Strings of Sadness

I’m not sure if my sad memories are becoming more frequent or whether they’ve accumulated over the many years. Or is it possible that they are striking me with more impact as I age? Friday, when a friend shared a post about Tyrone Bradley, a sailor who lost his life in Vietnam, it stirred so many memories of an era of my adolescent life.

I distinctly remember the concerns that confronted me with the unpleasant thought of being drafted and sent off to fight in a “war that wasn’t a war.” Like so many other young men, I had no desire to go to a distant land and be compelled to kill anybody. Faced with this dilemma, I had to choose, would I escape to Canada like so many others or would I enlist? My dad, Carl Beck fought in WWII where he was wounded. Could I do any less?

As a teenager, I was adjusting to my rampant hormones, my developing male body, and my adolescent mind. Horror stories filtered back from returning soldiers, their families, and the onslaught of biased media “reporting.” Facing so many unknowns, I chose to enlist in the Navy to become a corpsman where I could save lives and not take them. I wasn’t quite a conscientious objector, but didn’t like the thought of taking another person’s life.

After basic training and Corps School in the Great Lakes, I was assigned to a naval hospital in Orlando, Florida. Because of time factors with our graduating class, none of these corpsmen went to Field Medical Training. Field Medical Training was necessary before a corpsman could be assigned to a Marine unit and was a sure ticket to Vietnam.

Although I didn’t go to Vietnam, I tended for the wounded who returned. Seeing these men and the damage to their bodies, I was thankful that I didn’t go in-country. But, this was a double-edged sword. I was grateful that I hadn’t been asked to kill another soul, but when a good friend and childhood playmate was killed, I felt guilty because he had gone to Vietnam and been killed, while I was safe in the United States. Sgt. Earl D. Barkley, U. S. Army, died protecting me and fellow Americans. To have these brave men labeled as “baby-killers” stabbed deeply in my heart. That feeling remains even today.

With the remembrance for Tyrone, these strings began to vibrate again stirring sounds of sorrow and dredged up emotions. The recollections caused me to go online and review my friend’s service history and look at his space on the Vietnam Memorial Wall. Yes, those strings still exist and often write words to a sad tune.