Ralph Robert Wensinger

West Point, 1959

Be Thou At Peace

Posted by Rosalyn Wensinger Sands on October 28, 2018:

IN REMEMBRANCE OF MY BIG BROTHER, RALPH ROBERT WENSINGER Ralphie, Dear Brother, I want you to know just how much you are still missed and grieved for on this 50th year after your reconnaissance O-2 airplane was shot down during the Vietnam War, and you were killed. This heart-crushing tragedy happened in October 1968, a week before your 33rd birthday. I have the last picture taken of you standing outside your quarters at Bien Hoa in your flight suit looking so young and handsome. Ralphie, I remember when the family drove you to Travis AFB for you to catch the Flying Tiger transport plane to Vietnam. I remember when they called your name over and over again to board the airplane, as you wanted to spend every last minute with your family giving us hugs and kisses and saying good-bye. I remember watching that big silver bird disappear into the sky never realizing this would be the last time I would see you. I trusted you when you put our worried minds at rest by telling everyone that you would be safe, that the enemy wouldn't dare shoot you down because they would reveal their positions. I truly believed you, but the opposite was really the truth. Your job as a Forward Air Controller was the most dangerous of all. Ralphie, I never thought I would be the last of our family of five: Mom, Pop (as you preferred to call Papa), Marilyn (our older sister), you (my older brother) and me. Hardly a day goes by without some memory of you. I remember when we were just young children and how much fun you were to be with, and how you were such a rascal. During Easter, Mom would color a dozen eggs, and you would clandestinely hide them around our backyard for me to find. As I would find them and put them in my Easter basket, you would sneak some out and re-hide them all over again just to continue all the excitement going for me. There are pictures of this event in our family album. How you said you were going to teach me how to fish. You tied a string to a yardstick with a safety pin on the end, and had me sit there and fish in a deep puddle after a rainstorm. How we used to go and catch polliwogs and tadpoles in Crystal Springs Creek, then hitchhike home by each sticking our thumbs out to catch a ride along Crystal Springs Road. Two little old ladies stopped their car to give us a ride, but lectured you soundly for teaching your little sister to hitchhike. How you would ride me on your bicycle's handlebars as you delivered The San Mateo Times on your newspaper route. I have pictures in our family album of this event. How you would take me swimming at the community pool on Coyote Point. You convinced me to jump off the 10' high diving board, even though I was frightened, because I trusted you and knew you would be there to catch and save me. How you commiserated with me after my goldfish died and another time when my cat killed my Easter chicks, and you even participated in the funeral procession and helped me bury them. How we used to play football on our front lawn. You would dress me in all your Pop Warner football gear including shoulder pads and helmet. You would pass the football to me and tell me to run towards the goal post, and then WHOMP, you would practice your tackling skills on me. There are pictures in our family album of this event. I am now glad that I could assist you because you received the 1949 Pop Warner North-South All Star Game Outstanding Player Award by quarterbacking your team. There are pictures in our family album of you receiving that award and trophy. I still have your trophy, as I am looking at it now. Dear Big Brother, I have such happy memories of you. Ralphie, as we got older, I used to help you wash and polish "Priscilla" our 1952 blue Plymouth family car. You were always programmed to squirt me with the hose and the water fights were on. We always wore our bathing suits because one way or another we were going to get wet, or at least have to hose down. Remember when I would help you with mowing the lawn and other yard work--you would collect snails and shove them down the back of my bathing suit and squash them. I tried to do the same to you, but you were too agile and fast for me. Remember all the other fights we used to have--mud fights, onion fights, blackberry fights, even an occasional pillow fight. I put up with an awful lot of teasing from you, but those were the happy times. Ralphie, after you left home and enlisted in the Army and joined the Paratroopers, you were still a teenager, and the family hadn't seen you in over a year. I was in the Third Grade at the time. One day Mom got a call from a friend who thought she saw you at the Greyhound bus station. Mom jumped in the car and told me to stay in the house in case anymore phone calls came in. After a while, I heard a knock at the front door. When I opened the door, there you were looking all handsome in your green-wool army uniform with your heavy duffel bag, and I threw myself into your arms so happy to see you. Soon after, Mom drove up, and you told me not to tell her because you wanted to surprise her, and you hid in another room. I put on my best sad-acting face and shook my head when Mom asked if I heard anything. Mom looked miserable, and she said she was going to lie down for a while. Afterwords, you went and knelt down by her bed, and when she opened her eyes, there you were. I remember how happy Mom was to see you. You and Mom always had a special bond. That was the best Christmas ever, as how thoughtful you were because your duffel bag was filled with presents for everyone. There is a picture in our family album of you standing in your uniform by our Christmas tree. Those were the happiest days. Ralphie, long afterwards, Mom often told me that she still had dreams of you kneeling by her bedside telling her not to worry that you are alright. I too still have dreams of you standing there with a big smile on your face in your Army greens each time I open the front door, just like in those Maxwell House Coffee commercials. Ralphie, these past 50 years have so quickly slipped by after I got that gut-wrenching, heart-crushing call from Mom. I remember Bob and I just purchased our first home in Missouri. While Bob was studying inside, I was outside shoveling decorative rock into a wheelbarrow and placing the rocks around my new landscaping. It was just getting dark when Bob had an urgency in his voice that you were on the phone and wanted to talk to me. I immediately thought something happened to Pop. I heard Mom's calm, low voice telling me in measured, valium-induced words that you were killed. I remember my knees buckled from underneath me, I started trembling and shaking violently and started screaming No No No!!! I couldn't breathe. I kept gasping for breath. I don't remember much after that except that I couldn't function. All I could do was lie in bed, curled up in the fetal position and cry for days on end hoping that I would wake up from those awful kaleidoscopic nightmares, hoping to find that you were alright and still alive. A melancholy pall has followed me all these years, and even today, the sharp edges of my grief haven't softened when I think of you. I have made several trips to West Point to visit your grave. Still occasionally, I have a complete meltdown. Ralphie, you were the best Big Brother ever. You were smart, handsome, athletic, clever, fun to be with, so kind, generous and thoughtful, humorous, honest, a man of character and above all brave. You were my HERO, and I love and miss you. Today would have been your 83rd Birthday, but you are still a young man in my heart looking so handsome with your black hair and green eyes, standing there with a big smile on your face. Happy Birthday, Ralphie.

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