A bit of thread drift, if you will forgive me:—

I can't recall when and where I met Buzz Ross. It was in the early Sixties and I was singing somewhere almost every weekend. I became familiar with Buzz's face in the audience before ever I knew his name. He became a guitar student of mine, and over a period of time we became close friends. Buzz had to drop out of high school before he finish, and he was attending Edison Technical School (precursor of Seattle Central Community College) to get his GED while he supported himself by working graveyard shift at an all-night gas station.

During the Sixties, Buzz, Diane, Marcia, Loren, Loren's sister Luanne, and I all palled around together. Every time I sang someplace, they were in the audience. We partied together, got together during the week at the Pizza Haven in the University District for coffee-klatsches, and almost every night before Buzz went to work at the gas station, he and I would drop into the famous/infamous Blue Moon Tavern or, if the Moon was too crowded and noisy, Al's Tavern or Bly's "Bounty" for a couple of beers. Loren, Marcia, and I wound up working at Boeing in the late Sixties while Buzz continued to work at the gas station and contemplated what he was going to do in terms of a career.

The Vietnam War was going full-blast, and Buzz knew he would soon be drafted. So he took the initiative. If he volunteered, he could pretty much chose his branch of service rather than having to go wherever they put him. He decided that flying helicopters had a lot of career potential. So when he went into the service he entered training as a helicopter pilot.

Just before he was due to go overseas, he and Marcia got married, and a nicer, more well-suited couple than Buzz and Marcia would be hard to imagine.

Marcia and I worked in the same division at Boeing: Production Illustration department at the 747 plant in Everett, Washington. About three weeks before Christmas, Marcia told me she had received a letter from Buzz. He was in Vietnam, and had been assigned to fly med-evac helicopters. He was happy with this, because he would be a non-combatant, trying to save people rather than trying to kill them.

Two weeks later, Marcia received notice. Buzz had been evacuating a number of wounded. As they took off from the battle area, the 'copter was fired upon and sustained damage. Despite that, Buzz managed to horse it back to base and bring it in for a landing. But because of the damage, the 'copter was difficult to control and they landed hard. One of the rotor blades chopped through the cockpit and stuck Buzz in the head. The wounded had been evacuated safely. But Buzz died the following day.

And two weeks after that, at a New Years Eve party, at one point in the evening Marcia and I sat in a corner, held each other, and wept.

That, I think, is why I responded in particular to the helicopter crash in Iraq.

I become very angry with those who think that war is any kind of solution. My opposition to war, especially a war that has not been forced on us, is not just philosophical. I can say with strong, personal conviction that it's a tragic, needless waste. One of the reasons why I am so opposed to wars in general, and particularly a meedless war that my own country initiates, is that war does these sorts of things to people. When a person dies in war, it isn't just that one person. It isn't just a battlefield statistic. It's a life with all of its potential cut short. And it's all those people at home, too. Friends and relations. War is a sign of abject failure. It sanctions and embraces the very worst in human nature.

You didn't know my particular story, Ireland, so no offense taken. Considering the tone of some posts, I can see where you might have misinterpreted my remark.

Peace,

Don Firth