Frozen in Memory

By Charlotte Lowrie

It was the mid-1960s and a generation of young men were graduating high school. They were young, fresh-faced, confident, and ready to negotiate the transition between adolescence and adulthood. While they might not have known what they wanted do with their lives, many knew what they didn't want to do with their lives; and that was to go to Vietnam.

For them, celebrating the end of high school was put on hold every day when the mail came. They checked the mail hoping that "the letter" wouldn't be in the mailbox. For them and all 1A, non-deferred 19- to 25-year-olds, their future rested in the hands of the local draft board.*

But with unnerving regularity, the letters arrived, and each letter began with the same words: "Greetings from the President of the United States."

1965-1969

For young men, who received the "Greetings" letter in the mid-'60s, there were few options. Some hoped that they would be disqualified during physical exams, some applied for conscientious objector (non-combat) status, and others considered more desperate measures--leaving the country and becoming a draft evader. (Note: By 1972, an estimated 70,000 young men had fled to Canada to avoid the draft.)

But draft evaders were the minority. By and large, America had raised a crop of young patriots who were willing to serve their country even if they didn't know where Vietnam was or why the United States was fighting there.

Regardless of patriot status, they were young, still fresh from their senior proms. In many cases, they had only a few years of driving experience under their belts, and half of them were too young to legally buy a beer on a hot summer afternoon. Many were from families that could not send them to college.

The Vietnam war hadn't been part of the high-school curriculum. Newscasters reported little on the "conflict." Few of the boys realized that since 1960, the level of U.S. troop involvement in Vietnam had grown from 900 to 475,200 in 1969. During 1969 alone, 283,586 young men were inducted into the armed forces. And from 1964 to the end of the "conflict," 1,766,910 were drafted--more people than currently live in Manhattan.

Once "the letter" arrived, the boys could voluntarily enlist in the armed services branch of their choice, or they could wait and be drafted into the Army. Some waited, some joined immediately, and many left for Vietnam only months after graduation.

1969

In 1969, as a military wife living in Japan, I volunteered with the Red Cross at the Zama Army Hospital in Zama, Japan. For those who were seriously wounded in Vietnam, Zama Army Hospital was the second stop on the road to recovery, and on the road home.

Many stayed on at Zama for months undergoing multiple surgeries. In those operating rooms, surgeons literally constructed noses, ears, and, in one case, an entire face from remnants.

For those who recovered, the hospital hours were long. They passed the time by playing hearts, reading, or simply staring into space. For those who couldn't write, I wrote their letters home. For others, I read letters from home to them.

As I met the soldiers, without exception, I saw the faces of boys yanked from youth and transformed suddenly into men.

2004

Today, I visited the traveling Vietnam memorial: a miniature version of the wall that bears the names of those young boys lost so long ago. At the memorial, I realized the passing of years. Like many memories, the faces and events of the '60s had been frozen in time for me. But today I saw Vietnam veterans who are approaching late middle age, men who survived the war and the thankless, dismal aftermath when they arrived home.

Along with the veterans were middle-age women searching for the engraved name of their husband or boyfriend, and 30- and 40-something sons and daughters who never met their father and who brought with them their own children.

Some carried lists and looked long for the one or two names of loved ones on the wall. Some left flowers and notes. Some stood and cried. Others pointed to a name and told their children about the person behind the name.

Around the periphery of the memorial, Vietnam veterans stood in groups recalling battles, friends, and stories.

Finally and proudly, they wore remnants of their uniforms.

But for the men whose names are engraved on the wall, their young faces are frozen in time--and in the memories of the people who loved them then and love them now.

*In December 1969, the first draft lottery since 1942 was held. It determined the order of induction for men born between Jan. 1, 1944 and Dec. 31, 1950.

-- Charlotte --