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My concern is to be as gentle as possible with a woman who has lost a son, as she may not know that in March of 1988, Saddam had his air force bombard the town of Halabja in northern Iraq with a weapon of mass destruction, seeing as how the Kurds had been getting a little uppity lately. The good news was they all settled down real quick once he had killed 5,000 Kurdistan in that air attack, and 'seriously affected' the health and physical well-being of another 10,000 townspeople who were in the next perimeter. If she did not know that, then chances are she did not see a History Channel Presentation a few years back where a blurb printed on an empty screen told us "200 pounds of anthrax sprinkled over a major metropolitan area would kill between 1,000,000 and 3,000,000 persons"; and while I am sure of the numbers I had to paraphrase as best I could what the actual copy read. But then again, if she believed the WMD's were there, seeing as how we were all convinced he had them (for that was the reason for the invasion to begin with was it not); then she probably believes Saddam was so terrified of the coalition forces who were about to attack he sent his Republican Guard deep into the desert in the dead of night one evening where they Caterpillared trenches where they stealthily dismantled, and interred each one of those weapons, so no one would ever know the horror Saddam was capable of. The sad fact of the matter is enough chemical could be stored in the trunk of an old car to begin World War III; and it's no wonder we did not find them.

My personal point of view is they may be as far away as the mountain caverns of Afghanistan or Pakistan; or as close by as the adjoining deserts of Syria, Saudi Arabia or Iran; where they sit today, waiting for the order given by Bin Laden or some other Muslim fanatic who has decided the time is now right to wipe out the infidels, by definition, "One who is an unbeliever with respect to some religion, especially Christianity or Islam". The reality is God and Allah were the same God up until the time Abraham begat Ishmael by his Egyptian handmaiden, and remained the same God up until the early Seventh Century when a prophet named Mohammed elevated Allah. Another reality is to this day Muslims enact severe penalties on all those found participating in a heterosexual tryst, because when caught, both are given one hundred (100) lashes, as ordered in The Koran; while those caught being with like kind are given much harsher penalties. My bet is one of these days a Muslim Cleric is going to make it clear it is the free-wheeling, promiscuous sex lives self professed Christian people live today that leads Muslims to believe we are all infidels, seeing as how The Koran and The Holy Bible both condemn promiscuity in the strongest possible terms. Seems to me that could very well be the basis of their holy war on us, seeing as how we all worshipped the same God at one time, making us all worthy of either subjugation or extermination, which is exactly what they are trying to do.

But then again, chances are Cindy is not taking into account her son served proudly and honorably as a member of our United States Military Forces, and believed, as this writer does, that the fight is being carried on in Iraq rather than in his mom's, or my back yard (I was always under the impression we had taken the fight to them after suffering their opening salvo's on 9/11). Am going to take Cindy into my confidence, to tell her why all but a handful of our troops know why they are there, doing what they have to do as a patriot, telling anyone who asks why they personally feel they have to be there in words and phrases far more moving than any this writer capable of. Seems to me Cindy never really knew her little boy became a man, stepping up to the plate just as brave men have had to in every generation. Seeing as how her son never took his mom into his confidence, telling her how it happened for him; and while we will never have any way of knowing how it happened for your son Cindy, it may help you to know how it happened for me. Goes like this.

On the Tuesday Night I arrived at Parris Island my Commander in Chief, President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, made a speech that was televised across the country, wherein he said, and I quote, "West Berlin has now become – as never before – the great testing place of western courage and will, …. I hear it said that West Berlin is militarily untenable, …. Any dangerous spot is tenable if men – brave men – will make it so. We do not want to fight – but we have fought before …." (Chairman Khrushchev had previously announced he was going to take whatever steps necessary, including building a wall around West Berlin if need be, to halt the flood of East Berliners who were daily walking out of The Communist Sector in to West Berlin). Nineteen days after arriving at Parris Island the Russkies began pulling the barbed wire @ 0200 that Sunday morning that was the first stage in creating the Berlin Wall; and anyone who goes to the trouble to read my PROLOGUE will read about some of the events taking place in The White House during those heady days in August of '61.

But on the twentieth day I turned 21, and given no choice but to break out of the rack, just after light's out, and give my Drill Instructor one push-up for each year. The bottom line was that big son of a bitch just wanted to see if I could do it, as we both knew I could not have accomplished a feat as remarkable as doing 21 perfect push ups a mere 21 days before. I still think about that big son of a bitch from time to time.

Some three months later, it had turned out to be an unusually colder November night at Camp Geiger, which was dedicated as being the Infantry Training Regiment at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina, that no one ever told you about when signing on the dotted line in your recruiter's office; because the month spent there turned out much tougher than Parris Island where a boot got at least seven hours of uninterrupted sleep every night, thanks to a Drill Instructor named S/Sgt M C McKeon, who had taken his troops on a forced march in the dead of night into the marsh out behind the Rifle Range at Parris Island.

Had deduced the sound of the cartridge exploding sending the projectile skyward that was going to erupt in noise and light would be enough warning to give me time to sit up, take my position, and pick off maybe a dozen of those renegade marine boots charging me in the light. The ground was wet, don't remember there being any moon light, did not have any idea who the other boot was in the foxhole with me that night because anyone heard chit-chatting was going to get his ass chewed out real bad, and even remembered the chow not being as good as what one would have hoped for on such a miserable night. But as bad as it all was, within only a matter of minutes, I had fallen asleep.

Was not completely sure I had not heard the explosion of the cartridge sending the projectile skyward until all of a sudden it looked like Times Square where there is always seemingly so much light nothing can cast a shadow. Worse news yet was me and my boot buddy had wound up in a foxhole that was on the outer perimeter my platoon was having to defend, and before I could take my position, establishing a field of fire a referee adjudged me KIA, Killed In Action, by pointing and screaming at the same time as he passed so there would not be any question. Might not mean much to you Cindy, but there I sat, having neglected my responsibility to my troops, and to myself, again, for the umpteenth time; and in the process gotten my ass killed in action. My boot buddy scampered out of our hole as complacent as he had been before, seeing as how he had obviously dozed off too; but not feeling the need to be in a hurry, I sat there a few minutes more, and for the first time, in the most graphic way yet, came to terms with my untimely demise.

Having completed my training to be a 'trained professional killer', which was naturally the cause for becoming a Marine; I found a safe place to stow my duffle bag in the bus station in Charlotte, and stepped out onto West Trade Street to begin my short four block walk to The Square, not really understanding as I began why I felt the need to do so.

The main branch of The United States Post Office was just across the street from the bus station and I thought of my Dad who would have clocked in by 0700 in the morning where he would be selling First Class stamps for four cents apiece. I crossed Mint Street, and Poplar Street, and then walked in front of First Presbyterian Church before then crossing Church Street. About midway in the 100 block of West Trade Street I passed in front of The S&W Cafeteria, where my folks had taken me for lunch on occasion in the past (and where I never ever failed to weigh myself on the way in, and on the way out, on the huge no spring scales just inside the front door). It was only then that I remembered how Claude Banks had won great laughs by telling my parents, and all our neighbors, about how he had taken me to The S&W with his family one time when I was a kid, and how I had sold him on the idea my folks always allowed me to have two desserts when going through the cafeteria line; and I grinned when I thought about it again that night as I passed just as I also always grinned, every time I heard him tell somebody new in our neighborhood the story.

Twenty five steps or so later I stopped on the NW corner of The Square, which was then as now, the intersection of Tryon and Trade Streets, the very heart of Charlotte; and it occurred to me this was the corner where I had disembarked the #4 bus on all those occasions when I had ridden the bus downtown when I was a kid.

Looking north just on the other side of the first block of Tryon Street I could see The Belk Brothers Department Store was still located beside F W Woolworth's Five and Dime Store, and I winced to think my mother would have to be there the first thing in the morning, probably earning nothing more than the skimpy minimum wage which had just been raised to $1.15 per hour about that time. Only a few feet away, located on the NE corner of The Square, was a new Charlotte based O'Herron family and Sullivan family owned Eckerd Drug Store outlet that was rapidly expanding as there were now about some forty Eckerd Drug Store outlets in our part of the Carolina's. What happened was the owner of The Drug Agency owner that had been there for years had by now sold out to Eckerd's seeing as how the locally owned drug store chain had a store just down the street that was hurting his sales so badly he could see the handwriting on the wall, and ceded his prized location on The Square (where every bus going to every part of Charlotte started and stopped, and long before the days of a drug store on every fourth corner).

Diagonally across the street from where I was standing, the S H Kress Five and Dime Store still stood, where I had bought hundreds of bags of popcorn that was still warm, if I had an extra dime, at the stand which was just inside the store's front door because the smell had sometimes wafted out on warm summer days to where I was standing; and I could almost imagine seeing myself as a toe headed little boy standing there with at least seven cents in my pocket prepared to pay the fare for the #4 bus to take me out The Plaza. Seems to me it was next door to Kresses where Kay Jewelers was located back then, and I remembered being allowed to buy what seems to me was a six dollar watch there, on credit, paying once a week, given the opportunity to do so because I had a paper route, and me barely 12 years old when I made that purchase. But then only some few feet or so further south past Kay Jewelers, on that same side of Tryon Street, a new merchant now took the space that had once housed the Tryon Theater, where I had seen each one of the 'Sir Galahad', 'Buck Rogers' and 'Flash Gordon' serials, which were shown in continuing episodes at The Saturday Morning Kiddy Shows before the days of television (Television did not sign on anywhere in the Carolina's until the summer I turned 9 years old). As the lights dimmed their were shrieks of joy as the show began with a cartoon or two, which was many times followed up with some sort of short which gave each kid the opportunity to see what it would be like to travel up The Amazon River, or marvel at the antics of The Three Stooges, and then usually a cowboy movie (featuring Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hopalong Cassidy, Tom Mix or Tex Ritter), or best yet, one of my favorites which always Abbott & Costello: and I snickered to myself to think the price of admission had only been nine cents at the time (meaning I could ride the bus downtown, go to a movie and take the bus home again for a couple pennies less than a quarter which I was always able to scrounge for a Saturday Morning Kiddy Show). Anytime there was an extra dime it bought me a bag of pop corn, a coke, or a box of Milk Duds, which did not melt in the summer heat, before the days of air conditioning.

As I stood there that night I only then began to understand for the very first time how the attitudes of men like my dad, and the other dad's in the neighborhood who had survived The Big One (as Archie Bunker always put it) had been so special; and how the sheer joy of being alive had caused such a renaissance in their lifestyles, and in their patriotism for our great country.

It would not be true to say that I was only a little apprehensive as I stood there that night; on the contrary, I knew the gauntlet had been passed to me. Standing there that night it began to make more sense why those sons of bitches screamed in our ears all the time, because for almost four full months NCO's training me and my comrades had pounded into our heads everyday the plausibility was very real that we may well have to go into harm's way someday; as some even took an inordinate amount of pleasure explaining how reserve units like mine (and the big majority of the other troops going through active with me that summer) that had been sent to Korea in our last little so-called war had on occasion been totally wiped out.

I stood there for what seemed like a long time that night wearing the dress green winter uniform of a United States Marine. Realizing I had not yet made my mental commitment to the task at hand, it was then and there, about ten o'clock that Thursday night that I made my total commitment to God, my country, to you and to me; that if I had to go into harm's way someday that I could do so as I already knew that could maybe happen before I inked the line. Didn't really give a damn, in retrospect now, that they had walled in the sector known as West Berlin; because it really did not make any difference anyway as no place would be better than any other to fight and die. The bottom line was, if that was the way it was going to have to be then bring it on mutha-fucker, because the United States Marine Corps, and Private Kenneth Ward Wilson, of Charlotte, North Carolina, were ready, willing, and able, to do what had to be done.

Never had any doubts but that the scene that night would flash in front of my eyes those few moments before one expires because this very scene would be the last jog in my memory before meeting my maker. I knew what had to be done, and I knew I was going to do it. If my number came up, my number came up. Doesn't mean much appearing in an auto-biographical context, but it would have been a grand compliment for a biographer to say that is the night that 21 year old Marine became a man.

Now the very idea that Cindy Sheehan wants the world to believe her son was any less man (assuming he did not join the U S Army for just the opportunity to have a college education paid for, and/or leave a two hundred fifty thousand dollar insurance payment for any beneficiary he chooses – now a four hundred thousand dollar stipend) as he surely knew deep down from somewhere within his commitment could maybe require him to lay down his life if need be. The only thing certain is he knew someone was going to have to answer the call again someday, and fulfill their duty to God, and country, you and me and he, and any kids he may have had in the belief they would have the same freedoms to screw their lives up that you and me and he had. Cindy needs to understand we are fighting the same factions today we supplied with shoulder launched Stinger Missiles in an earlier war which knocked Russkie air craft out of the air more often than not, who, being beneficiaries of supplies that served our purpose at the time, were then able to bring one of the two world's great super powers to its knees; after throwing in the towel on the war they were waging in Afghanistan, and having the world see them bringing their boys home in utter disgrace having walked away from a war. What you can count on is if those same factions can take credit for running the coalition forces out of Iraq then you can bet your last dollar bill they will then bring the fight to us, being the same fight they started on 9/11.

I hope you sleep well tonight Cindy. I will, because brave men and women, just like Army Spc. Casey A Sheehan, are putting their lives on the line right now, to see that we can.

And by the way, that block of North Tryon Street I write about where Belk Brothers Department Store, F W Woolworth's 5&10 and Eckerd Drugs was located is now where the 60 story Bank of America Tower now stands where the bank's Chief Executive Officer maintains his office. And the block where Kress department store and Kay Jewelers and the Tryon Theater used to stand is where the 40 story tower was built some years before to house NCNB (North Carolina National Bank), the Charlotte based forerunner that acquired Bank of America.