who makes every moment worth living. And to our beloved boys, Trevor, Todd, Nicholas, Maxx, may you never, ever have to fight a war, like this one. With all my heart and love, d.s. The torch has been passed to a new generation. From John Fitzgerald Kennedy's inaugural address.
The Boys Who Fought in Nam Passed hand to hand, the wishes, the dreams, the hopes of an entire generation, an entire nation sent to war, a score of old men leading all our boys to die, while we watched in horror, in pain, in grief, the disbelief that we had to lose so many of our boys, their toys barely left behind, their eyes so young, sobright, so full of hope, the fight so long, so sad, the pain so bad, the wounds so deep until at last our young men sleep in their maker's arms again, their names carved in stone, never to come home, never to touch our tears again. - lest we forget, lest we grow old, our hearts must never be so cold, we must not run and hide, we must remember them, the boys who died - let it not be in vain, let us not forget, the pain, the cries, the agonies, the braveries, the heroes, and the smiles, the time that was so long ago, across so many miles in a land so bright so green caught in a place just in between hope and lies, we must remember still, must promise that we always will touch their hearts while still we can, remember, friendsremember.the boys who died, who lived, who cried, the boys who fought in Nam. 1. SAVANNAH... BERKELEY... November 1996.
3-June 1968It was a chill gray day in Savannah, and there was a brisk breeze blowing in from the ocean. There were leaves on the ground in Forsyth Park and a few couples were wandering hand in hand, some women were chatting and smoking a last cigarette before they went back to work. d in Savannah High School, the hallways were deserted. The bell had rung at one o'clock, and the students were all in their classrooms. There was laughter coming from one room, and silence from several others. The squeak of chalk, the looks of bored despair on the faces of sophomores ill prepared for a surprise quiz in civics. The senior class was being talked to about College Boards they were going to take the following week, just before Thanksgiving. And as they listened, far away, in Dallas, gunfire erupted. A man in a motorcade catapulted into his wife's arms, his head exploding horrifyingly behind him. No one understood what had happened , and as the voice in Savannah droned on about the College Boards, Paxton Andrews tried to fight the sleepy waves of warm boredom. And all of a sudden in the still room, she felt as though she couldn't keep her eyes open a moment longer. Mercifully, at one-fifty the bell rang, all doors opened and waves of high school students poured into the halls, freed from quizzes, lectures, French literature, and the pharaohs of Egypt. Everyone moved on to their next rooms, with an occasional stop at a locker for a change of books, a quick joke, a burst of laughter. And then suddenly, a scream. A long anguished wail, a sound that pierced the air like an arrow shot from a great distance. A thundering of footsteps, a rush toward a comer room normally used only by teachers, the television set flicked on, and hundreds of young worried faces pressing through the doorway, and people saying No!.
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