Most people were off work for the holiday, and the Guardians and Cavaliers were playing so I knew there would be lots of people downtown, proving a golden opportunity to promote peace in my 1968 Class A U.S. Army dress uniform while carrying my peace flag. Practically from the get-go shortly after exiting Tower City after taking the Blue Line rapid downtown, a gentleman said, “Happy Memorial Day”. I rather curtly said, “Happy is not the right word for Memorial Day. I know three names on that wall in Washington.” He was taken aback by my stern response and softly said, “Oh”.
While standing at the northwest corner of East 9th Street and Carnegie Avenue, about a half-dozen people simpatico with my peace message stopped to chat. I said, “Since we’re ‘on the same page’, here’s an anti-war souvenir for you” and I gave them my business card indicating I am a Vietnam veteran and Ohio coordinator for the U.S. Peace Memorial foundations, which is based in Palm Harbor, Florida. To the like-minded folks I said, “I was in Vietnam for a year. I like peace a lot more than unwinnable unnecessary wars–Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan and now Iran. There is lots of money in war.” One gentleman in agreement said he was a Navy veteran. I said, “We were on the same team. We just played different positions.” Another Navy veteran wore a black baseball cap with gold embroidery reading USS Forrestal. He said his lottery number after the military draft ended in 1973 prompted a fear that he would be called to serve in the army. He neutralized that worry by enlisting in the Navy. I said, “The Navy was safer.” He smiled in agreement.
I was pleasantly surprised that a motorcycle policeman who was stopped at the traffic light reached to shake my hand after noticing the First Infantry Division patch on the right shoulder of my uniform. He said he was with “the Big Red One” at its Fort Riley, Kansas headquarters and I said, “I was never at Fort Riley…only with the division in Vietnam.” One young man said he had an uncle who was a combat medic in Vietnam. I said, “Tough gig. The only blood I saw in Vietnam was my own if I nicked myself shaving. But I lost a lieutenant in the Tet Offensive three days after his 23rd birthday. His whole life ahead of him was blown away.”
After traffic thinned out, I began my trek back to Tower City. One young man appreciating my message stopped me to chat. As I gave him and his date my business card, a petite woman employee of the Guardians quickly appeared and said I wasn’t allowed to do that, but the gentleman came to my defense and said he had asked for the card. Apparently handing out “literature” on Guardians property is prohibited. She continued to give me a hard time though, claiming I was on Cleveland Guardians property. I argued that I was on a public sidewalk closest to East 9th Street. She started to walk ahead of me, and my half-Irish blood began aboiling as I said, “I was in Vietnam for a year and this is how I get treated!?” She walked onto Guardians property and offered an olive branch of sorts, saying “I commend you.” I said, “I don’t commend you. Shame on you…shame on you!!”
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