Several of the men looked at Harry as if they expected him to speak,
but he did not volunteer. He sat still, lost in thought, ignoring the uncomfortable
folding chair.
He was jolted to awareness by the sound of Major Kirkman’s voice. “Folks, we have
a real war hero here with us, Harry Connors. Harry commanded a submarine in World
War II and won the Navy Cross. Harry, we would like you to say something.”
Everyone turned Harry’s way. Reluctantly, he stood. He was a slight man in his middle
fifties, with graying temples on his black hair. Though he had not been in the service
for more than two decades, the military bearing that never left him was apparent
to all. As respected as any person in the community, he projected an air of basic
decency and honesty.
He looked around at his friends and neighbors. I wish Dell was here , he thought.
With a long look on his face, he began, in his deep baritone voice: “Well, to tell
you the truth, I wish I had never seen the damn medal. Please excuse my language.”
People stared at him. He knew many of them had never heard him swear. He paused for
a second, and then went on, slowly.
“I got that medal over the death of several of my closest friends. Since that day,
I would have traded it a thousand times for one of their lives. They were good men,
much better than I could ever be. Good husbands.” He nodded. “Good fathers. Just
. . . good men.”
He paused again.
“Some of you are veterans and will probably agree with what I’m about to say. I think
the rest of you will have trouble taking the words of an old hand like me. So, take
them for what they’re worth, if anything.
“War is a terrible undertaking not describable with any words I can find. It’s almost
useless for me to try to say anything. But if you are determined to go to war, I
would say two things to you that are pretty much for certain, two things you might
not have considered.
“The first is that you will kill innocent people. However you define the word innocent,
no matter how small, you will kill some of these people by accident just because
they’ll be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You will kill women and children
who are innocents in any Christian sense you can find.
“I contributed directly to the deaths of, I am sure, hundreds of people who were
in the ships we sank. Some were enemy soldiers or sailors that I was pledged to kill.
But probably the majority were innocent civilians. We may have killed some of our
own people who were prisoners of war on those ships. That’s a hard thing to live
with.
“Second: your friends will be killed. In war, due to the stakes involved in risking
your lives with others, they become friends unlike any that you have known, or will
know. They become like brothers, but more.”
He paused, looking around at everyone. Then he continued, his words measured.
“They become a part of your soul. Nothing that anyone could ever say or do will ever
change that, not even your own death. And these are the ones who will be killed right
in front of your eyes, and you will watch them die, and not be able to do anything
about it.”
He nodded in respect to those present.
“Thanks for listening to me. I did not mean to talk so long.”
Harry didn’t look at anyone as he walked back to his seat. He picked up his jacket
and walked out of the room. As the door closed behind him, he realized he could hear
the discussion resuming behind it. He paused, wondering if he’d had any effect on
things.
One young man—it sounded like Danny Buckson, the feed store clerk—said: “I think
we should support this. Americans believe in democracy. We need to help the rest
of the world in becoming democratic and resisting communism. It is really an evil
system.”
Someone else, whose voice Harry couldn’t place, spoke up. “I’m sure war is no fun,
but we must support our country.”
Harry decided he’d heard enough.
He left the library and walked across the parking
but he did not volunteer. He sat still, lost in thought, ignoring the uncomfortable
folding chair.
He was jolted to awareness by the sound of Major Kirkman’s voice. “Folks, we have
a real war hero here with us, Harry Connors. Harry commanded a submarine in World
War II and won the Navy Cross. Harry, we would like you to say something.”
Everyone turned Harry’s way. Reluctantly, he stood. He was a slight man in his middle
fifties, with graying temples on his black hair. Though he had not been in the service
for more than two decades, the military bearing that never left him was apparent
to all. As respected as any person in the community, he projected an air of basic
decency and honesty.
He looked around at his friends and neighbors. I wish Dell was here , he thought.
With a long look on his face, he began, in his deep baritone voice: “Well, to tell
you the truth, I wish I had never seen the damn medal. Please excuse my language.”
People stared at him. He knew many of them had never heard him swear. He paused for
a second, and then went on, slowly.
“I got that medal over the death of several of my closest friends. Since that day,
I would have traded it a thousand times for one of their lives. They were good men,
much better than I could ever be. Good husbands.” He nodded. “Good fathers. Just
. . . good men.”
He paused again.
“Some of you are veterans and will probably agree with what I’m about to say. I think
the rest of you will have trouble taking the words of an old hand like me. So, take
them for what they’re worth, if anything.
“War is a terrible undertaking not describable with any words I can find. It’s almost
useless for me to try to say anything. But if you are determined to go to war, I
would say two things to you that are pretty much for certain, two things you might
not have considered.
“The first is that you will kill innocent people. However you define the word innocent,
no matter how small, you will kill some of these people by accident just because
they’ll be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You will kill women and children
who are innocents in any Christian sense you can find.
“I contributed directly to the deaths of, I am sure, hundreds of people who were
in the ships we sank. Some were enemy soldiers or sailors that I was pledged to kill.
But probably the majority were innocent civilians. We may have killed some of our
own people who were prisoners of war on those ships. That’s a hard thing to live
with.
“Second: your friends will be killed. In war, due to the stakes involved in risking
your lives with others, they become friends unlike any that you have known, or will
know. They become like brothers, but more.”
He paused, looking around at everyone. Then he continued, his words measured.
“They become a part of your soul. Nothing that anyone could ever say or do will ever
change that, not even your own death. And these are the ones who will be killed right
in front of your eyes, and you will watch them die, and not be able to do anything
about it.”
He nodded in respect to those present.
“Thanks for listening to me. I did not mean to talk so long.”
Harry didn’t look at anyone as he walked back to his seat. He picked up his jacket
and walked out of the room. As the door closed behind him, he realized he could hear
the discussion resuming behind it. He paused, wondering if he’d had any effect on
things.
One young man—it sounded like Danny Buckson, the feed store clerk—said: “I think
we should support this. Americans believe in democracy. We need to help the rest
of the world in becoming democratic and resisting communism. It is really an evil
system.”
Someone else, whose voice Harry couldn’t place, spoke up. “I’m sure war is no fun,
but we must support our country.”
Harry decided he’d heard enough.
He left the library and walked across the parking
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