Dillinger
Guerrilla Ontologist
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2000
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Worth reading - from the NY Times, March 23, 2003
Another War Taps Well of Mother's Bitter Tears
By MATTHEW PURDY
NEWARK
AS the war in Iraq roared into action, Debrah Talley went to a bedroom in her small apartment to spend a moment with the framed portrait of her son Robert. His uniform is crisp, and his face forever 18 years old. She said to the picture, "Oh no, here we go again."
Robert Talley was a freshly minted Army private when he was killed in the Persian Gulf war in February 1991. As television brings us into the theater of another United States rout of the Iraqi army, it's a revival of loss for Ms. Talley.
"They make it seem so grand slam," she said. "I see the troops and I feel bad for the families because I know people are sitting there on pins and needles. The phone rings, and you don't know if it's good news or bad news. The doorbell rings and you don't know if they're going to bring good news or bad news."
They brought bad news to Ms. Talley 12 years ago just at quitting time at the nursing home where she was a cook. Her son had called weeks before to say he had a premonition that he would be killed. When Ms. Talley saw the Army officer approaching, she screamed and ran, as if she could outrun the inevitable.
Robert was the oldest of three sons Ms. Talley raised alone. Quiet and respectful, he graduated from Barringer High School here. He was a wrestler who talked of becoming a doctor. Relatives had served in the military, and Private Talley saw it as a way to get an education.
"Coming up in the city, sometimes it's the only way out," said Maurice Talley, Robert's uncle and a retired Air Force master sergeant.
In August 1990, Robert wrote home about the rigors of Army training: "I won't chicken out, because I have goals to accomplish here. NO PAIN. NO GAIN." With little more than basic training, he was sent to Saudi Arabia as the United States prepared to drive Saddam Hussein from Kuwait.
Ms. Talley shuddered at his being sent to war. "I said, `Don't they know I'm his mama?' I had to realize that he's my baby, but he belongs to Uncle Sam."
Private Talley and another soldier were killed when an Army helicopter commander fired on their armored vehicle, mistaking them for the enemy. "Friendly fire" was a euphemism Ms. Talley could never swallow.
"These are your children you give birth to, and wake up in the night and feed them, and burp them and sing lullabies," she said. "You raise them and teach them right and wrong, and then they're cut down. Poof! What's it all for?"
Robert Talley's funeral drew more than 1,000 people, including the Rev. Jesse Jackson and other black leaders, who criticized the war and what they said was a disproportionate number of minority soldiers fighting it. Officials at the University of Medicine and Dentistry here, struck by Private Talley's desire to become a doctor, established a scholarship in his memory.
PRESIDENT GEORGE H. W. BUSH wrote a letter saying "history will show that Robert gave his life for his country in an important and noble cause."
No matter of national security could justify the loss of a son to a mother. With other mothers' sons now serving another cause, Debrah Talley prays that few will have to endure the grief she knew.
"I hit rock bottom," she said. The loss ripped through her extended family. It devastated her mother, the family matriarch, whose illnesses had inspired Robert to want to cure people. Her mother died last year.
Ms. Tally, 49, has come to accept Robert's fate, but trying to understand is a losing battle.
"My son came home in bits and pieces," she said. "He didn't come home as a whole person. After the funeral they found more pieces, so they had to dig him up and bury them."
Afterward, a box arrived with Private Talley's belongings, including a letter he had written in advance to his mother and brothers, Ron and William. If they were receiving his belongings, he wrote: "I've been wounded and I'm being sent back or I'm dead. But don't worry it won't be the second. So look things over. Divide it between William and Ronald."
The last line was written without punctuation: "Coming home or goodbye forever"
Another War Taps Well of Mother's Bitter Tears
By MATTHEW PURDY
NEWARK
AS the war in Iraq roared into action, Debrah Talley went to a bedroom in her small apartment to spend a moment with the framed portrait of her son Robert. His uniform is crisp, and his face forever 18 years old. She said to the picture, "Oh no, here we go again."
Robert Talley was a freshly minted Army private when he was killed in the Persian Gulf war in February 1991. As television brings us into the theater of another United States rout of the Iraqi army, it's a revival of loss for Ms. Talley.
"They make it seem so grand slam," she said. "I see the troops and I feel bad for the families because I know people are sitting there on pins and needles. The phone rings, and you don't know if it's good news or bad news. The doorbell rings and you don't know if they're going to bring good news or bad news."
They brought bad news to Ms. Talley 12 years ago just at quitting time at the nursing home where she was a cook. Her son had called weeks before to say he had a premonition that he would be killed. When Ms. Talley saw the Army officer approaching, she screamed and ran, as if she could outrun the inevitable.
Robert was the oldest of three sons Ms. Talley raised alone. Quiet and respectful, he graduated from Barringer High School here. He was a wrestler who talked of becoming a doctor. Relatives had served in the military, and Private Talley saw it as a way to get an education.
"Coming up in the city, sometimes it's the only way out," said Maurice Talley, Robert's uncle and a retired Air Force master sergeant.
In August 1990, Robert wrote home about the rigors of Army training: "I won't chicken out, because I have goals to accomplish here. NO PAIN. NO GAIN." With little more than basic training, he was sent to Saudi Arabia as the United States prepared to drive Saddam Hussein from Kuwait.
Ms. Talley shuddered at his being sent to war. "I said, `Don't they know I'm his mama?' I had to realize that he's my baby, but he belongs to Uncle Sam."
Private Talley and another soldier were killed when an Army helicopter commander fired on their armored vehicle, mistaking them for the enemy. "Friendly fire" was a euphemism Ms. Talley could never swallow.
"These are your children you give birth to, and wake up in the night and feed them, and burp them and sing lullabies," she said. "You raise them and teach them right and wrong, and then they're cut down. Poof! What's it all for?"
Robert Talley's funeral drew more than 1,000 people, including the Rev. Jesse Jackson and other black leaders, who criticized the war and what they said was a disproportionate number of minority soldiers fighting it. Officials at the University of Medicine and Dentistry here, struck by Private Talley's desire to become a doctor, established a scholarship in his memory.
PRESIDENT GEORGE H. W. BUSH wrote a letter saying "history will show that Robert gave his life for his country in an important and noble cause."
No matter of national security could justify the loss of a son to a mother. With other mothers' sons now serving another cause, Debrah Talley prays that few will have to endure the grief she knew.
"I hit rock bottom," she said. The loss ripped through her extended family. It devastated her mother, the family matriarch, whose illnesses had inspired Robert to want to cure people. Her mother died last year.
Ms. Tally, 49, has come to accept Robert's fate, but trying to understand is a losing battle.
"My son came home in bits and pieces," she said. "He didn't come home as a whole person. After the funeral they found more pieces, so they had to dig him up and bury them."
Afterward, a box arrived with Private Talley's belongings, including a letter he had written in advance to his mother and brothers, Ron and William. If they were receiving his belongings, he wrote: "I've been wounded and I'm being sent back or I'm dead. But don't worry it won't be the second. So look things over. Divide it between William and Ronald."
The last line was written without punctuation: "Coming home or goodbye forever"
