Odysseus in America (34 page)

We started talking and he shook some more. He was scared because his chest was giving him pain. He was scared because he was having a hard time breathing. He shook some more.

Theresa was standing off to the side concerned about the gentleman.

I tried to have him lay down on his side but he couldn't do it. He didn't want an ambulance, but I winked at the other guy (about my age) and he left to make the call. I put my hand on this guy's shoulder and we started to talk.

His sister had given him his new Nikes. She worked at Nike in Portland. He shook some more and said he'd been having seizures lately. Said he might need some medication. I didn't think he was strung out. He didn't look like it. He was down and out.

Who among us hasn't been at one time or another, whether it was in Nam or here after we got back?

People continued passing at a distance and we talked some more. We talked about what this guy wanted to do. His needs were simple. He just wanted to stop shaking and feel good. (Remember feeling like that?) He tried to breathe more slowly. We breathed together.

Within an instant the sirens slowly approached. A huge fire truck drove up. I was proud to see Eugene's finest respond so quickly. Three guys jumped out and walked slowly. I told them what I knew. They took over and put a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't look up. They were good to this guy. They treated him with dignity (remember when people didn't treat you with dignity? remember those officers who did? Bet Puller was one of those, eh?)

He didn't want to go to the hospital, but these firefighters treated him with the kind of care I would like to extend to others if I could. Some people I just don't give a damn about.

I cared about this guy, too. One of the firefighters looked about my age. He may have been a little older. I thought of you Vman. He started talking to this guy again and put his hand on the person's shoulder. He brought out some tubes and put some in his nose, while another person took this guy's blood pressure.

I left, but seeing these guys work with this person with such humanity brought back all of the posts you've made to this list, Vman. You're one special dude. A lot of folks need ya. I hope you hang around.

Monte

MtK,

I don't know when that happens (when the hurt gets too much), but I know what I said for Vman goes for you, too, bro. There are a few other folks on this list who keep me going everyday. Without em, I don't know.

I can only say I'm glad you're there. I don't want you taking no trips. I would be royally pissed and come back to haunt your ass.

Your bud,

Montster [Monte]

MtK,

Doan know, bro. I suspect the answer is highly variable, on a scale we don't even know the measurement units on.

I know I hang around 'cause I wanna see Weet
¹¹
and if I off myself there's a chance I won't get the opportunity. I've waited too many years to waste that chance now. Works for me, won't for anyone else. Ù­)shrug(Ù­

You ain't alone in the question, Murray. And whatever the answer is for you, you won't be alone in that either. I think there's a helluva lot of folk like you, with the same damn answer every morning.

As long as you keep answering every morning, it's the right one.

McMike

Mike McCombs, Sr., died of breast cancer about two years after this message. Breast cancer is usually extremely rare among men, but is not rare
among those exposed to Agent Orange. McMike, a veteran of the 5th Special Forces Group in Vietnam, wrote about his experiences with great eloquence.
¹²

As I read the posts about Lew Puller, I thought about a recent thread on this list … the daily decisions being made about whether to go or to stay. Although this poem is written with masculine pronouns, it is meant for each of you who make these daily decisions … you know who you are.

A P
RAYER FOR
D
EATH AND
L
IFE

By Judee Strott

For one I pray that Death will come to take him in the night,
for he no longer wants to live, he's given up the fight.
I pray for Death to take him, and yet he still lives on
while others only half his age have died and now are gone.

He's so old, he's lived his life, he's nearly 90 now,
he's weak and frail, he cannot walk, his back is bent, head bowed.
His wife has gone before him, and he cannot figure why
God makes him keep on living, and will not let him die

For one I pray that Death will come; for one I pray for Life.

For one I pray he overcomes the demons and the dreams
that haunt his sleep and torment him with silent deadly screams;
the memories he can't forget that fill him with such dread,
that daily he decides between the living and the dead.

For one I pray that something can entreat him to remain
to try again for one more day, to live with all his pain;
'till all the sufferings of the past can finally fade away,
and a sweet peace overflows his cup, Lord help him decide to stay.

Judee

Judee Strott is neither a veteran nor a teacher or scholar of the Vietnam War. She and her husband, Jerry, are retired and devote enormous time
and energy to the support of Vietnam veterans. She wrote in her VWAR address list profile, “Jerry and I provide information from data bases and various printed records related to POW/MIA, Names on The Wall, DoD Combat Casualty Files, etc. to anyone who requests it. We attend meetings of organizations to demonstrate what these data bases contain; provide information to assist organizations with special events such as stand downs, organizing POW/MIA recognition day ceremonies, etc.; participate in Friends of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial's programs (In Touch, In Memory, etc.) and distribute FVVM literature at events (Moving Wall, county fair, etc.).

“We do not charge for any information we provide … to borrow a phrase from a friend … VN Veterans have already paid the price.”

Despite the derision that members of the discussion sometimes heaped upon “ReallyCares™”—the sarcastic label hung on civilians who seem mostly interested in their own self-images as compassionate and deep, and in their own touristic avidity in interesting and intense emotional experiences (much like the Phaeacian courtiers for whom the Trojan War was pure entertainment)—this motherly presence seemed to be accepted as genuine.
¹³

I don't know what the demons all were but I think that Lew did what most Marines do when their gear wears out … they survey it. I think he realized that his body and his life had just worn out and it was time. I know his father will understand. We all wish him well and we will miss him.

Semper Fi. Helmuts

Helmuts Feifs has an excruciatingly—I mean that modifier to be taken literally—funny imaginary business firm called Weptronics and mock advice column called “Ask Mr. Guilt.”
¹⁴

pain slips away in the dark of night
demons are put to rest

no more!
no more
pain

guilt
rage
no more
what if

home It puller
home at last

peace

mtk

Warren Murray moniker

I am reminded of the apocryphal joke about the lady caught in the flood; convinced that God will save her, she refuses help from two rowboats and a helicopter, and drowns.

Arriving in heaven, she rails at God for not saving her.

“Lady,” God says, “I sent two rowboats and a helicopter. How much more did you want?”

Lewis Puller could or would no longer reach out to grasp that skid. If you live for another and they are removed, you may not be able to see the true answer to your prayers.

As MaryBeth [the writer's wife] once told me with some surprize in her voice. “You seem to be the answer to my prayers, not exactly what I was praying for; but apparently the answer.”

For many of the vets on this list, Vwar-l is the helicopter, and we are the crewchiefs.

And I, for one, intend to grasp every hand that reaches for the skids; even if I have to slap the owner of that hand upside their heads to make them look up at the rotor noise.