Letters

Barely six months ago, I wrote a Letter to the Editor expressing my gratitude to a recently deceased friend of mine for lifting my spirits during a challenging time in my life. The letter, titled “A True Friend,” was my personal tribute to the legendary Sir Harold Evans for his genuine interest in guiding and encouraging me as I labored to tell the story of an earlier period in my life, as a young Army officer handed an assignment that nobody in their right mind would seek: personally notifying moms and dads of the death of their child on the battlefields of Vietnam, and then guiding them through the memorial services.

Thanks to Harry’s efforts, I was able to move my project down the field, within sight of the goal line, but with absolutely no idea how to complete the task.

Enter Phil Keith, well-known to many of the readers of this paper as the frequent columnist known to conclude his unique work with: “And you know, of course, I am mostly right.” I knew from my son Tim, who often offered similar columns in this paper, that Phil was potentially the perfect person to help me cross the goal line.

His answer during a luncheon meeting was a quick and enthusiastic, “Yes.” As a fellow Vietnam War veteran, he seemed to genuinely relish visualizing the war beyond his direct battlefield experience.

It proved to be the answer to my prayers.

More specifically, Phil encouraged me to tell my story “with my own voice,” and, indeed, those who have read “Taps” invariably tell me that they feel I am next to them, talking to them.

In addition, since the underlying storyline is of good and decent families coping with unthinkable tragedy, Phil suggested that I toss in additional assignments designed by my commanding officer to keep PTSD at bay, and so I did.

Imagine a young Long Islander assigned in the mid-1960s Deep South to go undercover as a potential Ku Klux Klan recruit, to judge a South Carolina Miss America pageant, or to inspect houses of ill repute, including the legendary Sunset Lodge, for off limits evaluations.

Based on feedback from readers, those stories, plus a harrowing flight home to Westhampton aboard a Navy Blue Angel fighter jet, and a surprise meeting with Martin Luther King Jr., combined with the incredible resilience of the families themselves, provide the reader with much appreciated upbeat stores — as Phil knew they would.

Thank you, Phil, for guiding me at a time I most needed it, and for the friendship you offered to me. I learned so much from you, and I will very much miss your wise counsel and our times together.

George Motz

Quogue