Two Freds-2023

Every year at this time I think of what has happened in my life as well as what didn’t happen for 58,000 other Americans and 2,000,000 Vietnamese because of the Vietnam war. Politics aside, over 2,000,000 people perished in that war and never got to enjoy the long life I have been blessed with. This post, an annual remembrance, calls attention to one young man I knew well.

?On the May 1, 1995, I wrote:

April 30, 1995 marked the twentieth anniversary of the United States’ withdrawal from Vietnam. It is a date that seems to have become destined for routine remembrance and recall by those of us who lived through the era—one that can seldom be re-visited without tears.

As I sat at home yesterday watching the commemorative programs, I could not help but think about the story of the Two Freds. Fred Crans and Fred Fedder graduated from Haverling Central School in Bath New York—Crans in 1963 and Fedder a year before, in 1962. After high school, both attended Corning Community College for two years. Fred Crans was an unfocused young man who distinguished himself by flunking out, while Fred Fedder, more confident and focused, completed his studies and went on. Both eventually joined the military—Crans becoming a hospital corpsman serving with the Marines, and Fedder a warrant Officer helicopter pilot with the Army.

Fred Crans came back on a MedEvac flight after finishing his tour. Fred Fedder came back differently. His name is inscribed on The Wall. Fred Crans is approaching fifty. Fred Fedder is forever twenty-three.

Whenever I think about Vietnam these days, it is seldom about what was “right or wrong”, but about the horrendous and senseless waste of lives. Also, it is often about how so many of us go through this life cursing our fate, never once taking a moment to appreciate the good that is present in every moment we are afforded.

Fred Fedder never got a chance to carve out a life. Fred Crans got the chance to start over. He went to the University of Miami, where he graduated with honors. He got married, started a family, got divorced, picked up a Masters Degree, got married and divorced a second time, and still had the blessings of another chance. Many would look at Fred Crans’ life and say that he was a failure, considering all the opportunities he had been given. Others might think that his was representative of live among the Baby Boomers—a constant series of actions, effects, rebounds, and so on, ad mortis.?

From an outsider’s perspective, any of those observations would be correct. Fred Crans currently lives in a two-bedroom apartment in Waterloo, Iowa. His children live in Canton, Ohio with his first wife. He is starting over one more time. Like so many others who have encountered the downside of life, he has experienced depression first-hand. At times he has thought about running away to live a hermit’s life in Mexico.

Or worse.

But whenever he has been faced with that gloom and possible doom, two things have always brought him back: the thought of the terrible price his children would have to pay for such a stupid and capricious act, and the thought of his high school and college friend, Fred Fedder, who never got the second, third, fourth and fifth chances at life that he was given.

Maybe on every April 30th, the best use any of us Vietnam-era human beings can make of the time is this: Think of the 58,000 plus people whose names inscribed on The Wall represent lives never fully lived. We cannot bring them back. We can make a pledge not to let future generations suffer death in such a cavalier and meaningless fashion. And we can decide to find meaning and value in both the successes and failures that are part of the everyday lives that those 58,000 plus human souls were denied.

Take care, Freddy, I miss you.

Fred

2014: In the nineteen years since I wrote those words, my personal life has continued to take its meandering course. Soon after I wrote the tribute, I got custody of my youngest son, and two years later I was living in Ohio again with both my boys. My life seemed to be a constantly improving scenario, with personal and professional success abounding. Today, I am married for the third time and living in Dubuque, Iowa with my wonderful wife Cathy, my two dogs (Buddy and Rhea) and my cat, Kianna. My sons live in St. Louis and Nashville and I have two wonderful grandchildren.

During those same eighteen years, we have proved that the lessons of Vietnam were short-lived at best, and another 4,000+ Americans and hundreds of thousands of Iraqis and Afghanis have paid with their lives needlessly and without justification.

Every Memorial Day, I think of my friend, Fred Fedder—what a great guy he was—always friendly and engaging, even to outsiders like myself. I think about how neither he nor the 58,000 plus other Americans (and the hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese) who were killed in that conflict deserved to have their lives erased over political hegemony.

And every year—at least for one part of one day—I know how fortunate I am.

Author’s note: Since my last revision, Buddy died, Rhea died, Kianna died and my marriage died. I have moved back to Cleveland where I live in a little house with my best friend Dusty, a red tick coonhound.

2019 Update: Time rolls on. I’m still in Cleveland and I have added another coonhound, Isabelle (Izzy) and a calico cat, Ginger to the squad. I work part time and coach Little League. I try to not be overwhelmed by my disappointment in the supposed leader of this country, but in the words of Johnny Cash, I Press On, with the knowledge that ensuing generations will solve the problems my generation and its greed created.

All of those of us who served in combat understand the finality of death at a young age. Those who honor those of us who served, no matter how sincere their sentiments, cannot possibly understand the context of war. Those who lost loved ones mourn a lifetime for the sons, daughters, grandsons and granddaughters they have been denied.

2021 Update?

Last year was truly terrible- between the pandemic that has killed nearly 600,000 people, the political unrest, racial violence and the insurrection against the U.S. Capitol., we have had a lot to digest. Over the course if the past four years, I have lost many friends- some to death and others to political differences. No matter how they were lost, the effect is an unhappy one. Still, I am here- soldiering on.

I try to remember this: On the worst day of my life, I am still alive and have an opportunity?to enjoy the beauty of this world—something that was denied to my friend Fred Fedder and thousands of others like him.

Take care pal. I’ll stop by the next time I’m in Washington.

2022 Update?

This year- another reason to pause and reflect. Much is written about those who “died for our freedom”- a phrase that is well-intentioned, but generally covers up a significant number of false truths. The only war in the last one hundred years that approached being a threat to our freedom was WWII. The rest have all been contrived for politics or profit or both. When I was a corpsman serving with the Marines in Vietnam, I never heard anyone say, “I’m here to die for my fellow Americans’ freedom.” Every single person began counting the number of days until his rotation back to CONUS (Continental United States) the second their boots touched the ground. Few to none ever joined the military to chase glory. I joined after flunking out of college. The service was going to be my second chance. When people who don’t know me say the banal, “Thank you for your service”, I shake it off. What do they know about how and why I served?

I certainly didn’t serve so that idiots could buy the same weapons that we used in Vietnam to hunt defenseless deer or other similarly-defenseless human beings. Freddy Fedder didn’t die for the Second Amendment. He didn’t die so that second, third and fourth graders could be ambushed and wiped out in their classrooms. Truth is, Freddy Fedder and the 58,000-plus other Americans did not die for altruism. Rather, they died to help the high rollers of the military/industrial complex achieve their goals of attaining fabulous wealth at the expense of those less fortunate and less connected.

To those in power, Freddy Fedder was just a meaningless statistic.

The same is true of the most recent 21 victims of the mass shooting in Uvalde, Texas. Kids just going to school and a sicko with access to assault rifles ends their lives. Amidst the furor and the inevitable call from the “snowflakes” to enact gun control legislation, the Second Amendment freaks will demand that either nothing be done, or that EVERYBODY be armed. After a couple of weeks, the 21 deaths will fade into the woodwork, and idiots will be able to buy weapons of mass destruction before they can legally drink and their fathers and uncles (inevitably angry white men) will be able to build their designer deer stands, replete with color television sets, heaters, running water and bunk beds, and shoot defenseless herbivores (with those same assault rifles) who are just trying to get enough nourishment to make it through the winter, then go home and regale their families with stories of their exploits as fearless “hunters”, all while tearing up when the National Anthem is being played and thanking ex-military members for their service.

There is a big difference between the Bambi’s, the innocent school kids and teachers and the Fred Fedders of the world. Deer and little kids are truly unsuspecting and defenseless victims of something they have (or had) no idea of what is about to happen. Freddy Fedder, on the other hand, knew what he was doing when he enlisted, as did I.

Maybe at least for a day, we should remember those who were innocent victims of mass shootings, the two million innocent Vietnamese we killed and who knows how many other victims of corporate greed and indifference and our selfish fight to “maintain our freedoms”?

If Freddy Fedder died protecting our freedom, then the innocent animals and children that continue to be killed in the name of “our rights” are nothing but victims of those freedoms.

I’m sorry Freddy. You didn’t die for this. Your life deserves a better legacy. You were a great guy- better than many of the people whose freedoms you were allegedly defending.

Rest easy, brother. I, for one, will keep speaking out.

2023: Tempus continues to fugit. Every week, it seems, another icon from my generation seems to pass away. Only Willie Nelson and Keith Richards seem destined to live forever.

What would Freddy say if he were here today? What would he think about what the world has become? As I remember him, Freddy was a kind and thoughtful guy. I can’t imagine him buying into the divisiveness and hatred that permeates our daily life. If Freddy and the 58,000 plus others who died really went there to save the country from its enemies, they sadly missed the point and were bamboozled. The real enemies were (then and now) the money-grubbers who got rich off the sacrifices of those who died so those with bone spurs could screw over hard-working folks for the next sixty years. As Muhammed Ali famously said, “No Viet Cong ever called me nigger.”

Nor did they teach us to hate each other. Aided by social media platforms that allow us to select the brand of belief we choose, we have learned that on our own, which brings back the sage remark made by the old cartoonist, Walt Kelly, in his strip “Pogo”. “We have found the enemy and he is us”, penned Kelly.

It was as true then as it is now, and it becomes truer every day.

As we once again celebrate another Memorial Day, let’s try to get past the na?ve and false belief that anyone in the post-WWII era gave their lives to keep us free, and make a promise to do our best every day to try to create the fairy tale land of justice, equality and human kindness that our politically acceptable text books proclaim that our slave-owning, woman-subjugating forefathers were aiming at when they decided they didn’t want to pay their taxes.

It's the least we can do for our honored dead like Freddy Fedder.

I love you, Freddy. See you soon.