Today I think of three young men I knew. They were three of more than 58,000 American soldiers who perished in the Vietnam War. But for a time in my life I saw them almost every day.
Back then, the body count just kept rising. You'd see it in the papers. They'd announce it on televsion. Sooner or later, that list was joined by someone you knew.
I grew up in a small town. Larchmont, New York. I think the diarist known as teacherken grew uo there too. And so did six men who who gave their lives in that war. And five more came from Mamaroneck, the town just north of us, where we went to high school.
Of those eleven, I knew three. And today I think of them. I have thought about them for some 40 years, since the day my mom would call me with the sad news from the hometown paper.
David Porterfield was 20 when he died on July 18, 1966. I spent a short time on the swim team with him, and when it came to swimming, he was a local legend. A tall, skinny, handsome kid.
Dick Western was 21, they day he died, May 20, 1968, less than six months after landing in Vietnam. We played freshman football together. We weren't close friends, but we shared classes, often talked, and he always had a smile and a hello.
John Batterson was 22 when he was killed on June 19, 1969. He was in Vietnam for just five weeks when he died. His little sister was my high school girlfriend. A quiet, smart kid, I was stunned when I got the news. Stunned that he was killed, stunned that he was even there.
I lucked out. Called to my draft physical in August 1969, I would be classified 4F, for a congenital heart murmur. I arrived with a virtual book of medical records that had been compiled since I was a little boy. My cardiologists allowed me to play football with Dick, and join the swim team with Dave, but the military deemed me physically unfit.
But Dave, Dick and John, they were gone by 22. This summer, I turn 63. I think of the life that they never got to know and would have enjoyed; the families they could have started; the Memorial Day barbecues they would be enjoying with them today.
Guys, you are gone, but never forgotten. Four decades later you are still remembered, and missed.