Courtesy Patrol
A Postscript to War
A lot of ink has been spilled, trying to make sense of the Vietnam experience, much of it missing the point. Still, as the years have cushioned our memory, some of us dared hope that perhaps we’d learned. But the interminable “war on terror” post 9/11 suggests otherwise. And whatever we have learned, we bury in after-action reports with anodyne names.
The loss of limb, traumatic brain injury and PTSD have all been well documented…and to our collective shame, largely ignored, except at football games and on Veteran’s Day. But for me, most troubling are the legions of spiritually damaged hiding in plain sight, many nursing wounds as deadly as the combat that changed them forever.
The shop windows lining the street ooze neglect. Winter grime baked on to the glass by three months of summer sun obscures the dusty displays and the fading letters of hand-painted signs. “Surplus: Uniforms Bought and Sold. Military pawn.” Gum wrappers and tobacco smears on the sidewalk complete the third world feel.
The mini-skirted man-bait stands outside Tilden’s Jewelry. “Sign our Buddy Book?” she calls in a honeyed voice. Three Marines on their first liberty from Infantry Training Regiment slow down and one of them stops to talk. I shake my head.
