On War and Peace

This is a terrible thing to admit. I wish the Gulf War had lasted longer.

After reading Wilmington’s and Wallace’s pieces concerning Pearl Harbor, I realized just how deeply a war can touch a nation. For a few brief weeks, we, the people of this country, were one. We were truly the United States of America.

When I heard the news, I was caught in the usual Hollywood traffic jam on Sepulveda Boulevard. I was stunned. At age 25, I had never personally experienced an America at war. I was an innocent. I burst into tears.

The thought of bombs, of death, of man’s inhumanity to man, had me literally shaking in my Suzuki Samurai. I looked over at the BMW next to me. An older gentleman was behind the wheel. His windows were down; so were mine. Without really meaning to, I turned and asked him: “How could this happen? How could we do this?”

He leaned across his passenger seat and extended his hand to me. His grip was firm. He said, “It’ll be OK. It has to be. My son is there. We’ll be OK.”

He was crying. I was crying. For one moment, two complete strangers, separated by an economic, social and generation gap, were united.

I loved that feeling. I wanted that moment to last forever. Why does it take pain and bloodshed to bring us together? To let us love one another?

MAXINE E. BUSH

Van Nuys