LITMIR.BIZ

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a good half hour. I remember thinking they’ll really have to chop it. A few surprises, nothing major. We stopped briefly at a coffee shop for a sandwich. A familiar person was seated at a table near ours. On our way out, Plavin walked past and exchanged greetings. “Walter, I’d like you to meet Paul Bernard. We’re using him in a 60 Minutes segment on the Vietnam Memorial.”

      Walter Cronkite reached up and shook my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Paul. I’ve seen your work. Very good, indeed.”

      “I’ve been an admirer of yours a long time.”

      “That kind of comment never gets old.”

      Plavin took me by the shoulder. “Gotta go.”

      “When does the program air?” Cronkite asked.

      “Second Sunday in November,” Plavin replied, “a week before the dedication.”

      “I’ll look for it. Keep up the good work, Paul.”

      Plavin, Carlson and I drove out to the Wall, the camera crew following in a van. The rain had let up, the day was overcast and cool. Our breaths stood out in the chilly air and I was glad of the liner in my topcoat. We covered pretty much the same ground as we had in the prep work, then it was over. We said our adieus, I headed for the airport.

      EVERYONE WANTED TO KNOW HOW IT WENT. Didier asked for a blow-by-blow and I fielded calls from Tom O’Connor and Fred. One problem, the show wouldn’t air in Europe until the next Tuesday, so I’d be the last to see it. I’d have no way of defending myself against my friends or anyone else. Then out of the blue Tom invited me to a special screening in New York. “Diane too. No is not an option.”

      After the initial euphoria Diane had slid back into her usual funk. This time it was comparing her mean and poor existence to my glamorous life. The baby farmer against the big shot. I had given up trying to reason with her. She had a great job, made good money, I did more than my share with the kids, we had all the help we could stand – what more could I do? As if this wasn’t bad enough, an ominous element had recently surfaced. She was tired of Paris, she said, she missed her parents, her sister, her friends. Her job back there was more challenging, she’d gotten as much out of this one as there was to get. She was hoping 60 Minutes would give my star the boost to redirect its course for New York. I thought this special trip would pick her up, but it might as easily feed her fantasy about returning.

      “I’m going to stay a few days and see my parents.”

      “I’m sure they’ll change your ticket.”

      On the way to my big day, November 7, we passed through U.S. election day. I was gratified to see the voters hand the Republicans a resounding mid-term defeat, the Democrats picking up twenty-seven House seats for a commanding majority. Their new slogan must have hit a chord – “It’s not fair, it’s Republican.” With the economy laboring, the President’s popularity continued to sink. His chances for re-election appeared to be dimming.

      At 5:30 pm on the big night Diane and I arrived at an elegant restaurant in the theater district and were shown upstairs to a private room. A large round dinner table stood in the center, a large-screen TV at the side, some football game running on mute. A number of comfortable chairs were arrayed in a semi-circle before the TV. Fresh off the Concorde we had checked into the Plaza about noon for a rest and a shower. I want to say, whatever Diane’s problems were, looking good wasn’t one of them. Tom told me just for the hell of it he was making the evening a formal affair, and Diane was wearing one of my favorites, a lovely black silk sheath cut low and tight which she looked great in. Golden hair pulled back in a twist completed the portrait. On entering the room we were greeted warmly and when Alan Mauro began to applaud others picked it up. Somebody said, “Speech!”

      I laughed. “Let’s see how it comes out. You know what these people can do to a story.”

      Why they’d play it anything but straight I didn’t know, but I was feeling tentative, in fact damn nervous. I’d rather watch this alone, then I could take appropriate action, depending. Call my friends, jump out a window – a wide range of options.

      Tom O’Connor was there with Connie, Frank Astell and his spouse whom I had never met, Alan the bachelor, Fred and Marylou, our former West Village neighbors, Sid and Ruth Greenwald, Harlan Kenny sans spouse. At quarter to seven a technician adjusted the TV and handed the channel changer to Tom. Tom made an announcement to take a seat. The waiters buzzed about, refreshing drinks, offering more shrimp, scallops in bacon, quiche, stuffed mushrooms.

      At precisely seven the familiar ticking watch, then the screen filled with the face of Mike Wallace. “Good evening, I’m Mike Wallace. Tonight, 60 Minutes welcomes you to a special edition on the new Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial in the nation’s capital which will be dedicated next Saturday, Veterans’ Day. With all the controversy surrounding its design, we want to give our viewers a chance to understand how this memorial came about and what it means for the millions of servicemen and their families affected by the war in Vietnam.

      “In the first segment of our program Harry Reasoner will trace the course of the war from the first advisors in 1959 through America’s pullout in 1975. In the second segment Bill Plante explains the how and why of the memorial. Our final segment will feature a Vietnam Vet, a journalist colleague who recovered from disabling wounds, and show his reaction to seeing the Wall for the first time. All after this brief commercial message.”

      We looked around at each other, a little hum in the room. In a moment Reasoner’s broad, friendly face appeared on the screen and he began touching on highlights of the war. I wasn’t in the mood for a replay so I got up and strolled around, helping myself to a canapé, brought Diane another glass of wine. Reasoner wrapped up with the famous shot of the helicopter hovering above the building next to our Saigon embassy, then more commercials.

      Next, Bill Plante delved into the history of the Wall. I figured people would be surprised to learn the monument was a completely private project, no taxpayer funds at all. Next an interview with the winner of the design competition, Maya Lin, the twenty-year-old Yale student whose youth and inexperience blew away the architectural world. Then, in a startling turn, the hate-filled faces of the Wall’s opponents who called the design a black scar, a gash, and called Ms Lin a gook, asserting that our veterans would be shamed an Asian was chosen. I was pleased to hear Plante remind viewers about the sorry paranoia against Americans of Japanese origin not so long ago.

      Plante displayed some renderings, but it was left to my segment to show the reality of the Wall. Plavin began with an aerial shot of the Mall, then the “V” of the Wall came into view. Then a set of pastoral views, gradually focusing in on a hand moving across the names. The camera pulled back from the hand... my hand! There we were, Stan Plavin and I, in our raincoats.

      Again I traced its polished stone. In a voice-over, Plavin told the viewers we were at Year 1969 on the Wall, the year I arrived, the year my best friend died. After some dialog they cut to a series of still photos, Plavin narrating, me commenting. Providence – Omer and me with King, a LaSalle scene, a couple from Holy Cross. The soundtrack’s Gregorian chant I thought a bit much. At this point Plavin introduced footage of Sproul Plaza, University Ave, anti-war banners, tear gas, students being dragged away. A brief interview with Gus going on about what an earnest character I was, leftists and I like oil and water even though some were my friends, like him. Good old Gus. Then it was back to the studio, Plavin and I talking. I looked around the room... avid attention. I slid down in my chair trying to make myself small, letting the words flow over me.

      “Paul,” Plavin began, “let’s explore how you happened to be in Vietnam. In sixty-eight you were a grad student at the University of California, Berkeley, safely protected by a student deferment. Correct?”

      “I was well along in my program, like everyone watching the course of the war, the protests. A number of my friends opposed the war.” Again I glanced around the room. Was I coming across okay? Diane reached over and squeezed my hand.

      “How did you feel about the war? How did the protests affect you?”

      “I

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