1968
Lesley’s Diary
January 15, 1968
My Lindy, born five weeks premature, is officially one month old today. I go to the hospital every morning to spend time with her, touch her, reassure her of my love. The poor thing is so tiny and she’s got all these tubes coming in and out of her. I’ve learned that those last few weeks of pregnancy make all the difference.
Everyone is amazed that Lindy’s managed to hold on this long, but not me. This child has grit. I feel it in her, this determination, this overpowering will to beat the odds. Buck says I should be more realistic and accept the fact that we’re probably going to lose her. I refuse to think that way. If he spent more time with her, he’d know how badly our daughter wants to live, how fiercely she’s battling for life each and every day.
I go to Mass every morning to ask God to be merciful to my little girl. I love her so much I can barely bring myself to think about the possibility that she might die. Dad said it’d be for the best. I couldn’t believe my own father would say such a thing! More and more I find myself unable to cope with my father and avoid him as much as I can. It’s because of Dad that Susan joined the Navy. His unwillingness to educate his daughters is barbaric. Dad continues to insist that if anyone gets a higher education in this family, it’ll be Mike or Joe or maybe Bruce. But not Susan, Lily or me. I had my chance and often wonder what would’ve happened had I been able to accept that scholarship from the Soroptimists.
With Dad forcefully reminding her that college was out of the question, Susan became more determined than ever to make something of her life. When she talked with the Navy recruiter, she saw a way to forge a future for herself. She joined the Navy because she wanted out from under our father’s thumb. She couldn’t tolerate his views toward women any longer. The military is the only means she has of getting an education and becoming a nurse. It frightens me that she might end up in Vietnam, but I refuse to think about that. She’s doing what Mom and I can only dream about now.
The Army gave Buck compassionate leave after Lindy was born, but he doesn’t like spending time at the hospital. Sometimes Mom or a friend will drive me there and back. Or else Buck drops me off and then comes back later to pick me up. He doesn’t like to be without a car. I’m so grateful Mom’s been able to watch Davey for me.
It looks like Buck’s going to be stationed in California for the rest of his stint in the Army. I’ve already decided to stay here in Washington in order to be close to my family. Buck would rather I joined him, but he understands. He’s been really good with Davey. These last few weeks are the first time he’s had a chance to know his son. For all his faults, Buck can be sweet when he wants to. Davey idolizes his father.
January 21, 1968
Dear Jillian,
I know you were upset with me because I refused to move to Canada after my draft notice arrived. I prefer to believe you weren’t serious. Remember how I told you everything would work out? Well, now it’s happening just the way I said it would. I have terrific news.
First, you’ll notice that the return address on this envelope is different. I’m at Fort Rucker now and I was pegged for the infantry in AIT—Advanced Individual Training. Yesterday I learned I’d been selected for training to be a helicopter pilot.
You said when you gave me back my mother’s medal that it would protect me. I think you must be right. It’s certainly bringing me luck. Still, I can’t wait for the day I can put it back around your neck where it belongs.
Anyway, here’s the best part about me being a pilot. As soon as I’m finished with this training, I’ll become a warrant officer. Soon they’ll be saluting me. Before long I’ll be piloting a Huey and, sweetheart, it’s a beaut. I was sure the Army would want me as a mechanic, since I’m already qualified in that area, but not so. Just think. Me, a pilot! This is great news, isn’t it? I couldn’t be more excited.
Basic training was hell, but your letters got me through it. The BS in the Army is neck-deep, and that isn’t going to change any time soon. But damn it all, I can put up with just about anything if they’re gonna make me a pilot.
I start training right away. I called my dad and he’s so damn proud it’s a wonder the buttons didn’t bust right off his shirt. I talked to Jimmy, too, and told him that if he didn’t shape up in school I was personally going to rip him a new set of lips. That kid’s a handful.
Be pleased for me, Jillian, and don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to me. A year from now, I’ll be finished with my tour of duty in Vietnam and we can talk about setting a date for the wedding. Your father might have trouble accepting a mechanic as a son-in-law, but my guess is he’ll find a pilot far more palatable.
Remember how much I love you.
Nick
February 19, 1968
Dear Jillian,
Oh, Jillian, you’ll never guess what! I won $350 at St. Catherine’s Friday night bingo. Mom talked me into going with her and had Mike and Joe watch Davey. The hospital said I can bring Lindy home next week and bingo was a time for us to celebrate. I was just thrilled. We could use that money for a hundred different things, but I didn’t dare tell Buck about it. Guess what I did? You won’t believe it. I bought myself a car. I’ve needed one so badly these past few months and Buck took ours to California. I’ve had to rely on Mom and anyone who was willing to drive me to Madegan Hospital in order to be with Lindy.
I know what you’re thinking, that for $350 I wasn’t able to get much of a car, but I got an excellent buy. It’s a brownish 1957 Chevy with a stick shift. I took it over to Nick’s father and had him check it out. He said it was in decent shape. All it needed was new brakes and a couple of other things to make it run really well. I’m so grateful for his help.
You know, my mother’s something of a surprise to me. While I was growing up, I didn’t understand or appreciate her the way I do now. It angered me that she let Dad drink so much. I hate to say it, but I blamed Mom for Dad’s drinking—for putting up with it and not forcing him to stop. I saw her as weak. I view things differently now. Mom isn’t weak at all, but strong, so much stronger than I gave her credit for. She’s the one who held the family together. When she needed Dad to do something, it got done. I’d never have had the wedding I did without my mother. She stood up to Dad. She told him she wasn’t going to let him treat me the way her father had treated her. She’s got a part-time job now, too, and she keeps that money for herself.
I know you’re worried about Nick going to Vietnam, and I don’t blame you, especially since the situation seems to be heating up. I heard on the news last week that we might have as many as 500,000 troops there by the end of this year. What’s happening in our world? Remember how the riots in Watts shocked us in 1965? Then Detroit and Newark followed. Students are demonstrating against the war, too.
Even though this Vietnam mess is scary, Nick will be all right, I’m sure of it. Buck returned safe and sound and he’ll be discharged before long. Those twelve months he was in Vietnam went by fast. Nick’s year will, too.
I was excited about the bingo win and wanted to let you know.
Loads of love,
Lesley
JILLIAN LAWTON
BARNARD COLLEGE
PLIMPTON HALL
NEW YORK, NY 10025
April 7, 1968
Dear Mom and Dad,
I’ve made a decision about this summer. I won’t be coming home the way I’d originally planned. After last summer, I suspect you’re both relieved. While I might be too young to vote in this year’s election, I can still volunteer to work for the candidate of my choice. I know this will come as a surprise, but I’ll be working to get Robert Kennedy elected as president of the United States.
Yes, Dad, I’m fully aware that Robert Kennedy is a Democrat. I’m also aware that our family has voted Republican since time began. But I refuse to blindly step into line and vote a certain way simply because that’s the way you and Mom vote.
I realized I was a Democrat three days ago, when Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. What is wrong with our country that people are killed in the streets because of what they believe? For the last couple of years, I haven’t said anything because I wanted to maintain our fragile peace. Unlike you, I’ve kept my opinions to myself. Martin Luther King, Jr. is dead. 125 cities across the country are in flames. Federal troops and the National Guard are patrolling our streets. As I thought about it, I realized that at some point this summer you’d volunteer my services to the Nixon campaign. In good conscience, I can no longer support your political choices and I can no longer remain silent. Yes, Daddy, I’m staging my own personal demonstration for truth.
Although you haven’t asked, I want you to know that Nick has completed his pilot training at Fort Rucker and is shipping out to Vietnam within the month. My heart goes with him. I urged him to move to Canada, but he refused. He insisted that since he enjoyed the benefits of this country’s freedom, he felt obliged to fight when called upon. If anything happens to him, I’ll never be able to forgive the establishment.
I don’t expect either of you to agree with my politics, but I’m hoping you’ll respect my right to make my own decisions.
Your daughter,
Jillian
May 8, 1968
Dear Buck,
Everything’s set for the kids and me to join you in California. I would’ve preferred to remain in Washington State, but you’re right: a wife’s place is with her husband. Davey, Lindy and I are taking the train down and will arrive on the afternoon of the 21st.
Mom, Mike and Joe are driving down in my car for a short vacation without Dad. They’re following the van that’s hauling our furniture. I’m anxious to see you, too. I’m so glad you were able to get base housing for us.
Lindy weighs almost ten pounds now and is growing every day. She might have been born five weeks premature, but she’s made up for it ever since. In the early days, shortly after she was born when we didn’t know if she’d live or die, I pleaded with God to let her live, and He answered my prayers. On her last visit, Dr. Owen said Lindy shouldn’t suffer any permanent damage from being a preemie.
One reason I mentioned Lindy is because of an issue you and I haven’t discussed before, and that’s birth control. We’ve had two children in two years. I might want another baby later, but I don’t right now. I’m sure you agree. Davey and Lindy demand all my attention. At the same time, I don’t want to go against the teachings of the Church. God answered my prayers with regard to Lindy, and it seems selfish of me to disregard the Church’s teaching in the area of birth control now. What I’m asking, Buck, is that we practice the rhythm method. It means that during certain times of the month, we have to abstain from intercourse. I know you, Buck, and you won’t want to wait, but for the sanity of your wife you must. Please think about this, all right? I’m bringing it up now because, as best as I can figure, my fertile time begins the day we arrive. So don’t get any ideas about me falling into bed with you that night. We aren’t doing it until I can be sure I won’t get pregnant again.
I look forward to seeing you, and the kids are anxious to be with their daddy.
Love,
Lesley
Outside Khe Sanh in South Vietnam
June 15, 1968
Dearest Jillian,
I got your letter written June 5th just this morning. It’s hard to believe that Robert Kennedy is dead. Assassinated like his brother. I didn’t see any of the news about the train crossing the country with his body or how people came to stand and watch it pass. Unfortunately, we don’t get much news here of what’s happening back home. In some ways that’s a good thing, but in others it isn’t.
I can’t blame you for wanting to stay in New York this summer, but, sweetheart, perhaps it would be best if you went home for a while. You’ve had a shock. The entire country has. Go home, make peace with your parents. They love you, just as I do.
You asked how I am, and I can honestly say that I’m doing all right today. Yesterday was a different story. We got orders to fly into this valley where 50 VC were reported on the ridgeline outside our position. It was raining like nothing I’ve ever seen but I managed to get the chopper in. The soldiers I was flying were able to jump free. That was when I spotted the VC hiding in the bushes. Before I knew it, all hell had broken loose.
I don’t know who said 50 VC, but I’d say the count was off by a hundred or more. By that time, other choppers were coming in and there was shooting from all directions. I got the hell out of there, but it wasn’t pretty.
Our crew chief was shot up and I managed to get him out before we were completely surrounded. He says if it wasn’t for me he’d have died. When they carried him to the hospital, he grabbed my hand because he was hurting so bad. His leg had been shot to hell and his blood was mixing with the rain. I told him he had a million-dollar wound. He had his teeth clenched against the pain, but he smiled at that. If you have a million-dollar wound, you get sent back stateside so if you’re going to get hit, you want one that’ll send you home.
Yesterday is over, and today is better. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I probably shouldn’t have told you about the battle. I’m gaining more experience all the time and becoming a better pilot. I like flying. I get a thrill out of it, a rush of excitement whenever I lift that Huey off the ground. What really excites me is that once this insane war is over, I can continue being a pilot.
I’d like to pursue a career in aviation once I’m a civilian again. A married civilian. Each day I find reasons to regret not running away and marrying you last summer when you proposed. I can hardly wait to tell our children that their mother was the one who first popped the question.
I’ve made some friends here. We watch each other’s back, so you don’t need to worry. Enclosed is a photo of me—I’m the tall, handsome one and the ugly guy standing next to me is Brad Lincoln from Atlanta, Georgia. He’s another helicopter pilot. The two of us have been talking about starting up a business together. Brad’s a good friend and like I said, we look out for each other. It helps knowing he’s there for me.
Don’t forget how much I love you.
Nick
JILLIAN LAWTON
BARNARD COLLEGE
PLIMPTON HALL
NEW YORK, NY 10025
August 1, 1968
Dearest Nick,
Tell me about your bad days. I want to know everything.
I had a rotten day today. I wasn’t sure coming back to Pine Ridge was the right thing to do, but I felt so lost after what happened to Robert Kennedy. Being around my friends sounded like a wonderful idea; now I’m not so sure.
Lesley is in California and my other friends are all married or engaged. I saw Cindy briefly, but we didn’t have anything to talk about. Most days I wander down to the gas station and visit with your dad and Jimmy.
Missing Lesley is bad enough, but then my dad tried to arrange a date with that friend of his again. I was rude to them both. It angered me so much that my father would do such a thing when he knows how I feel about you.
That’s not the worst of it. Mom suggested I shop for new clothes for school and it sounded like fun. I decided to drive into Seattle, to the Jay Jacobs store, which has always been a favorite of mine. At the Seattle Center I ran into a group of war protesters. I know it was foolish of me, but I couldn’t allow them to say the things they were saying. They called our troops “baby killers” and I couldn’t let that go and got into a shouting match with them. They have it all wrong, but before I could explain myself, one of the demonstrators threw a tomato at me. Oh, Nick, it was just awful.
I’m fine. All the tomato did was stain my dress. But it showed me how heated people’s feelings are about this war. I tried so hard to get them to understand how important it is for everyone at home to support our troops. The war is wrong, but our men are only doing what our government has ordered. It was stupid to try to reason with a crowd—I had a lot of insults thrown at me, as well as the tomato. As you might guess, my father was terribly upset by the entire incident. Now he doesn’t want me driving into Seattle unless Mom accompanies me.
I probably shouldn’t have told you this. Don’t be like Dad and get upset, okay?
I love you so much, and am counting the days until you’re home. If you don’t marry me the instant you step off that plane, I’ll never forgive you.
Remember how much I love you.
Jillian
Lesley’s Diary
August 3, 1968
I’m so furious with Buck I can hardly think straight. The minute he got his paycheck he disappeared with his drinking buddies and didn’t return until the wee hours of the morning. He crawled into bed, smelling of beer, and immediately wanted to make love. I told him we couldn’t because it was my fertile time of the month. He knows I don’t want another baby so soon after Lindy. He kept insisting we do it, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He tried sweet-talking me into it, but I repeatedly said no. Eventually he got mad and said he might as well find himself a real woman. That was when I suggested he search in the cocktail lounge in Waikiki.
He didn’t understand I was telling him I’d seen him necking with that woman in Hawaii. Instead, he insisted he didn’t want any woman but his wife. Like a fool, I agreed to let him make love to me as long as he withdrew before he ejaculated and he promised he would, but then he didn’t. If I turn up pregnant again, I don’t know what I’ll do. With the future as uncertain as it is, with assassinations, race riots and the war in Vietnam, I don’t want to bring any more children into the world.
In the morning, his head hurting from a hangover, Buck told me over and over how sorry he was and promised it wouldn’t happen again. As far as I’m concerned, there won’t be an opportunity for another “accident.”
Outside Khe Sanh in South Vietnam
August 19, 1968
Dearest Jillian,
Your letters were waiting for me when I got back to base. Right away I read each one twice. Jillian, I agree with your father—stay away from those protesters. You put yourself in a dangerous situation and for no reason. You aren’t going to convince them to change their minds, so play it safe. I need to know you’re safe, sweetheart! So promise me you won’t do anything that foolish again. I appreciate that you want to support us, though. I agree with you—this war is wrong. We shouldn’t even be here. If the demonstrators manage to bring us home, then more power to them.
I can’t tell you how much getting mail means to me, especially after a day like today. I won’t describe what happened. Not all of it, anyway, but I watched a brave man die this afternoon. A good man and, honey, it really shook me up. It shook us all up. It could’ve been any one of us. I’ve seen death before, but I haven’t felt it the way I did this afternoon. It was like a giant hand reached out and grabbed Bob, completely at random. Why Bob and not me? None of it makes any sense.
Then later, after we got back, one of my buddies read a letter from his girl. I knew something was wrong when he threw it down and walked outside. His fiancée broke off the engagement and he was crying. Not so anyone could see, but when I found him he had tears running down his face. It wiped him out emotionally. This war is hell enough without hearing shit like that.
No one slept much last night. I kept thinking about you and me and how much I love you. I know I shouldn’t think this way, but I was glad it wasn’t me that got killed. I love you too damn much to leave you. Right now, I want to hold you so much my arms ache. I’m sorry Bob is dead, sorry Larry’s girl dumped him. I want to get out of this hellhole. When I close my eyes all I see is war. All I hear is the rapid fire of guns and the cries of men like me just hoping to get out of here alive. All I dream about is getting home to you.
Remember how much I love you.
Nick
Jillian’s Diary
September 14, 1968
I’m so glad to be back at school. Dad and I can barely look at each other. It’s impossible to carry on a civil conversation with him. At one time I idolized my father, but I don’t anymore. Nick keeps telling me that I’m going to make a great attorney. I refuse to even consider a career in law. If being an attorney means I’ll start thinking and acting like my father, then I don’t want any part of it. Mom, who attempts to play the role of peacemaker, says it’s because Dad and I are so much alike.
I sincerely hope she’s wrong. My father actually told me to my face that he didn’t raise his daughter to be a Democrat. He spits out the word as if it’s going to dirty his mouth.
Politics is only one of the things we fight about. He knows I love Nick and that we’re planning to get married once he’s home from Vietnam. But my father still refuses to accept him and insists on introducing me to other men. Men he considers more “suitable” than Nick. Rich boys who’d race to Canada at the hint of a draft notice.
He doesn’t like my music. He thinks The Doors and Jefferson Airplane are tools of the devil. My wardrobe upsets him, too. What’s so revolutionary about bell-bottoms and sandals? Anyway, I don’t care what he thinks. I’m just grateful to be out from under his domination.
Nick thought coming home for the summer would be good for me, but he was wrong. I doubt I’ll return for Christmas, feeling the way I do about my father.
This wasn’t a good summer for Lesley, either. Selfishly Buck insisted on uprooting her and the kids and making them move to California to be with him. That meant we hardly had a minute together at all. Lesley’s life is so different from mine. I was afraid that after her marriage we’d drift apart, but she’s still the only person in the world who truly understands my feelings. She’s the only one who accepts my love for Nick.
In her last letter, Lesley said she’s scared she might be pregnant again. I hope not, for her sake. Buck’s the kind of man who likes his women barefoot and pregnant. With two babies already, the last thing she needs is a third child. I don’t know why she refuses to take the pill. The Catholic Church’s stand on that issue is right out of the Dark Ages.
I’ve got to stop watching the television news about Vietnam. Last night there was all this talk about the aftermath of the Tet Offensive and how the death toll keeps rising. My dreams were filled with war and worries about Nick. I woke up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding so hard I could barely catch my breath. It took a long time before I was able to calm down and remember it was just a dream and that Nick’s perfectly fine. If anything happened to him my heart would know it, I’m sure of that.
Outside Khe Sanh in South Vietnam
September 15, 1968
Dear Jimmy,
I promised I’d write as often as I could, but it’s been a while. I’ve discovered that jotting down a few lines to send home helps ease the tension. We all look for ways to keep our minds off the war. That’s one reason getting mail from home means so much. I carry the letters from you, Dad and Jillian with me. I’ve read them all so many times they’re falling apart. The ones from Jillian I’ve committed to memory. Her letters, and yours and Dad’s, too, are the only way I have of staying sane here. I haven’t been as faithful as I wanted to be in writing you, but I know you understand.
By the way, I got word of your recent “troubles.” What the hell are you doing hanging around with Dirk Andrews? You didn’t learn your lesson about him the last time? We both know Dirk’s bad news. He’s already been arrested twice. I didn’t realize you had a hankering for jail food. Thank God Dad was able to get you out of this scrape, but don’t count on being that fortunate again. Before you decide to step out of the house or do anything, stop and consider the consequences of your actions. Dad only said one thing to me before I left for Nam. “Be a man.” Then he hugged me and asked me to come home. I’m asking you to be a man now, Jimmy, and ditch Dirk before you end up doing jail time for being stupid.
I don’t mean to come down too hard on you. You’re my kid brother and I’ve always looked out for you. It’s harder now with me being so far from home, so I’m relying on you to keep your own nose clean. In other words, stay away from Dirk, and stay out of trouble. I’ve got to end this if it’s going to make today’s mail.
I don’t say this often, Jimmy, but I love you.
Your brother,
Nick
October 1, 1968
Dear Susan,
It was so good to hear from you. I knew you’d like the Navy, and if everything goes according to plan, you’ll soon be in nursing school. I envy you the opportunity.
Buck, the kids and I are doing great. We’re anxious to move back to Washington. Dad said there’s a job waiting for Buck at the lumber mill once he’s discharged, but you know Dad, he’s always full of talk. However, Buck worked at the mill before he enlisted, so we’re hoping he can get back on.
Lindy is growing by leaps and bounds. Davey, too. I don’t know how Mom did it with six of us constantly underfoot. Mom wrote and said Mike has a job at the Albertson’s store this summer and Joe’s hoping they’ll hire him next year when he’s old enough to work. He took over Mike’s paper route and has his own money for school clothes. That helps Mom. Bruce and Lily spend most of their time at Lion’s Park swimming, just the way we did when we were their age.
Your sister, Lesley
JILLIAN LAWTON
BARNARD COLLEGE
PLIMPTON HALL
NEW YORK, NY 10025
October 6, 1968
Dear Mr. Murphy,
I hope you don’t mind that I’m writing you, but I haven’t received a letter from Nick in almost a week. Have you heard from him? It isn’t like him not to write. Ever since he was stationed in Vietnam, he’s made a point of writing me at least every other day, just so I won’t worry.
At first I thought there might be some confusion with the mail because I recently returned to school, but my mother assures me nothing’s been delivered to the house, either.
I’ll await your reply.
Sincerely,
Jillian Lawton
From the Department of Defense
Addressed to: Mr. Patrick Murphy
It is with deep regret that we
inform you of the death of your son
Nicholas Patrick Murphy
September 16, 1968
in
Vietnam
JILLIAN LAWTON
BARNARD COLLEGE
PLIMPTON HALL
NEW YORK, NY 10025
October 8, 1968
Dear Nick,
I screamed when I heard you’d been killed. Screamed and screamed and screamed. My heart has yet to stop screaming. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. This can’t be happening, this can’t be real. Tell me it isn’t real! It’s like my chest has been caught in a vise that grows tighter and tighter. Sometimes it even hurts to breathe.
My mother was the one to tell me. Your dad phoned her and explained that two soldiers had arrived at the gas station to deliver the news. He was too broken up to tell me himself, so he phoned my mother.
I knew something was wrong when she called, because she was crying and trying to hide it. Only I thought it had to do with my dad. I never dreamed she was calling to say you’d been taken away from me. Never dreamed that a phone call from home, from my own mother, would change my life forever.
Following your funeral, Mom wanted me to stay home for the remainder of the semester and return to school after the Christmas holidays, but I’ll go crazy sitting around the house for the next three months. Dad seemed relieved when I told him I’d decided to go back. He said he thought that was probably for the best. I can’t talk to my father at all. But don’t worry, we didn’t fight. I haven’t got the strength for it.
I’m writing this on the plane, flying back to the East Coast the day after your funeral. It all seemed so unreal until yesterday morning, when I sat in church between your father and Jimmy. Your father looked old and frail. It was the first time I’d ever seen him in a suit. He tried to be brave for me and Jimmy. You would’ve been proud of your brother. I don’t think your father would have made it through the funeral if not for him. It wasn’t until we reached the cemetery that Jimmy started to cry.
Your family loved you, Nicholas Patrick Murphy. I loved you, too. Oh Nick, tell me what I’m supposed to do without you. Tell me.
Please, please tell me.
Jillian
October 9, 1968
Dearest, dearest Jillian,
Oh, how I wish I could be with you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to Nick’s funeral. Even now I find it hard to accept that he’s really gone. You see, I came to love him myself when I saw how much he loved you.
I remember when you told me you’d met Nick behind the snack booth on Valentine’s Day, back when we were still in high school, and how you spent prom night with him instead of going to the dance. I knew when you broke up with Scott that Nick wasn’t just a fling. It hurts so terribly, doesn’t it? The only thing I can compare it to would be losing David, Lindy or Buck.
Jillian, how can I help you? What can I do to ease this pain? We’ve been best friends our entire lives and have seen each other through everything. You were the first person I turned to when I discovered I was pregnant with David (just as I did last month, when I thought I was pregnant again—which, thank God, I’m not). You were maid-of-honor at my wedding. You’ve been with me through good times and bad, but how can I possibly see you through something like this? How can I help you?
Your tears are my tears. Your pain is mine. Our friendship is stronger even than the bonds I share with my own sisters. Let me help you. Just tell me how.
With all my heart,
Lesley
JILLIAN LAWTON
BARNARD COLLEGE
PLIMPTON HALL
NEW YORK, NY 10025
December 1, 1968
Dearest Lesley,
Thank you for your letters. I don’t know how I could have survived these last months without them. I received a letter from Nick’s friend Brad Lincoln this week. He’d wanted to write sooner, but was badly injured and dictated the letter to a hospital volunteer. It took me a long time to find the courage to read it.
Deep down I knew what Brad wanted to tell me, and I was right. Nick died a hero. The news didn’t comfort me. Knowing that Nick died saving someone else angered me so much I went on a rampage through my dorm room. It’s hard to believe I’d do such a thing, isn’t it? The anger pounded inside me until I had to do something. I know it sounds crazy, but I tore the sheets off the beds and sent every book in the room crashing against the wall. Then I collapsed and wept until my throat was raw. Later Janice came in and knelt on the floor, held me and cried with me. Afterward I showed her Brad’s letter.
The last thing I wanted to read was how Nick saved his friend’s life. If Brad is waiting for me to absolve him from his guilt, then he has a very long wait.
You asked what you can do to help me. I don’t know, Les, I just don’t know. I’ve never experienced this kind of pain before. I feel like I’m walking in a fog. People talk to me and I don’t hear. I read, but I don’t understand the words. I look, but I don’t see. Everyone tells me time is the great healer, as though everything will be all right again in six months. Nothing in my life will be the same without Nick. Nothing ever again, and I know it.
This has been a year of death. First Martin Luther King, Jr., then Bobby Kennedy and now Nick. And all the other soldiers in Vietnam... Oh, Lesley, so much death! I’m not sure I want to live anymore. You’re the only person I can tell how I really feel. I think about dying and wish I could end everything just so this pain would stop.
I continue to write Nick letters—please don’t tell me I shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s the only thing that gets me through the night. I wrote him every day for months, and now it seems only natural at the end of each day to share my thoughts with him. Sometimes I can almost make myself believe he isn’t really dead and that he’ll be coming home soon.
I don’t sleep well. When I do manage to drift off, I wake with a start and then I remember that Nick is dead. And my heart wants to stop beating. A dark, heavy sadness settles over me, a sadness too great to carry on my own.
Yes, I’ll be home for Christmas and I’m so grateful you will be, too. It’ll be good to hold Davey and Lindy. My prayer is that they won’t have to grow up and worry about fighting wars.
I love you.
Jillian
December 4, 1968
Dear Jillian,
Hi. Thanks for your letter. Dad’s not doing well since Nick died. My mother died and now Nick’s gone, too. I’m all right, I guess, but, Jillian, I need you to be strong because I don’t think I can hold Dad together much longer. He doesn’t sleep very much and I can’t remember the last time he sat down for dinner. He barely knows I’m around and yesterday he called me Nick and then realized what he’d done and began to cry. Customers are starting to complain, too. Will you be home soon for Christmas? Can you come by the station and visit once you arrive? Can you do that? Please?
Jimmy Murphy