I Shot JFK

by Jake Aaron

  Gunnar shook his head, “It was out of the blue. Probably a rude awakening he himself had. As he looked around the room staring each first classman in the eye, I could tell his question had become rhetorical, but I never forgot it. I steeled myself to have a prime directive: Help my classmates get through Airborne and Ranger School. Everything else should be subordinate and was. It helped. Without his seemingly harsh words to enlightened me, I would have had problems.”

  He paused, then went on, “One of the lane-graders at Benning was really riding me, calling me ‘Saint Gunnar.’ The ridicule actually motivated me because I knew where it came from …”

  “Hank Lanier!” I completed his sentence. “He’s that practical joker from Gunnar’s class,” I said to remind Aunt Cece and Uncle Walt.

  Gunnar smirked, “When the exercise was over, the sergeant fessed up privately. Hank had got to him earlier. and set me up. I knew it. And very good, Alex. You’re a good judge of character.”

  “You ‘ring knockers’ have to stick together,” I joked.

  “If you call extra harassment sticking together, I guess,” Gunnar laughed.

  “You got back at him, of course?” I asked.

  “I would never think of that. I did hear he wound up with some big rocks in his backpack on the next patrol,” Gunnar said dryly. “You run so tired that you just expect hardship and pain, so he didn’t notice the extra weight at first. Later, there was no good time for him to check the pack. I heard Hank cursed me when he found the heavy rocks at the end of his patrol. I dread my comeuppance.”

  Gunnar could always make me laugh, but that did not last. My attention shifted to Peter, Paul, and Mary singing “Blowin’ in the Wind” in the background. The poignancy of that moment was palpable. An unexplainable, ominous chill went up my spine.

  Military Advisor

  Throughout his last two years at West Point, Vietnam was sneaking onto the front pages of newspapers across the nation. The New York Times, delivered daily to every company orderly room at the United States Military Academy, reported the Viet Cong had become a growing threat to the existing government of Vietnam. The United States was beginning a build-up. Just before Christmas in 1962, President Kennedy announced that our military advisors in South Vietnam would defend themselves.

  Lieutenant Gunnar Olson got orders in early 1963 to be a military advisor in Vietnam. He was assigned to MACV, Military Assistance Command Vietnam. He had hoped to go to a unit and follow the traditional path of serving as a platoon leader first. The Army said he could skip that step and was qualified to teach the South Vietnamese how to wage ground warfare. Needs of the service, according to Gunnar. Convenience of the service, my words.

  He wrote me at least once a week. He expressed frustration over the will of the foreign nationals he was training. Over time, he had a sense of their slow, steady progress on learning tactics and procedures. He never conveyed a feeling of being in harm’s way. An occasional picture of his shirtless tanned body with mortar smoke in the background, told the real story. Ahem, advisor? I was sure he did not want to alarm us.

  News out of Vietnam also cast a different light on his safety. Gunnar arrived in Vietnam the second week in January. Back home we later learned the Viet Cong had just scored its first major combat victory at Ap Bac. There, the South Vietnamese suffered the deaths of some 80 soldiers with around 100 wounded, including the loss of three American combat advisors and five helicopters. The Viet Cong had done this despite being outnumbered.

  I would have spent more time in unproductive worry if I had not been over-my-head-deep in the first year of medical school. My theory on what the government was telling us about Vietnam was that there were two levels. One, if the news was abbreviated, the government was hiding something. Two, if there was no news, the government was hiding everything. You know how trusting I am.

  Typical of Gunnar, he had numerous anecdotes of cultural clash. More often than not, he could see how he came off as the “ugly American.” He was particularly struck by the distorting effects of the influx of comparatively large amounts of United States dollars had on the local economy. “It’s like a page out of my economics text at West Point,” he wrote. “When prostitutes start making more than doctors, doctors stop being doctors,” he wrote.

  I wrote him back: “Brother, it’s not like you to be visiting doctors.” I knew I could kid him because his code said he would not have sex until he was married.

  He wrote back, “But the doctor was so cute … But seriously, folks, the street hustle in any Vietnamese city is like being in Juarez. You would not believe what you can pay for a fine Seiko or Rolex watch. I also don’t think you should believe it’s a real Seiko or Rolex.

  “And if you think the jargon was bad at West Point,” he continued, “there’s an emergent one here. Digi refers to indigenous people, the Vietnamese. Round eye means Westerner or American. So far they’re pretty neutral terms, but I can see the distinct possibility that they will take on a prejudicial tone.”

  *****

  I wanted to be optimistic about events in Vietnam. The news we got from military sources seemed insipidly biased. In June, 1963, the widely-broadcast photograph of the self-immolation of a Buddhist monk in Saigon sobered everyone. The United States appeared to be moving inexorably to more involvement. Military activity was ramping up, and Gunnar was at the epicenter.

  Again, the lyrics of “Blowin’ in the Wind” haunted me, as if from the future.

  *****

  After the pressure of studying in the first year of medical school, I wanted to decompress back in Alamogordo. At least I got the Alamogordo part right. I didn’t decompress much. Instead of taking time off, I volunteered at the local hospital. I needed to build my resume for getting accepted to any future residency program. I sincerely admired the real volunteers there who did not have an ulterior motive, as did I.

  It was my first summer without Gunnar to hang out with. Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece missed him almost as much as I did. They hung on any news out of Vietnam. At supper we told Gunnar stories. There were so many. It almost made me sad to know that, if I were overseas and Gunnar were here, there wouldn’t be nearly as many Alex stories. No matter; that’s the way it was. The glass was half-full; we had Gunnar.

  Weekends we continued to go to the cabin in Ruidoso. Without Gunnar, I didn’t enjoy fishing or hiking as much. I twisted Uncle Walt’s arm, and before the summer was over, he became a pretty good fisherman. Likewise, a reluctant Aunt Cece became quite a mountain climber. Now and then, I even got them both to go shooting with me near Ruidoso.

  On occasion, I would take Gunnar’s Corvette for a spin around the Red Rooster. He insisted on updates on our old hangout and high school mates. And yes, I told him, I was changing the oil and checking the tire pressure. Uncle Walt was relieved that I was around to exercise the sports car. Gunnar charged him with driving it at least twice a month. Uncle Walt should have enjoyed that, but he feared he would mar or dent it. He didn’t want to hurt Gunnar’s pride and joy.

  *****

  The second year of medical school began with another flurry of activity. I liked the occasional clinical experience more than the first year’s constant study orientation. The tempo kept me for thinking about Gunnar in combat. If anyone could survive a firefight, it was Gunnar. That thought kept me going when I had time to be concerned.

  The news out of Vietnam was mixed. In September of 1963, given conflicting reports about Vietnam, President Kennedy inquired of his returning fact-finders, “You two did visit the same country, didn’t you?” Following mostly negative news, President Ngo Dinh Diem was removed by a coup de’etat on November 1. November 2, Diem was assassinated.

  *****

  Days later I was pulled from my clinical studies at a major medical center. The front desk sent a volunteer to get me and take me to the chapel. There, I saw three Army uniforms waiting for me — an Army Infantry officer — a captain, an Army major chaplain, and a specialist fourth-class med
ic. I knew their rank and insignias from Gunnar’s pointing them out to me a West Point. I couldn’t imagine what they wanted.

  The captain motioned for me to sit. He began, “I regret to inform you …” My world ended when he said Gunnar was dead. I guess I should have known this was the protocol for notification of death, but I thought Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece would be notified. Whom am I kidding? I really never expected this to happen. Apparently, Gunnar had listed me as his next-of-kin.

  The chaplain expressed great concern over my well-being. He could tell I was in mental shock. He tried to coax me to acknowledge my pain. He insisted on staying with me. The captain told him the team had other calls. I overhead the chaplain whisper, “This is potentially the most serious reaction I’ve ever seen. It is extremely dangerous!” The medic shrugged. I was beyond his training.

  The captain left and returned with the resident I was studying under. The resident insisted I take a new drug, Valium, to relax me. I can tell you there is no medicine that touches soul pain. I mechanically called Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece to let them know what had happened. Within hours, Hank Lanier, Gunnar’s classmate, called me to tell me he would handle all the details of the funeral at West Point. In retrospect, I should have considered whether Gunnar would want to be buried at the Santa Fe National Cemetery with our parents. I did not. I wasn’t eating or sleeping either.

  Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece flew in the next day to be with me. I appreciated the gesture, but nothing helped. I had a profound insight. Gunnar had masked my loneliness since the loss of our parents. There was no one who could mask the loss of Gunnar.

  *****

  In 1963, three graduates of West Point died in Vietnam. Overall, there were 122 United States casualties that year. Objectively, with Gunnar’s death, the world had lost someone who probably could have gone beyond Einstein in developing scientific theory. Indeed, he had the associative powers of knowledge to cure cancer. He could have won the Nobel Prize. But no, he was lost to the vagaries of war, to the whims of politicians, to the blood lust of nations. If one person was to blame, it was John Kennedy.

  My twin was the only person I ever trusted completely. He was the only human being who really understood me. He was always there to give me good advice when I needed it. He kept me from going off the deep edge innumerable times. He pulled my bacon out of the fire more times than I can count. I missed him beyond measure. Everything worthwhile had been taken from me. I was in an emotional tumble into an infinite black pit.

  22 members of Gunnar’s class would ultimately wind up with their names on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall.

  Memorial at West Point

  I expected a handful of Gunnar’s classmates to be at his funeral. There were over a hundred, not to mention faculty and staff who knew him. Hank Lanier was with me through it all. The honors included a 21-gun salute. There was a color guard, and a detachment of the West Point Band played. Gunnar would have enjoyed the spiritual “Amazing Grace.” The Glee Club’s “Danny Boy” was a perfect requiem, capturing the emotional strains of the moment. Finally, the band closed with “The Official West Point March.” It almost lifted me up.

  Afterward there was a huge wake at the Officer’s Club. A gifted ice sculptor had made a likeness of Gunnar as a centerpiece. Atop the statue of First Captain Olson was an olive drab, eight-point Marine utility hat. “That had been an inside joke,” Hank explained. “His friends called him ‘Gunny,’ as in Marine gunnery sergeant, and presented him with the eight-sided hat when he became first captain. The Army tactical officers occasionally overheard the nickname and took professional offense. The rivalry over Marine and Army procedures, tactics, and traditions were deep. The first classmen had their own tradition of friction with the tactical officers above them. The enemy of my enemy …”

  After getting me a drink, Hank said, “You know this wake is the only part of honoring him Gunnar would endorse.” He told me, “The Olsons are from a long line of Irish who love wakes,” Gunnar used to tell me. He laughed at Nordic Gunnar’s joke.

  I tried to emote correctly. I was totally self-conscious about how my rage kept me from appearing appropriate for a grieving twin. “Hank, what can you tell me about how Gunnar died?”

  “Alex, it would not be an exaggeration to say that he died a hero’s death. His hamlet was involved in a monumental firefight. They were outmanned and outgunned. They were being overrun. There was no escape route. Gunnar called in an air strike, as well as artillery, on his position to take out the enemy. It was a kamikaze move. To us, it was rational heroism.”

  A first classman known as “Iron Mike” overheard the discussion. In his very deep voice, he added, “I am very sorry for your loss. I was one of Gunnar’s plebes. He was my squad leader when he was a second classman. He was the best cadet I ever knew. He was the guy everyone wanted in their foxhole. I hope I can be the officer he was. He was a world-class hero. You can be very proud of your brother.

  “You know, as a new cadet, everyone of us recited: ‘All I am and all I ever will be I owe to my first Beast squad leader, Mr. (fill in the blank).’ At the time, it felt like good humor. I could say that sentence now omitting the Beast part and with Olson attached — and mean it. He really inspired me!”

  Hank sensed my darkening mood. “You probably don’t know this, but four of us new cadets shared a room at the Thayer Hotel the night before reporting here the first day. Gunnar and I went on to be roommates in Beast Barracks. At one shower formation, I made several mistakes reciting required knowledge. That, of course, resulted in the usual piling on of upperclassmen yelling at me. I was bracing as hard as I could. The more they screamed at me, the more mistakes I made. It was a vicious cycle.

  “I was, needless to say, in dire straights. Then this new cadet three heads to my left flagrantly reaches to scratch his head. I didn’t know who he was because my eyes were glued straight ahead. Well, all the unwanted attention I was getting shifted his way. “Smack-head, what do you think you’re doing making an extraneous gesture?” was aimed at him, not me. I was so relieved to get the spotlight off of me. I finally broke a huge sweat and got sent to shower. It was an answer to a prayer.

  “The guy who scratched his head was the subject of ongoing massive grief. The upperclassmen were still yelling at him after I got out of the shower and headed up the stairs to my room. I could hear it five floors up. Ten minutes later, just before taps, Gunnar finally rushed into the room.

  “As we brushed our teeth, I said, ‘I hated that. I thought I’d never get out of there. Who was the dummkopf who reached for his forehead when we were supposed to be at attention?’ I laughed with bravado.

  “You guessed it,” Hank laughed. “Gunnar matter-of-factly said, ‘That was me. I thought you could use a little help.’”

  “When I asked why he would do that, he said, ‘It’s just what I do.’ I started getting it: Everything counts; we were in this together. I don’t know what would have happened if Gunnar had not distracted the ravenous swarm attacking me from every direction. I can tell you he helped me immeasurably.

  “I didn’t know what to say,” Hank went on. “Then taps saved me from my inability to find words. Your brother always functioned at a level above the rest of us.”

  “Hank,” I replied, “you captured a lot of his essence there. I could not have said that better than you did.”

  “Alex, Gunnar was cool because he didn’t try to be. It’s trite but true He had more cool in his little finger than most of us have in our whole bodies.

  “A few weeks later in Beast, we were preparing for noon dinner formation. Prior to every formation, a plebe has to use Brasso on his belt buckle to keep it shiny. I sat down at a desk in our room to review fourth-class knowledge while shining mine. I scraped my buckle on the desk when I rose from the chair. I was then hanging by a thread. My squad leader was looking for any excuse to jump down my throat. I was having daily sessions of holding my M-1 straight out in front of me with both arms until my muscles
absolutely refused to cooperate. He threatened me with the little green chair punishment for my next offense that day. By then, Gunnar was functioning better than most of us and getting less grief. There wasn’t time to buff the scratch out. Gunnar swapped buckles with me and took undeserved heat, but not as much as I would have got.”

  “Hank, what’s the little green chair?” I asked.

  “It’s a physical punishment A cadet sits on a virtual chair. He has two feet on the floor, back and head firmly against the wall, and knees bent at 90 degrees. The lack of any other support usually results in the cadet falling to the floor in exhaustion or fainting. It might be worse than a stick in the eye.”

  I shook my head. Gunnar had been through more than I ever imagined. “Hank, what’s sitting on infinity.”

  Hank flushed. “Alex, I won’t explain that. The point is: Gunnar got it. He was the man. After two weeks of Beast, he was operating above the level of the prep-schoolers. Later, my other roommate and I followed Gunnar’s lead. The three of us became the best functioning room in the squad.”

  *****

  Glen was at the funeral. He consoled me, “Alex, I know you miss him deeply. You two were — are — like my own children. If there is anything I can do for you now or ever, call. You are constantly on my mind, now more so than ever.” Glen’s voice was strained. He fought to hold back tears. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “I’ll be back after I get a refill,” he said as he turned to prevent me from seeing him sob. Tough guy to the end.

  *****

  “Alex, I’m sure you don’t remember … I’m so sorry for your — our loss. We met back when Gunnar and I were plebes. I’m Henry Dexter. I’m fifth generation West Point. Gunnar was the reason I made it through West Point. I was on a disastrous path of getting too many demerits as a plebe. We were in the same company. My roommates were screw-ups, too. The company commander moved me in to be one of his roommates when one of his original roomies resigned. He was seen as a good influence. I wouldn’t have been surprised if my dad called the company commander …