The single most tragic event of my life took place in 1970. It
was the day I heard my younger brother Wieland was killed in Vietnam. It was
a day like no other. No family should have to feel what my mother, my other
brother (Aaron) and I did that day. And yet so many do, every day, in every
year.
At the height of the Vietnam War, both of my brothers, Wieland
and Aaron, enlisted in the U.S. Army. Aaron was stationed in Korea, and
Wieland was sent to Vietnam. As Wieland headed off to Nam, I hugged and
kissed him and said: "I'm going to miss you. Be careful."
In 1970, I was refereeing a tournament in California, when I
heard an announcement over the loudspeaker: "Chuck Norris, you have an
urgent call." I hustled over to the phone. I recognized the muffled voice of
my mother-in-law, and she was crying. "What's wrong, Evelyn?" I asked her.
"Your brother Wieland has been killed in Vietnam." If I had been kicked in
the stomach by a dozen karate champions at the same time, it would not have
impacted me more. I staggered back away from the phone, hoping that somehow
would make Evelyn's words untrue. It didn't.
I hung up the phone, moving in what felt like slow motion. For a
long time, I couldn't function. I simply sat in shock, thinking about my
little brother Wieland, my best friend, whom I never would see again in this
life. Right there, in front of anyone who cared to see, I wept
uncontrollably.
When Wieland was 12 years old, he had a premonition that he
would not live to be 28. Wieland died June 3, 1970, one month before his
28th birthday. As Jesus said, "There is no greater love than the one who
lays down his life for another."
It's fitting that every year, Memorial Day falls a week or so
before the anniversary of when a soldier like Wieland gave his life in
action. (It was to my brother Wieland that I also dedicated all my "Missing
in Action" films.)
I've been honored over the three decades since that day to show
my support in a host of ways for our veterans and service members from every
war since World War II. Thanking our military is why, in 2006 and 2007, I
also visited our troops in the Middle East. I went to 28 bases and shook
hands with nearly 40,000 troops. It was an experience I will remember for
the rest of my life.
I'll be honest with you. I understand why people are against the
wars we're in. But I simply don't understand how anyone could neglect to
support the fine men and women in our armed forces. It is not only
unpatriotic. It is unjust.