The Fontana Hispanic
Chamber of Commerce
Chamber of Commerce
The Power of a Name
by: Valerie
The Castilleja School Palo Alto, CA
I never really imagined that a name could have so much
meaning. Walking along the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial I was
faced with thousands of names belonging to thousands of people
who had each given their lives for our country. I stood there,
surrounded by spectators, all quiet in respect and honor, but the
personal meaning didn’t reach any deeper than the engraved
letters on the wall. To me they were just labels, not the true souls
that they represented. I had never known the soldiers who had
lost their lives; I hadn’t even been alive to experience the war.
I slowly made my way deeper into the list, passing flowers and
small gifts left in remembrance. I saw a wreath left by Boy Scout
Troop #471, and a letter left by a little girl for her "grampa." For
some reason it surprised me that people would come to the
memorial to pay their respects to their loved ones. Wasn’t this
just a place for tourists to come take pictures of a very historical
monument? Besides, they were, after all just names.
Soon I began to become tired of the repetitive carvings in stone.
Row after row, it became harder and harder for me to imagine
that each identity listed had a true character and personality. I
began to walk on the less crowded side of the path that was
farther away from the wall. After snapping a few pictures with my
disposable camera, I thought I had experienced the essence of
the memorial.
Then I saw something that made my heart fall silent and my feet
freeze in their place. There, standing in front of Section 34 on the
right half of the wall, was a woman. Her royal blue outfit and white
gloves highlighted her brown skin, making her stand out from the
crowd as it rushed past her. It was as if she were in a completely
different world, surrounded by nothing except her thoughts. I
watched as she reached her gentle hand up and lightly touched
the wall in front of her. Slowly, she traced her fingers over a
name. She stroked it with such softness and purity, it was as if
she had never felt anything more precious in her life. Closing her
eyes, she took a breath, and I could see her imagine him
standing there in front of her. She didn’t move, as if afraid to lose
her husband all over again Her breathing became so deep and
relaxed, she seemed to be in a state of complete solitude. I tried
not to make any noise, even though I knew she wouldn’t notice. I
didn’t want to disturb what seemed to be such a placid and
tranquil moment.
By looking at the way she held her hand against the stone, I felt I
could see back into the many years they spent in each other’s
arms. I could see her smiling at him and touching his face; not
just his name. I saw them taking long walks and falling more in
love with each other every minute they were together. I could see
him holding her hand as long as he could, as he had to leave to
go and fight in the war. I could see her sitting at home, barely
being able to sit still, as she waited to hear news of him. I could
see her crying when she found out he had died.
Then, as if she had suddenly awoken from her dream, a tear
quickly ran down her cheek. She opened her eyes and looked at
the name of the one who had meant more than anything else in
the world to her. She began to cry as she leaned her head
against the wall. "Te amo," she said. "I will always love you John
Garcia."
With that she stood up and wiped her eyes. She pressed her lips
against her hand, making sure that her kiss would be felt, and
then she touched her husband’s name one last time. Slowly her
arm retreated down to her side, and after standing in peace for a
minute, she reached into her purse and pulled something out.
She placed it on the ground, glanced at the wall once more, and
slowly turned and walked away.
I moved closer towards John Garcia’s name. Beneath me I saw a
white rose with a maroon red bow tied around it. Next to it lay a
white card with calligraphy writing. I leaned over to read what had
been written;
"In honor of the best husband, father and friend I have ever met: I
love you John Garcia."
I smiled as a tear rolled down the side of my face. I never
guessed that a complete stranger could have such an effect on
me without even knowing. In those twenty minutes I learned more
about life and about myself than I could have ever aspired to
learn in months. I learned what it means to truly love someone. I
discovered that some people are cherished so much in life….
and death that the sight of their name can cause great emotion in
those they have touched.
John Garcia had made an impact that went deeper than the
engraved letters of his name. John Garcia affected the fate of
his country; John Garcia affected the soul of his wife; and
unintentionally, John Garcia affected my heart. To me he was no
longer just a name on the side of the wall. Even though I had
never met him, I knew he was a hero, and that he deserved so
much more recognition than he received, as did the other
thousands of names that stood in front of me. Looking around, I
no longer saw thousands of words; I saw thousands of brothers,
grandparents, husbands and sons. I saw inspiring people who
each had been adored by their loved ones. Only then did I realize
the essence of the Vietnam Memorial. It is not a name that needs
to be remembered, it is a person.
I then quickly began frantically reading the names on the wall,
trying not to miss one of the remarkable soldiers that
undoubtedly deserved so much more than just a glance. I wanted
to understand and learn about each man who had lost his life,
but then I became aware of the amazing magnitude of the
memorial.
As it was time to leave, I thought of the countless soldiers’ names
that I did not even have time to read, let alone get to know. Even
though I couldn’t get to know each soldier in the war, my eyes
had been opened to a new world of perspective.
I walked away from the wall, the names growing smaller with every
step I took. Finally they were no longer visible, and I said good-
bye to the names I had read, and the heroes I had learned to
respect…..I said goodbye to John Garcia.
Valerie is thirteen years old. She visited The Wall while on a class
visit to Washington D.C. She is an 8th grade student [1999] at
The Castilleja School in Palo Alto, California.
This story was sent in by her teacher, Nancy Ware.
by: Valerie
The Castilleja School Palo Alto, CA
I never really imagined that a name could have so much
meaning. Walking along the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial I was
faced with thousands of names belonging to thousands of people
who had each given their lives for our country. I stood there,
surrounded by spectators, all quiet in respect and honor, but the
personal meaning didn’t reach any deeper than the engraved
letters on the wall. To me they were just labels, not the true souls
that they represented. I had never known the soldiers who had
lost their lives; I hadn’t even been alive to experience the war.
I slowly made my way deeper into the list, passing flowers and
small gifts left in remembrance. I saw a wreath left by Boy Scout
Troop #471, and a letter left by a little girl for her "grampa." For
some reason it surprised me that people would come to the
memorial to pay their respects to their loved ones. Wasn’t this
just a place for tourists to come take pictures of a very historical
monument? Besides, they were, after all just names.
Soon I began to become tired of the repetitive carvings in stone.
Row after row, it became harder and harder for me to imagine
that each identity listed had a true character and personality. I
began to walk on the less crowded side of the path that was
farther away from the wall. After snapping a few pictures with my
disposable camera, I thought I had experienced the essence of
the memorial.
Then I saw something that made my heart fall silent and my feet
freeze in their place. There, standing in front of Section 34 on the
right half of the wall, was a woman. Her royal blue outfit and white
gloves highlighted her brown skin, making her stand out from the
crowd as it rushed past her. It was as if she were in a completely
different world, surrounded by nothing except her thoughts. I
watched as she reached her gentle hand up and lightly touched
the wall in front of her. Slowly, she traced her fingers over a
name. She stroked it with such softness and purity, it was as if
she had never felt anything more precious in her life. Closing her
eyes, she took a breath, and I could see her imagine him
standing there in front of her. She didn’t move, as if afraid to lose
her husband all over again Her breathing became so deep and
relaxed, she seemed to be in a state of complete solitude. I tried
not to make any noise, even though I knew she wouldn’t notice. I
didn’t want to disturb what seemed to be such a placid and
tranquil moment.
By looking at the way she held her hand against the stone, I felt I
could see back into the many years they spent in each other’s
arms. I could see her smiling at him and touching his face; not
just his name. I saw them taking long walks and falling more in
love with each other every minute they were together. I could see
him holding her hand as long as he could, as he had to leave to
go and fight in the war. I could see her sitting at home, barely
being able to sit still, as she waited to hear news of him. I could
see her crying when she found out he had died.
Then, as if she had suddenly awoken from her dream, a tear
quickly ran down her cheek. She opened her eyes and looked at
the name of the one who had meant more than anything else in
the world to her. She began to cry as she leaned her head
against the wall. "Te amo," she said. "I will always love you John
Garcia."
With that she stood up and wiped her eyes. She pressed her lips
against her hand, making sure that her kiss would be felt, and
then she touched her husband’s name one last time. Slowly her
arm retreated down to her side, and after standing in peace for a
minute, she reached into her purse and pulled something out.
She placed it on the ground, glanced at the wall once more, and
slowly turned and walked away.
I moved closer towards John Garcia’s name. Beneath me I saw a
white rose with a maroon red bow tied around it. Next to it lay a
white card with calligraphy writing. I leaned over to read what had
been written;
"In honor of the best husband, father and friend I have ever met: I
love you John Garcia."
I smiled as a tear rolled down the side of my face. I never
guessed that a complete stranger could have such an effect on
me without even knowing. In those twenty minutes I learned more
about life and about myself than I could have ever aspired to
learn in months. I learned what it means to truly love someone. I
discovered that some people are cherished so much in life….
and death that the sight of their name can cause great emotion in
those they have touched.
John Garcia had made an impact that went deeper than the
engraved letters of his name. John Garcia affected the fate of
his country; John Garcia affected the soul of his wife; and
unintentionally, John Garcia affected my heart. To me he was no
longer just a name on the side of the wall. Even though I had
never met him, I knew he was a hero, and that he deserved so
much more recognition than he received, as did the other
thousands of names that stood in front of me. Looking around, I
no longer saw thousands of words; I saw thousands of brothers,
grandparents, husbands and sons. I saw inspiring people who
each had been adored by their loved ones. Only then did I realize
the essence of the Vietnam Memorial. It is not a name that needs
to be remembered, it is a person.
I then quickly began frantically reading the names on the wall,
trying not to miss one of the remarkable soldiers that
undoubtedly deserved so much more than just a glance. I wanted
to understand and learn about each man who had lost his life,
but then I became aware of the amazing magnitude of the
memorial.
As it was time to leave, I thought of the countless soldiers’ names
that I did not even have time to read, let alone get to know. Even
though I couldn’t get to know each soldier in the war, my eyes
had been opened to a new world of perspective.
I walked away from the wall, the names growing smaller with every
step I took. Finally they were no longer visible, and I said good-
bye to the names I had read, and the heroes I had learned to
respect…..I said goodbye to John Garcia.
Valerie is thirteen years old. She visited The Wall while on a class
visit to Washington D.C. She is an 8th grade student [1999] at
The Castilleja School in Palo Alto, California.
This story was sent in by her teacher, Nancy Ware.
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| Joining the Fontana Hispanic Chamber is a Smart Business Investment |
| Our Heroes |
| Unidos Ganamos – Separados Perdemos “There are People who wonder what will happen. There are those who let things happen. And there are those who make things happen.” Which one are you? |
| Lieutenant General Pedro del Valle August 28, 1893 April 28, 1978 Lieutenant General *** San Juan Puerto Rico United States 11th Marine Regiment III Amphibious Corp Artillery 1st Marine Division Battle of Guadalcanal Battle of Guam Battle of Okinawa Years of Service 1915 - 1948 |
| The Final Ace in a Day of World War II Major Oscar Perdomo Flying Ace Oscar Francis Perdomo was born in El Paso, Texas. He was the first of five children. His father had been an officer in General Francisco Pancho Villa's Division del Norte. On 13 August 1945, 1st Lt. Oscar Perdomo, flying the Republic P-47N Thunderbolt long-range fighter, shot down four Nakajima “Frank” fighters and one Yokosuka Type 93 biplane trainer. This action took place near Keijo/Seoul, Korea when 38 Thunderbolts of the 507th Fighter Wing, USAAF, encountered approximately 50 enemy aircraft. This action was Lt. Perdomo's tenth amd last combat mission, and the five confirmed victories made him an “Ace in a Day”. Lt. Perdomo also achieved the distinction of being the last “Ace” of World War II. For his personal actions during the 13 August 1945 combat, 1st Lt. Perdomo received the Air Medal with one oak leaf cluster and the Distinguished Flying Cross, for extraordinary heroism in action, making him one of the highest decorated Hispanic “aces” in the history of air warfare. Died March 2, 1976 at the USC Medical Center Los Angeles, California at the age of 56 |
| 1st Lieutenant Francisco Mercado Jr. 1920 - 2005 United States Army Air Force (USAAF) and recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross He was assigned to the 491st Bomb Group (Heavy) which was equipped with the Consolidated B-24. Mercado was born in East Los Angeles, California and baptized as "David Mercado". He graduated from Garfield High School in 1939. When he joined the United States Army as an aviation cadet, much to his surprise, the name on his birth certificate was Francisco Mercado. His Father who spoke little English had given his name for the certificate instead of his son’s by mistake. To the army he would be known as Francisco Mercado, Jr. Mercado flew 35 combat missions as a Bombardier over enemy occupied Continental Europe as a member of the 853rd Bomb Squadron, 491st Bomb Group, 8th Air Force. He was awarded the Air Medal with four Oak Leaf Cluster and the Distinguished Flying Cross. He flew ten missions as the Squadron Lead Bombardier, and one as the Group Lead Bombardier on December 30, 1944 on a mission to the Railroad Bridge at Altenahr, Germany. |
| Commander Eugene A. Valencia Born April 13, 1921 Died September 15, 1972 U.S. Navy Ace Fighter Pilot Third Ranking Ace of All Time with 23 Victories A native of San Francisco, 1st Lieutenant, Valencia was a leading United States Navy fighter ace in World War II. During his first combat deployment to the Pacific, he flew Grumman Hellcats from the USS Essex (CV-9) in 1943–44. At the end of the first cruise in February 1944, Lieutenant (JG) Valencia was an ace with seven victories, including three in the largest dogfight over the Truk Atoll. Promoted to full lieutenant, Valencia trained three other pilots in his "mowing machine" tactics and thereby formed the deadliest naval fighter division of WW II. "The Fighting 9" flew from USS Lexington (CV-16) and USS Yorktown (CV-10) During 1945 Valencia's team accounted for 43 of the squadron's 130 victories. Valencia himself joined the ranks of the "aces in a day" with six kills. At war's end all his pilots were aces. Valencia retired from the Navy in 1962 and died at an aces reunion in San Antonio, Texas in 1972, at the age of 51. |
| WE LIVE IN THE LAND OF THE FREE, ONLY BECAUSE OF THE BRAVE |