When I walked over to the Avalon Road rapid stop along Van Aken Boulevard in Shaker Heights, a Black man noting my U.S. Army Class A dress uniform as I carried my furled peace flag, said he had served with the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Bragg (North Carolina). I mentioned I was at Bragg from September 1966 until June off ’67. I told him I am a member of Veterans for Peace and unfurled my peace flag, saying, “We’re all children of the same creator, but millions of people around the word ignore that obvious fact–whether we call the creator Allah or God.” He smiled at my observation and said, “Yes, one creator”.
I was waiting to catch the Blue Line rapid downtown so I could greet baseball fans heading to Progressive Field for the Cleveland Guardians-Oakland Athletics game on Friday the 18th. (The good guys won, 8-6.) While standing at the northwest corner of East 9th Street and Carnegie Avenue, a 30-something woman with three young girls said, “Are you a soldier?” I said, “I was in 1968.” Her “deer in the headlights” expression indicated she was more than a little puzzled by my answer, then she said, “Did you protect us?” I said, “I protected fear-mongering politicians and war profiteers.” Again, “deer in the headlights.”
A female baseball fan said, “You look very dapper” and I said, “thank you”. Another woman gave me the peace sign and I said, “We sure need it” and she said, “Now more than ever”. Most people responded in kind to my cheery, friendly “Hi!”, even if they didn’t like my peace message as a Vietnam veteran. Many others simply ignored me, but I gave them an image they won’t soon–if ever–forget.
Lately I’ve been making a point of starting my walk back to Tower City to catch the rapid home as someone sings the National Anthem in the stadium. Folks standing in line to enter the stadium are silent and stand still but I keep walking, saying “excuse me” as I cut through the lines. No doubt many are unhappy I am not similarly disposed to stand still, as I opt to keep walking with my peace message. A few minutes after the anthem, one couple wanted to talk with me, noting they had seen me at East 9th and Carnegie. I said, “This is called a peace flag. I was in Vietnam for a year. I like peace a lot better than unnecessary, unwinnable wars–Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. All those lives wasted. But there is lots of money in war.”
A few minutes later two women sympathetic to my peace message wanted to talk. I said, “We were sent to Vietnam to kill communists and now Vietnam, a communist country, is our ally against China. I hate to say it but our soldiers killed in the war were wasted lives.” It was an uncomfortable truth that I sensed did not sit well with at least one of the women.
A bearded young man walking toward me stopped and said, “How old are you?” I said, “My right rotator cuff is 82…but the rest of me is 19.” He smiled and said, “I like your style!”.While walking on Prospect Avenue toward Jack Casino to make a pit stop before catching the Blue Line rapid home, a woman walking past my right side recognized the First Infantry Division shoulder patch and said, “Big Red One…nice.” I said, “It wasn’t my idea. I got drafted. I was in Vietnam for a year. I like peace a lot better than unnecessary, unwinnable wars—Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. There is lots of money in war.” She agreed and made this rather odd comment, “Thank you for surviving.” I said, “I’m happy about that, too.”
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