Remember Me
The turn of events taking place in the reception area created a robust excitement that drew more people into the crowded room. For a brief moment in time, it was as if Dutton Maxwell and James Edwards were the only people there. The old war veteran couldn’t believe his good fortune in meeting the son of an old friend. And James Edwards Junior was just as interested in Dutton, asking about his father’s nature: “What kind of soldier was my father? How did he feel before jumping out of the plane and behind enemy lines? Did my father ever talk about my mother?”
Dutton, the once-reluctant master of ceremonies, now wanted to know if Marjorie ever remarried. How many step-brothers and sisters did James have? How did his mom keep his dad’s memory alive? Did they stay in Clarkston, Tennessee, or did they move? Did young James ever serve his country? Dutton also shared what he and James’s mother talked about the day he came to pay his condolences.
Don Haverford had every reason to be upset with James Edward hijacking his interview. Instead of being anxious about the direction of the discussion, Don eased back in his chair, waiting to see what happened next. This was far more interesting than the dull, drab questions he’d struggled mightily to come up with. He scribbled furiously on his notepad, trying to capture every morsel of the exchange.
“Yes, sir!” James snapped to attention. “I got drafted to serve in the Vietnam War but was deferred so I could go to the University of Tennessee and then on to Harvard Law. Though my stepfather was a hard-working man, we never had much money. The GI Bill and some grants through the Army are what got me through school at Tennessee. And Harvard had enough endowment to carry me the rest of the way. But unlike you, sir, I never did see combat. The Army put me in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, and I served until we began to bring the boys home from Vietnam.”
“Oh, you had to bring that up, didn’t you?” the seasoned war veteran said with a sudden dullness in his eyes. “Vietnam turned out to be a blight on the American landscape, an unwinnable war, nothing more than a political battle. That war disgraced the uniform. You could see it in the eyes of the American people. They loathed our involvement. That was really the first time in American history that free speech was tested. All those demonstrations, the burning of draft cards, the escalation of drug use, LSD, free love—you name it. I’m convinced it all sprung out of Washington and didn’t stop until it found root in the jungles of Vietnam. Never felt so sorry for anyone as I did for those poor kids who fought valiantly for our freedom only to be viewed as disgraced, dishonorable tools of a political machine when they came home. Wasn’t their fault.”
“And what a motley crew it was that returned home,” James added. “Our work in the Judge Advocate’s Office revolved a lot around prosecuting the misconduct of soldiers. Many didn’t want to be there in the first place, so they acted out via drug use, contracting social diseases, and desertion. What a mess. They came home to broken promises from our government, who were indifferent to their needs, and miniscule GI bill payments because of a sour economy. Heck, I felt a little bit of what they were going through when applying to law firms. Though thinly veiled, the disgust and discrimination against a Vietnam veteran, even with a Harvard law degree, was still apparent. Losers don’t get parades, and the pervading opinion amongst the citizens of the United States was that we’d lost the war.”
“And losers we stayed until those planes hit the Twin Towers on that awful September day,” Dutton continued as anger bulged through the veins in his throat. “Once again, people were proud to wear the uniform, proud to be an American, and eager to join all the services. The Appropriations Committee bolstered defense budgets, planes and boats were being replaced, and it was fashionable again to be in the armed forces. After a long hiatus, the United States once again reestablished herself as the world’s predominant superpower. James, how many people have stopped you and said, ‘Thank you for your service’?” The rhetorical question hung in the air. “We all became rock stars again. Parades, fireworks, fly-overs. Red, white, and blue everywhere. Worldwide media screamed again of our dominance as a country. People even flocked to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.
“In the face of tremendous adversity, America once again pulled together,” Dutton offered with a sudden hint of nostalgia in his voice. “For a brief moment in time, Republicans quit being Republicans, and Democrats quit being Democrats. We were all united to a single cause. But look at us now. What happened, James?”
James Edwards Junior sighed the deep sigh of a wildly conflicted soldier who happened to have seen the armed forces through the lens of an attorney. “The further we get from 9/11, the more marginalized our country becomes. Too much government, sir. When the bureaucracy in Washington keeps getting bigger and bigger, too many people start making decisions for no other reason than to justify their positions. And the winds of political change waft over all government agencies, especially the armed forces, bringing new ideas and ideologies to change the fabric of each branch. The Army you and I served in is not the same as today’s Army.”
Don Haverford’s hand looked sore from writing so much. In an attempt to preserve proper interview decorum, he fumbled for a question. “What sort of political ideologies do you mean?” was the best he could come up with.
Dutton cleared his throat, then spoke up. “I think he means woke. Don’t you, James?”
“As much as I hate to admit it,” James began, choosing his words carefully, “in my opinion, the armed forces in our country have made the same mistake they told us as cadets to never make: never take your eyes off your mission. The proliferation of all sorts of ideologies advanced by activist groups has blurred the vision of the various branches of the armed forces. Their new term is ‘American exceptionalism,’ which seems to congregate all sorts of radical movements. Military leadership has kowtowed to some of the progressive movement in the name of political correctness. But it has weakened our military. Leadership has been so busy pursuing political correctness that they’ve lost sight of their primary mission, which is ‘to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.’”
Turning toward what had become the assembled masses, Dutton added, “That’s part of the oath we take when we enlist. But it’s hard to defend the Constitution when there’s all this other noise around. In my opinion, they’ve done what they told us to never do. They’ve taken their eye off of what the military is all about. Now, the United States is paying a huge price for it. Sometimes I feel like a foreigner in my own country.” Dutton had a faraway look in his eyes. “Hollywood doesn’t help when they make movies that incorporate some of those ideologies in them. Besides, they paint the picture that the military is all about the ‘me,’ when the military is just the opposite. Imagine being trapped in a foxhole like I was, yet only concerned about my own affairs instead of the well-being of my buddies. From day one in basic training, they begin drilling into you that you watch out for your fellow soldier first. That’s why James’s father jumped on that grenade. It wasn’t about him; it was about the other guys in the foxhole. And for that dedication, he paid the ultimate price.”
“But when the term woke is used today, doesn’t it alert others to the idea of systematic injustice?” Don injected into the conversation. “I mean, you have to admit that all sorts of injustice exists in our society today—”
James quickly cut him off. “Our armed forces exist to fight against systematic injustice. When people or countries feel slighted, they first want to protest. If they don’t get what they want, then they want to fight. There is no place in our military for conflicting minds. Right now, we’re so busy fighting each other over systematic injustices, that we’ve forgotten to fight our enemies. And I dare say that a lot of policy coming out of Washington today is shaped to accommodate a military weakened by woke ideologies. Recruitment is way down in part because young men and women don’t want to go to war with ideologies as their enemy. They want to support and defend our country, not a set of ideologies.”
A big smile crossed Dutton’s face. “Well said, Counselor. Your daddy would be proud of the man you’ve become.” The room erupted with applause for the two war heroes who were joined together by yet another war hero who long ago gave his life so they both could reminisce of their service to our country, free from the oppression of communism.
Dutton turned to face the reporter. “Don, do you have everything you need for your story?”
“More than I ever could have expected,” Don said. “James, I could never have imagined how serendipitous it was to have you reunite with Sergeant Maxwell right here before us. Thanks to both of you. More importantly, though it’s an overused cliché, thank you both for your service to our country. God bless you both!”
People began to gather their things. The show was over. James carefully hugged Dutton, whispering in his ear to see if he had enough energy to visit further. Dutton’s subtle nod was all the encouragement he needed. A line of grateful well-wishers wound out the door. Everyone wanted to shake the hand of the bona-fide war veterans. After all, it was Memorial Day, one of only a few days a year America recognizes its war heroes.
When everyone had left the room, James slowly began to share what was on his mind. “Dutton, I can’t tell you how fortunate I feel to have found you. We have so much to share. Would you mind if I came back again sometime?”
Dutton looked him square in the eyes. “Wouldn’t mind a bit. I’d love to continue a friendship that obviously started when you were still swaddled in your mama’s arms. I’d love to meet your wife and kids someday too. Think we might all go out to dinner sometime?” he added hopefully.
James’s face became long as he stared at the floor. “Sir, my wife and I divorced about ten years back. Blackest stain on what used to be a wonderful life. I wanted what it sounds like you had. A perfect family and a strong faith. But I . . . Well . . .” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t faithful. It got messy, and now my son and two girls won’t even speak to me. Thankfully, I got to know my first four grandchildren before the divorce. But I’ve never been allowed to meet the last three. I have no relationship with either my ex-wife nor the kids and grandkids. My life’s a mess,” James added quietly.
Just like James’s daddy had done for him, Dutton knew it was time to throw himself on James’s hand grenade. “Counselor, you and I have a lot to talk about. Have you continued on in your faith?”
“Never had one,” James replied. “I suppose that was part of my problem.”
“Well,” the old paratrooper continued, “we should talk about that too. You ever given any thought to reconciling with your wife and kids? I don’t mean getting back together with your wife, though I suppose it could happen. I’m talking about taking responsibility for your mistakes regardless of what they are, or what your family may have done, and asking for forgiveness. Son, you need the Lord in your life. He can sort all of this out. All you gotta do is ask Him.” Dutton stopped to assess what effect, if any, his comments may have had on James. And then he saw it. A miniscule glint of hope flashed through James’s eyes. “What do you say we make some plans to get together and have some dinner? My treat.”
James softened his face, cocked an eyebrow at Dutton, and gave a sappy grin. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned having dinner someplace besides here. Makes me wonder . . . Are they taking care of you in this place?”
The old man chuckled. “Son, there’s a reason everyone around here calls this place ‘the warehouse.’ We’re all sitting around waiting our turn to die. I want to get out and live what little life I’ve got left. And besides, the food is not very good, and these old women hang all over me like a cheap suit. Today’s interview will make it worse. So I’d appreciate it if you’d get me out of this prison and take me someplace fun.”
Both men laughed at Dutton’s characterization. Despite differing situations, hope had just appeared on the horizon. And hope is all you’ve got when you’re in the foxhole fighting life’s battles alongside your fellow soldier.
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