Clyde Leighton, 79
Meet Clyde Leighton, 79 years young.
Clyde’s story is one of resilience, sacrifice, and a lifelong dedication to service.
Born in Moncton, N.B., Clyde grew up in a family that knew hardship. His mother was an English war bride, and his father, a Canadian soldier, was wounded on D-Day, leaving him partially disabled. With limited income, the family struggled, and Clyde and his brothers worked from a young age to help support the household.
After high school, Clyde trained as an audiologist and sold hearing aids. While visiting a childhood friend recovering in a Boston military hospital after being wounded in the Vietnam War, Clyde found himself walking through the city's Combat Zone. There, a Marine Corps recruitment poster caught his eye. Driven by a sense of duty and purpose, he enlisted on the spot, an impulsive decision that would alter the course of his life.
Clyde served as a U.S. Marine in Vietnam for approximately 18 months, enduring the horrors of war with quiet determination. Promoted to sergeant, he traveled extensively and considered a long-term military career. However, due to family commitments, he reluctantly returned to Moncton, leaving behind the service he had grown to love.
Back home, Clyde began working for CN Rail as a carman, repairing railcars. A workplace accident resulted in the loss of several fingers on his right hand and, soon after, he met Carole, the woman who would become his lifelong partner. They connected over a shared love of ballroom dancing, a passion instilled in Clyde by his mother, a silver medalist in England. Together, Clyde and Carole built a life filled with music, movement, and joy, raising two sons and cherishing their time on the dance floor.
Despite his strength, Clyde has long battled PTSD from his time in Vietnam. Later in life, he and Carole moved to Halifax, where he worked at Costco, the casino, and as a commissionaire, earning multiple commendations. But years of physical toll took their effect. Numerous knee surgeries led to osteomyelitis, an incurable bone infection, and a mini-stroke left him blind in one eye. He now lives with constant, chronic pain.
Through it all, Clyde’s sense of duty never wavered. He still mourns the Marines who never came home, watching the U.S. Memorial Day concert every year with reverence and tears. His greatest wish was to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., to pay his respects and leave a token of remembrance for the brothers he lost in battle.
With the support of his beloved Carole, Clyde traveled to Washington and placed a heartfelt memorial photograph of his platoon group at the wall. It was a profoundly emotional experience. As he stood before the black granite panels etched with over 58,000 names, Clyde felt the presence of the men he served with, the ones he could no longer name, but whose memories were deeply imprinted in his heart. “So many of them,” Clyde said softly. “There are just so many of them.”
The trip brought both sorrow and healing. It was a moment of closure and connection, one that allowed Clyde to say goodbye, to grieve, and to honor the sacrifices made by so many.
Clyde’s wish reminds us that our veterans’ stories matter. Their pain, their pride, and their memories endure, and when we make space to listen, to honor, and to grant their final wishes, we affirm their worth in a world that too often forgets.
Photography: Jessica Shyy Photography
