The Vietnam veterans spoke, one by one, into the microphone.
“I've only read this poem once in public,” said Robert Waltz of Brea, who stood at the podium dressed in an elegant business suit.
“I was a little surprised at my reaction the first time I read it,” he said. “But I'm going to suck it up and get through it.”
Waltz read his poem to about 50 Vietnam veterans and their families, who had gathered in a conference room at the Westin South Coast Plaza hotel for an unusual purpose: to provide words, memories and feelings to composer Elliot Goldenthal.
This was the second night Goldenthal had met with community members regarding Vietnam. On Tuesday, he conferred with Vietnamese musicians on the Second Stage at South Coast Repertory in Costa Mesa.
Goldenthal hopes to weave some of these threads into his large-scale symphonic work, which will attempt to deal with the human dimension of the Vietnam War.
The work will receive its world premiere by the Pacific Symphony Orchestra next April, days before the 20th anniversary of the war's formal conclusion.
But the war hasn't ended for these vets, it quickly became clear Wednesday night. Whether their stories were of heroism, tragedy or simply survival, the experience marked them deeply.
Waltz was 18 when he went to Vietnam in 1969. His poem was a letter to the Vietnamese soldier on the other side of the line – his enemy.
It told of his fear, hatred and reckless urge for vengeance. It ended with the words: “I've got you in my sights... I squeeze the trigger and both our mothers cry.”
Waltz did not break down during his poem, but strong emotions were never far from the surface as each vet told his story to Goldenthal, Pacific Symphony music director Carl St. Clair and a hushed audience.
“I have my two sons here, and they know now that their father can cry,” said Charlie Saulenas of Torrance.
“Because I can finally cry, I won't die of alcoholism or become one of the thousands of Vietnam vets who took their life.”
Tears were sometimes easier to overcome than the anger. Forum organizers stressed that they wished to keep the politics apart from the human elements of the Vietnam War, but the vets did not always find this convenient separation easy to make.
Fred Norris, of Riverside, played a tape-recording made inside a buddy's helicopter that was shot down in a firefight, preserving the last harrowing moments as the aircraft lost control.
“The war changed me, and it continues to change me to this day,” Norris said. Later, Norris sharply criticized the U.S. decision to pull out “and abandon the Vietnamese people.”
That caused another vet, Tom Rice, to jump to his feet. “I'd like to point something out to you,” Rice said heatedly. “We killed 3 million Vietnamese people.”
The confrontation was quickly defused by moderator Jan Allen Heath, a Vietnam veteran who has directed similar forums at Hughes Aerospace and Defense Corp.
Calling the war a “complex experience that affected each person differently,” Heath smoothed the jagged feelings. “Let's get back to why we're here,” he said.
Many vets were proud of their service in Vietnam. Command Sgt. Maj. William Lawrence Jr. was wounded eight times during his two tours of duty there.
When he asked to return to the field, Gen. Creighton Abrams ordered he be kept to the rear.
“I was told that Gen. Abrams said, ‘I want him to be on his feet when he receives the Distinguished Service Cross,’ “Lawrence said.
Goldenthal, the composer of film scores such as “Alien 3” and the upcoming “Ty Cobb” with Tommy Lee Jones, told the vets he wanted to “write the most sincere music I can” in tribute to their contribution and all the human suffering in Vietnam.
But for some vets, the worst suffering came years after the conflict. Terry Severhill, who lives in Vista, credited his wife, Mary, for “being the only reason I'm alive today.”
Severhill read a chilling poem, ‘On Some Dark Night’, which detailed the nocturnal flashbacks that began to haunt Severhill 15 years after he thought he buried the intense memories of ‘night ops’ – nighttime operations.
Mary Severhill spoke for a few moments on what it was like to be a Vietnam veteran's spouse. “I never went to Vietnam,” she said. “But I married someone who did. At times, I feel like I was there.”
Later, Waltz paid tribute to those sentiments.
“If any lines from this evening are set to music,” he said, “I hope it is those.”
Charlie Crabtree, who was in Vietnam in 1968-69, said the Vietnam War “was a war of two words.” After reeling off a list of two-word phrases – some of them off-color – that caused the veterans to chuckle in recognition, Crabtree concluded with what he called “the most important two words of all.”
He paused. “Welcome home.”