by SSgt Bruce T. Forbes
(c) Copyright 1996 All Rights Reserved
(This was written to express my feelings while watching on
television
and through magazine the dedication of The Wall in Washington D.C.)
"What was some of the lingering effects of the American Civil War?"
Thomas asked his students. A dozen eager hands shot into the air.
"Jenny?"
"The way it tore families apart," the young girl replied. "There
were
a lot of families where some supported the North and some the South;
brothers were fighting brothers on the battlefield. And even after the
war
the divisions remained."
Jenny's words now haunted Thomas as the bus he rode sped south
towards
Washington. "Why am I doing this?" he asked himself for the millionth
time
since he'd left Calgary.
Finally the bus was swallowed up by the city of Washington. Thomas
waited until the other passengers debarked before hoisting himself up on
his
crutches and working his way down the aisle and off the bus. The driver
already had his luggage out and attached its pull rope to one of Thomas
crutches for him, and off he went to find a taxi.
The travel agent had advised Thomas that he'd be sharing his room
that
week; Washington was literally besieged that week by visitors coming for
the dedication of The Wall. But he'd not given any thought to the fact
that
his roommate might be a veteran.
"Got any good stories of your own?" the ex-marine who shared Thomas
room asked after spending an hour recounting his own campaigns.
"Not really," was Thomas' cool reply.
"Understand." The ex-marine took a bite out of his apple after
offering Thomas one. "A lot don't like to talk even now. Hey, at least
tell me where you lost your leg."
"Wheatfields of Alberta. Was stupid enough to fall in front of a
harvester."
The ex-marine tensed and his eyes went ice cold. "What the hell
you
doing here?"
"I have two brothers to bury."
Thomas had checked the schedule for the Memorial Service and had
planned to arrive at the National Cathedral ahead of time to hear his
brothers' names being read. "I didn't serve in Nam," the talkative
taxi
driver announced as he drove his passenger up to the cathedral, "I was
just
a teenager."
"Average age in the war zone was only nineteen," replied Thomas;
"They
were all teenagers."
The cathedral was full; the reading of the names had been going on
for
several hours. Near the altar a soft, feminine Air Force sergeant was
relieving a burly-looking Army corporal, picking up where he'd left off
in
the long list of names of those who'd died on foreign soil. Thomas held
the
hand of an old man next to him as the man broke into tears as he
whispered:
"My boy; that was my boy." The old man returned the favor as Thomas
brothers' names were read a few minutes later.
Thomas watched the young woman who was reading the names. She's
too
young! he thought; Just a child when the madness ended. These are
just
names to her... But his thought was interrupted as the young woman's
voice
faltered but caught itself and continued. "That was her father's name,"
a
woman in front of Thomas whispered to her neighbor; "She'd requested to
read
his name."
Thomas didn't attend the dedication of The Wall; he didn't feel it
was right, considering his past. He'd go later, when the crowds were
smaller. Instead, he was across the river, dressed in his new blue
suit,
laying flowers at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, where the remains of
One
who'd gone where Thomas had refused to go lay. "Is that you, Jay?"
Later Thomas stood in the Lincoln Memorial, gazing up at the statue
of
the man who said that "A nation divided against itself cannot stand."
He
though about the families he knew that were still divided. He thought
about his own family.
Finally Thomas approached the Wall, looking down the Wall as it
sliced
into the serene parkland like an open wound, its mirror-shiny panels
filled
with names...
Thomas paused in his search of names as a young boy finished a
tracing
of what might have been a brother's or a father's name. The boy, a
teenager
like Thomas had been during the war, reached out and touched the name
one
last time before leaving in the comfort of a friend's embrace. For the
boy
this was not just a wall, but the gravestone of someone still very much
alive in his heart.
Farther on, two veterans cried as they found the name of a mutual
friend and remembered together.
A mother held up a child to touch a name on another panel as she
told
the child about Uncle Johnny.
A woman was quietly placing a wedding picture against another
panel.
Tears were dripping down the cheeks of one of the ceremonial guards
who
stood a proud and erect guard over the names of two uncles he would
never
meet.
An old man dressed in an old but clean uniform leaned heavily on
his
walker as he stood straight and saluted a grandson s name.
Thomas stood at the center of the Wall; its deepest spot - from
this
junction the panels stretched out in either direction and seemed to
taper
and disappear somewhere in the distance. And here in the junction
Thomas
found one of the names he'd come to read.
"I'm sorry, Robby," Thomas whispered, his voice quivering with
emotion
as he reached out and touched the letters of his brother's name. He
closed
his eyes and could still see the day he'd organized a protest rally in
front
of the bus depot - everything had been peaceful until the group of
draftees
and their commanding sergeant came out to board their bus; that's when
the
egg-throwing began. Thomas hadn't known Robby was going to be one of
them,
and his last memory of his brother was the look on his face as he was
covered with egg. A year later Robby was dead, and Thomas had spent the
rest of his life remembering his last look at his brother.
As his tears slowed, Thomas heard a quiet voice behind him: "Jay's
three panels up." He turned in surprise, and there stood Mark, wearing
a
gray pinstriped suit and looking very much like a company president.
Mark nodded. "Nothing would have stopped you. I figured if you
were
still alive you'd be here." Their eyes locked, and a million things
neither
was quite ready to say passed between them. Then they blinked the
feeling
away and Mark continued. "Let's go see Jay."
They remembered. They laughed and they cried. And for the first
time
in many years, two brothers of a divided family were together as they
recalled the past.
The time came that they stood back and made ready to leave.
Looking at
each other for a very long time, neither wanted to be the first to
speak,
but Mark finally broke the silence: "Mama would sure like to see you
again."
"Wouldn't think so; not after the way they threw me out."
There was another awkward silence as Thomas pretended to study the
ground. "Tommy," Mark whispered. Thomas saw tears in his brother's
eyes.
"You're my brother." Thomas looked down again. "Dammit, I love you!"
Thomas felt his brother pull him close and hug him fiercely, like on
the
day Thomas had pulled him out of the pond when he'd fallen in; a hug as
fierce as Pa's hugs...
"I suppose I could cash in my bus ticket," Thomas finally whispered
as
he returned his brother's embrace.
With that, the brother in blue and the brother in gray left
arm-in-arm.
Well, Mark had an arm around the big brother who'd taught him how to
ride a
bike and bait a hook... and not to lean too far over the side of a boat
or
he'd fall in. They passed the Lincoln Memorial, where the brothers, now
united, glanced at the figure of the man who'd fought to keep the Union
as
One. And to the side of that figure, the young sergeant who'd read
Jay's and
Robby's names stood, reading to herself the words of the man honored by
that
memorial:
"...with malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in
the
right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive to finish the
work we
are in; to bind up the nation's wounds..."
So many names...
So many boys...
So many lives...
So many left to live without those whose names were now carved
in
stone...
"Long time," Thomas said, wiping a cheek.
"Knew you'd come. Waited all day."
"Did you?"
"Time changes a lot of things; puts them in a new perspective.
Pa
wants you to come home, too."
"I don't know..."
"It's their only wish anymore."
"I don't think so. Besides, I've got to be back to work in
four
days..."
"My jet can get us home before midnight..."
Thomas' eyes opened a bit more. "Your jet?"
Mark smiled. "The Air Force's, actually; they just let me play
with
it." This was the little brother Thomas had taught to ride a bike.
SSgt Forbes can be reached at forbesb@comm.hq.af.mil