It's the little things.....

Eyes Wide Open

"War! What is it good for?"

Jonathan Chapman / Columnist

I went to the depot in Greensboro a few weeks back. It makes sense that Greensboro would have one. Back in the day, I'm sure it saw thousands upon thousands of passengers, many of them soldiers. It is no longer functioning as a rail station, but for a few days in January, it was filled with soldiers again.

I was at the depot for an exhibit called Eyes Wide Open. As I entered the building, an expansive space flooded before me. I stood at the door, stunned and shaken by what my eyes were seeing. Before me, in obedient ordered lines were over thirteen hundred pairs of army combat boots—some at attention, others with their tops fallen over. These were not any boots, however. These were the boots of dead Americans killed in the line of duty in Iraq.

I walked the lines glancing over the boots at first, afraid to look any closer—afraid of the reality that I already felt coming into my very being.

Becoming bolder, I ventured off the main aisle and into the boots. They were ordered by states and each pair was tagged with the name of the fallen. I searched through my native Georgia, praying that I wouldn't see a name I knew. Finally moving beyond the Georgia boots, I came across one pair which stays in my mind's eye even weeks after seeing it. Attached to this particular pair of boots was a note for Ricky, their former owner. Scribbled at the bottom of a touching, but forgettable poem were the words "wherever these boots may travel, my broken heart will follow," signed "Ricky's Mom."

I was overwhelmed. Suddenly, it became all too real. The names being read by volunteers were followed by ages—18, 19, 20. I'm 19. The dead and I have lived as long as one another. Why am I getting to live longer?

I made my way to where they had set the boots of those from North Carolina. These were adorned with yellow carnations, ribbons and American Flags—items first seen when soldiers left the States almost three years ago. We wanted them home. And home they came.

Lining the walls of the depot were civilian shoes remembering the thousands of Iraqi people who have died. We don't know how many are dead. Whatever the numbers, death knows no side and it became all too apparent that death was the reality.

And as I mingled with the boots, some old and worn, others relatively shiny and new, I realized that above all the petty reasons, people are dying. The reasons we were given for this war have yet to be proven. Everyday I hope that there is some legitimacy in this war.

Contact Jonathan Chapman at pendulum@elon.edu or 278-7247.