They Kept Coming



A lanky, rail thin, 18-year-old

With dreams of returning to Indiana for more games of pick-up basketball with his buddies.

Now he would have to learn how to shoot with just his left arm.



A fair skinned lad with a serious smile from New Jersey

He longed for more time on the dance floor with his favorite girl as a disco ball sparkled above.

One-legged dance moves would not be cool.



A sergeant who took a close-range gunshot to his jaw.

His mother would cry as she remembered his lovely tenor voice.

He would survive, but face months of therapy to strengthen his vocal cords.



Some worried whether girlfriends left behind would even recognize them much less want them back in their lives. Others shyly asked if everything was OK “down there”. Losing their manhood was a troubling concern.



Vietnamese civilians, caught in the crossfire of weapons, came with shrapnel embedded in their bodies. One day, nearly 100 victims from the same village. Cries of pain sound the same in any language.



Every day brought new arrivals to our emergency room. Yet, they were the survivors. Many would not be so fortunate. Their final breaths had been taken. Their cries of pain silenced. The warmth of their bodies stolen away. For them, a gentle hand on their cold fingers and a whispered prayer was all we could offer.





Lou Eisenbrandt