A local Band of Brothers

Murphy Roger Swanson had no plans to build what became Band of Brothers Veterans Park.

“I’m old enough to know better,” he said with a laugh. However, piece by piece, artifact by artifact, Swanson built the park into a destination place for visitors and other veterans.

When pressed about his age, he said, “I’m 73 or 74, but I don’t worry too much about it.” Swanson is wearing a sweatshirt that says, “I Stand Up for Betsy Ross.” His compound, located on his property off of Carriage Lane, provides him plenty of reasons to stand.

The park – part war memorial, part museum and part gathering place – started with a flagpole.

“I’ve been a builder all my life,” Swanson said. “I got me an extra bit of pipe and put up this flagpole.”

He’s pointing to a towering pole with a giant U.S. flag swaying over his bucolic land, which includes a pond and several playhouses he built for and with each of his grandchildren. “I got three daughters and seven grandkids,” Swanson said.

Since they are all grown, he commandeered several of the playhouses, converting one into a tiny chapel complete with pews and a pulpit. The seven glass windows are etched with the names of his grandkids.

Personal memories

Swanson is a sentimental man. One grandchild’s house is full of framed photos and medals from men he knew who died in combat.

“I played marbles with this one,” he said, pointing to a photo of a smiling young face that looks more boy than man. “And I played football with that one.”

The park itself houses 13 vehicles, two helicopters and one boat. Swanson gets cagey when asked how he acquired so many artifacts from the war, including a Jeep used in the Korean War and one identical to a jeep his father drove in World War II.

“Oh, I bought that in a McDonald’s parking lot in Atlanta,” he said, pointing vaguely to one of his collections.

“I stumbled on this mutt,” he added, pointing to another vehicle.

Swanson’s friends let him know when they find something they think he’ll like. Laughing, he said, “I just have trashy friends.”

  Once he started buying the artifacts, other veterans began to take notice.

“That’s how I got these stretchers and these guns you see mounted,” Swanson said, pointing toward the roof that covers a portion of his park. It’s full of flags and stars and war paraphernalia. “People would come out here and ask if I’d display their stuff.”

However, much of his collection is personal. Under a glass cover, Swanson looks at a photo of himself in a rice paddy in Vietnam.

“Look at this one,” he said with insistence. The picture shows two canteens, both ripped apart with bullet holes. “We got lucky that day,” he added, chuckling.

Combat veterans

On this day, Swanson is joined by a group of motorcycle riding, no-nonsense veterans who roared up while he strolled the grounds.

“When I got out of the war, I didn’t want anything to do with it,” Swanson said, walking toward the cluster of veterans who are part of the Murphy chapter of the Combat Vets Association. They wear black leather vests, which state a location on the back.

“Iraq,” one vest reads. “Vietnam,” reads another. Some veterans have more than one location listed. “Desert Storm, Afghanistan.” And by these simple geographic destinations, one can place these men in a time and place in history where few others wanted to be.

“That’s Garth, there,” Swanson said, waving his arm toward the only man not wearing a vest. Garth Cooke helps Swanson out when school busses arrive for students to tour the grounds.

“I got a screw loose, so I count on Garth to take them around,” Swanson said. They both served in Vietnam.

“I was 17 when I joined,” Cooke said.

“He’s a lot older than me,” Swanson added, jibing his friend. “He’s not my blood kin, you understand, but he’s my brother.”

The men – some grizzled, all bearded – wander to the picnic table and swinging benches Swanson has set before a large fireplace. They settle in with an attitude of familiarity.  They are comfortable here; it’s a place they feel at home. Dave “Scout” Nelson, is their commander.

“Roger lets us use this place,” he said, looking up at the roof with a serious face. “We do a fundraiser out here every year.”

The men are bunched on the benches and swings. Above them, hanging from wooden star structures, are dozens of dog tags. Swanson follows Nelson’s gaze.

“It’s why I do this,” he said. “There were so many good people. I wanted to create something for the vets.”

‘Get out here!’

Nelson walks toward the helicopters.

“I was a pilot in the war,” he said, climbing into the UH-1 helicopter officially called Iroquois but commonly called a “Huey.”

“All the Army helicopters were named after Native American tribes,” he said.

Nelson sits in the Huey, considered the workhorse of the Vietnam war. He points to a bungee cord hanging from the open doorway.

“That’s how we’d mount the gun,” he said. Nelson knocks on the back of the pilot’s seat. “It’s metal to protect the pilot.”

Nelson sits quietly inside the massive structure. “I spent a lot of time in one of these,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

Not all of the war equipment was suitable for use when the men needed it.

“Look at this heater,” Swanson said, pointing to the back of a Vietnam medic transport vehicle. “Some politician decided to put a heater in the back of this thing that was used in the rice paddies. I’ll let you think about that one.”

Standing outside an M-35 2½-ton cargo truck nicknamed a “deuce-and-a-half,” veteran Keith Desert Dog Hunter, a Navy Seabee combat engineer, said the sailors and soldiers had to reinforce vehicles to keep them safe.

“We used sandbags and even welded scrap metal to the sides,” he said.

As the sky turns dark, the men move quickly to their motorcycles.

“Get out here!” Swanson yelled cheerfully at the group. They all wave and rumble away like a flock of birds startled from a tree, as Swanson turns back toward Band of Brothers Veterans Park.