On May 8th, the world learned the Roman Catholic Church had a new leader, as American-born Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost was elected pope. Now known as Pope Leo XIV, the pontiff graduated from Villanova University, which is a little over 18 miles from Philadelphia.
Coincidentally, the day after the announcement in Vatican City, the Phillies were in Cleveland to play the Guardians at Progressive Field.
While standing at the northwest corner of East 9th Street and Carnegie Avenue greeting folks heading to the stadium as I wore my 56-year-old U.S. Army dress uniform and holding my peace flag, I said to some Phillies fans, “Welcome to Cleveland.!! There were a lot of smiles at Villanova yesterday!!” They smiled or even laughed as they understood the reason for my comment. A middle-aged couple stopped to chat and the woman noted her son, Nicholas, was in the army and she was very grateful he never went to war. He repairs Blackhawk helicopters. She said, “I know we need the military for our freedom”. It was clear the poor mom, like millions of other Americans, had drunk the Kool Aid infused with fear-mongering rhetoric. As a Vietnam veteran, I politely said, “Neither the Viet Cong nor the North Vietnamese Army had any interest in taking away our freedom. We were sent to Vietnam to kill communists and now Vietnam a communist country, is our ally against China. All those lives were wasted. “We were sent to Afghanistan to get rid of the Taliban and the Taliban regained power four years ago. All those lives wasted. The Taliban had no interest in taking away our freedom.” While walking back to Tower City to catch the Blue Line rapid home, a couple stopped to talk. The woman and her husband live in Shaker Heights, and she said she has seen me walk in the Shaker Heights Memorial Day Parade in uniform and carrying my peace flag. I said to them, “When people thank me for serving our country, I sometimes say, ‘I didn’t serve my country. I served deceitful, lying, fearmongering, war-mongering politicians and their war-profiteering bed partners’.” The gentleman gently touched my flag and said, “You’re serving our country now.” His comment was at once surprising, unexpected and flattering. I went on to say, “Those truly serving our country are medics, nurses, doctors and mental health professionals who work very hard to mend as best they can the psyches and bodies of those ravaged and savaged by war. They’re the real war heroes. Not those who kill and destroy. That’s not heroic. It’s barbaric.” I ended my chat by asking rhetorically, “Isn’t it funny that those who shout the loudest for war have never been in one?” The following day I attended a weekly hour-long peace vigil behind the West Side Market. A gentleman walked up to me with his wife and two children to express his deep appreciation for my message and presence. He said he had been in the Air Force, and I said, “We were on the same team. We just played different positions.” He said he joined the Air Force after 9/11, feeling compelled “to do something” in response to the terrorist attacks. I said, “A lot of people did that (enlisted).” I told him, “I was in Vietnam for a year. I like peace a lot better than unnecessary, unwinnable wars–Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. Those who have not experienced the bitter taste of war can never ever respect peace to the same degree as I do. It just can’t happen.” He strongly agreed with all of my comments, as did his wife. After the vigil, I walked toward a nicely-dressed young man standing next to a display of pamphlets. Above the literature rack was the word “Peace” in large letters and the image of a dove. During our conversation I noticed he had a slight accent, and I asked where he was from. He said Pakistan. The small pamphlet he gave me said “Meet a Muslim” on the cover. Inside were some statistics and questions and answers regarding Islam. This was one of the questions: Are Muslims taught to kill? Answer: Muslims are taught in the Holy Quran (Muslim Holy Book) that all life is sacred and to kill even one person is like killing all of humanity. I said, “When I was in Saigon, I visited a flower market one Saturday morning and noticed a young Vietnamese father with his three very cute children. “The thought came to mind that we are all alike. We want to work, pay our bills and raise our children.” I told my new Muslim friend, “We’re all children of the same creator.” He smiled.
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