Tag Archives: The Wall

The Wall won’t keep them out

A friend ofĀ ours who grew up in South Texas has some strong feelings about Donald J. Trump’s “big, beautiful wall.”

We had dinner with him and another friend this evening and we chatted about this and that —Ā shared a few laughs along with a few groans.

Then our conversation turned to Trump’s wall. Our friend was blunt.

It won’t work.

It won’t keep out the criminals.

It is a foolish gesture meant only to appease those who voted for the president of the United States.

OurĀ friend is a highly educated man. He has family still living in South Texas, not far from the Rio Grande River. Build a wall? Who’ll pay for it? The president says Mexico will foot the bill. How is that going to happen on a structure meant to be built on the American side of its lengthy border with Mexico.

This good buddy ofĀ ours has considerableĀ knowledge of life along our border. I’ll accept what he knows and what he has seen.

He acknowledges that the bad guys — the drug dealers and human traffickers — already have carved out extensive tunnel networks all along our southern border that would enable such activity to continue.

Moreover,Ā my pal has asked,Ā how is the president going to stop illegal immigrants from entering from either end of the U.S-Mexico border — from splashing ashore from the Pacific Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico?

Just think, Trump believes he can underwrite construction of the wall by levying a 20-percent tariff on all goods imported from Mexico. Who pays the tariff? You and I do — when importers pass the increased cost of the imports toĀ their American customers.

Yep, that’ll show them Mexicans.

R.I.P., young soldier

I posted this blog essay two years ago to commemorate Memorial Day. I want to share it again today as the nation prepares to honor the memories of those who have fallen in battle.

I donā€™t dwell too much on these kinds of things, but Iā€™m thinking today of a young man I knew briefly many years ago.

His name was Jose DeLaTorre. We served in the same U.S. Army aviation battalion at Marble Mountain, a heavily fortified outpost just south of Da Nang in what used to be called South Vietnam. He served in a different company than I did; he worked on a UH-1 Huey helicopter crew while I was assigned to a fixed-wing outfit, the 245th Aviation Company, which flew OV-1 Mohawk reconnaissance aircraft.

One day in June 1969, Jose came bursting into our work area full of enthusiasm. He was going home in just a few days. I recall heā€™d extended his tour in ā€˜Nam several times. I think he had served something like 32 months in-country. I recall he usually was full of it ā€“ even on his quiet days. But on this day, Jose was pretty much out of control with excitement.

Later that day, his Huey company scrambled on a troop-lift mission. DeLaTorre did what he usually did when his company got the call to lift off: He strapped himself into an M-60 machine gun and flew as a door gunner on the mission.

It was supposed to be a ā€œroutineā€ drop at a landing zone. It wasnā€™t. The LZ was ā€œhot,ā€ meaning the ships were greeted by heavy enemy fire when they arrived.

You know how this tale turns out.

DeLaTorre was killed in action that day.

I didnā€™t know him well. Indeed, it took me 21 years ā€“ when I visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in D.C. in 1990 with my wife and sons ā€“ to learn he hailed from Fullerton, Calif. I saw his name carved into The Wall. I paid my respects and, yes, choked back the lump in my throat.

Today Iā€™m thinking of that effervescent young man and the 58,000-plus other names on that monument, as well all those who have fallen in battle since the beginning of this great republic.

May they all rest in peace.

Thank you for your sacrifice.