As I was searching through old notes and writings, looking for ideas for a Valentine’s Day column, I came across two items that seemed to go together. It was as if there was a story that I needed to tell.
In past columns that have dealt with Valentine’s Day, I’ve written about experiences at our one-room country school and how hard it was to decipher those messages on Valentines Day cards that came from girls at school. I also told about those little heart-shaped candies that had words on them. I think we’re all familiar with those hearts. All those stories were warm and fuzzy with a little puppy love thrown in. It was an innocent time as we were all trying to find our way in this world and how to relate to the opposite sex. For me, that was back during the 1950s.
Then came the early 60s, the beginning of a very turbulent time in our history. It was an interesting time, to say the least! It was filled with freedom marches, rioting in the streets, assassinations, the Vietnam War, and anti-war protests. It was a very violent time. Out of the American counterculture of the 1960s came the slogan “Make love, not war.” Those words were associated with, and used primarily by, those who opposed the Vietnam War. Since that time, we haven’t seen the kind of anti-war sentiment and protests that were so widespread during the 1960s. There was a lot of hate instead of love being shown.
Valentine’s Day should be a time of telling and showing people that we love them and that they are important in our lives. The older I get, the more that anti-war slogan, that I once hated and felt was directed at me, has become near and dear to my heart. I came across it again as I was looking for ideas and then remembered a journal entry I made in 1967 during the Vietnam War. Following is that journal entry, along with comments I made a year later.
“Today I ran into Doc Lebitz, one of the guys I went through basic and medic training with. He’s with the 3rd/8th, 4th Infantry, same unit as Cousin Bob. He said they’d spent a lot of the time in the boonies since they got here. They’ve been operating farther south and just arrived here in the Central Highlands about a month ago. It was nice seeing him and catching up on how everyone else was doing. We were all such a close bunch when we went through medic training together. We’re hoping we can go out on some operations together.
“Doc (Steve) and I share a love of writing. He’s been writing some short stories and poetry and read some of the things he’s written to me. They were really good. One of the poems he read was “Let’s Make Love Instead of War ” that he wrote around Valentine’s Day for his wife. He wants to become a writer when he gets out of here. Said he thought he’d write the great American war novel about this stinkin’ war. I told him to make sure he makes me into a hero in his book. In his usual humorous way he looked at me and said with a smile on his face, ‘Hey, I didn’t say it was going to be a book of fiction!’ I don’t doubt for a minute that he’ll write about this place when we get out of here. He wrote some great stories about our medic training back at Fort Sam that had us all rolling on the floor laughing. It was great seeing Steve again. He’s become a good friend.”
4th Infantry medics at LA Airport after we graduated from advanced medical training. Doc Lebitz in center with glasses.
A year later I wrote: “Doc Lebitz never got a chance to write that great American novel about the war. He was Killed in Action. The world is poorer for his loss and we’ll never know what great writing he may have done if he had lived. Those of us who were his friends suffered a great loss when he died. When I think of him I think of all the lost potential because of war. How many aspiring authors never authored a book? Who among the casualties may have become a great doctor or scientist and perhaps would have discovered the key to curing a disease? How many future teachers were lost and will never be able to help and influence a child? These are the thoughts I have every time I think back to that day as we sat in the aid station and I listened to him read his writings, and him telling me with excitement in his voice and fire in his eyes, how he wanted to become a writer. I feel like we were all cheated because he didn’t get a chance to write that great “American” novel. We’ll never have the opportunity to read his words.”
I can never hear those words, “Make love, not war,” without thinking of him and what a tragedy and waste his death was. I think of all my stories that would never have been written if I had been killed instead of him. On this Valentine’s Day lets remember to love one another and put hate, prejudice, and war aside. Let’s make love, not war.
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