new.â
They got to the place where the march was to begin and he saw the cub scouts and the girl scouts, the marching bands, the fathers in their Legion caps and uniforms, the mothers from the Legionâs auxilliary, the pretty drum majorettes. The street was a sea of red, white, and blue. He remembered how he and all the rest of the kids on the block had put on their cub scout uniforms and marched every Memorial Day down these same streets. He remembered the hundreds of people lining the sidewalks, everyone standing and cheering and waving their small flags, his mother standing with the other mothers on the block shouting for him to keep in step. âThereâs my Yankee Doodle boy!â heâd hear her shouting, and heâd feel embarrassed, pulling his cap over his eyes like he always did.
There were scouts decorating the Cadillac now with red, white, and blue crepe paper and long paper banners that read WELCOME HOME RON KOVIC AND EDDIE DUGAN and SUPPORT OUR BOYS IN VIETNAM . There was a small sign, too, that read: OUR WOUNDED VIETNAM VETS ⦠EDDIE DUGAN AND RON KOVIC .
When the scouts were finished, the commander came running over to the car with a can of beer in his hand. âLetâs go!â he shouted, jumping back in with the heavy guy.
They drove slowly through the crowd until they were all the way up in the front of the parade. He could hear the horns and drums behind him and he looked out and watched the pretty drum majorettes and clowns dancing in the street. He looked out onto the sidewalks where the people from his town had gathered just like when he was a kid.
But it was different. He couldnât tell at first exactly what it was, but something was not the same, they werenât waving and they just seemed to be standing staring at Eddie Dugan and himself like they werenât even there. It was as if they were ghosts like little Johnny Heanon or Billy Morris come back from the dead. And he couldnât understand what was happening.
Maybe, he thought, the banners, the ones the boy scouts and their fathers had put up, the ones telling the whole town who Eddie Dugan and he were, maybe, he thought, they had dropped off into the street and no one knew who they were and thatâs why no one was waving.
If the signs had been there, theyâd have been flooding into the streets, stomping their feet and screaming and cheering the way they did for him and Eddie at the Little League games. Theyâd have been swelling into the streets, trying to shake their hands just like in the movies, when the boys had come home from the other wars and everyone went crazy throwing streamers of paper and confetti and hugging their sweethearts, sweeping them off their feet and kissing them for what seemed forever. If they really knew who they were, he thought, theyâd be roaring and clapping and shouting. But they were quiet and all he heard whenever the band stopped playing was the soft purr of the American Legionâs big Cadillac as it moved slowly down the street.
Even though it seemed very difficult acting like heroes, he and Eddie tried waving a couple of times, but after a while he realized that the staring faces werenât going to change and he couldnât help but feel like he was some kind of animal in a zoo or that he and Eddie were on display in some trophy case. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to get the hell out of the back seat of the Cadillac and go back home to his room where he knew it was safe and warm. The parade had hardly begun but already he felt trapped, just like in the hospital.
The tall commander turned down Broadway now, past Sparky the barberâs place, then down to Massapequa Avenue, past the American Legion hall where the cannon they had played on as kids sat right across from the Long Island Railroad station. He thought of the times he and Bobby and Richie Castiglia used to sit on that thing with their plastic machine guns
They got to the place where the march was to begin and he saw the cub scouts and the girl scouts, the marching bands, the fathers in their Legion caps and uniforms, the mothers from the Legionâs auxilliary, the pretty drum majorettes. The street was a sea of red, white, and blue. He remembered how he and all the rest of the kids on the block had put on their cub scout uniforms and marched every Memorial Day down these same streets. He remembered the hundreds of people lining the sidewalks, everyone standing and cheering and waving their small flags, his mother standing with the other mothers on the block shouting for him to keep in step. âThereâs my Yankee Doodle boy!â heâd hear her shouting, and heâd feel embarrassed, pulling his cap over his eyes like he always did.
There were scouts decorating the Cadillac now with red, white, and blue crepe paper and long paper banners that read WELCOME HOME RON KOVIC AND EDDIE DUGAN and SUPPORT OUR BOYS IN VIETNAM . There was a small sign, too, that read: OUR WOUNDED VIETNAM VETS ⦠EDDIE DUGAN AND RON KOVIC .
When the scouts were finished, the commander came running over to the car with a can of beer in his hand. âLetâs go!â he shouted, jumping back in with the heavy guy.
They drove slowly through the crowd until they were all the way up in the front of the parade. He could hear the horns and drums behind him and he looked out and watched the pretty drum majorettes and clowns dancing in the street. He looked out onto the sidewalks where the people from his town had gathered just like when he was a kid.
But it was different. He couldnât tell at first exactly what it was, but something was not the same, they werenât waving and they just seemed to be standing staring at Eddie Dugan and himself like they werenât even there. It was as if they were ghosts like little Johnny Heanon or Billy Morris come back from the dead. And he couldnât understand what was happening.
Maybe, he thought, the banners, the ones the boy scouts and their fathers had put up, the ones telling the whole town who Eddie Dugan and he were, maybe, he thought, they had dropped off into the street and no one knew who they were and thatâs why no one was waving.
If the signs had been there, theyâd have been flooding into the streets, stomping their feet and screaming and cheering the way they did for him and Eddie at the Little League games. Theyâd have been swelling into the streets, trying to shake their hands just like in the movies, when the boys had come home from the other wars and everyone went crazy throwing streamers of paper and confetti and hugging their sweethearts, sweeping them off their feet and kissing them for what seemed forever. If they really knew who they were, he thought, theyâd be roaring and clapping and shouting. But they were quiet and all he heard whenever the band stopped playing was the soft purr of the American Legionâs big Cadillac as it moved slowly down the street.
Even though it seemed very difficult acting like heroes, he and Eddie tried waving a couple of times, but after a while he realized that the staring faces werenât going to change and he couldnât help but feel like he was some kind of animal in a zoo or that he and Eddie were on display in some trophy case. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to get the hell out of the back seat of the Cadillac and go back home to his room where he knew it was safe and warm. The parade had hardly begun but already he felt trapped, just like in the hospital.
The tall commander turned down Broadway now, past Sparky the barberâs place, then down to Massapequa Avenue, past the American Legion hall where the cannon they had played on as kids sat right across from the Long Island Railroad station. He thought of the times he and Bobby and Richie Castiglia used to sit on that thing with their plastic machine guns
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