COLUMN: Why he salutes the boots

In the days leading up to Memorial Day, and again the week before Veteran’s Day, a pair of old Army combat boots receive their marching orders.

The boots are placed at the entrance of Stanislaus, a historic midtown neighborhood near the busy intersection of Pio Nono, Pierce and Vineville avenues.

They arrive without fanfare. There is no commemorative marker or keynote speech. There is no explanation why the size 8.5 jungle boots stand guard, with a small, American flag sticking from the top.

They belong to Jack Cartwright. And he has cried enough tears to fill them.

“Does anyone want to hear the story behind them?’’ I asked.

“I hope they do,’’ he said.

Jack not only wants people to know but to never forget. He began displaying them twice a year in 1997, when he lived in the neighborhood.

At first, they secretly appeared under the cloak of darkness. It didn’t take the neighbors long to figure out Jack’s fingerprints were all over those camouflaged boots.

Even after he moved away in 2006, he would return to keep the patriotic tradition going. Now, two longtime friends from the neighborhood are the caretakers.

Inside the leather and laces – filled with concrete to prevent them from blowing over on a windy day -- are the names of five of Jack’s high school buddies who died in Vietnam.

Jimmy Farmer, Charles Buchanan, Lonnie Burchett, Michael Charles and Charles Duty are not familiar names locally. After all, they grew up 330 miles away and died more than a half-century ago.

Still, they were somebody’s son, somebody’s brother, somebody’s hero.

Jack grew up in Bristol, Virginia, and he moved to Macon in 1978. (The two cities share a rich musical heritage. Bristol is known as the “Birthplace of Country Music.’’ Macon is considered the cradle of Southern Rock. And some claim it is the cornerstone of rock ‘n’ roll, since Little Richard was the self-proclaimed architect.)

Jack began his Army career in September 1971 after going through the ROTC program at Washington & Lee University. He went to basic training, and later was in the reserves. Timing and circumstances never called him to Vietnam, where he would have worn those combat boots.

Jimmy Farmer sat behind him in Algebra class. Jimmy was a promising athlete and a gap-toothed poster boy for the Marines. He was killed in Vietnam in March 1968. Jack later heard stories about how Jimmy’s father met the military plane when it returned home with his son’s body and saluted the flag-draped casket.

He also remembers hearing about how Charles Buchanan’s sister began screaming when she looked out the window and saw the notification officers walking up the long driveway to deliver the sad news to the family.

Michael Charles was in Jack’s home room. He was one of the first African American students at the high school. The Marines sent him from the tobacco fields of southwest Virginia to the rice paddies of Southeast Asia. He was killed during some of the heaviest fighting of the war in the siege at Khe Sanh.

This past Wednesday night, Jack drove back to his old neighborhood. He took a photograph in front of the archway at Stanislaus, which was dedicated in the spring of 2016. The boots were placed on a rock slab on top of a pedestal made from the base of an old bird bath.

With a lump in his throat, he saluted them. Again.

“They bring back a lot of memories,’’ Jack said. “And a lot of tears.’’

Ed Grisamore teaches journalism at Stratford Academy in Macon. His column appears on Sundays in The Telegraph.