Grover Wright, Promise Made, Promise Kept

Vietnam, late February, 1970
The sun had set, and I was alone in my room, spread out on my cot. My roommate Cliff Lee, scout pilot/lift pilot had returned to the Real World. He had survived a year of combat.

The door cracked open, and then David Zimmerman, a fellow cobra pilot stuck his head in, and asked how my day went. We started talking as he came in, and slid into a half-sitting, slouched position up against the wall, a can of beer in his hand.

The small talk went serious when David said that he was pretty sure that none of us would remember each other, and what we were doing in ten years. I told him that I disagreed.

In support of his theory, he pointed out how little each of us REALLY KNOW about our parents; and the minuscule amount we know about our grandparents. The discussion finally went personal, as most discussions like this do. I told him I would never forget his “sorry ass.” He said he was pretty sure he would forget me! We continued to point and counter-point…. until we came to THE PACT.

If one of us was to be killed, the survivor would come to the grave of the fallen sky trooper, drink a six pack of beer, and… urinate on the fallen’s grave. Yes… pee on the grave! This is a perfect example of what months of combat do to one’s mind. Your protective mental health mechanism from the INSANITY is to become a hardened, non-emotional soul. It was funny. It was soo Charlie Troop. I agreed to THE PACT.

David and Kevin Frye were subsequently killed in Vietnam on July 28, 1970. The details of this are covered in perfect detail in Randy Zahn’s excellent book, “Snake Pilot” available on Amazon. Suffice it to say, I will forever hold the army flight school system responsible for this tragedy for ignoring a serious flaw in David’s training.

For ten years THE PACT weighed heavily on my emotions and in my soul. On Sunday, August 3, 1980, I knelt on the ground staring at David’s headstone. I hate drinking beer. We should have said whiskey. With tears pouring down my cheeks, I realized that I was going to fail at completing THE PACT. The times had changed, I was not protected by the wall that kept emotions at bay. I begged forgiveness for not being able to urinate on his grave. The act was now obscene, was now vulgar. I promised instead to never forget. I promised to keep our PACT dear to my heart.

July 29, 2020 Lodi, California
Stephanie and I traveled to David’s grave. Armed with a single yellow rose, a small American flag and a six pack of beer, we approached his grave. It wasn’t any easier. In the back of my mind there was a detail that I could not do. Does it really matter?

I acknowledge this burden that I, and all my brothers carry. It has two components: the loss of fantastic friends in combat, and our own survivor’s guilt. We were there alongside our brothers as they fell, ending their lives. We are here now, wondering, why we are here. For many of my brothers, the survivor’s guilt is deafening. My heart cries for them.

Today was an emotional cleansing day for me. I can still look at myself in the mirror and say that I have kept THE PACT for fifty years. I will return again, in years to come to David’s grave. I will remember. I will remember.