Riders on the Storm Read Free Page A

would take that into account. He went over there and served along with the rest of us. I don’t agree with this anti-war thing but if it makes Will feel a little better about himself, I’m all for it.”
    â€œWill’s like family to us,” his petite wife said.
    This explained why Will wasn’t here tonight. Probably better than half of the other vets would be happy to see him. They were like Kirchoff. Guy went over there and suffered a breakdown. Did two stints in mental hospitals. He’s not thinking straight so he signs on to this dumb-ass anti-war group.
    On the other hand there were the vets like soon-to-be Congressional candidate Steve Donovan. He’d been interviewed on TV yesterday and said that the anti-war group was not only “a disgrace but also run by Communists.” He added: “I know there’s a vet right here in town who’s joined. I’d be very careful if I were him. A lot of us here resent him a hell of a lot.”
    So Will and Karen stayed home.
    The speechifying started right at seven thirty. There would still be time to get the story on the ten o’clock news in Cedar Rapids.
    Tom Davis thanked everybody for being here tonight. He talked sincerely about the special bond vets had. And then he toasted them. Hard as you tried to hate him for his inherited wealth, his acumen as a businessman, his good looks, and his movie-star gorgeous wife, the sonofabitch wouldn’t let you. He was just too nice a guy. I’ve learned to my dismay that there are a lot of downright decent wealthy people. Not fair at all.
    Now it was time for the commercial.
    Patrick O’Shay had once been called “the biggest hambone in the Senate.” If that had been an exaggeration, it was only slightly so. Tall, lean, white-haired, his body and its language suggested a mercenary side that belied the treacle that he usually spewed.
    The Treacle Master proceeded.
    â€œI’m so grateful to have been asked here tonight. To see the proud and happy faces of those who made the ultimate patriot’s sacrifice—to fight for the freedoms we all enjoy in this country; the freest country in the history of the world. And I might say the same for the wives and children who waited for their brave warriors to return home. Ladies, I salute you tonight right along with your husbands.”
    As I glanced around I wondered what the men without legs, arms, sight were thinking. Certainly they must have had second thoughts about the war. Had they realized that it was nothing more than rich old men and the corrupt Pentagon living out another round of endless and pointless slaughter?
    A few of the wounded men smiled—one man gave the thumbs-up with his right hand; he had no left hand—but the faces of their wives were solemn. One woman grimaced. O’Shay bullshit overload.
    He went on, a little history for the groundlings:
    â€œFrom the beginning of time women have waited for their men to come home from battle. As a proud Irishman I can tell you that the literature of my people is steeped in stories and poems about war. Nobody wants it, of course. I would never have voted for what we’re doing in Vietnam if I hadn’t seen the facts—that we have no choice but to stop them there before they come over here. And so the men fight and the women—the very good women just like the women here tonight—wait.”
    He blathered on another ten minutes before getting down to it. Easy to tell that he was enjoying it more than his constituents were.
    â€œYou know what this country needs more than anything right now? I’m sure you already know the answer to that. This country needs patriots. Real patriots. Not the kind who go overseas and fight and then return home to claim that what they did was morally wrong. There’s a sickness in our society that breeds men like this—”
    The applause surprised me. Close to half the group clapped. A few