I still remember meeting James Henry. He was tall, blonde and athletic looking. More than anything else, he struck me as earnest. He had a polished and sophisticated appearance that came with the sense of achievement of just having graduated from Harvard.

James was drawn to me because I was a Marine Vietnam veteran.  It was the summer of 1972, and the war was drawing down.  I was in Washington trying to figure out what to do with my life.  I was a bit apprehensive about this new acquaintance.  I had grown weary of answering questions about the war, especially those questions that were designed to accuse rather than evoke information.  But James wasn't that type of person.  He sought information so that he could draw his own conclusions.

James had a request of me. He wanted me to read his undergraduate honors thesis.  How could I say no?  I accepted the offer and promised that I would get back to him when I was finished.

The paper was entitled "The Somerville Marines." This paper revealed more about the United States and its people than any other single document I had read to that point in my life. There were dozens of stories intertwined in the narrative that was designed to measure the sacrifice of a community in an unpopular war. It spoke of the legacy of young men and their families who lived in the shadow of Harvard Yard.  The fathers of the Somerville Marines cleaned the floors, while the mothers folded the linen and bedding of Harvard.  One class, working people, existed to serve the other, a generation preparing for power. 

The backdrop for James' research was the Vietnam War.  Thousands of Americans were dying but the sons of Harvard, as I later learned, were not to be found among them.  During 1968 and 1969, the War took its share of victims from Somerville.  A constant stream of flag draped caskets made the 13,000-mile trip from the hell of battle to the working class town of Somerville. Then grieving families could be united with those who gave it all.

Kids from Somerville had a penchant for the Marine Corps.  At least four times, Somerville sent enough recruits to fill an entire training platoon at the famous Paris Island recruit depot.  These were kids that asked for nothing but gave everything.  They were there to learn to wear the colors that their fathers had worn, and their fathers' fathers a generation before. They didn't run to Canada or Sweden or make up excuses to avoid service.  Few draft dodgers had Somerville mailing addresses.

In one week in 1968, eight Somerville Marines died in combat.  The eight were buddies and they all had served in the same Leatherneck regiment. These were tough kids who had grown into strong and determined men.  All eight were killed in fierce fighting and more than half earned posthumous medals for bravery.

James drew the reader to the fact that this town in Massachusetts could give show much.  It was ironic that the liberal, war-bashing Senator George McGovern, running for President, just a few months later would carry only a single state, Massachusetts, in the election.  When I watched the election returns, I was struck by how this little town could co-exist in such a place, but it did. 

Years later, I learned the full measure of the sacrifice of the Somerville Marines.  I had read that the sons of Harvard had also fallen on the fields of Vietnam.  By comparison, eight Harvard students had served and died during the seven years of Vietnam—Somerville's toll for just one week.  Should it be that some are asked to give more than others?  Ironically, it would be logical to draw the conclusion that those with plenty should give more than those without the pleasures of life.

The story of Somerville means more in 2008 than it ever did.  While our fighting forces are now justifiably popular, they still are disproportionately made up of kids from places like Somerville rather than the classrooms of Harvard.  This unequal burden must concern us if for reasons of fairness if nothing else.  The lesson from this is that more young people must be exposed to the honor of serving in our military.  This is especially true in a society where only one of 400 people is on active military duty. We must expand ROTC programs and create new and innovative efforts to attract more young people to military service.  If we don't address this disparity, we will no longer be a nation where sacrifice is shared.  Let us try and be a nation of shared sacrifice where we all can carry the burden of war.