On previous Veterans Days, I have remarked that the unseen scars borne by some of our veterans are more traumatic than visible scars. That tragic truth has an added poignancy to me this year. Let me tell you the story of Tom (not his real name).
Tom and I were elementary school classmates. He was a shy kid with a ready smile – a gentle soul. After sixth grade, I went away to boarding school while Tom and most of my former classmates went to the local junior high and high school.
By the strange workings of fate, Tom was the first of my classmates to be mentioned in the national press. It was not a happy report. Tom was one of the American GIs at the My Lai massacre during the Vietnam War. My Lai, in case you don’t know, was a Vietnamese village where American troops – unnerved by having seen comrades killed as a result of Vietnamese treachery, exhausted, disconnected from any clear chain of command – slaughtered over 300 unarmed Vietnamese. Suffice it to say that the American troops at My Lai saw things and, in some cases, did things that are beyond our imagination. (For the record, Tom received nine medals for his military service and was never accused of committing any of the atrocities at My Lai.) A hellish madness engulfed them. The memories of that madness assuredly were indelible. As much as a healthy human being would want to delete those images from his memory banks, that was mission impossible.
Several years ago, I reconnected with Tom. I had had such a good time at the 50th class reunion at the boarding school I attended that I decided to double-dip and attend the 50th reunion for the class that I would have been part of had I continued in the Royal Oak public school system. I was glad that I did. I reconnected with 10 of my elementary school classmates, seven of whom, like Tom, I hadn’t seen in 56 years.
We made small talk. My Lai wasn’t mentioned, of course. I learned that Tom had married his high school sweetheart, raised four kids, worked for the same small business for about 45 years, and remained an enthusiastic fan (as I am) of all of Detroit’s professional sports teams. In sum, he was the same nice guy he always had been. He was one of millions of American veterans who had served our country in uniform and then returned to civilian life, left to cope with the mental traumas of war as best they can.
Last month, I received a phone call from one of my other elementary school classmates. John called me to tell me that Tom had taken his life. Obviously, I am in no position to state authoritatively why Tom did this, but if I were a betting man, I would say that he just got to the point where the horror of those memories from over 55 years ago at My Lai got to be too much for him. I believe Tom became My Lai’s latest victim.
RIP, Tom. And my deepest thanks to all our other veterans. May you each find peace and comfort for whatever psychological wounds you bear.