Vietnam & A Yellow Fiat Convertible Live On In My Mind

In my earliest days in New York, at the height of the Vietnam War, I met a young man who drove a yellow Fiat. We spent two wonderful weeks together, before he left for basic training, somewhere in Virginia.

His father did not approve of me … out of Chris’s league and nothing but heartache, he told his son.

The day before Chris left New York, we went to Jones Beach … convertible top down, the wind blowing in our hair. We didn’t kid ourselves about what lay ahead for my friend. He was definitely headed to Vietnam.

Walking along the beach, we held hands … the ocean waves crashing over our young legs … much as they did over me in South Beach last August.  

We were from different world, according to Chris. I was a sophisticated young woman, one destined to “go places”, were his words. And he was a working class kid from Queens, on his way to fight a war in a place that terrified him.

Sitting there on Jones Beach, he held my hand, while holding back his tears. His words haunt me to this day: “I am so glad to have known you these past two weeks. They have been the best two weeks of my life. You are so wonderful, and I want you to know that if I am dying in the jungle over there, I will die thinking of you … your face is all I will see; your voice is all I will hear. And I will not be afraid. I will be OK. You will be proud of me.”

Indeed, Chris did die in Vietnam.

To him and all the members of the American military, I say thank you not just for your service, but your sacrifice and incredible courage in matters that — for the mostpart — you do not control.

In this case, you inspire me, and being the  all American girl that I am, I reserve the right to change my mind.

On this Memorial Day, j’adore you all and especially Chris. I cannot imagine the inconvenience and sacrifice that you and your families have made on my behalf. I do not take your service, your broken bodies and your lives for granted. Thank you.

Love,
Anne