Reflections on the Wall

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In the summer of '66 we were a group of young people full of ideas but no real plans. The draft was still on and no matter how we felt about it we would still do what our forefathers had already done. The draft caught up with us in the fall of '69. Clayton Jenkins and I were drafted at the same time, taken by bus to Milwaukee; we went for our physicals. Once the physicals were done we were lined up against the wall and told to count off by threes. I was a 2, Clayton was a 3. He was now a Marine and I went to the Army. While home on my 30-day leave I learned that Clayton had been killed. I was able to be there at his Military Funeral, a very sad day. He was an only son of a regular family. And at the funeral you could feel the dreams of this small family all but disappear. I would like to have not only recognized Clayton but also another student from Pempine, Louie Rose who was a medic, who was also killed in Vietnam.

I am told that Ontonagon, Michigan has the distinction of being a city that has the highest causality rate per capita of any other place in the country. And in doing the development of this program we discovered brothers in arms, 2 individuals from Ontonagon how apparently grew up in the same town. Entered the service approximately the same time and now occupy the same panel, in the same line on the Vietnam Veteran Memorial in Washington. And they are William Raymond Lundberg of Ontonagon, Michigan and Earnest Mack Skinner of Ontonagon, Michigan and they are on Panel 18, line 54.

Hello, I'm Lezli Young the daughter of a Vietnam Vet. who served in the Navy, on the U.S.S. Intrepid in 1966. I want to say thank you and welcome home to all veterans. It is my honor to share with you a letter that appeared in the Ontonagon Herald, April 16th, 1997 by Barbara Daily Farceur. Her name may not be familiar to you but perhaps her story is. Let me take you back to the year my father was serving in Vietnam and the year that would change Barbara's life forever.

"It would be six months before Ernie left for Vietnam with his unit, the 196th Light Infantry Brigade, and in that time we found that we cared very deeply for each other. Ernie told me all about growing up on the shores of Lake Superior, in Ontonagon, Michigan. He told me how he and his baby sister were raised by their grandma, Fay Noble, after their parents were killed in a plane crash. " When the day finally came to say goodbye, we had no words left. The air on that hot July night hung as heavy as our hearts. One last kiss, one last embrace that would have to last through a year of separation."

Just before Christmas, Ernie was transferred to the 25th Infantry Division in CuChi and he wrote that he had a wonderful surprise waiting for him; he was sharing his new "hooch" with another young man from Ontonagon, and his name was Billy Lundberg. With the thousands of GI's in Vietnam in the mid-60's, it must have been Providence that brought Ernie and Billy Toget

With a friend from home by his side, Ernie became more confident about the 2nd half of his tour of duty. Like all good combat soldiers, Ernie and Billy became each others' eyes and ears on patrol, and spent the rest of the time talking about their girls, their families, Ontonagon, and their plans for the future. But most of all, they talked about getting out of Vietnam, and going home.

Back home, my classmates counted the days until graduation, and I counted the days till Ernie was due home. But God had different plans for all of us. On April 20, 1967, while on patrol in their APC's, Ernie and Billy and their platoon were caught in an enemy ambush. Ernie had been walking point and was the first to be hit. Billy jumped from his tank to help his friend and by now, as the saying goes, all hell had broken loose; machine gun fire, tank shells and artillery were exploding everywhere. When the enemy retreated and the smoke cleared, their comrades found Ernie and Billy, side by side in death, just as they had been in life.

My classmates at school took up a collection and saw me off at Logan Airport. I had never flown before, never really left home before. I wasn't afraid; I was just numb.

As the plane touched down in Michigan, Ernie's family was waiting for me, and though we had never met, they took me in ;and embraced me as one of their own. I was a link to their boy, and even at the time of their most profound sadness, they did everything they could to make me feel at "home." In many ways, I was "home"; Ernie's wish was for me to see Ontonagon, and I felt I was keeping a promise.

And on a cold April morning, with the wind off Lake Superior, Main Street stood at attention to honor these young men one last time.

On the thirtieth anniversary of their death this story is in loving memory of Ernie Skinner and Billy Lundberg and is dedicated to the people of Ontonagon who keep their memories alive.