mickeyd
Give me a museum and I'll fill it. (Picasso) Give me a forum ...
As a veteran of the Vietnam war (1968-69), I have accumulated an array of random articles over the years that have the war as it's theme. I don't recall why I have saved these various clippings/files, but I find myself flipping through them from time to time. The attached article, written by the author of The Great Santini and other books, has stuck with me over the last 5 years or so as a sad tale of remorse.
I had friends on both sides of the peace/war issues of the '60s/'70s and have always tried to stay neutral as a way of trying (still) to understand both sides.
This helps. I have included the initial paragraphs and well as the final few. The link contains the entire article.
I had friends on both sides of the peace/war issues of the '60s/'70s and have always tried to stay neutral as a way of trying (still) to understand both sides.
This helps. I have included the initial paragraphs and well as the final few. The link contains the entire article.
The true things always ambush me on the road and take me by surprise when I am drifting down the light of placid days, careless about flanks and rearguard actions. I was not looking for a true thing to come upon me in the state of New Jersey. Nothing has ever happened to me in New Jersey. But came it did, and it came to stay.
In the past four years I have been interviewing my teammates on the 1966-67 basketball team at the Citadel for a book I'm writing. For the most part, this has been like buying back a part of my past that I had mislaid or shut out of my life. At first I thought I was writing about being young and frisky and able to run up and down a court all day long, but lately I realized I came to this book because I needed to come to grips with being middle-aged and having ripened into a gray-haired man you could not trust to handle the ball on a fast break.
An Honest Confession by an American CowardI looked for some conclusion, a summation of this trip to my teammate's house. I wanted to come to the single right thing, a true thing that I may not like but that I could live with. After hearing Al Kroboth's story of his walk across Vietnam and his brutal imprisonment in the North, I found myself passing harrowing, remorseless judgment on myself. I had not turned out to be the man I had once envisioned myself to be. I thought I would be the kind of man that America could point to and say, "There. That's the guy. That's the one who got it right. The whole package. The one I can depend on."
It had never once occurred to me that I would find myself in the position I did on that night in Al Kroboth's house in Roselle, New Jersey: an American coward spending the night with an American hero.
Pat Conroy's novels include The Prince of Tides, The Great Santini, The Lords of Discipline, and Beach Music. He lives on Fripp Island, South Carolina. This essay is from his forthcoming book, My Losing Season.