Soldier

June 19th, 1965

Okay, I am really starting to regret this.
Oh, what am I saying? I was such a stupid idiot! Vietnam is, no other way to put it, torture!
Meanwhile, I was the idiot a few months ago who came up to the building, offered my information, and
volunteered. Matt, my best friend, called me crazy after I told him what happened. Now I know why.
Most of the people here in Vietnam are draftees, and hardly anyone volunteered. Or at least in
my battalion. And why would they be? The rations are awful and they taste like dog food. There are drugs
and cigarettes if you can find them to help you get by, but it’s not enough. There are sometimes hours
with nothing to do and boredom is something else we have to fight against. Right now is one of those
hours. I’m just hanging out at my tent, wondering why I’m here and what I’m going to do.
Jane packed this book into my knapsack even when I asked her NOT to. I really don’t want to do
this, but it’s getting kinda boring around here, and I have nothing else to do, so might as well. My name is
Oliver James Owens. Private Marine Oliver James Owens. You see, just a week ago, I got shipped to
Vietnam to fight the war here. Vietnam couldn’t possibly be more different from home--dusty, smelly, hot,
and sweaty. I’m from uptown in Colorado, and it is so much colder there. Jane, aka my big sister, wanted
to hear all about my war stories once I came back. She kept pestering me like a nut. I’m starting to think
I’m a bad influence on her.
I would do things to bug her all the time. It made life so much more fun and entertaining. But oh,
might as well do this one stupid thing for her. She didn’t want me to go to war, and now I see why. As for
me, I really don’t know what to think of myself. fighting in a war. I’m nineteen and just graduated from high
school. Mom doesn’t want me to go to war because I might die in it. Dad says it’ll be fine. “For God and
country, son!” he says all the time. He’s super patriotic and all that.
Jane wants me to go least of all. She’s in college, and one of the doves, and protests with her
friends on campus a lot. She and Dad argue all the time over the dinner table. Jane said a ton about
“American Imperialism,” and “Love, not War,” and Dad would shut her down, using his God and country
motto again. As for me, I don’t really have a clue. I want to go to college like Jane and all of my other
friends. She managed to get a scholarship! Dad says he will work extra hard so that I can go, but I don’t
want them to. I don’t want my dreams to be a burden, nor do I want to give up on them either. So off to
war, I go, willingly, like an idiot. A hopeful idiot, at least. Maybe the government will give me education
benefits for all the services I’ll do. But whether the war is right or wrong is what I’m worried about.
Communism is a stupid thing, and the idiot who came up with it, and isn’t it a noble objective to fight it?
And after all, going against your government is just as bad as going against your country, right? Besides,
how hard can it be? Vietnam is tiny, and South Vietnam is lucky to have us on their side. We’ll crush the
communists sooner or later!
Yours Sincerely, Private O. J. Owens of the United States Armed Forces

Dear Diary, May 4th, 1968

You know, I’m really starting to think that this war might not be worth it after all. No, who am I
kidding? It’s every bit as bad as they say! Jane was probably right about it all. The rations are still horrible.
Then there’s the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese. We usually fight guerilla style and even then it’s still
difficult. You can hardly even see the communists because they camouflage themselves in the forests so
well. They are even known to disguise themselves as civilians, so we can’t completely trust the South
Vietnamese much either.
Worst of all is the weather. Mosquitos are everywhere and if you aren’t too careful, you can get
sick because of them. It’s so hot and humid around these parts and we’re all dripping in sweat. If it’s not
hot, then it’s raining, the rains are usually heavy. There are also lots of snakes you have to watch out for,
not to mention the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese.
But I’m not complaining. At least not out loud. The black folks who fight alongside us have it
worse. This is the first war where we aren’t segregated. One thing I’ve noticed is that they’re still treated
worse than us white soldiers, and it isn’t fair, in my opinion. They get worse details, more punishments,
and less promotions. But for some odd reason, some folks think that’s alright. One of the civil rights
leaders, Martin Luther King Jr, was assassinated just last month. Some privates and colonels went
dancing about in white robes and they were celebrating. That made some black soldiers really angry and
a couple of fist fights broke out. A whistle got blown, and everyone got disciplined. Or at least that’s what
Jamie told me. Jamie is one of my closest friends around here. He’s one of the black soldiers and I feel
really bad for what he has to go through because of the color of his skin. But me and him--we’re buddies
for life.
One of the worst parts about fighting in this war was definitely what they called the Tet Offensive.
It was the most horrible thing ever. Tet is the Vietnamese New Year, and it’s an important part of their
culture. North Vietnam had suggested a truce that day so that people could enjoy the day in peace. Some
South Vietnamese soldiers had gone home with their families and most of us had let down our guard, so
we were even less prepared. I was in my tent reading a letter from my mother when that happened. The
first gunshots and explosions rang out. We were called into duty and the battle went on for days. So many
of my buddies fell that day and many more did as well as it continued. Even worse was the Battle at Hue.
The commies are stupid, but they’re fierce fighters, I have to give them credit for that. That battle
lasted for two months. While we were fighting, we received reports that the Viet Cong and NVA (North
Vietnamese Army) were rounding up anyone who they deemed a threat to their reign and killed them all.
Even the kids. The gunshots cracked up the night like lightning, I heard screams all around me, and I just
wanted to scream and run to my mommy. It was all just some big nightmare, wasn’t it? Or at least, it was
supposed to be. That ended just about two months ago, but feels like yesterday. I can’t wait to go home.
Yours Sincerely, Private O.J. Owens of the United States Armed Forces

March 17th, 1972.

A couple of days ago, we came home after so much time on the battlefield in Vietnam. Dad told
me about the day he came after beating the Nazis twenty-seven years ago. It was one of the happiest
days of his life. He told me that when he and his fellow soldiers came home, the entire town threw a party
to celebrate their long-awaited return. He told me about how Mom had cried and cried when she saw him.
Dad cried too when he saw Jane for the first time. He had been away in France when she was born. You
would expect the same from me, right? Well, that’s not what happened.
When we finally set foot in our country at long last, people booed at us as we passed. From what
we looked like and what we were wearing, it was clear to them who we were and where we came from.
Apparently, it wasn’t clear how much we had gone through for them. Matt was waiting for me at the end of
the highway. Jane told me in her last letter that he had run away to Canada because of the draft lottery
that the government created. He came back after Nixon replaced LBJ and announced Vietnamization. He
gave me a quick hug and we drove home. Mom, Jane, and Dad all smiled when they saw me. and we all
hugged each other and cried. I took a shower because I was covered in muck and sweat. Then we all sat
down for supper. Mom made my favorite; mashed potatoes with gravy and roast chicken. I knew Matt
hated gravy but he must’ve swallowed it to be polite.
It’s hard to believe that seven years have passed in Vietnam. I’m not the scared little nineteen
year old anymore, nope-- I’m a tough man of twenty-six years! I am a marine, I am a soldier! I just wish
everyone could see me that way though.
Remember those protestors I told you about? Well, they’re the anti-war protesters who might’ve
been the ones who spat on me. I sort of get why they’re mad, but it’s not my fault! There was this
massacre that happened during the Tet Offensive. It was called the My Lai Massacre. Basically what
happened was that a bunch of nutball soldiers in the US Army killed four hundred or more of the
Vietnamese citizens, and they were all unarmed. Then, they covered it up, and it wasn’t uncovered until a
year later. Then, the whole world went crazy.
And apparently, everybody thinks that we vets are all baby-killers, war criminals and such. I get
why you’re mad, but not why you’re mad at me, is what I want to yell at them! Jane isn’t like that, thank
goodness. I also phone called up a bunch of my buddies in the war. They either got reassigned to a
different battalion or went home earlier than me. They told me that the government didn’t give them a
penny of the benefits they should have gotten, and some of them had even known other vets who were
broke and homeless on the streets. Is the same thing going to happen to me?
I can’t write anymore.
Yours Sincerely, Private O.J. Owens of the United States Armed Forces

Protestor
May 4th, 1965,
It’s been a couple of months since we saw Oliver, my little brother, off to the army. I was
so upset that day, but I concealed it as best as I could. It wasn’t fair! How come he never listens
to me? Just because Daddy fought in a war, that didn’t mean he had to! I wanted to scream,
bash the walls and throw a tantrum, but I’m twenty years old, not a childish brat, so I decided to
tough it up. Poor Mom was doing a worse job than me, and she was crying and holding her
hankie and blowing her nose with it. She had already gone through her husband’s years in war,
and now she was going to see her son through it as well. Daddy was looking as proud as a lion,
and wept no tears at all. I bet he’ll wipe that smile off his face if we became a gold-star family. I
was so mad at him at that moment!
I packed one of my extra journals in Oliver’s bag so that he would have extra paper to
write with or perhaps keep a journal like I am. He asked me not to as his bag was packed to the
brim, but I managed to scooch it in there somehow.
I don’t hate Daddy--I never have and I never will. But he just doesn’t understand me, and
I don’t think he ever will. He’s always talking endlessly about communism and the need to fight
it, or on duty and honor and hard work. That is, by no means, a bad thing, but there are a lot of
people who work hard in this country and never get what they deserve. I went to this speech
with Mom about two years ago. She and I were visiting my Aunt Eleonor when all three of us
saw this huge crowd of people, all colors, ages, sizes and genders. And we followed them to the
front of the crowd. That was where we heard Martin Luther King Jr. deliver that “I have a dream,”
speech. It was the most magical moment of my entire life, and I will never, ever forget that day.
And it also taught me that just because you work hard in life, that doesn’t mean you get what
you want in the end. And maybe duty and honor aren’t worth it sometimes. It certainly shouldn’t
cost you your life.
That idiot LBG simply doesn’t understand that either. Mom does her best to understand
me, and I think she does sometimes. She’s the most patient, gentle, and kind woman in the
world. But I also don’t want to be like her. I want to be someone more forceful, the kind of
person who never gives up on herself or anyone or anything. Mom is a bit of a pushover
sometimes, and I really hate that. Oliver has always been the good kid, punctual, and always
the role model I was supposed to be.
 Daddy says it’s because of the ridiculous music that people are listening to these days.
But what does he know anyway? He’s always saying stuff like, “A girl’s place is at home,” and
“Don’t you use that tone with me young lady!” or “At your age, you should already be married!”
Oh, honestly, it makes me so sick. He’s never been there for me--I’ve always been the odd one
out of my family, and I’ve mostly had to parent myself for the longest time now.
Dominic, my boyfriend, is the only one who understands me. He doesn’t mind that I’m a
bibliophilic nerd, or that I am my own person. Neither does Emma, my best friend. All three of us
protest on the college campus whenever we can. Hopefully we can end the war as soon as we
can. Hopefully we can bring Oliver home.
Yours Truly, Jane Francis Owens.
April 6th, 1968
You won’t believe what happened! Martin Luther King Jr--assassinated! I couldn’t believe
it. Daddy was away from home at a dentist appointment, and Mom and I sat bug-eyed at the
sofa staring at the television screen. It was 8 PM, and everything seemed to go in a haze. Mom
and I began to cry. It was 6 PM when he was shot on a balcony, and just an hour later, he was
gone. I just couldn’t believe it. After his assasination, the riots began. Nobody (thankfully) rioted
in our town in Colorado, but they did in other places like DC, Baltimore, and New York. When
Daddy came home, he was bug-eyed and shocked as well. We ate supper at eleven o’clock in
silence and went to bed quickly. I couldn’t believe what was happening. 1968 really has to be
the worst year of my life, doesn’t it? But I will never forget Reverend King. He was the greatest
of men.
In other news, I’ve been so busy with everything else. This is my last year of college, and
I’ve been as busy as ever. I want to be a psychologist and it requires a lot of training. Dominic
and I are getting more serious. I’m almost certain that I want to be with him for the rest of my
life! But I’m not sure that now is the appropriate time for it. Just a few weeks ago, we had this
thing called the Tet Offensive. It was a horrible, bloody battle. The communists at the crack of
dawn, attacked unarmed civilians and soldiers during a truce during Tet, the Vietnamese New
Year, on more than a hundred locations and cities. It was horrible on the screen--death,
gunshots, and oh, the blood, so much blood. How can we be happy while people are dying? I
begged that Oliver would survive--we all did. I heard Daddy crying in his room a bunch. I never
knew him to cry like that before. He was always the tough, gruff, and proud man, not this weak
and vulnerable specimen. I felt bad for him and I went inside the room and we both cried
together. We get along much better these days. I feel much more noticed by him these days.
Like there was something there that wasn’t there before.
Daddy’s finally accepted that he's got an unconventional daughter and I’m not as
rebellious as I used to be anymore. And that might be the only good thing that came out of that
situation.
We got a letter from Oliver yesterday, so we know he’s alive. And thank God for that! I
know I’m not supposed to be happy-- now that Reverend King is dead, but I’m just so glad my
little brother’s alive! Also, that madman, LBJ has finally decided to drop out of the election race.
I’m not a big fan of Richard Nixon or anything like that, but maybe he can get us out of this war
and my brother home. The current White House has such ghastly liars, I can’t stand to look at
them.
In the meantime, we keep protesting. May the war’s end come soon!
 Yours truly, Jane Francis Owens.

November 17th, 1969

I also have other news of utmost importance to tell you. A few days later we received
reports of a massacre at the hands of our very own soldiers in the army. Almost two years ago,
on March 16th of 1968, a company of soldiers killed up to four hundred civilians. Not just any
civilians, but unarmed civilians. Then, the army decided to cover it up, refusing to tell the truth. It
wasn’t until a couple of reporters uncovered the truth that they are all now in a tough spot.

I was so mad then, I swear I could’ve been on fire if that was possible. I bit my pen so
hard, it broke and spilled ink in my mouth, so I had to get another pen. How could the army do
something like this? How dare they? Aren’t we supposed to be, as a country, the upholders of
peace and justice, the so-called “envy of the world,” and “epitome of democracy”? I can’t
imagine any country envying us at this moment nor are we the epitome of democracy so much
anymore.
I know Oliver didn’t do this, so for that I am glad. I just know he didn’t.
Emma told me, “Don’t be too sure.”
But I glowered at her and told her to hush up. My nerves are already shot anyway, so
she didn’t need to make it worse. I can’t stand the thought of my brother being a war criminal.
Daddy came home with a newspaper in his hand. Our TV was broken, so we had to
make do with the old-fashioned way. The army was calling an investigation into those atrocities.
The rest of America is furious as well, and more Americans are against the army’s continuing
presence in Vietnam. Daddy isn’t much of a supporter anymore either. He never recovered from
seeing those concentration camps the Nazis put up a long time ago.
He told me about it once years ago. There were dead bodies strewn all over the ground,
and they were starved to death, with their ribs and skeletons showing. The Nazis hadn’t even
bothered to act with much decency, so this massacre would be a reminder of all those years
ago. Dominic reckons LBJ covered it up to save his own reputation. I bet he did, that old snake
was good for nothing in the end after all. Anyways, Emma just called me. She said she’s going
to another protest with Ellis, Irene, Martha, and Lydia, along with some more of our classmates.
I better go now.
Yours, Jane Francis Owens

Supporter
February 16th, 1965
Yesterday we saw our boy off to the military. This might’ve been the proudest moment of
my life. I don’t want him to die o’course, but the feeling of it--my son is a hero-- rings through my
heart... Eliza isn’t taking the news very well, I hear her crying next to me in bed sometimes.. I tell
her it's going to be alright, but she won’t listen. I think she’s angry with me like our daughter,
Jane, is.
Oliver is only nineteen, the same age as when I was sent off to war, but he’ll be fine, I’m
sure. Jane and Eliza don’t see it that way though. Jane, though she doesn’t say it, blames me
for Oliver going off to war in the first place. We had a blowout at dinner last night. She didn’t say
a word to me, and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I exploded.
“What was I supposed to do? It was his choice, not mine!” I hissed.
She looked at me with her piercing green eyes. “You compelled him to make that choice!
It’s all your fault!”
“Don’t you use that tone with me, young lady! You ought to be proud of your brother,
doing his duty and fighting the communists!” I countered.
“Is ‘duty and honor’ worth it if he’s going to possibly die?” She shrieked.
Eliza stared down at her food, and I felt my anger flare. “Your brother knows his place,
and it’s time you found yours! And it’s at home!” I growled.
She got up and stormed out of the room, without touching her plate. I was almost certain
that she went up to her room and cried. I sighed and finished my dinner and left the room as
well. Eliza came up about half an hour later. When I tried to kiss her good night, she pushed me
away, and walked to the bathroom. She slammed the door and that night, she slept on the
couch.
Yep, Eliza definitely blames me.
I just don’t see how they can blame me like this. I went to war against the Nazis not
because I hated what was in front of me, but because I loved everything I left behind. I hate war,
but I don’t want it to come to us, so I am compelled to fight in it. My son felt the same way, or at
least I think he felt that way.
Jane was always my little rebel, just like I was when I was her age, so I’m not too
surprised she acted this way. But Eliza was always the one who had my back and always
understood me. Now, it seems, the war is driving us apart.
Sincerely, Eric James Owens

April 3th, 1968

The war’s getting worse and worse as it goes on. Everytime we see soldiers etched
across the television screen, I screw my eyes harder and bite my lip. Just not too long ago, we
had this called the Tet Offensive. I won’t go into too much detail, because it hurts a little to talk
about this. It was a huge bloody battle, and so many people died. I’m begging the Lord that my
son was not one of them.
Jane and I get along better these days, and we’re so much better together. I’m starting to
think that maybe her place isn’t at home after all. I had an argument with Eliza a while back and
that’s probably why.
I’m going to write it down, so I won’t forget it. One sunday morning, I walked into the
room, and Eliza was on her knees, praying on the floor of our bedroom. I watched her and when
she was done, I asked, “What were you praying for, Sugar?”
She looked away and said, “That’s none of your business.”
I was surprised by her tone. “All right. Is everything okay?”
She didn’t answer and I asked again, “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not,” she hissed back at me.
That moment, I knew, I just knew what she was talking about. “Is it about Oliver,
Elizabeth? I told you, it was his choice to leave for the war, not mine!”
She glowered at me. “It’s like our daughter said. You compelled him to. But what do
I know anyway, Eric? You’ve never listened or paid attention to either of us much, have you?”
“What are you talking about?” I said. I had no idea she felt this way. Ever.
“Who has needed to give up her dreams for you? Who’s had your back even when you
didn’t have mine? Who’s done all this and more? Me!”
I was speechless. She went on, “And my son is gone now, thanks to you! And our
daughter wants nothing to do with us, thanks to you! You’re so selfish, you don’t even care! I’m
through with you, Eric!” She walked away in tears.
I was stunned and speechless, but she was right. I just felt so stupid at that moment..
We talked some time later, and I apologized and we swore our love for each other. I am really
very lucky to have Eliza by my side, and it’s my mistake that I didn’t realize that before. I thought
that Jane was more like me, and that Oliver was just like his mother once. Oliver was good,
honest, and the goody-two-shoes at times like Eliza. But he was also stubborn and a lot more
like me than I realized. And Jane is more like her mother, strong and independent, more so than
I realized.
She’s old enough to decide for herself what she wants, and I should’ve known that a
long time ago.
Sincerely, Eric James Owens

May 7th, 1970

I’m starting to get worried about Jane. A couple days ago, down in Kent State University
in Ohio, a couple of national guardsmen shot and killed four students in a protest near campus.
Jane’s already graduated from college, but she hasn’t stopped protesting, and with such a fiery
spirit like hers, it looks like she’s not going to.
I don’t want that to happen to my little girl. Nope, no way. You can toss that idea down
the drain. If I try to stop her, she’s gonna keep marching on. And for some reason, I can’t help
but feel a little proud of her. Oh, she’s a fighter, alright.
The war is becoming too horrible to support anymore. It’s changed us all, some ways
good and others bad. President Nixon is promoting this new policy called “Vietnamization.”
Basically, it means that we’re withdrawing from Vietnam but continuing to support the South. I
think it’s a good plan, and I feel kind of stupid for not supporting it before.
I think Nixon is an improvement from that insane maniac LBJ, but that doesn’t mean I
like him that much either. He’s been using this “Silent Majority” tactic in some of his speeches.
Basically, it means that the majority of Americans support this war, but that they were less vocal
in their opinions than the “vocal minority..” That is of course, balderdash, and it confuses me a
little as well. What is he talking about. Is he a supporter of the war or against it? If he’s going to
withdraw from Vietnam, then why is he using this “silent majority” tactic?
I used to think this whole war was worth it, but there was no declaration of war, no clear
objective, and most people weren’t even concerned about the Vietnamese, so why fight in a war
all of a sudden? It’s not like the war I fought in all those years ago.
I heard about some folks who were mad at the soldiers who came home. They called
them baby killers, spat and harassed them. There are some other folks who are crazy enough to
blame the soldiers coming home for supposedly losing the war. I’m no longer a supporter of the
war, but that doesn’t mean that I support this.
Whatever the news, my son is coming home soon. I can’t wait.
 Sincerely, Eric James Owens.

Loved One
Dear Oliver, June 21st, 1965
I hope you’re doing okay, son. I’ve been so worried, watching the news, holding my
breath, and begging for you to survive. You will do your best to not get hurt, won’t you? If you
don’t, you’re grounded for the rest of your life, young man!
Your father is doing well at the moment, in case you were wondering. So is Jane, though
she’s getting more and more obsessed with all the anti-war protests and such. She’s taken up
with a new boyfriend, too. Dominic Schmidt. Handsome fellow, dreamy brown eyes, and sandy
blonde hair. He’s good and well-mannered as well. He and Jane seem so perfect together--I’m
counting down the days till their marriage!
The war seems so surreal from here. Your father thinks it’s because the media’s biased
and all that, but this is the first televised war after all, and anything that’s caught on tape should
be real, right? I see so many graphic images of death, carnage, and gore. I’m starting to think
that Jane is right. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to war, dear.
I know you’re probably shaking your head at me right now, but hear me out. When your
father went to war, he had the entire country backing him up if he needed it. Those were the
days, you know. The entire country rationed, donated, and was united. Not like now. You might
not receive a warm welcome when you get back.
I told you about Saint Francis of Assisi once, remember dear? He said once, “Start by
doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.”
What’s necessary for you is that you survive. What’s possible is that you can help someone else
in Vietnam. What’s impossible… is well. . . I haven’t got one for that yet. You’ll have to fill in that
blank.
I love you, munchkin. Come home safely and soon. I’ll be waiting for you.
Your mother, Elizabeth Paige Owens

Dear Oliver, April 3th, 1969

I miss you so much. How are you, how are you doing? I hope you’re okay. We saw this
ridiculous thing called the Tet Offensive unfold itself on the TV screen. Oh, what a relief your last
letter was!
I don’t know if you already are aware of this, but I have a warning for you. We heard
about this chemical called Agent Orange. A reporter spoke about it on TV once. Basically, it’s a
poisonous chemical that causes a lot of health problems for soldiers and civilians alike. The
army uses it to fight against the Communists, to deprive them of their resources, because this
chemical acts as some kind of herbicide. Steer clear of that, son, alright? We don’t want
anything bad to happen to you, now that the war seems to be ending. Or at least I hope so. The
new president, Richard Nixon, was talking about this policy called “Vietnamization.”
It’s supposed to be about the withdrawal of troops from Vietnam, while also aiding the
South Vietnamese in the meantime. That sounds alright to me. Honestly, we should’ve been
doing that from the beginning, if you ask me. Much better than sending teenagers off to war with
no purpose or clear objective. Hopefully, this means that you can come home soon. I’ll be so
very happy when you do.
Your father and sister are getting along much better these days. We had a blowout a
while ago that made him rethink his whole “girls should stay at home” and “for God and Country”
nonsense. I love him, I really, really do, but he just drives me crazy sometimes. Jane must think
I’m crazy. She’s probably thinking to herself, “Why did she marry him then?” Well, I don’t really
know.
He was so brave, so dashing, so sweet and humble, when I met him. And he still is,
most of the time. And he’s always been there for me, and I just thought why couldn’t I be there
for him, too? Anyways, enough of my mushiness. I hope you’re doing well, sweetheart. May the
war end soon!
Yours, Mom