LITMIR.BIZ

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They said there were no alternatives, but that wasn’t true either. Along the way there were plenty. Those people’s aspirations, I’m talking about the Vietnamese, their aspirations were largely nationalistic and our leaders knew that too. In fact, after the French defeat, Ho Chi Minh approached us to work with him, but he was a Communist and so, an untouchable. Untouchable, despite our history of allying with Communists when it serves our purposes – look at Stalin, for God’s sake. Might it have worked in Vietnam? Might it have been better than the path we took? We’ll never know, we didn’t give it a try.”

      “You’re not saying the protesters had it right, are you?”

      I could see Tom O’Connor stiffen in his chair. “No. Most of what they said was garbage. But some of it had a basis in fact. Problem is, they presented themselves so anti-American they turned off people who could have been listening.”

      “Aren’t you giving rationality too much credit? After all, it’s what happened in the streets that forced LBJ and Nixon to back down, not ideas.”

      “The streets, yes, but a sea change in public opinion as well. The war was going poorly. Congress was having a change of heart, and the media did us the great service of showing what the war was really like. Finally the people at the top got the message.”

      “We’ll go back out to the Wall in a minute, but first let me ask, with all the controversy over the design, does it trouble you that it is so radical, so untraditional?”

      “It’s a powerful statement. In my view the simplicity only reinforces its power.”

      The scene shifted. Now we were again at the Wall. I watched myself stopping at the Directory to thumb through the pages. They had asked me not to let on that I had seen the Wall already – our visit was supposed to look spontaneous. They repeated the scene of my hand from the start of the program, then my reaction at finding Omer. I tried to replicate my feelings... not hard to do. Except for the initial shock everything was genuine. My injury was on display as Plavin and I walked along in the raw air, my limp quite pronounced. At one point he commented on it.

      “Cool damp days, you notice it,” I said, gesturing at the Wall. “I’m one of the lucky ones.”

      We walked along, stopping from time to time for a question and a few comments. At one point in my year, 1969, I again ran the back of my hand along the smooth, glossy surface. The genius of the stone – it asks to be caressed. I could hear the breeze in the trees, a bird chirping nearby. “So tranquil,” I mused, “over there we would have given anything for a little peace and quiet. The war robbed us of that – except these guys.”

      I paused and looked at the Wall. “You asked about the design. To me it’s significant that the Wall follows the earth – it’s part of the earth, really, as we are and will be. Ms Lin got it right. When people get over the initial shock I think this will become one of our most revered public monuments.”

      Now we were back in the studio. “Paul,” Plavin said, “before we finish is there anything else you’d like to say?”

      I took a deep breath. “Criticism aside, I value what I did there more than I can say. I honor the guys I served with, the names on that Wall, the others.” I looked directly at Plavin. “Mr. Plavin, I’d like to think the memory of those guys will never be cheapened by another needless war, but I am not hopeful. That’s a big reason why I’m in this business, to report the facts and when the time comes, as I fear it will, to speak out. Last time I wasn’t ready. Believe me, I won’t make that mistake again.”

      Plavin leaned over and shook my hand. “Paul Bernard of the New York Gazette. It’s been a privilege having you on 60 Minutes. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you.”

      He turned to the camera. “Next Saturday, Veterans’ Day, the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial will be dedicated. I urge every American to visit this amazing memorial. It will help you, help all of us to appreciate the price of freedom, how much of ourselves we left in that distant land. Stan Plavin reporting. Good night.”

      After a commercial break Andy Rooney appeared, but everyone was crowding around, slapping my shoulder, shaking my hand. Diane stood close, her arm entwined with mine. O’Connor was euphoric. “My God, you were good! We need to figure out a follow-up.”

      “This is going to sell a ton of papers,” Alan said, “you better believe it.”

      Harlan Kenny nodded. “Good job, Paul. You did our team proud.”

      After a fine dinner, at least I think it was fine – I was so excited I don’t remember – we celebrated a while, then went our separate ways. Diane and I took a cab to the Plaza, ordered a wake-up call and a taxi for Kennedy then fell into each other’s arms, loving each other in a way I thought we had forgotten. Three days in Paris on must-do stories, then it was back to Washington for the dedication. O’Connor laughed when I whined about my schedule. “You love it,” he said. “Don’t tell me you don’t.”

      I TOURED THE MEMORIAL AGAIN before checking into the hotel. Each time I saw some different aspect which made me appreciate it more. I meditated on it as a wound in the earth, snaking down the Mall. I meditated on the men death couldn’t defeat, rising with this black stone. I meditated on the bitter fight over the design, the attacks on the young woman who brought it into being, the fact this memorial to a divisive time was itself born in controversy. The fight over the Wall wasn’t polite, it wasn’t honorable, but for this raucous, hard place we live where everybody speaks his mind and nobody’s better than anybody else, perhaps it was inevitable.

      The day dawned cool and overcast, the sun poking in and out of the clouds. The media were out in force, some at the Wall, others filming the parade, estimated at 15,000. Wheelchairs, crutches, guys hopping along on one leg, no arms, fatigue jackets, bandannas and beards, a lot of beards. Some of them still on active duty. A contingent of nurses beaming and waving. A vet slumping dejectedly in a bamboo cage on wheels, MIAS BELONG IN AMERICA on its side. Vets cutting out of the line to hug people on the sidewalks. Reunions, spontaneity. What the parade lacked in orderliness it made up with the joy of being alive and appreciated. I couldn’t help think how far we were from the spit and polish of the Fort Dix drill field. We’ve had the before and the during, I thought. Finally, we have the after.

      By special invitation General Westmoreland headed the parade. When I heard this I was startled, but on second thought, decided it was okay. Today is for healing, after all.

      I walked alongside the vets, chatting, making notes as I went. I was particularly struck by the friendly shouts from the sidelines, a continuous barrage. “Thanks, Iowa!” “We love ya, Alabama!” Best of all, again and again, the simple “Welcome home.”

      I caught up with Jan Scruggs, the man behind the monument and this salute to Vietnam Veterans. “What a great day,” he said, “much too long in coming. By the way, wasn’t 60 Minutes fantastic? I’m sure it brought a lot of people out today.”

      I said I was glad to be part of it though I didn’t know why they glommed onto me.

      “You represented us well,” he said. “What I like, you’re not afraid to speak your mind. Hang onto that, whatever you do.”

      I was disconcerted how many people called me by name. I was even asked for my autograph! After a few tries and establishing a suitable scrawl, I thought, I can live with this. I ran into some of my VVAW crowd from New York. For some of them the parade was too little, too late. Others were content to float along, basking in the acclaim.

      Back in our D.C. office I filed my story and visited with Charlie Stebbins. “I’m still holding a spot for you, though how much longer I can afford you I don’t know.”

      For some time after these events, I found myself snappish and short with people who tried to engage me about the program. One particularly persistent colleague, I had to tell him bug off, I just don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know why.

      I HAD BEEN TURNING OVER AN IDEA for a follow-on, and after returning to Paris it came

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