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June 2003
Pride
On the first day of what would be my only period of employment in Manhattan,
I met Vic the Vet. I had emerged from the darkness of the subway into
bright daylight, nervous energy flowing through my veins when I tripped
face first over Vic's wheelchair. I stared up from the ground at this
shell of a man and accepted his never-ending string of apologies.
Vic was a fixture, a statue of sorts, sitting in the shadows of the
first tower to fall on September 11th, 2001. He was there every morning,
without fail, "I Love NY" coffee cup in hand, a blanket over
where his legs once were and a sign at the foot of his chair that read
"P.O.W. Vietnam." It seemed like no one talked to him, yet
everyone seemed to know something about him. On some mornings, I would
hear words like "bum" tossed around within his earshot. Vic
would smile, however wounded the smile masked by soot and a scraggly
beard. Vic never begged for money, to the contrary, he held that empty
coffee cup to his chest as if he were ashamed to even have to entertain
the notion of begging as an act of survival.
Sometimes, during lunchtime, I would watch as people purposely made
their way across the street, running into and through traffic to avoid
passing him. The few who did stop to share a word or some coins were
always older, often matronly women. Occasionally, Vic would hand them
a paper American Flag attached to a toothpick as if he had to give them
something back whether they gave him loose change or simply their time.
Vic had been out of sight, out of mind for many years. That is, until
a recent afternoon when the rescue of Jessica Lynch was announced. For
me, as for many, Jessica, a girl who looks too young to submit an application
at Starbucks much less assemble and disassemble a weapon (yes, supply
clerks learn that too) in less time than it takes the average human
to tie his shoes, has become the poster person for our involvement in
Iraq.
Jessica emerged from her ordeal a hero. She also emerged with a head wound,
fractures to her right arm, both legs, her right foot and ankle as well
as a spinal injury which will need years to rehabilitate... all this fighting
for you, fighting for me. Whether you agree with our involvement in this
latest war or not, that's a fact.
What's also a fact, thanks to competitive round the clock news coverage,
is that we will learn everything that has happened to Jessica Lynch
from the second she was conceived to the present moment. We will follow
her progress and share in her triumphs.
The same cannot be said for Vic and many others like him. As anonymous
as he was when he returned from his private hell all those years ago,
he is even more anonymous now with the passage of time and further conflict.
He was a soldier whose efforts within the eyes of the public were diminished
by a lack of satellite feeds and the sexiness of a real opponent. I
am not foolish enough to tell you that I saw all of this back then,
but I see it now.
On a personal level he is as symbolic of everything right and wrong
with America as the rubble of the structure he sat beneath, his scraggly
beard as much a part of my Americana as the dimples on Jessica Lynch's
cheeks.
I'm sorry, Vic, that it took Jessica to make me realize it.
Enjoy the Issue,
Richard Botto,
Editor in Chief / CEO of RAZOR Magazine - The Definitive Men's Lifestyle Magazine
www.razormagazine.com
