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Memories and Grief

Sp4 Steven Larry Ostroff

My friend Steve Ostroff (on the left) just before his untimely death

“Life doesn’t cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.” — G.B. Shaw

I have written previously that I am not a journalist and this post is clear evidence of that. My original intent was to publish this on either the Sunday before, or on the Monday of, Memorial Day. However, the subject was a bit emotional for me and I found it difficult to finish until now. I, therefore, offer it as a remembrance. It need not be tied to any particular holiday.

It’s Confusing

Memorial Day – much like Veteran’s Day, Pearl Harbor Day, and many other holidays or special days that commemorate the military or significant days in our nation’s history – almost invariably brings me a storm of mixed emotions. I have enormous respect for those who serve our nation. At the same time, I believe they are most often sacrificed not in defense of our freedom, but in the defense of others – who never serve – and in defense of their fortunes and their “right” to make money incessantly.

This Autumn it will have been 45 years since I had the dubious distinction of being a pallbearer at the funeral of one of my best friends, Steven Larry Ostroff, who was killed in the battle of Ong Thanh on October 17, 1967. He was the first of five classmates of mine who would perish in that unjust, stupid conflict and I was highly conflicted about it.

“I want to be an Airborne Ranger. I want to go to Vietnam. I want to live a life of danger. I want to kill the Viet Cong.”

Steve was by no means an innocent, angelic hero. I remember my brother recounting running into him shortly after he finished either Boot Camp or Advanced Infantry Training. What stuck out for him was Steve’s enthusiasm for battle and his desire to kill. I was a bit put off by hearing that at the time, but not entirely surprised. It was, after all, the mindset the Army wanted in their Infantrymen. It was what they trained them for.

I was just beginning to understand what the war in Vietnam was all about; an understanding that would soon blossom into full-blown resistance and activism in an effort to bring it to a halt. Steve, born 15 days before me, was barely twenty years old when he was killed. During the funeral his casket remained closed. As I remember it, we were under the impression his body was not recovered for a couple of days and his family did not want anyone viewing his remains.

I’m not sure at this point that was the reason, though. Based on the accounts of his death I’ve read recently, it seems more likely to me there wasn’t a whole lot of him left to identify and having what was left on display in an open casket would have been too horrific for his family and friends. The web sites I have found with his information state he was killed by “Multiple fragmentation wounds“.

I clearly remember the grief on his parents’ faces as we went through the acts of remembrance, consecration, and burial. I have always been moved most by the loss experienced by those who have been left behind and it’s especially painful to see parents having to endure the loss of a child. In this case, it was made even more difficult because – if memory serves – Steve was an only child.

Twice-Baked Rye Bread

He and his family lived right across the street from John H. Francis Polytechnic High School, where we both attended, and he and I used to hop the fence to eat lunch at his home. His mother, I believe her name was Sarah, always had hard salami in the house and, if I played my cards right, I could count on enjoying one of my favorite sandwiches, served on Jewish Rye . . . with real garlicky kosher pickles on the side.

We belonged to the same temple, Valley Beth Israel, and became Bar Mitzvah at around the same time. We went to the same Jr. High as well and, as crazy kids and adolescents, we had some good times together, the memories of which have receded well into the background after all these years. This is especially so because we never had the opportunity to reinforce our memories by reliving them and, probably, embellishing them.

When I was in Washington, D.C. years ago, I made a trip to the Wall to see Steve’s name and to reflect on his life and death. I did the same in Sacramento, where there is a memorial to the Californians who perished in Vietnam. Both of these trips were some time ago and both were quite emotional.

What Is Really Going On

I have remained dead-set against every engagement we have indulged in since, but I am hardly anti-military – and here is where the conflict, the cognitive dissonance, comes alive and dances crazily in my head. Steve was a friend of mine and the men and women who continue to serve include friends and family. I know and love many of them, yet I don’t believe they are keeping our country safe; at least not for the most part.

For the most part, I believe they are being used as pawns – as “cannon fodder” – in our ongoing efforts to make the world safe for lucrative investments in natural resources and trading opportunities including, and maybe especially including, the sale of arms and ammunition to just about anyone who has the money to pay for it.

I will continue to honor Steve’s memory, despite his apparent thirst for killing and despite my belief he was not fighting for our way of life or to keep us safe, just as I will continue to honor the men and women who serve today. However, I do so only because I also believe most of those who serve honestly believe they are fighting to defend their country. They believe this because they’ve been told it’s true and I’m not going to hold their naivete and ignorance against them.

Some would argue I should condemn them, based on the principles that ignorance is no excuse and the existence of the duty to refuse to obey unlawful commands. However, I think the situation is far more complex than that and I cannot turn my back on people who have been taken advantage of for so long they have no way of knowing how terribly they’ve been duped.

I feel for them – especially for those who have made the ultimate sacrifice – and I feel for their families. So much of the suffering that takes place due to war and conflict is completely unnecessary and truly counter-productive for all but a very few . . . and those are the ones who also profit the most handsomely from war. They’re the ones who should be shot.


24 August 2015

In preparation for my High School class’s 50th reunion in about six weeks, a classmate was putting together a Vietnam veteran’s collage. As part of the effort he is also creating a memorial to our fallen classmates. In doing research for this tribute, he came across this post and asked me, since I mentioned we had lost six classmates, who the sixth was. He was familiar with only five. I had long thought there were six members of our class who perished in that conflict, but I believe I was wrong. I have made the correction, above.

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About Rick Ladd

Born in 1947, I am an officially retired pensioner who still has two teenage daughters and a desire to contribute. I remain intensely interested in, and fascinated by, Systems Thinking, Machine Learning, Knowledge Management, Decision Intelligence, and Business in general. I am also conversant in such concepts as innovation and ideation, collaborative tools and strategies, crowdsourcing, and the use of social media to accomplish goals ranging from improving business processes to promoting small retail businesses. Since my "retirement" I have done a little bit of freelancing as an editor/proofreader, as well as some technical writing. I've also done a fair amount of Facebook marketing as well. There's lots more where that came from. Need some help? Perhaps another set of eyes? Contact me. The first one's free! ;0) View all posts by Rick Ladd

4 responses to “Memories and Grief

  • Phyllis Gollin Galitz

    Hi Rick, I don’t know if my name rings a bell with you, but I also attended Byrd Jr High and Poly with you and Steve. Although we were not “friends” I do remember both of you and want to thank you for posting the picture of Steve and your tribute paid to him on Facebook.
    I can never forget that day back in 1967 when I read Steve’s name on the front page of the Valley News and Green Sheet as a local San Fernando Valley boy who lost his life in Viet Nam. It was a name I knew. A face I knew, and, for me, the first of my peers to die. I cried for Steve that day as I did years later while visiting the Viet Nam Memorial in Washington DC and locating his place of honor on the Wall with all the other souls who gave their lives.
    Thank you for writing about Steve, and thank you for being there for him and his family during what must have been an extremely difficult time for the very young man you were.
    My Best Regards,
    Phyllis Gollin Galitz

    Like

    • Rick Ladd

      Hello Phyllis – Yes, your name definitely rings a bell. Don’t forget I created the Chalon’s 50th reunion Facebook page, so I saw when Sheila added you to the group.

      Thank you for taking the time to comment. I greatly appreciate hearing from people who read any one of my posts. Like you, I have visited The Wall and made a point of finding Steve’s place. I’ve also visited the traveling replica of the Memorial as well as the California Vietnam Veterans Memorial. It’s never a comfortable experience. I feel the lives of our service men and women were sacrificed for no good reason and it will never sit well with me.

      Thanks again, Phyllis. Be well.

      Like

  • Van Compton

    We are in agreement.and I fear that this “professional army” that our nation is building further isolates both the citizenry and the soldiers from one another. The soldiers belive what they are told and are taught to obey unconditionally, with little input or interaction with the general public or alternate opinions, while the public is further and further removed from the realities and costs of war. It is more and more like a spectator sport for the benefit of the military and the oil barons.

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    • Rick Ladd

      Hi Van – Thanks for visiting and taking the time to comment. My only consolation is the somewhat forlorn hope that if the military is used against us, there will come a time when they realize they are being used to suppress their own families, because they will have come from the working class. I can’t say I can adequately defend the proposition, but supposing it to be a possibility makes me feel better. 🙂

      Like

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