Stinson looked out the window, gathering his thoughts. “You were the best friend I had, Raymond. I cried when I had to leave Thornewood. It felt good living there, but I was embarrassed, too. You had your life together, and I didn’t.”
Stinson paused. “And it kept getting worse. I kept traveling in the wrong direction—fighting, gangbanging, robbing.”
Raymond laughed. “I heard about some of your exploits.”
“The best thing that happened to me was Darlene, so I joined the service before I hit bottom. I thought it would help me get my life back together so I could come home and take care of my family.”
“I thought about you a lot over the years, wondering where you were, how you were doing,” Raymond said.
“The same with me.”
“I was looking for you because I needed to tell you what that year and a half we spent together meant to me, and I wanted to tell you how much of an influence you were on me.”
“Really?” Stinson asked.
“Seems like that’s your calling, brother.”
Stinson chuckled. “Seems like it.”
“Did you know I was in the service, too?”
Stinson looked up. “When?”
“Got out over a year ago.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Why’s that?”
“We would have made a helluva team over there.”
Raymond laughed. “You better believe it, brother.”
Chapter 75
D
ecember 13, 1969
Walden patted Anthony on his back as they sat at a table with some of the Post’s staff, Anthony’s wife, Carla, and his daughter, Mali, during the Post’s annual Christmas party. “Your article about those seven soldiers is finally getting some legs, Anthony.”
“It’s about time. I sent it to the Pentagon, the State Department, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and some members of Congress. I even sent it to President Nixon.”
Walden grimaced. “I already know how that went.”
“I did get a response.”
“I hoped you would,” Leonard Shanklar said. “It’s a shame how they treated those soldiers.”
“Not the kind of response I wanted, though,” Anthony responded. “Members of the House Armed Services Subcommittee denied anything like that incident could ever happen, that the story was designed to create more racial tension and stoke more protests against the war.”
“Typical,” Walden said. “Our boss, Bradlee, had a problem with the article, too, but the senior staff rose to your defense, including Shanklar.”
Anderson nodded at Shanklar. “I’m grateful, because I wondered about Bradlee.”
Walden chuckled. “Not to worry.”
“Congressman Stokes from Cleveland was the only person to respond positively,” Anthony continued. “After he obtained more information and met with the survivors, he requested an inquiry. They stonewalled him at every turn, but the congressman was persistent.”
“Like you.” Walden laughed.
“When he called me a month ago to say The Seven were being interviewed by the Inspector General along with Major Tilden, General Wyatt, Colonel Bertram, General Bolt, and several of General Bolt’s former staff members, I knew we had broken through,” Anthony said.
“Anthony picked us up and danced us around the room for fifteen minutes,” Carla laughed.
“I’ve always been a little leery of the army meting out punishment to its own, especially top brass,” Walden said.
Anthony slid his hand around Carla’s waist. “Except this embarrassed the President after The Seven were the cover story in both Time and Newsweek. CBS ran a Mike Wallace interview with Colonel Bertram, and it’s been run in at least ten major newspapers throughout the country.”
“Since Nixon said no troops were ever in Cambodia in 1969, he had some explaining to do. Guess who’s going to have to fall on their swords?” Walden asked.
“Let’s hope so. By the way, I was able to obtain this from General Westmoreland,” Walden said with a sly smile.
Chapter 76
A
nthony received good news twice in one day. His book, A Long Way Back, was picked up by the first publisher his agent contacted. Then he received an unexpected call.
“Mr. Andrews?”
“Yes.”
“Myron Turner.”
It had been months since Anthony had talked to any of the men, and Turner’s voice didn’t sound like he was conveying any good news. But then, he never did.
“Yes, Turner. How are you? How are you getting along?”
“Better.”
Same old Turner, Anthony thought. Spare with his words.
“How can I help you?”
“Has anybody else called you recently?”
“No.”
“I got two items in the mail today, and I wanted to thank you.”
“What items?”
“Honorable Discharge papers.”
“Yeah? Great, and?”
“A bronze star.”
“Bronze?”
“Yes. For valor.”
“Wow. That’s fantastic! Man. I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks. I’m guessing the others received the same.”
“I hope so, but Myron?”
“Yes?”
“You only got what you deserved.”
Epilogue
A
nthony sat at the nominees’ table with Carla, Mali, Bill Bradlee, Leonard Shanklar, Bill Walden, and Bradlee’s secretary, Mariann Worley, and clapped as Seymour M. Hersh of Dispatch News Service received the Worth Bingham Prize in the international reporting category for his story on the tragedy of My Lai, Vietnam. Carla held Anthony’s right hand, and Mali held his left.
Carla patted him on the knee as the recipient gave his acceptance speech. “Well, at least you were nominated,” Carla said as she kissed him on the cheek.
Anthony smiled at his wife. “Seymour deserved it.”
“No regrets, then?” Carla asked.
“Just one. I would like to have dedicated my speech to a few people.”
“Other than The Seven?”
“Yep. The seven who made it, Sergeant Stinson, and the seven who didn’t, Arne Nielson, the reporter I told you about, war correspondents in general, and all the soldiers who served, especially those who died.”
“I thought you should have won, Anthony,” Ben Bradlee whispered, “even though I might be a little biased.”
Anthony laughed. “This will make me work harder, Ben. I haven’t gotten there yet, but I’ve seen the top of the mountain.”
“It’s okay, Dad. They’ve got more awards where that one came from,” Mali said so sternly that those around Anthony had to muffle their laughter.
Walden slipped Anthony a note. “Bolt was demoted to major. He’s in the hospital with a severe stroke.”
“He would have had one earlier if he had been in the same hell he put those soldiers.”
“Anthony!” Carla whispered. “Be kind.”
“I will, baby. I will.”
About The Author
J. Everett Prewitt is the author of the acclaimed and award winning novel, Snake Walkers. He received his Bachelor of Arts degree from Lincoln University in Pennsylvania and Master of Science degree from Cleveland State University. He received the Distinguished Alumni award from both schools. Everett was an army officer and served in Vietnam during the years 1968 and 1969. He currently resides in Cleveland, Ohio.
A Long Way Back received the Seal of Approval from Literary Classics. In addition, it won the Independent Publishers of New England’s first place award, was a finalist for the Montaigne Award, won the Silver Award from Literary Classics, and the Bronze Award from the INDIEFAB Book of the Year contest.
www.eprewitt.com
Jacket Photograph: © Kevin Renes: Dreamstime.com
Jacket RenditionMichael Hrvatin
Author Photograph:Rodney Brown
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J. Everett Prewitt, A Long Way Back
A Long Way Back Page 25