Some Good Things Came Out Of War

Dear Ann Landers: It has taken me 30 years to write this letter and say “thank you.” What made me finally do it was your column asking to hear from doctors or nurses who had married their patients - or the other way around. Well, I happen to be a patient who married my nurse. Here’s my story.

I served in the Vietnam War and was company commander with the 173rd Airborne Brigade. In March 1967, I was wounded. Seven years later, I married a nurse who had been assigned to the evacuation hospital and took care of me. I often tell people Mary was the only good thing that came out of that war. We have been married for 23 years and are very happy.

You don’t remember me, I’m sure, but I certainly do remember you, Ann. Thirty years ago, in May 1967, I was the last guy you visited in the Long Bien Surgical Hospital in Saigon. Your transportation was delayed, so you were stuck with me for about half an hour. I loved talking to you.

It has taken me until now to thank you for flying halfway around the world, all the way to Vietnam, to cheer up the men who were hospitalized. I’m sure many others who received nasty wounds in that war remember your visit, too.

This is a sincere “thanks!” to let you know that many of us don’t forget nice things and nice people. - Ed Privette, Major, U.S. Army (Ret.), Lacoochee, Fla.

Dear Maj. Privette: Thanks for the memories. That trip to Vietnam in May was well worth the effort even though it was 113 degrees. I cannot recall anything in my career that was as rewarding.

Dear Ann Landers: I would like to comment on your response to “Selectively Silent in the South,” which I read in a newspaper while traveling in Asia. “Selectively” referred to his not talking in the presence of his wife, who yakked non-stop.

You were right to suggest that he get some counseling to help deal with his hostility. But how about some counseling for his wife? Her insensitivity must be a continuous nightmare for him. After all these years, she apparently has learned nothing about the value of listening.

My own family sounds a lot like her family. They all talk non-stop, constantly interrupting one another trying to get the floor. I have sympathy for “Selectively” and often wonder if my family has any idea why I spend so little time with them.

Recently, I read an article with an O’Henry ending. It was about high-priced detectives hired by suspicious wives who wanted their husbands followed because they spent so many evenings and weekend afternoons “at the office” or “with out-of-town clients.” To their astonishment, they discovered these men were driving around town, sitting in the park or going to the public library. They simply wanted a little peace and quiet. I’m sure this same scenario is played out in a good many homes around the world. - M.G. in Brooklyn

Dear Brooklyn: Your letter needs no comment from me. You said it all.

Dear Ann Landers: My sister, “Ellen,” and her husband have been married for 10 years. They have two children. Ellen feels somewhat inferior because her husband’s sisters have five and six children apiece. Whenever Ellen is asked how many children she has, she says, “We have five - two with us and three in heaven.”

Actually, Ellen has had three miscarriages, each within the first eight weeks of pregnancy. She didn’t even go to the hospital. Would you consider those losses “children”? - Robinson, Ill.

Dear Robinson: I do not consider miscarriages children. If your sister chooses to, however, it does not bother me in the least - and it shouldn’t bother you, either.