LITMIR.BIZ

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had to take a stand.”

      “And you enlisted.”

      “Right.”

      “You could have picked military intelligence or clerical work but you chose combat infantryman. Why was that?”

      “A lot of people told me, go the safe route, but I figured if I’m going to be in the Army, I want to be in the real Army.”

      “You were raised with traditional American values. Son of immigrants, Canadian and Irish, hardworking, God-fearing folk. Religion and patriotism were a big part of your life.”

      An immigrant, I chortled... my mother will be turning over in her grave. Julien, of course, him it fit. “A big part. Members of my family had served honorably. My cousin Maurice flew in the Battle of Britain, he lost his life in North Africa. I took his name at Confirmation. Others fought in France and Italy and Korea. I was taught Communism was evil and Communists meant to take over the world, us included, and we needed to stand up to them. That’s why Berkeley was so galling to me, people calling themselves Communists, Maoists, trying to tear us down. I mean, if the United States is so bad, figure out a way to make it better. If you don’t like it, leave. Go live in one of your utopias.”

      “By then you had developed your critical powers.”

      “I’d made a start. If you mean did I realize our country wasn’t perfect, that’s true. It has a long list of flaws, but that’s something you work at. And I trusted our leaders, our government, to level with us, to do the right thing.”

      “So there you are in Berkeley, eight months later you’re in Vietnam. Your friends couldn’t believe what you’d done.”

      I laughed. “It blew their minds. Insane! Fascist! I heard it all. I explained, no, this is a rational decision. A few people understood, most didn’t. My anti-war friends – I told them they had a lot to do with my enlisting.”

      “How’d they react to that?”

      “They didn’t want to hear it.”

      “Did you have those conversations with Gus Flynn?

      “Everything but the name-calling. We’ve never pulled any punches, Gus and I.”

      “Tell us about Vietnam.”

      I smiled. “The best of times, the worst of times. I was in a camp in the Central Highlands. From time to time we were attacked but otherwise it was pretty decent. The field is what really got to you. Two, three-day missions, choppered out to the boonies. Take this ville, blow that depot, engage the enemy. You never knew one minute to the next whether you’d be dead or alive. Terrible heat, rains, mud, insects, snakes, booby traps, sniper fire...”

      “You said the best of times. What was good about it?”

      “The guys, pulling together. Sure, we had our issues, they’re well documented, but in the field you forgot all that. I felt I was there to do an important job – that made the difference.”

      “Then even that changed.”

      I nodded. “We’d flush the VC and take a hill, or secure a ville – whatever was asked of us we did. Then a couple days later, sometimes the same day, comes the order to pack up and leave. The first few times this happens you shrug – okay, it’s dumb but that’s the way it goes. But when it happens over and over you begin to wonder, what the hell is going on? This is not a game, guys – people are getting killed here. Finally you ask yourself, what is the point of it all? And finding no good answer, you think, maybe the people who sent us here really don’t know what they’re doing. That’s demoralizing.”

      “You found yourself questioning the leadership?”

      “Understand, the grunt is at the bottom of the heap. They don’t give you the big picture, they don’t give you any picture at all. Fine, that’s the way it is. But if what you’re doing on the ground makes no sense, not just a few times but day after day, you ask what is the larger strategy? Is there any strategy? From there it’s a short step to thinking maybe the political leadership has got it wrong. You see, the way we were trained, you never admit you can’t do the job. Can do, gung ho – that’s what it’s all about, and that’s the way it has to be. If you start thinking negative, it’s all over. But when failure stares you in the face day after day after day, you look around for somebody to blame.”

      “Tell us about your injury.”

      I glanced around the room again... everybody at full alert.

      “We were ordered to take a hill. This was a really big deal, Operation Jackhammer. We had our own name for it but we’ll let that go. A bunch of companies, air support, the whole nine yards, the most miserable conditions imaginable. And an enemy that wasn’t about to roll over. At one point we took out a machine gun nest and I saw a buddy of mine go down. I ran back to help him. That’s when I stepped on the grenade – I learned later that’s what it was. Not even a mine, if you can believe it, just a dumb grenade. People said no way that could happen. I’ve got the proof,” I patted my leg, “right here.”

      “You were in a coma eleven days, lost a leg, had shrapnel wounds over sixty percent of your body, fragments. They didn’t get them all, either.”

      “I have a nice collection including one up here.” I pointed to my head. “By the way, the guy who went down, it wasn’t my friend after all. I mean, I was overjoyed he was alive but it goes to show how stupid the whole thing was.”

      “A long time and a tough rehab, but you’ve bounced back.”

      “I have a wonderful family, wife, three fine kids, the good fortune to be working with great people on the Gazette. I’ve even done some work for CBS.”

      Diane patted my hand again.

      “And we hope to see much more from you.”

      “As far as the injury is concerned, of course I’m sorry it happened, but if God’s plan has me go through life with one less leg than most people, so be it.”

      “Are you still a religious person?”

      “If you mean do I still go to church, yes. And I’m raising my kids Catholic. When they get older they’ll figure it out themselves.”

      “Does it bother you some leaders of the American Catholic Church were pro-war?”

      “Don’t forget a lot of Catholics opposed the war, some of them with a particular finality. There were even immolations, and as the war went on, people started taking the principles of just war into account more. Even the bishops.”

      “Are you a pacifist now?”

      “No,” I laughed, “I wouldn’t have the guts.”

      “What do you mean by that?”

      “It takes an unusual person to be that strong for peace. I’m the kind who sees the other side, in fact the other side forces itself in on me. Christ told Peter to put away his sword, but he also showed righteous anger – that’s what I mean.”

      Plavin leaned forward in his chair. “Paul, at this point I have to ask you what is probably the toughest question of all. As you look back, what is your opinion of our effort in Vietnam? Knowing what you know now, would you enlist again?”

      I had thought a lot about how I answered Don Hewitt. This time I was better prepared. “I made my decision based on what I knew at the time. I’m proud I went, but I’m angry at being misled. I should have been more critical of what they were telling us. When it comes to sending men to war, every citizen has a duty to be critical of his government. Take nothing for granted. Ask who is for it? And why? What do they stand to gain? Our leaders said Vietnam was vital to our national security, but that was far from clear and they knew it. In fact, the administration hid vital information from the Congress, from the public. Covering up your incompetence is no justification for secrecy.”

      “You’re

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