It was Friday, May 29th, the beginning of the 1970 Memorial Day Weekend. President Nixon had decreed that on Memorial Day all American flags should be flown at half-staff as a reminder of the thousands of young men who had died in Vietnam. As if the country needed a further reminder of the carnage that was chronicled daily in our living rooms on the Huntley-Brinkley Report or CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite
President Nixon had spoken the previous night at a Billy Graham Crusade held in the University of Tennessee football stadium before a crowd of more than 75,000. Nixon urged the young people in attendance to “turn to those great spiritual sources that have made America the great country it is.” After the speech Nixon, for his part, turned to the Congress to ask for authority to end all student draft deferments.
As a college freshman with a student deferment I was not amused. I found it considerably less amusing that my older brother was then serving his second tour of duty in Vietnam. Every evening our family gathered to watch the national network newscast, nervously awaiting every scrap of news from Vietnam, wondering exactly where my brother might be and praying that he was not involved in the worst of what we saw each day.
Thirty-nine years ago Mary Ann and I spent the evening of May 29th together at Perkerson Park. It was a beautiful Friday evening, comfortably cool, and the night air was filled with the magic of fireflies and limerance. It was as far from Vietnam as Saturn is from Venus, yet outside the tranquility of that park there was little peace in our lives.
We met there just as night was falling, huddled together on a concrete bench to eat the takeout pizza I’d picked up at Shakey’s, then walked hand in hand through the beautiful old park, stopping for brief kisses in the conveniently dark spots we found along the path. As the evening floated by we sat together on the ground, leaning against a giant old tree until the moon had moved halfway across the sky.
We talked about my brother, and we talked about the war. We talked about President Nixon, the draft, the anti-war protests and the social upheaval that was going on all around us every day. We talked about the turmoils that were then in our own lives at that excruciatingly difficult time for America and for the two of us personally. And, finally, we prayed.
As we sat together on the ground holding hands we prayed that there would be an early end to that war, that my brother would come home safely to his wife and two little children, that a way might be found to achieve and sustain peace in Vietnam and throughout the world. And, we thanked God for the gift of one another and the love that would see us through darker days ahead.
Last night, just at midnight, Mary Ann and I were walking together again as we often do when the night is cool and the stars are bright—on nights that always bring to mind wonderful moments spent together in our peaceful refuge at Perkerson Park so long ago.
As we walked together holding hands in the cool night air I thought again of that prayer we’d spoken together in 1970, and my mind turned to the families of our soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan, to the words of our President assuring us that their return will come soon, and the nervous anticipation with which each scrap of news from those war torn areas is received by mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and chidren of our service men and women who are tonight in harm’s way.
And, I thought again how magical it is to be so in love as we were then.
So little has changed in thirty-nine years.
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
Has there ever been a thirty-nine year period when the world was free of war? It seems like little has changed since the world began. One day when the Lord returns we’ll see a real and lasting change.
My husband is in Afghanistan. I appreciate the sentiments. It’s easy for those who have no loved ones in the military to forget that every soldier is a real person with someone at home worrying about them day and night.
It’s that life people are enjoying at home that our troops are fighting for. Our prayers should be that each one will come home and be able to enjoy what their courage gave to others.
I am a Vietnam vet, and I was in Vietnam 39 years ago today. I did two tours as well, mostly in ’67 and ’70. I have a grandson in Iraq now. I hope Obama will bring our soldiers home from Iraq a quickly as possible, and that he will send enough troops to Afghanistan and have the resolve to do whatever has to be done there to put down the Taliban and drive Al Quaeda out of the country. Everybody should keep all of our soldiers in the prayers every day until the day they can all come home. I hope that day comes soon.