Thoughts on the Death of a Young Neighbor

Schenectady Gazette
February 1989
A young man died in front of my house this week in a one car accident. He was 18
years old and his life had hardly begun. The absurdity of his death is everywhere,
not just in wars. It does not end when we stop shooting at each other. As a
veteran, it would be nice to believe that when we leave the war, the war leaves
us. That is not true. War stays with us, helping us interpret our past, present and
future experiences. In that way, it guides our search for meaning, much as other
intense experiences do for those who missed the “opportunity” to fight.

I say this not sadness, but to claim the dignity that belongs to veterans. We bring
something to our society that is very important, a raw sensitivity to the issues of
life and death. We also bring a feeling of vulnerability and an ability to continue in
the midst of tragedy. It is worth mentioning that this survivability has costs and
benefits.

The death outside my door makes these issues personal, as do the final word
from the movie “Platoon”; “Those of us who did make it have an obligation to
build again, to teach others what we know and to try with what’s left of our lives
to find goodness and a meaning to this life.” We veterans belong in a dialogue,
not on a pedestal or as untouchables.

My experiences in Vietnam helped me put some perspective on the death outside

my door. Depending on where one lives, the 18 year old boy might have been
some neighbor who was killed in a war. Politics might give that death more
legitimacy. As a parent that would not help me. In some ways it might make it
more difficult to grieve. My heart goes out to the parents and my prayer is that I
will not have to experience such a loss. There is a finality to some mistakes that
seems so unfair. My neighbor’s death brings back memories of a time when many
18 and 19-year-ols were being buried. They too were not old enough to drink.

1
Their lives had just begun. Their deaths were equally absurd. I know it happens
and its proximity makes me feel vulnerable. I had a similar feeling when Pan Am
Flight 103 went down over Scotland; others did also. Too many parents burying
their children!

We are all at a loss about what to do. These deaths occur and similar ones
surround us. We can shut down our feelings of vulnerability or we can celebrate
them. It could be a starting point in a recommitment to peace, to minimizing the
number of absurd deaths. We can find ways to survive and to transcend.

Veterans are big on reality. We tend to want to know the harsh realities and then
try to make our way through. Sometimes we look for simple definitions - one side
is right and one side is wrong. Then we can choose sides and move full speed
ahead. Life is not that simple, however. We cannot muscle away out of a world at
the mercy of terrorists and/or reckless drivers speeding through the
neighborhoods. I often wish we could.

Starting from our vulnerability, we will find our hope. It is unconscious at first. It is
not rational. Perhaps we have relied too much on the logical. In visualizing a world
where we can safely travel on airplanes through the Middle East and walk in the
inner cities at night, we articulate an expectation for our governments and for
ourselves. Then we behave as if our dream is possible. We do not support leaders
who blame others. We hold them to a standard that says, “You asked us to vote
for you, we gave you the authority; this is what we want done.”

Ask a veteran how he survived. It was a combination of believing it was possible,

self-responsibility and taking care of each other. Those who do not feel their
vulnerability took careless chances and were not there for those who needed
them. In return, they did not always get the help they needed.

I visualize a world where we rethink much of what guides us now, that we stop
tolerating activities that are self-destructive. We need to rekindle our dreams and
take decisive action. The logic that guides us now is not bringing us to safety. It
terrifies me to think of the number of drunk-driving deaths we tolerate. I am
afraid to be out after midnight with bars serving teens and adults who recklessly

2
drive high-speed weapons along the highways and through my neighborhood. In
western movies we saw gunslingers check their weapons at the door. Today, we
might have patrons check their car keys at the door and retrieve them only if they
pass a breathalyzer test. I see a world that realigns for mutual safety rather than
territorial imperative, where nations acknowledge that we share the same
environment and protect it. This may require some sharing of what we call
national sovereignty in order to protect ourselves. We will need church leaders
who have the courage to grow, as well. They will need to give up some of their
sovereignty. We will not be safe from terrorists until we all stop using God as an
excuse to exercise our hatred.

In times of vulnerability, we need to be inspired by the possibility of attaining our

dreams. We need faith in something beyond ourselves in order to find the
strength to move on. Let us recommit to our dreams. They will help us navigate
our lives individually and as a community. Believing makes it possible.

Edward Murphy, of Saratoga Springs, is a Vietnam veteran and political activists.

He’s a regular contributor to the Saturday Op-Ed Page.