seem to trend with the words “body count.” I was required to register for the draft but the war was winding down and the unpopular time in our nation’s history was winding down, so I never saw “my number” come up.
In truth I never really knew anyone who fought in Vietnam, though I had older cousins who were veterans of World War II and Korea. Always one who was interested in current affairs (I did win the D.A.R.’s history award in eighth grade) I was drawn to the action that was taking place on the other side of the world. As I was raised to be a patriot and to respect those who served our country I never understood the venom directed towards our returning service members.
I have been to The Wall in Washington, D.C. and stood for long periods soaking in its history and heritage. But, until my third visit in three days to the Moving Wall on Riverfront Parkway I never fully understood the personal loss that many endured.
My fiancée, Gail and I had gone downtown so she could see the wall and I could snap off a few more photos. As we strolled around the grounds I spied a woman who appeared to be perhaps a few years older than myself. She was standing facing the wall and appeared to be racked with sobs. I’m ashamed to say that my first reaction was that I had happened upon on a wonderful photo opportunity.
As I worked to find just the right position from which to frame the shot I was inexplicably drawn to her face and body language. I put down my camera and walked up beside her. I saw her for who she really was, a fellow human being in pain.
In what I hoped was a caring voice I asked if she had lost a brother or a son. She told me, “No, it was my husband. He was two weeks away from coming home.”
All I could think to do was put my arm around her and offer words to the effect that I was sorry for her loss. But then, as we stood there, our arms around each other, not even knowing one another’s name, I joined her in her tears. She grieved for a husband loved, but lost way too soon and I for this lady, as well as, all those names engraved on that wall that now stretched all the way back to my first memories of a far-off place called Vietnam.
I never asked her name, I’m sad that I didn’t. Each night since that day I have mentioned her in my prayers. I would ask that you do, as well. She told me that after all these years she didn’t think the experience would be so emotional. I’m not sure the grief of losing a loved one in battle ever dims. I do know that, from a nation’s standpoint, it never should.
History of the Moving Wall
The Moving Wall is a half-size replica of The Vietnam Veteran’s Wall in Washington, D.C. It was conceived by John Devitt, a helicopter door gunner and Vietnam veteran, upon visiting the original wall at its 1982 dedication. He has said, “I felt the power of the wall.”
Together with Norris Shears, Gerry Haver and other Vietnam vets, Devitt built the fist Moving Wall so that those who could not travel to Washington could have a chance to experience it. It was first displayed in Tyler, Texas in 1984. Today there are two walls that tour the U.S. from April through November.
Devitt said about the Memorial in D.C., “When you approach the Memorial, you don’t recognize what’s going on. It’s a visual experience that words cannot describe… Then suddenly, as the words inscribed on the Wall come into focus, it’s so subtle… You’re drawn in and it’s too late, you’re riveted and the emotions just pour forth.”
Gerry Stegmaier wrote in Among Friends, the newsletter of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, “This emotional outpouring and the pride of having participated in a parade honoring Vietnam veterans inspired Devitt to dedicate the next eleven years of his life to giving people all across the nation a chance to experience a similar catharsis. Originally, Devitt and his friends had hoped to create a photo mural of the Wall, but when the negatives proved unusable, they came up with another solution. The concept was simple: build a replica of the Wall in Washington which could travel across the country, so that everyone who couldn't visit the Wall could share the experience and emotion which it evokes.
Devitt's idea was deeply personal. He had been out of work when the Wall was dedicated, and had made the trip with financial help from family and friends. "There were millions of people who would never be able to come to Washington," he realized, "I wanted them to be able see and feel what I had."
His emotions ran deep. "Before 1982 I never felt like I needed a parade or a memorial," he says. He had come to the Wall expecting to dislike it, anticipating it would be as some media stories had said, "a black gash of shame." Instead, the Wall changed his life; it gave him a new mission and sense of pride in his military service. With the help of a few friends, Devitt set out to build a movable wall. They estimated it would take $40,000, however, pooling their savings they could only come up with $2,500.
They decided to seek assistance in raising the necessary funds. "We had a tough time in the beginning, convincing people about what we were trying to do," explains Devitt. "The Wall is a visual thing. When you tell people you want to build a half-scale replica, they think miniature and model; they don't realize the power of Maya Lin's design." Searching for a way for the work to be completed, they sought contributions of goods and services. If they couldn't get the material donated, they could at least arrange credit terms and discounted pricing.
"We were totally surprised by the reaction of the businesses we approached. I didn't even have a credit card at the time, but when we talked to various companies and explained what we were trying to do, they were very sympathetic. Many took the job on our word." Devitt says, "I knew that once we got started, it would pay for itself...and if it didn't, we were prepared to pay for it ourselves." He was convinced of the need for the Moving Wall.
The first Moving Wall was built of Plexiglas, with each name silk-screened onto the panels. The photographic negatives of the names were made available by the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund, the organization responsible for building the Memorial. When new names are added to the Wall, they are also added to the Moving Wall at the end of its season. In its present form, the third generation, the Moving Wall consists of aluminum panels and is a half scale replica of the original.”
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Dennis Norwood is a staff photographer for The Chattanoogan.com. He is retired from the U.S. Air Force and may be reached atsportsshooter614@gmail.com and followed on Twitter at @DennisENorwood.
Moving Wall volunteer makes a rubbing of a name