sick, she said, and she’d had to bring him to the hospital.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need me to come?”
“No, I’ll be all right,” she said.
Ronnie heard no more that night and assumed everything was okay. But the next day his mother called him at the gas station just before noon. She was crying. Jennings had died an hour earlier, she told him. His weakened heart had just given out. Ronnie, who ran the gas station alone, told her that he would be there as soon as he could arrange to get away.
How could one person have such an incredible run of misfortune? he asked himself. Why his mother? How much more could she be expected to endure?
6
Disgust with the war in Vietnam was mounting early in 1971 as Lieutenant William Calley was tried for the massacre of civilians at My Lai three years earlier. In May, thousands of antiwar demonstrators would be arrested as they attempted to bring traffic and government activities to a halt in Washington. But in deeply patriotic Robeson County, with its close connections to Fort Bragg, the disgust was with the antiwar protestors and with an army that would make a scapegoat of a lowly lieutenant while exonerating his superior officers.
Ronnie was as patriotic as anybody in Robeson County and felt a deep obligation to serve his country, even if it meant going to war. But presented with a choice between his country and his mother, as he would be soon after Jennings Barfield’s death, he had little doubt about which he would choose.
His mother was not handling Jennings’ death well. She had been almost too drugged to attend the funeral, and afterward Ronnie helped her move back into her parents’ home, where he and Pam still were living. Ronnie was scheduled to leave for basic training in only twelve days, but his mother took to bed with her medicines, pleading with him not to go. She needed him now more than ever, she said, and she didn’t know how she could make it without him.
Ronnie didn’t know what to do. He’d signed a contract. But he didn’t want to leave his mother in this condition. Perhaps he could get a delay. He talked with his recruiter but got little encouragement. His enlistment had already been deferred. Still, Ronnie decided to try to get out of his contract. He got teachers, doctors and others to write letters to the Army explaining all the illness, loss and heartbreak his mother had undergone, asking that his obligation be dismissed. He even lined up a job at a furniture plant in Tabor City that would pay him $100 a week. His prospective boss also petitioned the Army on his behalf.
The Army was not swayed, and on April 7, nine days after Lieutenant Calley’s conviction, Ronnie was sent to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, near Columbia. Velma was distraught when he left. How could the government be so cruel? How could the Army need Ronnie more than she did?
Jennings had bought Velma a car, a year-old Maverick, and three different times while Ronnie was in basic training, she drove to Fort Jackson to see him on the weekends that he was allowed visitors. No other recruit in his company had such visits from his mother.
When Pam’s graduation from Parkton School came, Ronnie was in the last stages of his training and couldn’t attend. He had to settle for calling to congratulate her. In mid-June, Velma and her brother John drove to Fort Jackson for Ronnie’s graduation, and he returned home for two weeks of leave before reporting to the Army Security Agency School at Fort Devens, Massachusetts, in July.
By this time, Velma and Pam had moved back into the twice-burned house that Thomas had built for them. Velma’s condition seemed improved while Ronnie was at home, but after he began training at Fort Devens to become a code interceptor, the situation quickly worsened.
Velma got one of her doctors, Roscoe McMillan of Red Springs, to write to the Army on her behalf.
“This certifies that Mrs. Velma Barfield is suffering from a complete
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need me to come?”
“No, I’ll be all right,” she said.
Ronnie heard no more that night and assumed everything was okay. But the next day his mother called him at the gas station just before noon. She was crying. Jennings had died an hour earlier, she told him. His weakened heart had just given out. Ronnie, who ran the gas station alone, told her that he would be there as soon as he could arrange to get away.
How could one person have such an incredible run of misfortune? he asked himself. Why his mother? How much more could she be expected to endure?
6
Disgust with the war in Vietnam was mounting early in 1971 as Lieutenant William Calley was tried for the massacre of civilians at My Lai three years earlier. In May, thousands of antiwar demonstrators would be arrested as they attempted to bring traffic and government activities to a halt in Washington. But in deeply patriotic Robeson County, with its close connections to Fort Bragg, the disgust was with the antiwar protestors and with an army that would make a scapegoat of a lowly lieutenant while exonerating his superior officers.
Ronnie was as patriotic as anybody in Robeson County and felt a deep obligation to serve his country, even if it meant going to war. But presented with a choice between his country and his mother, as he would be soon after Jennings Barfield’s death, he had little doubt about which he would choose.
His mother was not handling Jennings’ death well. She had been almost too drugged to attend the funeral, and afterward Ronnie helped her move back into her parents’ home, where he and Pam still were living. Ronnie was scheduled to leave for basic training in only twelve days, but his mother took to bed with her medicines, pleading with him not to go. She needed him now more than ever, she said, and she didn’t know how she could make it without him.
Ronnie didn’t know what to do. He’d signed a contract. But he didn’t want to leave his mother in this condition. Perhaps he could get a delay. He talked with his recruiter but got little encouragement. His enlistment had already been deferred. Still, Ronnie decided to try to get out of his contract. He got teachers, doctors and others to write letters to the Army explaining all the illness, loss and heartbreak his mother had undergone, asking that his obligation be dismissed. He even lined up a job at a furniture plant in Tabor City that would pay him $100 a week. His prospective boss also petitioned the Army on his behalf.
The Army was not swayed, and on April 7, nine days after Lieutenant Calley’s conviction, Ronnie was sent to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, near Columbia. Velma was distraught when he left. How could the government be so cruel? How could the Army need Ronnie more than she did?
Jennings had bought Velma a car, a year-old Maverick, and three different times while Ronnie was in basic training, she drove to Fort Jackson to see him on the weekends that he was allowed visitors. No other recruit in his company had such visits from his mother.
When Pam’s graduation from Parkton School came, Ronnie was in the last stages of his training and couldn’t attend. He had to settle for calling to congratulate her. In mid-June, Velma and her brother John drove to Fort Jackson for Ronnie’s graduation, and he returned home for two weeks of leave before reporting to the Army Security Agency School at Fort Devens, Massachusetts, in July.
By this time, Velma and Pam had moved back into the twice-burned house that Thomas had built for them. Velma’s condition seemed improved while Ronnie was at home, but after he began training at Fort Devens to become a code interceptor, the situation quickly worsened.
Velma got one of her doctors, Roscoe McMillan of Red Springs, to write to the Army on her behalf.
“This certifies that Mrs. Velma Barfield is suffering from a complete
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