The Living and the Dead

I'm of that age when the worry of being drafted into the gaping maw that was Vietnam occupied a good portion of my high school thoughts. Even though our school had surfing as a PE option, and I had hair down my back and I smoked pot with my typing teacher—my laid back world did have that storm cloud hovering. 

My brother, a year older, had just been drafted. He actually volunteered for the draft as his number was 7 out of 365, a ploy often used by draftees to get a guarantee for assignment in exchange for reducing some of the paperwork. He got a promise he would be stationed in Germany, and in eight weeks he was, of course, on his way to Vietnam. The military has a long history of lying to its grunts. It's always been that way—I don't know why we expect it to be different when we're personally confronted with choices. He returned from Vietnam, but he had to kill people, and in ways that contravened the Geneva Conventions.

I was luckier. The last year of the draft was 1970 and I was relieved when I got notice that my number was near 300 and not likely to be taken. Both of my brothers served in Southeast Asia, so I was not far removed, but I did not have to fear for my life in a place that many now believe our country should not have gone. 

It comes around, as we ought to expect it should. Too many of us believe our leaders without question, and we've seen a special irony over the last decade when those leaders questioned the patriotism and courage of those that would raise questions. I believe that dissenters are Americans, they have courage and they are patriots. There are many among us who would ridicule those thoughts, but I'm convinced of the truth of that statement both personally and by examples found in our common history.

An Epiphany

I've traveled to our Capitol several times, accompanying my bride on her business trips there. One trip stands out.

When our son Colin was in fifth grade, my bride and I took him to Washington. He was going to miss some class time so I arranged with his teacher for Colin to keep a journal of what he saw and experienced.

One of the most profound moments for us both came when we visited the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial, there on the Mall between the Lincoln Memorial, the World War II Memorial and the Washington Monument. We went very early in the morning, when few people were about.

We stood at the end of the V-shaped memorial, the polished black granite growing in size toward the center, before it turned and diminished in the distance. 

There was a man not far from us, leaning into the wall, both palms touching, and his head bowed in private, perhaps anguished, contemplation.

Colin observed that from our angle the black granite reflected the man’s image perfectly—and that it was almost as if the dead on one side were touching the living.

Well, what an epiphany that was for me—the living among the dead—a revelation of truth and an example of empathy. 

In Memoriam

Much of what we see in the public spaces in Washington DC commemorates the dead. Most of those so honored died in noble service—but how many of them died in vain when there were options other than sending our children into the death machine of war?

On a later visit to DC I spent much of the day at the Arlington National Cemetery. It is a quiet place and it provokes a vast range of thoughts and emotions. 

I arrived via the Metro and found a special exhibit in the relatively new entrance section that commemorates Women In Military Service For America Memorial. The exhibit displayed most of the American soldiers killed in action in Iraq up to the beginning of 2007. The small artist portraits of each one, with little shrines, notes, small gifts left at many of them were heartbreaking. It really drained me looking at it and by the end of my time in the exhibit, I was quite angry at our leaders as I felt that there were many on display who had died in vain, sent to a place they need not have gone.

The Field of Stars at the National WWII Memorial. There are 4,000 stars and they represent the 400,000 lives lost.

National WWII Memorial

Coda

I hope my negative comments in this post are not misinterpreted. I honor the men and women who serve. My own father was from Ireland and never served in the military. As I mentioned, both of my brothers served honorably. And my bride's family has a long tradition of service. Her father and all four of his brothers were officers in the Navy or Army. One uncle is left, Major General William Becker, Ret. He is a formidable man worthy of every honor and a man I deeply respect. I'm not sure there are many who cared for those who served under him as Uncle Bill did. And there are extended family members in the war theaters now. 

We didn't have a choice in the draft era, but with the military being all volunteer now, it becomes a choice to serve. And there are many reasons, many more than patriotism, though I think that is the common thread. It is a deliberate choice to make the sacrifice for many. Some want the education or other promised benefits, some need to escape an old life for a new start, some are carrying on a family tradition—whatever the reason—there are men and women who choose to put their lives on the line to protect us all.

It is the most treasured responsibility of our leaders to make sure that not one is lost for venal political manipulation. 

Godspeed those that serve, to bring them home safe and sound in mind and body. God bless those who have been injured for us, and those that have died for us. Thank you, and thank you to the families. 

With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan – to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.

all images copyright © 2004, 2007 and 2008 by barry b. doyle • all rights reserved

A sad note: I wrote this post before learning of OS friend Josie Ortez's untimely death this past Wednesday, May 20. I weep at the passing of such a bright light here on Open Salon. She simply had more love in her than she could contain, so she spread it around, giving freely to us all. She was fierce in her loyalty to her friends, I'm lucky to have been one.

Death is always with us, and our time will come, but with that thought—the inevitability—the loss is still profound and deeply felt when we lose a friend. She is beautiful, and Dakini Dancer is dancing still. What we can do is choose to carry some of her light, some of her love as we walk our daily paths. This is her continuing gift to us, her legacy, and a choice we should make. Thank you Josie. Namaste.