Monday, April 10, 2017
Late in 1969, a young U.S. Army inductee named Myron reached out to his back-home buddy, Steve Housty, remarking on the solitude involved in being away at basic training camp. Steve gave Myron's camp address, as well as that of Myron's bunkmate from a nearby town, to his girlfriend, asking her to recruit some classmates to correspond with these two lonely warriors.
I, then a high school sophomore, eagerly began writing to the bunkmate while another student chose to write to Myron. Her participation eventually faded off, and I ended up exchanging letters with both young soldiers, whom I met for the first time at my house the night before they left for advanced training. I stopped breathing when Myron came through my front door; I knew innately that a bond had formed.
I wrote to both guys during their entire tours of duty. I shared my life with them through the end of my junior year, offering prayers, support, sports scores and hometown news. (Remember, this was before the internet and texting.) They shared their lives with me, literally walking me through their days and nights in Vietnam, which were radically different from what the networks fed to us back home.
In the fall of 1971, Myron - now a civilian - came to my house for the second time. In 1973, we were married! That link started with passing on a request for letters.
Godspeed, Steve Housty. Myron and I will see you again on the other side.
Kathryn Kiraly-Kalwinski
