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Date:         Sun, 11 Nov 2007 18:14:06 -0800
Reply-To:     Pensioner <al_knoll@PACBELL.NET>
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From:         Pensioner <al_knoll@PACBELL.NET>
Subject:      One more veterans day NVC
In-Reply-To:  <200711112326.lABNQu5U009666@nlpi051.prodigy.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"

I post this from time to time. The number at the end has been adjusted downward from 250,000 to the most recent estimate. Some of these veterans need a handout some just a hand up. Hire a vet, he's already paid.

>>>>>

Soldier in the rain.

It had been a long time since he'd heard that eagle scream.

It had rained hard at the river camp where he and others had spent the night. In the drizzle before dawn, he wrapped his sleeping bag in the plastic tarp and gathered his things. It was only a couple of miles to a corner out of the rain near the park. He stumbled coming up the slippery bank and as he picked himself, up the mud on his tattered clothes brought back memories of mud in another place, now so far away. He wandered through downtown, but at this early hour few noticed the bedraggled figure with his bedroll and muddy clothes. The corner near the convention center would be dry just across from the park and the sun would warm things up a bit he thought as he crossed the trolley track. Memories of long ago were powerful today as he thought of friends whose faces would never age like his had over the years. His reflection in the glass door of the auditorium embarrassed him and he stopped to try to straighten his hair and brush off the mud. Just around the corner, he set down his bedroom and leaned back up against the building. The parade would be by in a couple of hours and he could warm up here while he waited. There was a little bit left in the bottle and it felt good going down. As the commute traffic along the street next to the capitol picked up for the morning, the sun peeked out and illuminated his corner behind the hedge. He remembered last year when he and his buddy had shared the corner. His friend had died that winter from alcohol and abuse, this year he was alone. From inside the tattered jacket he took three grimy medals and carefully pinned them on. The street was quiet now, closed off for the parade. He sat in the corner and thought how things had gone these past years when he couldn't hold a job and lost his home. Dark images from the past had stolen his resolve and ambition and pulled him down to where he was today. He could hear the parade music as they turned onto the street a block or so away. Wiping away some inner rain, he stood up and gently took an old green hat out of his bag. He smoothed his tangled hair as best he could and put the beret on at just the right angle. As he stepped from behind the hedge towards the street he could see the flag bearers at the front as they marched toward him. The sparse crowd at the curb moved aside as he approached. When the flag drew close, he snapped to attention and held a razor sharp salute as it passed. Sometimes all you have left is your pride and your memories. He'd made it to one more Veterans Day.

The Veterans Administration estimates there are over 175,000 homeless veterans in the land of the free this winter.

(c) Al Knoll 1999, 2007

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