Steadfast soldier understood sacrifice

Even as a boy, Matthew P. Wallace never knew what it was like to give up.

“He had a favorite pair of cowboy boots,” Mary Wallace said. “And he could never put them on the correct feet. But he kept on trying.”

That kind of determination — and the fact that he needed to be where the action was — drove the Lexington Park Army corporal to press his commanding officers for more responsibility — as a top gunman. They hesitated; Wallace was top-notch at both his jobs — as a technical operator and as his command sergeant's driver. But his persistence paid off.

But after only a few months on the front lines in Iraq, the 22-year-old fell victim to a roadside bomb as his convoy was on a combat mission in Baghdad.

“He suffered horrible burns over 85 percent of his body,” his mother said.

The Wallaces learned about their son’s condition on July 16, 2006 while vacationing in North Carolina.

“I’m a nurse,” said Mary Wallace, who works at St. Mary’s Hospital in Leonardtown. “My heart was hopeful, but in my mind I knew his chances [of survival] were slim.”

Five days after being wounded, Wallace, with his family beside him, died in a hospital in Germany.

“He wasn’t blind to what he was getting involved with,” his mother said. “He was committed to this cause, and Matthew made this decision on his own.”

When Wallace enlisted in the Army, he left behind not only his family, but also his longtime best friend, Matthew Korade. They met at church when they were only 4 years old.

“We hated each other at first because we had the same name,” Korade said. “But he became my best friend. Whenever I had a problem, we’d just sit at the end of his driveway and talk. Now I’m alone.”

Korade had purchased tickets to a concert by the hard-rock band Tool, ready to surprise his best buddy on Wallace’s return. Instead, Korade went to Arlington National Cemetery, where Wallace is buried, and laid the tickets on his

grave.

“I hate leaving [the cemetery] knowing my best friend is still there,” Korade said.

‘He wiped my tear and thanked me for my sacrifice’

Matthew P. Wallace’s mother, Mary, wrote this article after seeing a young Marine and his boy saluting at her son’s grave in Arlington. It is featured on a Web site — The Fellowship of the Devastated — Mary created after losing her son. What follows is an edited excerpt.

It is easy to tell the difference. Some are there aimlessly walking, taking in the sites, seeing the National Treasures for perhaps the first time. They chat and laugh. Some with cameras snap self-portraits and pictures of loved ones near scenes made famous in movies and documentaries.

Then, there are those who wear the expressions of family members gathered outside an intensive care unit, waiting for the inevitable news. “Will I cry this time?” They enter from the road only to notice that it doesn’t look the same since they were there last. There are more! “Oh my God, there’s a whole new row! How is this possible? It just hasn’t been that long.” It’s true though. The latest additions are still missing markers and sod. Yet, there they are. On their knees weeping are the newest members of “The Fellowship of the Devastated.”

The newly initiated elicit pity from somewhere in the human soul bypassing even one’s own pain. They are still in the throes of shock, denial and devastation. I hugged a mom ... She is relieved to find out six months into the grieving process, it is still normal to stare at your computer at work and be unable to remember what you were supposed to be doing.

[An] Air Force officer with his wife and two small children brought home our nation’s promise to never forget. As he passed by gravestones, his 4-year-old dressed in camo and combat boots would lay a red rose at the headstone of the fallen. Then together, father and son would give a long and heartfelt salute of gratitude. As they laid the rose and saluted my son, the tears began to fall. In the gentle spirited nature of a well-seasoned officer, he wiped my tear with his thumb and thanked me for my sacrifice for his children.

No, Memorial Day will never again be an extra day off to go to the beach. As we gather in Arlington’s Section 60 to remember our babies, hold each other and cry once more, it will mark the annual meeting of “The Fellowship of the Devastated.”

The Wallace Patriot Scholarship

In memory of Matthew’s commitment to education, this scholarship provides tuition for children of wounded or fallen soldiers. For information, visit www.cplmatthewwallace.com.

lduffy@baltimoreexaminer.com