It wasn’t so much that Betty Lynn Campbell was pretty. She wasn’t. But there was something about her. On her best days, she bore a slight resemblance to a young Meryl Streep. Probably the Polish genes inherited from her mother. No, Betty Lynn wasn’t pretty. What she was, though, was a dude magnet. She was never going to be Homecoming Queen, but she was popular with the football players. Slut? Whore? Easy? Nobody ever used those words, exactly, when describing Betty Lynn. “Animal magnetism”, maybe. That’s what she had, they said. And it was true that she seemed to exude some sort of literal magnetism: Betty Lynn was unable to wear a watch because it would stop working within a day or two of putting it on. Doctors were at a loss to explain the phenomenon…
When I visit my parents in the Cleveland suburbs, my 81-year-old father and I go to the West Side Market. The market is a Cleveland landmark, and has served produce, meats, bakery items, and prepared foods in an old, beautiful brick building for over a hundred years.
My dad goes to the market every week to pick up his beef, a loaf of wheat bread, and a treat or two – shrimp dip, gyro sandwiches, or apple strudel. He wears his “Vietnam Vet” baseball hat and people come up to thank him for his service – a strong contrast to his experience coming home from the war in 1970.
I’d long wanted to honor my dad and his war experience by writing a poem about our market trips. Then a few years ago, I worked with a therapist who asked me a surprising question – “Did you know you carry your dad’s fear from the war in your nervous system?” That left me weeping in the truth of it, and in relief. And it left me wondering what I could do to help ease our pain…
Karly Randolph Pitman is a writer, teacher, poet, presenter, and mental health facilitator who helps people nurture a more compassionate relationship with their struggles. She creates books, courses, presentations and trainings to bring insight to our human vulnerabilities, especially food suffering like overeating. In addition to her healing work, Karly is a published poet, writes a reader supported poetry newsletter, O Nobly Born, offers writing and mindfulness workshops to nurture self-awareness and self-compassion, and works with teens as a teacher and tutor. She lives in Austin, Texas with her family where she takes her sweet dog on leisurely bike rides and creates as much as possible with her hands. In all she remains in awe of the human heart.
Take me out of here! This pin gun flare behind your ear will blow your nose from this end. Drive asshole! Now, that we are clear of your black pajama cowboy boyfriends, let’s get real. You were setting me up.
Take me to the address on the paper I gave you. You wanted those cowboys to kill me and take my money. Well, asshole you picked the wrong guy. Now take me to that address or I will blow your head off and steal your taxi. I’m staying in Saigon tonight.
I remember getting out of the cab with pounding in my chest. Fearful and pumped. I was trying to meet up with my special bar girl. Her name is Mya, or at least that is what I call her at the bar. She takes good care of me. The bar girls are our main source of bought affection. Mya is my favorite. She is older, maybe twenty-eight. She supplies affection and tending for money. All the bar girls smell good and flirt with us. When you are thousands of miles from round eyed girls your age, Vietnamese bar girls are very desirable. They are in the war also. They sell their bodies for money to survive. Women have few legit jobs in the city. They make their money off G.I.s. that get time off and can get into Saigon. American CIA and government officials do not indulge in bar girls. They are big time. Most have a Vietnamese girl friend that they maintain in high style. I bet they do not write home about those arrangements…
I am a non-combat veteran who served in the American Air Force during the last few years of the Cold War in an atmosphere that was witnessing the “defeat” of the Soviet Union and the spread of democracy in Eastern Europe. I served at Vanderburg Air Force Base in Lompoc, California (now Space Forces Base), which test-launched nuclear ballistic missile systems. These tests were a simulation of what a typical missile launch would look like if completed in the field. That is, if the U.S. were to launch our nuclear weapons from an operational missile base.
A maintenance and logistical group prepared the launch facility for operational readiness to be launched by the missile crew. I was part of this extensive maintenance and logistical group. So, where was the combat zone? Where was mine? I suggest that the “combat zone” is not always out of the country and not necessarily in armed conflict but is determined by the organization and circumstances. In my case, it was Vandenberg Air Force Base where I was in direct contact with the test launching of the Minute Man III nuclear weapons system. This system was designed to destroy large cities and enemy bases, basically rendering the enemy no means of deploying their forces. However, when a nuclear weapon is launched, there will be no one left to govern nations or deploy any troops. So, was I in a combat situation? What about other supposed non-combatants who are exposed to combat dangers or consequences? What about those members of the military who have direct contact with deploying military troops to a combat zone or those who must receive the deceased troops? Where is their “combat zone?”
Between the day we received Olga’s story and today, the gardening company in Odessa mentioned in the text was destroyed during the Russian air strike on May 1, 2024. Thousands of plants and trees were burned, warehouses and offices destroyed. Luckily there were no casualties among the employees. The owners of the company released a video of the aftermath of the attack.
After each assault, the Russian occupiers would take a break from two to three days for pulling up the reserves, delivering more ammunition, and picking up their stiffs and wounded. The stiffs often remained unclaimed. The wounded would be picked up more often than not, but not on the regular basis.
If you caught this break, it was possible to daringly fuck around in the tree lines. The key was not to get too cheeky and keep out of the enemy’s line of sight. Or else.
Sometimes this moment of comfort came from our side as well. Then the silence was even scarier than hearing all those various bangs from both sides. On just such a day, we ventured into tree line number 18 with one aim only – to steal something…
Better you than me. I remembered the first time I heard that aphorism. It sounded callous and cruel, but that wasn’t the point. It reflected the stark reality and limited options imposed by the war and shone an uneasy glow upon our Darwinian nature. I was going to need a wise, experienced, and convincing teacher to help me not just see this darkness but understand it. One day, he simply showed up.
David Klein, Psy.D., is a U.S. Veterans Administration Psychologist.
Lawrence Markworth served in the US Navy between 1962 and 1966 and participated in the Vietnam War on the USS Castor. After struggling for decades with his traumatic memories, he eventually reconnected with his younger self, who had gone through the ordeal of war. We publish here a short autobiographical testimony of Lawrence’s journey, which was extracted from his forthcoming memoir Rowing through a Sea of Rubble.
Senior Lieutenant Illya Titko is a combat veteran from Kalush, Ivano-Frankivsk Oblast, Ukraine. He was drafted in September 2015, or rather, he volunteered for the mobilization that was underway. Mr. Titko writes his book from the perspective of a citizen-soldier, as a man who continued to maintain one foot firmly in the civilian world, even though his new environment was a war zone, and “war is when your entire world is turned upside down.”
Jeffrey Stephaniuk, the excellent translator of this book, introduces with these words the author (at p. 6), highlighting the perspective from which the whole story is told: that of a “citizen in arms”, a man who has answered the impellent call of duty when his country was in dire danger. Titko himself adds some remarks a few pages later:
It was not an easy task for me to write this book. It was a real inner struggle, for over a year, on whether I should write it or not. But I was pre-occupied with those past events, mulling that chaotic time over and over in my mind, conscious of the fact that it really wasn’t that long ago when I lived through them. There were nights when I couldn’t even sleep. I’d argue with myself: Should I or should I not write this book? I clearly understood that not only should I write this book, but it was necessary for this book be written. First, it was necessary so that everything I experienced would have its place and not become lost in the subsequent living of my everyday life. I needed to write this book so that those who hadn’t been there personally could know about these events. I wanted them to know what happened and how they happened to those involved, with the people, with the country, and of course all those individuals who resolved to walk this same path, namely soldiers defending their country. I realized that such a book would be necessary for children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, so that they would have access to first-hand accounts about these difficult and stormy days and nights in the history of our nation. (12)
Close Encounters in War 