[stylist] Vietnam Memorial: Teh Wall rewrite

[Brad Dunse']

In case anyone is interested in the re-rite, I 
took the advice of removing some redundancy, some 
extraneous detail maybe???  many of the I's and 
me's, which I love that process in re-writing as 
it always brings more forward movement and better 
flow,  besides I know a national writer with, 
dare I say what many know, an ego the size of 
Texas that fills his newsletters with them and it 
bugs the snot out of me :). At any rate, here it is for what it's worth.

Non-fiction, war song related,  G rated piece.


Vietnam Memorial Wall



Canvas bags draping slumped shoulders, buckles 
digging into tired muscles, nervous fingers 
losing their sweaty grip every tenth step, I 
huffed my gear through the crowds of soldiers. 
Spotting a slightly wooded area to escape the 
baking sun, the bags almost magnetically pulled 
themselves towards cover; reaching it they slid 
off the shoulders with a sigh through puffed cheeks.



Rubbing the burn from sore neck muscles, 
stretching out the back, and taking in the action 
all around; I wondered what the day might look 
like in hindsight, and which one of the souls out 
there might be a new found friend by day’s end.



A bit nervous of what to expect amid the battle 
experienced soldiers out there, wonderment gave 
way to doubt as to whether the ability to even 
identify with what they have seen allows for friendship.



Finally, two gents approached asking if I was who 
I was. Confirming it with handshakes, we began 
chatting as bags were opened and gear pulled out. 
Opening the case and sitting on a stool, I began to fiddle around on my guitar.



No, we weren’t killing time prior to reporting 
for duty in a US military base in Vietnam, we 
arrived at the State Capitol grounds in St. Paul, 
Minnesota; at a kickoff event the governor of 
Minnesota declared as Vietnam Day.



So why was I there? It wasn’t for doing a tour of 
duty in Vietnam; I was born about a decade and a 
half too late for that. Besides age being a 
factor, though I probably didn’t know it at 
18-years old, there was a hereditary disease 
slowly scattering throughout my retinas affecting 
peripheral and night vision; and very likely it 
would have pulled a 4F medical discharge anyway. 
If that wouldn’t have prevented being shipped 
out, eventually from mere survival of the 
fittest, some Asian would have shipped me back in 
a box, carving my name in the Memorial Wall with 
the business end of his weapon.



I was at the Vietnam Day event by invitation from 
a grass roots effort, to come and play some 
music. Sort of a 1960’s protest style thing, only 
we weren’t protesting, we were joining the 
proclamation and recognition of the brave men and women who served in Vietnam.



A compilation CD of Vietnam songs had recently 
been released, designed to help heal emotional 
wounds and not let the world forget what 
suffering went on back then; and a song I 
co-wrote with two other writers (Mitch Townley 
and Judy Gorman King), was picked as the featured 
song for the CD. The song is entitled, “The Wall.”



Once the gear was set up out on the large grounds 
of the Capitol, we started playing. We played for 
children, fellow musicians, curious event 
attendees, friends and families of soldiers who 
stopped to listen, and then they came.



Mike, one of the gentlemen who gave the invite, 
rounded the corner with a group of Viet Vets. As 
they approached, battle earned metals clinked on 
silver haired gents as they jokingly milled about 
asking if I knew any Hank Williams; and then Mike 
said, “Brad, why don’t you play your song for these gentlemen?”



I will tell you, having played for many people at 
all kinds of gigs throughout the years, nerves 
had never been tested in this way before. Staring 
out with what vision was musterable, looking at 
this group of amazing souls standing before me 
who­all but a handful of decades ago were scared, 
brave young men watching their buddies tore apart 
right next to them in fox holes, on the battle 
field, and in transport jeeps­facing unknown 
emotional battles of uncertainty whether the 
local people there approaching them, men, women 
or children all equal in ability; were allies of 
safety, or enemies about to cut them down. 
Miraculously, here they were standing anxiously, 
staring at me expectantly, wanting to hear the 
song that was written just for them; and me 
desperately hoping we had gotten what they felt inside, right.



Swallowing hard and slow, raking a few strums on 
the guitar to get emotionally anchored, I started to sing:



When you were searching for my name today

I saw you standing there

Man you look different

With that silver in your hair

Me, I haven’t changed a bit

Still all of twenty-one

That’s the thing about us spirits

We’re forever young

At the wall 
, here at the wall



Mid-way through the song with quivering lips and 
doubts I could even make it all the way through 
without choking up, I began to feel a reverence 
for these men stronger than ever before; men who 
endured not only a very different war out on the 
battlefield and in the jungle, but also the 
unexpected one of patriotic betrayal soon after 
the planes wheels screeched the tarmac back home.



I don’t think one strand of hair laid flat the 
entire length of the song but I did make it 
through to the end. When I finished, a nervous 
silence loomed for a second or two; wondering to 
myself, “Brad? What did you just do? You had 
better not offended them assuming you know what 
they feel inside.” The silence stood for a few 
seconds more and I was immediately swallowed up 
with soldiers shaking my hand 60’s style, giving 
pats on the back, and profusely giving thanks for 
writing the song. We snapped a quick picture with 
them, all the while me thanking them for their 
service, and that it was only a shame that the 
song had need to be written in the first place. 
That was one of the, if not the, most special experiences I’d ever had playing.



Prior to “The Wall” being written, I’d thought 
pretty heavy on writing a song about Vietnam. 
Considering it further, it seemed an obvious 
decision to write one dealing with the wall, 
maybe the Traveling Wall? Going back up on the 
National Memorial website, I spent hours up there 
reading profile entries that folks left for their 
loved ones. There were old goodbyes and present 
tense conversations: words from old high school 
buddies, family members keeping up a vigil, 
neighborhood friends who popped in after thinking 
about them, school teachers who wrote shortly 
after the news, and of course those uniquely 
bonded souls who served with them in the war 
; excuse me 
, “police action.”



Reading the entries was addictive, and more 
gripping than a Friday night suspense flick. 
Hopping up on the site before dinner, I didn’t 
pull away from the computer until the morning sun 
popped up. After spending the night reading 
droves of profiles of 21-year olds who never came 
back, the desire to write a song about Vietnam 
and the wall was there now more than ever.



As strong a desire it was to write a Vietnam wall 
song, I hadn’t told anyone of the plan. The goal 
was to have a solo write, so the idea never left 
the writing room. After a week and a half of 
knocking around some ideas and not really 
settling on any particular idea, an email came 
through from a songwriting buddy of mine. He said 
he ran into a poet at a veteran’s event in 
Nashville, got permission to use the poem as 
foundation for a lyric, and wanted to know if I wanted in on the song.



Stunned at the timing of this opportunity, I 
naturally agreed. A few days later we came out 
with our song entitled, “The Wall”.



I often wonder, after nearly two weeks of milling 
it around, surfing the web, staying up all night 
mesmerized by what I was reading, trying to pour 
my soul into the boots of those kids and their 
surviving families, not saying anything to anyone 
about my desire to write such a song about the 
Vietnam Wall, and then out of the blue to be 
approached with this opportunity? ­I don’t 
know­is that just a simple coincidence? Or could 
there have been more to it than that?



The Wall has been played at a variety of places 
ranging from major commercial country radio, to 
web stations, to live performances at local 
memorial ceremonies, to my own gigs; and I am 
very humbled it will be performed by a youth band 
raising brows up and down the east coast, as they 
play it as part of their invitation to perform at 
the National Memorial event in Washington DC this Veterans Day on November 11.



Hear the song in it’s entirety and read the 
lyrics at: 
<http://www.braddunsemusic.com/music-45.html>http://www.braddunsemusic.com/music-45.html






Brad Dunse

"Instead of waiting out the storm, learn to dance in the rain." --Unknown

http://www.braddunsemusic.com

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