Boy Scout Troop 325
Scoutmaster Minute
The Highest Honor
July 8, 2001
George Denise, Scoutmaster

While I was in Washington, D.C. recently, visiting the Kennedy Memorial at Arlington Cemetary, I read a quote John Kennedy had written: "The second highest honor I person can receive, is to serve your country through public office. The only higher honor is serving in defense of your country."

Shortly after reading that, I learned that my boyhood friend, Kenny Orton had passed away. A belated casualty, it seems, of a war most of us thought ended thirty years ago.

I first met Kenny in the summer of 1962. We were both 15. Kenny's father had just purchased Roland's Beach, on the Russian River in Sonoma County. Kenny, another friend, Jack, and I spent that summer working at the beach. Kenny's father later bought a local drive-in restaurant, and still later a Texaco station next door. We spent our mornings working at the beach and our afternoons either working in the drive-in or at the gas station. I would then leave to work evenings in another restaurant, and then after work at 10:30 or 11:00 pm, I would join Kenny and Jack, cruising the "Strip" in Jack's '55 Chevy and attending the dances at the Rio Nido Ballroom. Often, after the dance, we would go back to Kenny's apartment above the Texaco, where we would sit up late into the night discussing the things we hoped to do someday.

The following summer, Jack joined the army, but he was replaced by another friend, Dean Newby (or Deems, as we called him), and our routine continued almost uninterrupted. And so it went, on through the summers of 63, 64, 65, and 66. We were young, and free-spirited, a little wild, and yet still innocent.

After graduation from high school, we tended to go our own ways. Jack was already in the Army, Kenny joined the Army in '67, I went off to college and a stint in the Marine Corps Reserves, Deems returned to Southern California. For a few years we continued to get together over the Christmas Holidays, while we were home to visit our families. But eventually, as family members moved away, and as we developed our own families, even this annual event came to an end.

The last time we got together was in December 1971. Kenny had just completed his military service and was attending Santa Rosa Junior College. Jack was still in the Army. I and another old friend, Jess had just graduated from San Francisco State. We went out on the town, but It was a little strained. We all vowed to get together again, but I knew we wouldn't.

That was the last time I saw Kenny until last year. A little over a year ago, I received a call from Kenny. His roommate had just passed away, he was feeling a little lonely and depressed, so he had tracked me down. After junior college, Kenny had gone on to UC Davis, were he graduated with a degree in mathematics. He had become an engineer for PG&E, where he worked for twelve years. He then decided he wanted to teach. He became a high school math teacher. Eventually, he became principal of the school, and then assistant to the superintendent.

Then, seemingly without warning, his world came apart. What Kenny hadn't told me before, was that during his tour in Vietnam, he had volunteered for an elite combat unit. He was trained in reconnaissance. Then he and three others were sent behind the enemy lines in Laos. Their job was to set up a listening post and to monitor troop movements in and out of a village. It was a 24 hour surveillance. Shortly before it ended, a North Vietnamese platoon decided to take a short cut over the mountain instead of following the road. Unfortunately, it was the mountain they were on. They saw the enemy coming at them when they were about 1,000 yards out. They quickly gathered up their gear and pulled out, but as they moved away, a shot rang out, then others, and one of Kenny's companions dropped, shot through the back of the head. The remaining three took off at a full run. It was 45 minutes to the pick up site, where a helicopter was to meet them. Only one soldier made it, Kenny. When he realized the others didn't make it, he tried to go back, but the helicopter crew restrained him. Kenny felt tremendous guilt at leaving his companions behind. For twenty years it ate at him. Finally, he snapped. They call it survivor's syndrome. Kenny started drinking, and he didn't stop. He lost his job. He lost his contact with his family and friends. He lost his home and became one of the "homeless" for awhile. When he called me, I called Jack. We got together, and Jack took him back to his home in Las Vegas. For eight months, he lived with Jack's family. He dried out. Jack was writing a book about Vietnam and hired Kenny to help with marketing. But then, eight months ago, Kenny walked away from it all. Two weeks ago, he died. He drank himself to death.

It is a human tragedy. But there is a moral. John Kennedy said "The greatest honor a human can have, is to serve in defense of his country." I believe that too. But it is often at tremendous personal sacrifice. Some die right away. Some receive physical injuries that eventually heal. Others injuries are less obvious. Injuries to the heart, and to the soul often don't show. But they are still there. Sometimes still festering. It should be an honor to serve your country. But too many of the veterans coming home from that war were not honored. They felt unappreciated; even that they had done something wrong. In previous wars, our veterans were celebrated. They were made to feel proud. Organizations were formed to continue to remind them what the suffering was for.

Not so this time. So the fear, and the anguish and the suffering stayed bottled up inside. Until it could no longer be contained. Sometimes, like in the case of Kenny, it killed them.

Remember our veterans. Let them know their sacrifice is appreciated. Honor them, as they honored us.

Thank you. And may God be with you.