"What did you do in the war, Daddy?"
What did I do during the war? I use to imagine what I would say in response when asked that question by a child of mine. None ever did. And I havenât thought about it in a long, long while. Now Ukraine is happening.
I remember listening to âWar Wounds,â a Selected Shorts podcast. Itâs a memoir by Tom Bissell about he and his father visiting places in Vietnamwhere his father had fought as a Marine. And I am reflecting again on theimaginary answer to âWhat did I do during the War? The Vietnam War?â
I protested. We as a family protested, marched with signs. Martha went to Washington as part of a delegation to talk with our congressmen. Had photographs taken of us with our two children, who were four and five at the time, picketing. They were snapped by newspaper photographers and by others, we learned later. For some of our photos wound up in FBI files we were told.
We were living in Asheville, North Carolina, where we had moved from New York City. My first job was working on a rock crusher for the brother of Marthaâs step-father. The brother was a highway contractor and was working on the new interstate outside of Asheville. After some weeksâit may have been six weeks or it may have been lessâ I was able to leave for a job on the morning daily, The Asheville Citizen. And I was a reporter.
We became protesters almost accidentally. We attended Friendsâ Meeting (Quakers, as they are more popularly known) . Pacifism has long been a tenet of the Friends and before long we were joining them in their rallies and other protest events and casually hosted gatherings that included some seriously committed pacifists such as the daughters of poet pacifist, Carl Sandburg. Personally I had never been a fan of war. This had a great deal, I am sure, to do with what I had read in school such as Joseph Heller and Kurt Vonnegut, and growing up listening to war tales. Aunts and uncles had fought in World Wars I and II. I had ancestors who fought in the Revolution and in the Civil War (or the War Between the States, the name my great aunts would only use). What struck me in all these stories and accounts was the devastation that war brings. The devastation occurring in Ukraine. But also the devastation in the lives of those touched by the ones who return from war and the ones who didnât. Marthaâs father was killed in the HĂźrtgen Forest in midwinter Germany 1944, leaving a wife, two daughters, and a widowed mother as well.Â
So we marched and protested and took our kids along. Marthaâs step father was a US marshal and told us that Marthaâs trip to DC had brought her to the attention of the FBI and we were duly listed and on file. He had been in World War II as well. Stationed at the end in India working in the motor pool servicing army air planes.