On a cold gray day in March I thought of my brother and 58,000 names carved on granite tablets. A sleek black chevron sewed on a green grass uniform honors soldiers who left their shining manhood in Southeast Asian jungles and river deltas. A park of war memorials filled with the sounds of silence. Ghostly corridors of Vietnam and the War between the States. Societies torn and rended - American pitted against American. The white marble god Lincoln astride a mighty throne stares out at the black chevron. The Titan's perspective spans the war-torn century. The pledge of the Second Inaugural Address lashes our post-Vietnam guilt. We shall strive to bind up the nation's wounds to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan. His address at Gettysburg smashes our post-Vietnam righteousness. We cannot dedicate We cannot consecrate We cannot hallow this ground The brave men living and dead who struggled here consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.