On Armistice Day- There Is A Wall In Washington  

 

 

The following short remarks were addressed to group of fellow veterans and other peace and social activists at a Boston Armistice Day commemoration by Frank Jackman.

There Is A Wall In Washington  

The specter of the Vietnam War still haunts my generation, the generation of ’68. I am a Vietnam era veteran and although I was trained as an 11 Bravo, an infantryman, a grunt, cannon fodder I did not serve in Vietnam for a whole lot of reasons that need not detain us now because I don’t want to talk about my story but about Ralph Morris’ story, or rather about his younger brother, Kenny Morris’ story, yeah, this is Kenny’s story. Some of you may have heard this story which was part of a longer story that I read at last month’s Midnight Voices so bear with me since on this day when we are trying to cry in the wilderness against the endless fruitless wars and the lives they have taken, the lives of our brothers and sisters, for no good reason it bears repeating.

I met Ralph Morris, a Vietnam veteran who served in the Big Red One, the Ist Division, a unit which saw plenty of action during his time “in country” in 1968 and who is a member of Veterans for Peace from Troy in upstate New York last March at a rally, unfortunately a small, too small, rally, in front of the White House protesting the continuing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan on the 12^th anniversary of the invasion of Iraq. We talked for a while during the rally and subsequent march through the city and found that we had a common duty when we were in Washington. He would always go to the “black granite” as he called it, the Vietnam War Memorial down the Lincoln Memorial end of the National Mall to share a moment, and to shed a tear, for the fallen he wished to acknowledge from his home town and from the Big Red One.     

And for a different reason Kenneth Morris, his younger brother Kenny, who had actually joined the Army before him in 1966. Joined to fight the red menace, stop the dominos from falling or whatever irrational reason the sitting government gave at the time since Kenny was as patriotic as the next man, maybe more so, just like most of us back then, maybe questioning the wisdom of the government’s actions but not challenging them. Kenny had served with distinction in the Ist Brigade of 101^st Airborne Division in Vietnam, had earned a fistful of medals, maybe not as many as our own Bob Funke but plenty unlike Ralph who said he was just lucky and had guys around him who saved his ass. Kenny like Ralph got out of that hellhole alive. Got back to the “real” world in one piece for a while. Did okay for a few years, got a job, had a girlfriend, went places, then the other shoe fell. I don’t have to tell this audience where this story is going. Something snapped, some horror Kenny had witnessed or had taken part in during the war got to him. It started when Kenny began setting fire alarms off around the neighborhood which at first were overlooked by the family. Then the midnight walks started Kenny going naked down Ferry Street. Eventually Kenny got VA help, drugs and therapy, which kept his demons away, for a while. When those failed institutionalization, again for a while. Kenny was eventually released when the trend was to get guys out of institutions and into half-way houses. Then one night in 1977 shortly after his release Kenny jumped off the Mohawk River Bridge north of Albany heading toward Saratoga Springs on U.S. 87. Gone.

So yeah Ralph that March day shed a tear for Kenny too. You know there is no wall in Washington for the Kennys of the Vietnam War ….but maybe there should be.  Yeah, the specter of the Vietnam War still haunts my generation of ’68.   Kenneth Morris, presente.