October 27th, 1967

October 21, 1967

Dear Cuz,

Well, it looks like I won't be playing football for the Eagles next fall. You see, there was this little land mine in the middle of the jungle all picked out for me. I don't know why. I didn't have time to ask.

These things happen to other people and you always think about how lucky you are not to be one of them. Now I'm one of them.

But the odds on losing a leg here are getting worse and so maybe it wasn't my fault after all. Maybe I got lucky.

My toes still tingle, but I don't have any toes. This was my kicking foot by the way, the one that won me the placekicking contest at Frankford Stadium. The morphine helps, let me tell you. It helps you forget.

I know you're a lot smarter than me, Cuz, but let me tell you something. I have been to a part of the mind that you will never enter. It's not just the murder and mayhem you find there. It's the gaping emptiness afterwards when you see how much is destroyed.

I don't know what difference all these demonstrations against the war can make. When you're out here, there's no sense that the rest of the world exists. Nothing but night and silence and sudden explosions that can shatter your sanity.

It's amazing to watch a man break down in the middle of this and start shooting his own men. You can't even find out which of your buddies is dead till dawn. Then you feel more alone than you've ever felt in your life.

So I'm a young man who's going to be getting around like an old man. But at least I've got a chance to grow old. I had three buddies who won't.

Stay in school, Cuz. Get married and have five kids. Do anything you can to stay the fuck out of here.

Love and Peace,

Feeney

» October 28th, 1967 : Bad Night Out