46e Line 52

James L. Bowman. Dundee, Michigan. Killed 1968. Vietnam conflict.

Visiting Washington DC sites with my friend Elizabeth and her parents, we casually stroll around the Tidal Basin while looking at beautiful cherry blossoms and plan our stops at the different monuments contained within the National Mall and Memorial Parks.

I’m going to be honest and tell you my first impression of the Washington Monument is that it’s fairly lame. Unless you get there early enough to grab a free ticket to go up inside and look out to see the surrounding area for as far as 30 miles, it’s really just a big, white, pointy lego standing upright. The Jefferson Memorial is impressive, stately, just as I imagine the man himself would have been. The Lincoln Memorial is imposing and breathtaking in its simplicity and dignity. I don’t know if the artist intended this, but I like the disparity Daniel French creates in the design of his sculpture between Lincoln’s two hands; the right hand is somewhat relaxed but still gripping, while the left is clenched in a fist. It’s symbolic of the peaceful, intellectual Lincoln who wasn’t afraid to be decisive and resolute during a dramatic turning point in our nation’s history.

But the two sites that stand out to me are the two memorials that represent American eras that cannot be more dissimilar. The Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial is personal, it’s more about the American people and how one president inspired them during some of the toughest times our nation’s ever seen. Spread out and housing the four terms of Roosevelt, the walls behind the different bronze statues are inscribed with the words a president spoke to comfort and heal a nation during the Great Depression and World War II. It’s symbolic of the collective emotions, dreams, and convictions shared by all Americans during that era. And in stark contrast stands the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, more popularly known as “the wall.” And it, too, is extremely emblematic of our nation during a challenging time of upheaval and growth.

Walking the wall of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, you can’t help but be instantly struck by the reflective surface. This has to be what the artist intended, for you to walk beside the names of those who fought in Vietnam and were either killed, died from injuries suffered, or were never identified, and in reading those names look at yourself. Because that is exactly what Americans did during and after the conflict in Vietnam. Although it was a long, drawn out, aggressive military action, Vietnam is termed a conflict because the United States has not declared war since 1941. Personally, I think conflict is the most appropriate word because it speaks to the change in America during and after Vietnam.

During Roosevelt’s administration, we were a nation of idealists. We were people who fought for what we believed in because there were distinct evils challenging the clearly defined values we had of right and wrong. We knew what we fought for because we had something to fight for. During the Vietnam era, everything changed. We no longer had any fight in us because we weren't as sure of right from wrong. Lies from leaders and failing faith from the commoners...we became a nation of true individuals who started to question established views of liberty, how we should define and defend it. We became conflicted.

Sometimes I wish life were as simple as it was in the 1930’s and 1940’s. I’m not saying life was easy, but it seemed to be a lot more purposeful. We were connected to each other. We were united in vision, in aim. We seemed to be more concerned for the person standing next to us. Now we do our own thing, and there are very few who even notice when you’re standing shoulder to shoulder with them. And yet there are parts about being an individual – outside the hive – that I enjoy.

As I walk the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, I am looking for one name on the wall. The name of the only person I have any kind of connection to who died in Vietnam – James L. Bowman. He graduated with my mom and dad. 46e, Line 52. When I find it, I can’t help it – I cry. I wonder about James L. Bowman. What did he think when he was drafted? What did he think when he put on his uniform and held a gun for the first time in a foreign country? What did he think when he died?

I kneel down and trace the letters with my fingers, and I see myself reflected in the endless list of names. I realize that no matter what the conflict is inside me, no matter where I go or what my future is, I’m going to make my dreams happen because most of the names on this wall didn’t have a choice in their future. I’m grateful they’re part of a nation that’s evolved, but remained true to its purpose, to give me a choice in mine.