Fifty-three years after his death in Vietnam, David Whitman's impact and loss is still felt
If Edith Fleet's wish could be granted, she would get to see her younger brother, David, one more time.
Not many words would be spoken, but that's OK with Fleet.
"We wouldn't be talking, we'd be crying and hugging each other," Fleet said. "That's the type of family that we are, and that's the type of person that he was."
David Stewart Whitman, a member of the 2nd Battalion, 9th Marines, 3rd Marine Division, was just 19 years old when he was shot and killed in Quang Tri, South Vietnam.
His name is carved on a stone pillar at the East Tennessee Veterans Memorial in World's Fair Park, alongside the names of thousands of other East Tennesseans who died fighting in America's conflicts from World War I to Afghanistan.
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As you walk through the memorial, it's hard to not get overwhelmed by the number of names engraved on the stone columns, each one representing a life tragically and abruptly cut short.
Memorial Day is about not just remembering the soldiers who died fighting for our country. It's about remembering who they were and the life they left behind.
We can't tell every story of the thousands of names at the memorial, so I picked just one to write about. That name happened to be Whitman's.
Even more than 50 years after his death, Whitman's loss is still keenly felt, and his impact powerfully felt.
Nothing but a sweetheart
Born May 25, 1949, Whitman was the second youngest of seven children. The 6-foot, happy-go-lucky Whitman was a spitting image of his father, Charles.
Whitman grew up with his siblings in a two-bedroom house at 416 Hembree St., just behind what is now Austin-East Magnet High School.
"We were just one big old family." Fleet said. "We had what you might call a den, which was sometimes used as a bedroom, but in the evening we would all gather there."
Fleet, who will turn 81 in July, said her brother was nothing but a sweetheart who loved his brothers and sisters. He used that sweetness and kind nature to his advantage in the family, Fleet recalls, and his siblings jokingly called him "the con."
As soon as his father came home, Fleet said Whitman was there, helping him relax. No matter what his mother was wearing, he would compliment her, telling her how beautiful she looked, trying to get her to make his favorite dinner, spaghetti.
"We used to laugh at him, conning Momma to get what he wanted to eat," Fleet said. "He was just a sweetheart. We just loved him."
In his neighborhood, Whitman was a mentor for many younger kids, like Clyde Anderson, who looked up Whitman while growing up.
Anderson, who turns 70 in June, was part of an elementary school recreational basketball team. When the team was having trouble winning games, Whitman stepped in and guided the team, even working with Anderson after practice to improve his game.
"David stepped in and showed us how to win," Anderson said. "He showed us the teamwork. He showed me which leg to go off on with the layups."
Whitman was somebody who loved hard, and people loved him hard back. He was always there for his community, helping to lift them up.
"He was like a community mentor," Anderson said. "Some of the big boys bully you, some of the big boys teach you. You know what I'm saying? He was one of the ones that was teaching."
While coming home to visit from nursing school in Washington, D.C., Fleet had to tell her friend to be ready for David's greeting.
"I had told her, 'now when we get in here, my brother's gonna be hugging on you.' Because that's the way he do it, he's gonna jump in the car and hug on you," she said. "She was wide-eyed, 'What's going on?' I said, 'that's just the way we love each other.'"
Legend of the playground
During his time at East High School, predecessor to Austin-East, Whitman left his mark and was widely beloved.
"I don't think David met anybody that was an enemy," Anderson said. "I'm pretty sure he had people that he didn't get along with, but dang, they were far and few between."
Whitman played football for East, which was a dominant team. During his junior year, the team went 9-2, at the time was the best record in school history, according to the 1966-67 yearbook. During Anderson's time at East, he said the team was full of great players and, "didn't know what losing was."
And while he was a few years behind Whitman, Anderson said he was lucky to play on the same team as Whitman. He may not have been the best player, but the spirit Whitman brought to his team was just as important — if not more.
"He was a legend of the playground," Anderson said. "We knew if we had a team and we had David on it, our chances of winning went up about twofold."
Whitman attended East High School just after the Civil Rights Act mandated in 1964 that all Knoxville public schools be desegregated. East was a primarily white school and was being integrated at the time.
Anderson said there was racial tension in the school at the time, but David was friends with both Black and white students, and they were friends with him.
The day the news of Whitman's death reached East, Anderson said it "tore the school up." As he was sitting in class, someone came into the room, saying that Whitman had been killed in Vietnam.
"It was so devastating," Anderson said. "The teacher was upset, but not because their class had been disrupted, because of the information that was passed."
Shipping out
Whitman was his mother's youngest, and she didn't let him forget, always calling him 'baby.' One of the reason's he ended up joining the military, Fleet said, was to try and shake the name.
"Somebody had told him join the Marines and become a man," Fleet said. "So he joined the Marines, so Mama wouldn't call him her baby no more."
Once he joined, Whitman left for Southern California to do his basic training at Camp Pendleton.
Whitman wrote to his family regularly. Every note that Fleet received ended the same way, "I will bring this letter to an end, but not the love I have for you and my family. Love always, David."
Whitman brought back military yearbooks, showing his time in training. To make sure nobody missed him, he circled himself in every photo, sometimes adding notes alongside his name. In one photo, he circled his bicep, with a note pointing out how big his arm had gotten.
After training, Whitman traveled to Washington, D.C., to visit Fleet while she was attending nursing school, then went home to spend Christmas with his family.
A few weeks later, on Jan. 20, 1969, Whitman began his tour in Vietnam. The tour would last just 38 days until he was shot in the stomach and killed on Feb. 28, about 25 miles from Vandergriff Base, according to News Sentinel archives. He was one of 671 East Tennesseans killed in Vietnam, 95 of them from Knox County.
On March 4, the same day they were notified of his death, Whitman's family received a letter that detailed how Whitman had narrowly escaped from harm three weeks prior to his death, requiring rescue by a helicopter to get to safety.
Taken too soon
A row of six white gravestones line the far south corner of the Knoxville National Cemetery. Second from the right is where Whitman is buried, with a cross inset in a circle carved on the top of the stone.
When a service member like Whitman is killed in action, who they could have become and their legacy gets cut short. Their absence can be painfully felt decades after their death.
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Whitman's funeral was held on March 11, 1969, at 2 p.m. at Tabernacle Baptist Church on Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue.
At the funeral, Anderson, who had joined the service because of Whitman, showed up in his Marine uniform. This didn't sit well with LuCinda, Whitman's younger sister, who became agitated at the sight of his uniform.
"When she saw me in that uniform, she physically attacked me," Anderson said. "That's how much she loved her brother. She just came at me like, you know, 'I lost David, and now you're gonna go put on that same uniform?' and she just came after me."
"That was kind of our last conversation, because she opened up a little new restaurant. I'd go into the restaurant and she'd look and see me walk in, and all of a sudden she had something to do on the back of the restaurant," he said. "There were people who, I guess just reminded her too much of David."
After Whitman died, LuCinda went silent for years, not really communicating with friends or family. Being the two youngest siblings LuCinda and David were closest to each other.
"As children they were thick as thieves," DaVett Jones, LuCinda's daughter said. "(David) was the partner in crime."
Jones said it was always challenging for her mother to talk about Whitman, but every once in a while she would hear tidbits about her uncle.
"She was about 16 or 17 when he passed away," Jones said. "It made it really challenging for her to talk about him as an adult."
Because he was so young when he died, Whitman had no wife and no children, but his memory lives on through his family.
Jones is Whitman's namesake, with DaVett's name derived from David. In fact, she said, "there were a litany of kids," named after her uncle, all starting with a "D" as a tribute to David.
Born about six years after Whitman was killed, Jones never got to meet her uncle, but is proud to carry his name.
"I love to tell people that I am a female David," Jones said. "I was first child born after he passed and I am his namesake."
Being able to share her uncle's story with Knox News was important to Jones, who told me it was a story she was always meant to share.
"It definitely means the world to me that you even wanted to (write about) him and somehow it ended up coming back to me, because I think that was my mom's intention." Jones said. "If there was ever anytime or anyway to be able to tell David's story, that there would be a DaVett to tell it."
Talking about Whitman is difficult for Fleet, who still gets emotional when remembering her younger brother. To this day, she said she avoids watching war films because they are a painful reminder of how she lost her brother.
She begins to tear up and her voice begins to shake as she remembers her brother. But over the years, she has began to look at his death with a new perspective, making it easier to cope.
"God only takes the best," Fleet said. "It's alright for him to be dead. I didn't like it at first... But that soon passed. You know that I had to realize through another death that God only takes the best."
Silas Sloan: Covering growth and development in East Tennessee
Twitter: @silasloan| Email: [email protected]
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This article originally appeared on Knoxville News Sentinel: Knoxville's David Whitman was killed in Vietnam, but his story lives on
