Lost to Vietnam by Beth Taylor On November 16th, 1965, not far from Philadelphia, my brother, Geoffrey Taylor, hanged himself in our basement. He was 14 years old. I was 12. According to the story my family pieced together, at his Boy Scout meeting earlier that night, his Scout leaders, all veterans of World War II, took Geoff into a back room of the church basement, and told him they might withhold points from his patrol because he had refused to march in a parade the week before to support the Boys in Vietnam. Geoff had not marched in part because our family was Quaker, and generations of Taylors had chosen alternative service over fighting. Now, in 1965, Geoff told the Scout leaders that he could not in good conscience march in that parade. In those early years of Vietnam, part of what led my brother to suicide was the conflict of living in a staunchly pacifist family while admiring friends who were sons of WWII veterans. My brother was a bright, athletic, popular boy who had been student body president of his public Jr. High School. But as he entered 9th grade, in 1965, and he voiced his feelings about war during history class discussion, he was called a coward, and later a gang of boys cornered him in the hallway, pummeling him with fists and names. We did not know what he was going through. But, looking back, there are clues to Geoff's turmoil the day he died. In the afternoon, he and I quarreled about what, I can't remember. I finally cursed at him, which I had never done before, and he slapped me, which he had never done before. Then, at dinner before his Boy Scout meeting, Geoff argued with my father about what he should say in a speech he had been asked to give about Thanksgiving for the troop. My father wanted him to talk about my mother's family who had celebrated Thanksgivings in New England for 300 years. My brother said no, and stormed up to his room. A few minutes later he brought down the Scout Manual and announced, red-faced, that he would read straight from the book and then nobody could laugh at him. | |
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