A Trophy For Arvie
By
Robert A. Chapin
Copyright 1983
Smashwords Edition
Revised On September 2, 2011
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This book is not intended as a literal account or an exact portrayal of any persons living or dead. Obviously, it has been important to the author to protect the identity of some of the characters in this story, and for that purpose, names and descriptions have been changed.
* * *
Preston Cunningham was drafted in March of 1968 certain of an assignment in Vietnam.
With less than two weeks before deployment to the war zone as a draftee, Preston chose the Army’s new four year enlistment program. He was given the opportunity to decide on Spain, Italy or Germany for his entire forty eight month enlistment thus - avoiding Vietnam.
Following a brief 16 months of civilian status in Germany and a lack of personnel in his occupation (top secret cryptography), Uncle Sam acted in disregard of his contract and Preston was assigned to the jungles of Vietnam.
West Brookfield, Massachusetts - June 1989
Preston Cunningham drove into the picturesque New England town of West Brookfield, Massachusetts bound for the charming ‘town common’. It was here thirty years earlier, where he and Arvie were to take part in a key race. They were the best of friends, and it was the best of times in 1959. Arvie’s dad was their scoutmaster and it was Mr. Silverberg, who instituted many of the social and ethical principles Preston would later on incorporate into his life.
As with most teenagers, his viewpoint was set on the great inquisitiveness the world had to offer. In 1959, the town had not quite enough industry with which to provide for its residents.
There was the Fleishman Yeast Factory, a wire manufacturing plant and charming Lake Wicquaboag (Wick-a-bog), a preferred vacation destination for the prosperous from Boston to the Berkshires.
Even with the need for more business, the three hundred year old town was rich in colonial custom with its church suppers and lawn parties. Special character that made New England unique.
The windshield wipers were stressed to their maximum; melodiously flip flopping to remove the sheets of rain from a surprising early spring rainstorm. Preston could hardly make out the old mesh backstop to the baseball diamond as his mind flashed back in time to the day of the race.
Lex Carroll, the local Chevrolet dealer, a most generous man was the sponsor for the race. In addition to providing the pace car - a white exterior with red leather interior 1959 Chevy convertible full of options. Mr. Carroll also supplied the trophies. The youth of their town were so often the recipient of Mr. Carroll’s charity.
Several days prior to the race Preston and Arvie were placed into the proper age group, and assigned numbers to be pinned to their shirts. The path of the race would take them on a three mile race - a total of three laps around the town common. In the Colonial period, the area of land in the center of town served as a ‘common’ meeting place - thus the term town common.
On the day of the race, a modest crowd assembled at the starting line (which would also serve as the finishing point). The pace car was proceed by the town’s only police cruiser. A woof of the bullet shaped chrome siren on the roof of the cruiser, a wave from the flagman and the contestants were in motion.
The adrenalin raced through Preston’s body as two dozen young men were about to reveal their marathon skills. Arvie and Preston were approaching the end of the first lap when this scrawny skinny kid raced from behind and won the first trophy. Another was just as quick to pick up the second trophy.
Preston and Arvie managed to take a quick look at each other laboring to catch their breath between steps. It was at this critical moment when they decided to end the third and final lap on the same foot - and at the same time! The thought never occurred to either of them that in the event of a tie they would be asked to run a fourth and final lap to decide the winner.
They extended their hands to shake on their promise. The muscles in Preston’s legs began to tighten and he could see that Arvie was also in pain.
“Don’t lose your stride!” Arvie shouted, gasping for breath.
They were certain of the win! Along the route there were shouts of encouragement and support.
Lex Carroll actively thrust the last trophy above his head. For a moment, thirst overwhelmed any desire to finish the race as agreed. Preston was anxious for a drink of water. It was an effort just to breathe. They made eye contact one last time, extending their hands in anticipation of a mission well done. Success for this pair was definite. They were now only fifteen feet from the finish line.
Then, unexpectedly Preston tripped falling to the ground! Arvie crossed the finish line, and Preston had experienced the agony of defeat - and a bruised knee. Arvie sprinted back to ask if Preston was OK, but all Preston wanted was water!
Although proud of his triumph, Arvie was eager they both share in the trophy - and refused to take no for an answer. Not only was Arvie humble as he displayed the true meaning of friendship, but more significant, he demonstrated the pride that comes with doing your best.
* * *
Spring was in full bloom in Washington as the Presidential motorcade pulled up to the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. He was ‘one of them’ and now the first Vietnam veteran President. The trip was made with great pain in his heart. All the President could think of was that race with Arvie - so many years ago.
A U.S. Parks Service guide offered assistance as The President entered the area. The Wall was located at the foot of The Lincoln Memorial. The black India granite stretches for several hundred feet and is inscribed with 57, 939 names of those killed or missing in the war.
He was emotionally consumed with the healing process and wanted this to be a very private experience. Privacy, however, was now a luxury. The American people and many countries of the world would once again become part of the painful Vietnam war.
It was to be a rare moment shared with the world as news crews from around the globe gathered on this hallowed ground. He would once again hear their helpless cries and feel the pain of the fallen comrades.
The President gave the attendant the name of a friend who died on January 24, 1969. It was a different time in his life. Back then, he was one of them - just an enlisted man. But now, this many years later the scrawny sergeant was now the President of The United States.
57,939 military personnel were killed in Vietnam. On this day, he was transformed into that 20 year old kid, frozen in time! All he could visualize was their young faces and how they became miserable victims of the war.
The President was not prepared for the trauma of seeing the names of his friends chiseled into the mirrored granite. A lump formed in his throat as he slowly spelled the name. The attendant, a former military enlisted man, saluted The President as he began to flip through the pages of his book - leading him to the list of names.
He moved his finger along the page until he found the name, glanced at The President over the top of his reading glasses and whispered:
“Here it is Mr. President.” Are you going to be alright?” the guide asked.
“I think so.” The President replied choking back tears.
By now, the attendant had already written the name and location of the deceased on a piece of paper and asked The President to follow him to the what he was about to witness.
appropriate section. With his heart pounding into his throat in anticipation of
With the Park Service guide now standing at his side, President Cunningham began at the top of the stone. The President darted and flashed his eyes in all directions and was having difficulty focusing on the name for which he had come to honor. If he could not see the name, then it must all be ok, and this was just a bad dream.
The guide placed his hand on The President’s and together they ran their fingers over the endless sea of names. It was evident The President noticed The name in the approaching line ahead, and the guide slowly broke free of The Presidents hand.
A rush of warm tears filled The President’s eyes, and he felt a banging sensation in his chest. In an instant, he began to sob! It was forty years later, and his hand was pressed into Arvie’s name.
The President flattened his hand on the name for what appeared to be an eternity. The guide had observed what he had witnessed so often since the erection of the memorial - a veteran in search of what he did not want to find…
Arvie (Arvid O. Silverberg), died in a fiery helicopter crash in Vietnam on January 24, 1968. The memories of their friendship and carefree youth are etched into The President’s mind - in much the same way it is etched into the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.
Arvie is buried in the town cemetery in West Brookfield, Massachusetts within view of his boyhood home where he and Preston often played the game of war!
Copyright 1983
Robert Alan Chapin