11 May 2002 Brother, Protector, Best Friend, Travel Mate, Piece Of My Heart I was staying downstairs with my Grama for a few days when I was 2. We lived in the apartment upstairs. One day, my Dad pulled into the drive, opened the passenger door, hauled out my Mom, and began carrying her upstairs. It was too strange! What was that thing she was holding so carefully? I was all over the steps and between my Dad's legs trying to find out. We very nearly all toppled because of me. Finally, I was introduced to Stan. At first I was jealous. He was so darn cute and got all my attention. Soon he was fun to chase. One day he landed bottom first in Mom's full mop pail. Short years later, we wandered down to the street corner and threw rocks at cars. When a really nice man came walking along and asked us where we lived, we took his hand and led him right to MOM!!! We moved to the country and lived in trees. We rushed home from school to watch Movie Matinee (Cowboy Movies), then went outdoors to reenact them. Once in a while I could con him into playing office with me with the wired walkie talkie Dad found in the dump. We'd haul the office supplies out of the Post Grapenuts Box where they were stored just in time for him to tire of my silly game. We shared a paper route for years, and blacked each other's eyes over who would get the short half. His friends were mine --- mine his. We grew up to admire and count on each other. We'd have done anything for each other. We each traveled a lot. You could bet that wherever he went, I would wind up there, and where I landed, he was sure to make a showing. I wasn't able to follow him to Viet Nam -- so many times I've wished we could have fought that one together. I can't think how much different our lives would have been now, had he come home. He had a way of fixing everything. I love him ... my son bears his name. Phyl Matteson gramawphyl@juno.com

 

29 May 2006 I was there. My job was communications from the bunkers to the command post and from MCB 7 to other units. I was on the defense line when it happened. I still can remember the call and yelling to get help when it happened. I remember the service dedicating Camp Campbell a couple of days later. I left to come home on November 1, 1966. From a fellow serviceman in MCB 7, Jeffrey P. Caine jeff.caine@gmail.com

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