FALLING STARS
Chapter Twenty-Nine

Harry arrived in Philadelphia the following week, after completing the mural he had been working on in San Francisco. Jack and Rose picked him up at the airport, and returned to the house with him.

Both parents were very worried about their son going off to war. They knew that Harry did not support it, and worried that his views would put him at odds with the people he needed to get along with, and cause him to take foolish risks.

Harry tried to convince them that everything would be fine. He knew the dangers of war, of course, but like many young people, he didn’t fully comprehend that he was not immortal, and could just as easily be injured or killed as anyone else. This same view had partly been the cause of the demise of his brother Adam twenty-three years earlier, but no amount of lecturing could change this way of thinking. It was something he would have to learn for himself.

Jack understood, better than any other member of the Dawson family, just how harsh war could be. He had never forgotten the year and a half he had spent in the trenches in Europe, fighting in a war he had never understood. He, like many Americans, had objected to the United States’ involvement in World War I, and, like many, had been forced into fighting the war anyway. Now, some fifty years later, Jack supported those young men who dodged the draft. He rarely spoke openly of it, knowing how it would shock people, but he was glad that his grandson Lloyd had fled the country rather than take part in a war he didn’t believe in.

They talked a little about the war as they drove home from the airport, Jack occasionally glancing at his son doubtfully. The army would be a major change for him, he thought, looking at Harry’s shoulder-length blonde hair and hippie-style clothing. Harry was used to doing as he pleased, going where he pleased, keeping his own hours, and answering to no one. His years at UC Berkeley had only served to make him more radical, and Jack and Rose had often worried about Harry’s sometimes off-the-wall, often aggravating activities. He seemed to love thumbing his nose at authority, and distrusted anyone who claimed to know more than him simply because that person held an elected office or was in a position of power.

Harry spoke enthusiastically of his plans to learn just what was really happening in the war, mentioning that he thought that if enough people learned what was really going on, they might be able to put an end to war forever. Jack and Rose glanced at each other doubtfully when he said this, but held their peace. Harry and the members of his generation would learn, in time, that what they hoped for was a pipe dream, but in the meantime, they just might do some good.

When they got back to the house, Ruth informed them that Andrew had called from Washington, DC, where he was currently posted, and planned to visit them the next evening. It would be a long drive, but he was very proud of the fact that his younger brother had finally come to his senses about the war.

Harry looked ready to explode when he heard this, but after mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like the words that his mother had once washed his mouth out with soap for using, he went upstairs and tossed his bag in his old room before coming back down to join his parents and grandmother.

Ruth looked at him critically, telling him that he needed a haircut, and then remarking that he looked like an even shabbier version of his father fifty-five years earlier when he had been on the Titanic. Harry just humored her, having grown used to his grandmother’s sharp remarks. Ruth had grown more tolerant with time, but she still had a sharp tongue. For his part, he almost appreciated her comments. Ruth was almost the only member of his family that he could shock. His siblings humored him, except for Andrew, and his parents shared many of his views, and allowed him to live as he wanted without interference. They had both made their own lives outside of what society expected, and saw no reason why their son couldn’t do the same.

*****

When Andrew arrived the next evening, the tension between the two brothers was immediately apparent. Andrew was dressed impeccably, wearing one of his uniforms, while his brother had deliberately gone out of his way to look even more disreputable than usual. He had spent the afternoon helping his mother in her flower garden, telling her everything he knew about organic gardening, and had added a good layer of dirt to his already sloppy appearance.

Andrew gave him a disapproving look, then, smiling condescendingly, congratulated his brother on finally coming to his senses.

"Good to see you finally took my advice, Harry. You actually showed some sense for once. I would have expected you to run off to Canada like Lloyd did. At least you aren’t a coward like him. The army may just make of a man of you."

Harry looked at his brother coldly, while Jack and Rose watched, hoping that they wouldn’t have to break up a fight between the two.

"I have never been a coward, and Lloyd is no coward, either. It takes more guts to do what is right than to obey the word of someone with a fancy title. You think you’re on top of the world, but you can’t even see past the end of your nose. People are angry about this war, Andrew! A lot of people hate the war, and a lot of people are working to end it. The only reason I’m obeying that draft notice is so that I can learn about the war from the inside. You think the military rules the world, but one day the people are going to pull you down off your pedestal."

Andrew stared at his brother from across the table. "That’s a bunch of hippie pinko crap. All those people who are against the war will change their minds, once you and your kind have destroyed this great country."

"We are working to improve it. It’s you and your reactionary cronies that have made the world the hell that it is."

"We’re protecting the freedom that you take for granted."

“Freedom, my ass! What kind of a free country is it where people can be forced to fight in a war they don’t believe in?"

"One that believes in protecting everyone, and bringing that freedom to the rest of the world."

"Freedom from what?"

"From oppression, from political strife, from--"

"From militant dictators?"

"Exactly."

"Then aren’t you being a hypocrite?"

"What do you mean?"

"You’d happily be a dictator, if only you had the power. It’s lucky, isn’t it, that you got involved in that scandal last year. Took you down three levels. Now, if only someone would let out the hot air--"

"Shut up!"

Harry continued as if he hadn’t heard. "There’s worse things than being a hippie pinko, as you so eloquently put it. I could be a fascist pig." He looked directly at his brother when he said this.

Andrew’s face was red with fury. "You little--" He stood up, as if to come across the table after his brother, but Jack’s voice stopped him.

"That’s enough! Both of you sit down and be civil to each other. I will not tolerate fighting in this house."

Andrew and Harry both sat back down, still glaring at each other. The battle was far from over.

"I was thinking," Harry remarked after a moment. "I don’t have to report for basic training for almost two weeks yet. I think after this week, I’m going to spend a week hiking in the Rockies."

"From which place you will undoubtedly vanish, and not be heard from until the war is over."

"Andrew..." Jack spoke warningly.

"Maybe I should go to Canada," Harry told him, gesturing with his fork as though he intended to use it as a weapon. "That would really get your goat, wouldn’t it, Andrew? To have to explain that your brother dodged the draft and fled to Canada. Bad enough that your nephew fled, but your brother--"

"If you go to Canada, I can guarantee that you will never set foot in the United States again."

"And you think you can prevent it?"

"Trust me, brother, if you leave this country now, you won’t be coming back."

"Is that a threat?"

"Stop it! Both of you!" Jack had had enough. "This discussion ends now. I will not have you bringing the war into this house."

Andrew stood up. "You’re right, Dad. It’s over. I will not be in the same house with him." He looked pointedly at Harry. "Mom, Dad, Grandma--good night. I will drop by to visit again once he has left."

"Andrew, sit down," Rose told him. "You drove four hours to get here, and there’s no reason to leave so soon."

"For the sake of family harmony, Mom, it’s best that I leave now." He looked pointedly at his brother again. "Good luck, Harry. You’re going to need it."

"Not as much as you will," Harry muttered under his breath.

Rose looked at both of her sons sharply. "I’m ashamed of both of you!" she told them. "You’re brothers. You should be able to rise above this pettiness."

"It isn’t pettiness, Mom. This is about the future of this country."

"Oh, for God’s sake!" Ruth exclaimed. "The only reason that this argument will affect the future of this country is if you two continue it. From your actions tonight, I’m beginning to suspect that World War III will begin right here in Philadelphia."

"Grandma, you don’t know anything about war," Andrew told her, reaching for his jacket.

"I’ve lived through five wars, young man, and my father--your great-grandfather--fought in this nation’s Civil War. I’ve seen my son-in-law go off to war, and two of my grandsons, including you--"

"Which just goes to show how much of a traitor Harry is. We have a long, proud history of the family in the military, and this hippie decides that he’s going to change things."

"Your mother and I would have changed things if we could," Jack told him. "When the first world war ended, people actually believed that it was the war to end all wars. I wish to God it had been. If I had had the opportunity, I would have dodged the draft during World War I, but I didn’t have that option." At Andrew’s shocked look, he continued, "And I’m glad that Lloyd fled to Canada. I wish that Harry would do the same. We’ve had more than enough people hurt and killed in wars already. We don’t need any more."

"Adam died for his country. I can’t believe that you’re making light of that sacrifice--"

"I’m not making light of anything, believe me. But there comes a time when the fighting has to stop, and we passed it a long time ago. As I’m sure you’re aware, we are still, technically, involved in the Korean War, and God only knows how long this conflict in Vietnam will last. We have no business being involved in either."

"If we don’t defend Vietnam, it will fall to Communism."

"So what?" Harry interjected. "Just what, exactly, is so bad about Communism?"

"I’m not going to explain it to you. You’re obviously incapable of understanding. But if this country should fall to Communism, you’ll find out soon enough."

"Anyone who could knock you off your high horse can’t be all bad."

Andrew and Harry glowered at each other, the tension so thick it was palpable. Finally, Andrew walked to the front door and opened it. "Good night, everyone."

The door closed behind him with a slam. Everyone sat in tense silence for a moment. Finally, Rose spoke up, her eyes filled with angry tears.

"Harry Adam Dawson! I can’t believe you and your brother acted that way toward each other. You’re supposed to be adults, and yet you were fighting like children."

Harry looked down. "Sorry, Mom."

"You need to learn to get along. Your father and I won’t be here forever, and someday you’ll be glad that you have so many brothers and sisters. But you need to learn to get along with all of them, including Andrew. I know he can be difficult, but you’re brothers."

"Mom...all right. I’ll try to get along with him. Maybe it’s better that I’ll be gone for a couple of years. We get along best when we don’t see each other."

"That’s not difficult," Ruth remarked. "I got along very well with your grandfather when he was away on business." She got up to help Rose with the dishes. "It was when he was at home that we had a problem."

Rose started clearing the table. "Mark my words, Harry. If you don’t reconcile with Andrew soon, you’ll be sorry for a long time. Grudges are hard to forget, especially when you let them build up."

Chapter Thirty
Stories