True Story

Date: June 24, 2010 at 11:37:51
From: Rafael Jesus Gonzalez, []
Subject: True Story

To share this from my friend Peter Brown. We are mired in Iraq and mired in Afghanistan on which we rain drones and our own return to us (those who can) maimed if not in body, in mind and spirit to precious little medical care, many homeless and jobless -- and fools still dare to ask me if I "support our troops." My disgust and outrage tastes bitter-sour in my throat.

R. J. G.

It is my summer off. I was looking through some old files. I found this piece that is still timely. It will be timely until we figure out how to do away with war. It speaks for itself.

TRUE STORY
It was April 29, 1995. It was the 20th anniversary of the fall of Saigon, or it was the 20th birthday of Ho Chi Mihn City. It was one or the other, depending on the way you look at it.
I went to the movies in Berkeley, and I was standing outside of the theater waiting for some friends to show up. I was enjoying a before-movie cigarette when up rolled a fellow - Bill as I learned - in a wheel chair. Bill asked me for a spare smoke, and it was impossible to deny his request.
Bill was bright of eye, talkative, out-going and my age. As I lit his smoke, I could not help but to ask him a personal question.
"Viet Nam?"
"Yeah." He answered as he took a deep drag. "Were you in?"
"No. I missed that adventure."
"You didn't miss nothin' friend," he enjoined.
"I guess not," I mumbled.
After a brief silence, Bill started talking.
"Did you hear about Mc Namara's new book? Don't that beat all?
"I have been rolling around in this damn chair for 25 fuckin' years, and the guy that sent my ass out there . . . I am sorry, man. . . I get a bit exercised by the whole idea.
"Wouldn't you just expect that the man would have the dignity to keep his thoughts to himself? He is writing about his guilt and sorrows? It's bull shit, man.
"Hey! I don't blame Mc Namara or Johnson for what happened to me. I could have gone to Canada, or to college, but I went. Stupid as it was, I went. I was naīve. It was patriotism or macho bull-shit . . .
"I took a bullet in the spine, and I have been shitting in a bag and pissin' in Pampers for 25 years.
"So let's just say I have my own private regrets about that fuckin' war, and now Mc Namara's sorry and feels bad? I am in this chair and I have had diaper rash for 25 years! I got wheels for feet. I only got laid twice in my life, before that part got shot off, too, and I was 19 years old.
"Sorry, man. I don't go around crying about it, but when Bob Mc Namara has the poor taste to ask me for forgiveness?
"Well, personally, if he had asked me . . . you know, man-to-man, I'd of say, 'Hey! Bob! Not your fault. Luck of the draw, man. Buy me a beer or something.' But to write it in a book! All public like that? I can't forgive that shit. It makes me angry. . . .
"Hey! Could you push me up to Burger King? They've got a great public restroom, and I gotta' slight problem here."
I pushed Bill up to the Burger King, smelling that sick bed ammonia odor that wafted off his chair. He got inside and I was left standing on the corner, thinking about my own legs.

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