My name would have been placed between James Stevens and Michael P. Taylor. This space is easy for me to find on the Wall because Russell Harris's name is a few lines earlier in the alphabetical listing for that day.
I was replacing Harris as a battalion staff officer. I was coming out of the field and he was completing his year of duty and going home. We were hit with shell fragments from the mortar round that landed between us.
For Harris, Feb. 11, 1969, was his last date. For me it became a second birth date.
Iturned 53 in June, and celebrated with yet another motorcycle vacation. I can decorate houses, lift weights, make pies, play classical piano and drive a motorcycle 75 mph on the Beltway with a smile. I'm a Martha Stewart on the rocks with an Evel Knievel twist. Every bone I've broken hurts when the weather changes. My husband says I drive too defensively. Question: Do you stop riding because you get too old, or do you get old because you stop riding? I'd consult a manual if I could find the one on "Harley Riders With Hot Flashes."
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