Brothers in arms are needed earlier in game
WASHINGTON -- Most times John Kerry climbs up on a stage these days, he calls to mind the terrifying childhood nightmare of heading off to school without remembering to get dressed. Something is definitely missing, but it's not Kerry's blue blazer, khaki pants, or casual shirt. It's his Band of Brothers.
These are the fellow Vietnam veterans who were Kerry's shadow family during the presidential primaries, adding their considerable weight to the cast surrounding the candidate, a group that, at times, featured Ted and Vicki Kennedy, singer Carole King, and Jeanne and Billy Shaheen, along with the candidate's own kin.
The veterans' impact on the Kerry campaign in January and February makes their absence all the more visible, and particularly striking in an election in which military authenticity is a crucial issue.
The mute testimony of the veterans ennobled Kerry, shining more light on his character than the loyal gazes of Nancy Reagan or Laura Bush could ever confer on their men. Kerry seemed to grow more formidable, and his sudden surge to the nomination coincided with the veterans' arrival at his side.
Now, Kerry mostly campaigns alone, with aides, local politicians, and a cranky, sleep-deprived press corps as his entourage. His much-decorated service in the Vietnam War has become a dry fact on his rsum, something to be parsed and debated. The mystical bond with others who've seen combat is no longer palpable. It's vanished into the political haze.
The Band of Brothers aren't gone for good, of course. Expect to see them at the Democratic convention and, for sure, in the last few weeks of the campaign. In all of his toughest campaigns -- 1984, 1996, and this year's primaries -- Kerry has brought the veterans in for a closing rush, like the New York Yankees turning the ball over to Mariano Rivera. And late surges pushed Kerry over the top in all those races.
But this time, he needs their help sooner _ a fact at least partly reflected in his campaign's decision, announced yesterday, to run new ads stressing Kerry's life story, and drawing in part on the accounts of his crewmates.
He needs them on the campaign trail with him too, because George W. Bush has, for now at least, quieted some of the questions about his own time in the National Guard and donned the togs of ''war president." It's a phrase he's salted into many of his speeches, and it's fast becoming his own claim to service.
Bush's ''tough decisions" are molded by his campaign to convey the image of a field general staring through his binoculars and ordering his men to fire their guns. Bush frequently campaigns at military bases, drinking in the cheers of the men and women in uniform.
GOP attacks on Kerry's protests against the Vietnam War, especially the time he threw away a colleague's ribbons in a show of protest, are intended to pit Kerry against the mainstream military, which has enjoyed the full-throated rhetorical endorsement of Bush.
As Bush noted in a speech Saturday night, there will be more occasions on his calendar to pay tribute to those who've served. On Memorial Day, Bush will dedicate the new World War II memorial, just a short jog from the White House.
Actually a park full of memorials, with plaques, wreaths, fountains, a wall of gold stars, and depictions of battle scenes, the World War II memorial occupies a dramatic spot directly between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. Already, the dedication tablet is engraved with the name of ''President George W. Bush."
A week after Memorial Day comes the 60th anniversary of the Normandy invasion, with Bush tentatively scheduled to visit the beaches and stand in the footsteps not only of D-day soldiers, but past presidents Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton, whose tributes to the veterans still ring in the nation's consciousness.
Kerry will need his Band of Brothers to present his own military tableaux. They include James Rassmann, the retired California policeman who joined the campaign two days before the Iowa caucuses and told how Kerry had risked his own life to pull Rassmann to safety. Then there is former senator Max Cleland, the triple amputee sitting proudly in his wheelchair as Kerry speaks, a wounded veteran not only of Vietnam, but of Republican attacks in the 2002 campaign.
At each campaign stop, they were joined by other Vietnam veterans, including hundreds from Massachusetts, their faces etched with wisdom culled from battlefield horrors and the special pain of having suffered in a war that divided the country.
Bush is embracing veterans to link his ''war presidency" -- and the ongoing battles in Iraq -- to the ''good war" of his father's generation. Kerry's veterans offer standing testimony to how disputed wars can haunt the nation for generations. Whatever their individual views on Iraq, Kerry's veteran supporters apply a truth test to Bush, and remind voters of the sacrifices beneath Kerry's rich life of today.
He needs them now more than ever.
