Pioneer District Roundtable

Scoutmaster Minute

July 8, 2001

The Highest Honor

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 your country in time of war."

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 both15. 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, and our routine continued almost uninterrupted. And so it continued, 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, 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, Dean 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 a 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 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. Two weeks ago, he died. He drank himself to death.

It is a human tragedy. But there us a moral. George Washington said "The greatest honor a human can have, is to serve his country in time of war." I believe that too. But often at tremendous personal sacrifice. Some die right away. Some receive physical injuries. Others injuries are less obvious. But the injury is still there. Sometimes still festering.

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