The Battle of Getlin’s Corner was raw, visceral combat that involved two highly professional and capable foes. On one side was a 220-man, Marine rifle company: Indian Company (“The Flaming I”) of the 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines. On the other side was a 700-800-man battalion from the 324B Division of the People’s Army of Vietnam (NVA). The battle began in the late afternoon of 30 March 1967. It lasted just six hours, cost the lives of 15 Marines with another 47 wounded, and would become one of the iconic battles of the Vietnam War. It is estimated that the NVA battalion lost upwards of 150 men killed. It was a day marked by extraordinary heroism on both sides.

The decision to go to war is never made by the men and women who actually have to fight in it, and there are few wars that shouldn’t be questioned as to whether they were truly necessary. Vietnam was certainly one of those wars. A wise people should always vigorously question the wisdom of going to war, but never the commitment and sacrifice of our warriors. Neither should a grateful nation ever forget those among us who perish on a battlefield far from home.

But as time relentlessly moves forward and memories fade, forgetting is a natural process. At some point even the greatest of men and events live only in books, and are visited only by those with an interest.

This is what will happen with the Battle of Getlin’s Corner and the fine men who fought and died in it unless something is done in their memory that will last for generations to come. Getlin’s Corner Foundation is my commitment to the legacy of a brother I adored and to the Marines who fought and died by his side. Its success will ensure that those 6 hours of 30 March 1967 will not disappear into the dustbin of history.

Over the past 50 years, I have learned that time does not heal all wounds; it simply prolongs the feeling of a crushing loss. True healing, I now know, comes only when one can turn a great personal loss into something that genuinely benefits others. Getlin’s Corner Foundation will both heal and benefit others. The challenge, however, was to choose a mission for the foundation that I knew my brother would approve. The mission, I realized, had to benefit the enlisted Marines that he, like all Marine officers before and after him, felt so privileged to lead.

I am incapable of capturing in words how my brother loved “his” Marines, as he called them, and how honored he was to be their “Skipper”. That is better left to Mike himself, and he did so in a letter to the Episcopal minister who married him and who would later preside over his funeral. In one of his last two letters, I share a portion of Mike’s letter to Reverend Gordon Price:

“I have I Co., 3d Bn., 9th Marines on the D.M.Z. It is a dirty little war of mortars, rockets, ambushes, and heart-tearing death. Oh, the letters from my hand to parents I shall never have the chance to see! These young men, all 220 of them, are the finest bunch of the USA’s melting pot, and I am proud to be their “Skipper”. I don’t believe the folks back home have any idea the weight these boys carry on their shoulders. They push on in the intense heat; they stay awake through the night; and they push on in the pouring rain the next day—all without a word. They are clear-eyed, red-faced young men who, deep down in their hearts, are fighting to preserve their families back home or families not yet born. They hate all the mutilated bodies and destroyed property, but they all seem to know that if it’s not finished here, the next war may be on the streets of their own home towns or yours. We hate being separated from all we love, but over here it is a distant love of freedom and democracy. These are precious commodities of which few know much about and most take for granted. Most seem to think they are innate—something that cannot be taken away. They would be so easy to lose. But most of us feel that those who dare to try to take this freedom and love for life must march down out of these mountains and over us to get to your shores. And that, dear Sir, would be a tough job.

I know you have a special “in” with the Big Man upstairs, so say a few words on Sunday for all the ones who are not coming home, and for those loved ones who have to carry on. For me, I have four or five angels working for me, and I’m thankful, for I very much want to return home.