thedrifter
10-17-06, 06:51 AM
Alderman not about to let Vietnam memorial go to the dogs
October 17, 2006
BY MARK BROWN Sun-Times Columnist
'This is what I mean. Look!" Ald. James Balcer (11th) said it as a command, but before I'd completely processed where to look, the alderman had stalked off purposefully in the direction of a fellow I would later learn to be Scott Cavan, two months relocated to Chicago from Rhode Island.
It was late Friday afternoon and Cavan was walking his dog, a small terrier eagerly sniffing a small patch of grass in the new pocket-sized park on the south bank of the Chicago River between Wabash and State, where the dog obviously intended to relieve itself.
The terraced park is the location of the city's new Vietnam Veterans Memorial, or more to the point, it IS the city's new Vietnam Veterans Memorial, which is exactly why Balcer, a Vietnam vet himself, was so upset that he'd asked me to meet him there, then recounted a story from a week earlier.
"I come down here. There's a woman with a dog. The dog is taking a crap. I told her it's a memorial and to get out of here. This is hallowed ground," explained Balcer, who was particularly upset because at the time he was escorting a visitor, a member of the Australian Parliament who had lost both his legs in Vietnam.
The woman dog owner was not easily persuaded. There are no signs prohibiting dogs in the park. But Balcer eventually convinced her.
"The only thing she understood is when I told her I was going to have her arrested," said the alderman, who had barely completed telling the story and was still spitting mad when the unsuspecting Cavan came into view.
Awarded Bronze Star for heroism
By the time I could catch up to them, Cavan was making his apologies and trying to retreat, the alderman still in his face.
"I didn't know. I've only been here two months. It's not a problem," Cavan said before making the mistake of offering the excuse that "it's not posted anywhere."
That only set off Balcer again, who then exacted a confession from Cavan that he at least partially understood he was visiting a war memorial because he'd previously admired the wall bearing the names of the 2,943 men from Illinois who were killed in action in the Vietnam War.
I followed Cavan out of the park to get his side of the story.
"It's very hard to find a place to walk a dog around here," said Cavan, who is living with his wife in temporary quarters on La Salle Street while waiting for their new River North residence to be completed. Dogs are expressly prohibited from using a new park that recently opened on the river at Erie Street, he noted.
I explained to Cavan that Balcer is very active in veteran's issues. He said he understood and that if there had been a sign, he wouldn't have been there in the first place.
What I didn't mention to Cavan is that just five years ago Balcer was belatedly awarded the Bronze Star for heroism in the Vietnam War for his role in leading a crew of Marines to retrieve the bodies of dozens of dead and wounded soldiers cut down in an apparent ambush. Balcer and others had to carry some 72 casualties up a steep and muddy hillside while under enemy fire.
'I still hear the yelling and the screaming'
Returning to the park, I started to suggest to Balcer that maybe he should step back and consider the street level entrances to the memorial, where the signage is so understated that I'm not sure everyone would realize that the entire park is to be treated as a memorial.
I had also intended to suggest that maybe the problem is an outgrowth of the city not having enough green space to meet the demands of its new influx of downtown residents (and their dogs), but I'd barely said "step back" before Balcer was after me.
"I can't," he interrupted. "I will not step back. I will not give an inch. I will not do it. This is not a dog park. There are other places they can take their dog. People can respect this memorial."
Balcer is normally a very mild-mannered guy, and I'm bigger than him. But it was in that moment that I realized that if necessary he could throw me over his shoulder and haul me or anybody else up the steps and out of that park, even with a dog yapping at his ankles.
I mention this because Balcer visits the memorial regularly to gaze upon the names of the fallen, some of whom he knew, others for whom he knows the families. I found him there again Monday after lunch, running off another dog walker.
Balcer told me when he visits the memorial he remembers the soldiers he dragged up that hill.
"Their faces are etched in my mind, and they will be with me until I die. I still hear the yelling and the screaming. That's why I am the way I am."
Downtown dog owners will have to find another place to walk their dogs. Balcer will not step back. He won't give an inch.
He can't. And he shouldn't have to.
Ellie
October 17, 2006
BY MARK BROWN Sun-Times Columnist
'This is what I mean. Look!" Ald. James Balcer (11th) said it as a command, but before I'd completely processed where to look, the alderman had stalked off purposefully in the direction of a fellow I would later learn to be Scott Cavan, two months relocated to Chicago from Rhode Island.
It was late Friday afternoon and Cavan was walking his dog, a small terrier eagerly sniffing a small patch of grass in the new pocket-sized park on the south bank of the Chicago River between Wabash and State, where the dog obviously intended to relieve itself.
The terraced park is the location of the city's new Vietnam Veterans Memorial, or more to the point, it IS the city's new Vietnam Veterans Memorial, which is exactly why Balcer, a Vietnam vet himself, was so upset that he'd asked me to meet him there, then recounted a story from a week earlier.
"I come down here. There's a woman with a dog. The dog is taking a crap. I told her it's a memorial and to get out of here. This is hallowed ground," explained Balcer, who was particularly upset because at the time he was escorting a visitor, a member of the Australian Parliament who had lost both his legs in Vietnam.
The woman dog owner was not easily persuaded. There are no signs prohibiting dogs in the park. But Balcer eventually convinced her.
"The only thing she understood is when I told her I was going to have her arrested," said the alderman, who had barely completed telling the story and was still spitting mad when the unsuspecting Cavan came into view.
Awarded Bronze Star for heroism
By the time I could catch up to them, Cavan was making his apologies and trying to retreat, the alderman still in his face.
"I didn't know. I've only been here two months. It's not a problem," Cavan said before making the mistake of offering the excuse that "it's not posted anywhere."
That only set off Balcer again, who then exacted a confession from Cavan that he at least partially understood he was visiting a war memorial because he'd previously admired the wall bearing the names of the 2,943 men from Illinois who were killed in action in the Vietnam War.
I followed Cavan out of the park to get his side of the story.
"It's very hard to find a place to walk a dog around here," said Cavan, who is living with his wife in temporary quarters on La Salle Street while waiting for their new River North residence to be completed. Dogs are expressly prohibited from using a new park that recently opened on the river at Erie Street, he noted.
I explained to Cavan that Balcer is very active in veteran's issues. He said he understood and that if there had been a sign, he wouldn't have been there in the first place.
What I didn't mention to Cavan is that just five years ago Balcer was belatedly awarded the Bronze Star for heroism in the Vietnam War for his role in leading a crew of Marines to retrieve the bodies of dozens of dead and wounded soldiers cut down in an apparent ambush. Balcer and others had to carry some 72 casualties up a steep and muddy hillside while under enemy fire.
'I still hear the yelling and the screaming'
Returning to the park, I started to suggest to Balcer that maybe he should step back and consider the street level entrances to the memorial, where the signage is so understated that I'm not sure everyone would realize that the entire park is to be treated as a memorial.
I had also intended to suggest that maybe the problem is an outgrowth of the city not having enough green space to meet the demands of its new influx of downtown residents (and their dogs), but I'd barely said "step back" before Balcer was after me.
"I can't," he interrupted. "I will not step back. I will not give an inch. I will not do it. This is not a dog park. There are other places they can take their dog. People can respect this memorial."
Balcer is normally a very mild-mannered guy, and I'm bigger than him. But it was in that moment that I realized that if necessary he could throw me over his shoulder and haul me or anybody else up the steps and out of that park, even with a dog yapping at his ankles.
I mention this because Balcer visits the memorial regularly to gaze upon the names of the fallen, some of whom he knew, others for whom he knows the families. I found him there again Monday after lunch, running off another dog walker.
Balcer told me when he visits the memorial he remembers the soldiers he dragged up that hill.
"Their faces are etched in my mind, and they will be with me until I die. I still hear the yelling and the screaming. That's why I am the way I am."
Downtown dog owners will have to find another place to walk their dogs. Balcer will not step back. He won't give an inch.
He can't. And he shouldn't have to.
Ellie