Gary Vigue died more than 50 years ago, but his brothers want his name to live forever.
He earned it, they say.
Glen and Scott Vigue want Gary’s name included on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., that somber, shiny black tribute with the names of 58,320 who died during the war.
And they want the same for the other 73 men who were killed when the USS Frank E. Evans sank into the South China Sea minutes after it was accidentally rammed by an Australian aircraft carrier during nighttime training exercises.
The dead are known as the Lost 74. Lost because they can’t be found on The Wall. Lost because the U.S. government wanted to limit negative publicity during its public-relation campaign to justify the war. And lost because 73 bodies were never recovered.
Before this tragedy, the Evans and its crew had a stellar record, a strong reputation for success. But a technicality – the Evans did not sink within a designated war zone, missing by 10 miles – has created a movement that’s picked up steam the past few years.
Last month, the cause lost traction when the Department of Defense rejected the latest effort by the USS Frank E. Evans Association to honor these men.
This organization is fighting for Gary Vigue, who graduated from Dover High School and whose son, Shawn Vigue, lives in Concord.
Shawn has said in the past that he prefers not to comment about his father, and I wasn’t able to reach him by phone this week.
He’s no doubt following the story, though, and you can bet anyone connected to this topic isn’t going to fade from view or let miles of red tape derail them.
This is too important. This, they feel, is injustice run amok.
“Great country we live in, huh?” said Scott Vigue, dripping with sarcasm. “This has been going on for years, and I don’t understand why they can’t put their names on. This country is screwed up.”
Scott was 8 years old, living in Farmington at the time of the naval accident off the coast of Vietnam. Glen was gearing up for his graduation from Farmington High School.
“I was close with Gary,” said Glen, a retired factory worker. “We were quite close and it was pretty tough.”
A chaplain and an officer knocked on the family’s front door, shortly after the catastrophe on June 3, 1969. Gary, they were told, was killed in a tragedy that the United States government was in no rush to announce.
Perhaps that’s why some of you haven’t heard the story.
The USS Frank E. Evans was an American destroyer that played a vital, consistent role during 1960s portion of the Vietnam War.
The Evans had provided naval gunfire, slamming the Vietnam coastline to open room for U.S. troops. It was due to receive its 15th Vietnam Service Medal the very day it sank.
It had earned the nickname the Gray Ghost because of its many Houdini acts that had kept it afloat during battle. It had earned a Battle Star for its service during World War II, then five more during the Korean War, and was due to return to action in the near future.
Then came the nightmare, on a training mission with 40 other vessels. An Australian aircraft carrier shifted off course due to human error and rammed the Evans. The ship sank fast.
“Sometimes people ask me about it and I tell the story of what happened,” said survivor Ron Perkins of Manchester. “I can describe it and then all of a sudden I hit a point where I can’t talk. It gets to me and I break down a little, and I have to stop talking.”
When asked about the names of the Lost 74 remaining off The Wall, Perkins added, “This is ridiculous.”
The Wall is reserved for those killed within the 100-mile radius known as the Combat Zone. The Department of Defense has maintained that these men have no place on The Wall.
No place for the Lost 74. They were 110 miles outside the zone. One body was recovered. The other 73 remain in their watery grave, while a shiny piece of granite stands in tribute without those names.
Stephen Kraus, the president of the USS Frank E. Evans Association, compared the collision to an 18-wheeler running over a Volkswagen Beetle. Kraus is a survivor living in California. He’s the face of this movement.
“We’re totally frustrated,” Kraus said by phone. “Year after year, something that seems so simple is so complex, and we can not figure it out.”
He can’t figure it out because 343 names have been added to the Wall since its completion in 1982.
President Ronald Reagan made an exception in 1983. He ordered the names of 68 Marines, killed in a plane crash while flying back to Vietnam after leave, be added to the memorial.
Why the apparent hypocrisy? Because that plane was ordered back to the war zone in an official capacity. The Evans had no such orders on the day those practice missions were held.
But it sure felt like the Lost 74 were part of the war effort.
Kraus was working in the Signal Shack the day the Evans went down. During the wee hours of June 3. Gary Vigue was on the bridge. The Australian carrier slammed into the bow, which sank in minutes.
Nearly 200 men, most in the stern, got out.
Kraus escaped through a door, a lucky man like Perkins. Two New Hampshire men died, including Gary Vigue and Ron Thibodeau.
Kraus explained his frustration over the missing names this way: “The only reason we were there was to fight in the Vietnam War. This was not an exotic Polynesian cruise. We want the names on that Wall.”
Our state’s leaders in Washington say they’ll continue to fight. Sen. Jeanne Shaheen, in fact, was a co-sponsor of the bill that sought to right this wrong. The bill that died last month, when the Department of Defense nixed a proposed amendment to the National Defense Authorization Act.
A prepared statement emailed to me by Shaheen said she’d “continue to urge the Department of Defense to drop its opposition and act on its own to add the names.”
Sen. Maggie Hassan’s prepared email said, “They deserve to be recognized alongside their fellow servicemen at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.”
Rep. Ann Kuster also responded by email, saying she would “continue to advocate on their behalf.”
Perhaps one day, the Lost 74 will get the credit they deserve. They were on a ship that sank during the Vietnam War. A ship that had recently engaged in combat, then was destroyed while practicing for more combat.
Their families want to touch these names, maybe trace them with a pencil. Maybe that will influence grandkids and great-grandkids to visit The Wall, see the names, wonder what happened.
“A friend of mine from high school went to visit the memorial and he came back and asked why my brother’s name wasn’t on it,” Glen Vigue said. “I didn’t know what to say. It’s about an imaginary line in the ocean.
“Ridiculous.”