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Chapter 4 contains seven sections. In the first, Kovic, now living at his parents’ house in Massapequa, New York, is picked up by two members of the local American Legion chapter to be featured in the town’s Memorial Day parade. One tells Kovic’s father the military is “gonna make certain that [Kovic’s] sacrifice and any of the others weren’t in vain,” adding that the United States is “still in that war to win” (111). Kovic is joined in the Cadillac by another wounded veteran, Eddie Dugan. He notes that he doesn’t usually “like telling people about how bad he had been hurt, but for some reason it was different with Eddie” (115). At the parade, Eddie and Kovic are announced as wounded veterans, but Kovic notices the townspeople don’t seem to care about him or the parade in general, that “it was different” from the parades he remembers as a child, and that the crowd “just seemed to be standing staring at Eddie Dugan and himself like they weren’t even there” (116).
After the parade, the mayor of the town and other dignitaries make speeches about the war and the sacrifices Kovic and Eddie made. At one point, a military commander points at both men and says, “We have to win [...] because of them!” (119). After the speech, Kovic runs into his old friend Tommy Law, who has also been wounded in Vietnam. Seeing Tommy “seemed to bring back something wonderfully happy in his past” even though Tommy clearly looks sad (122).
In the second section of the chapter, Kovic complains about his inability to have sex and laments that he has “given my dead swinging dick for America” (125). He describes the nights spent at Arthur’s Bar, where he would drink to excess before going home and wheeling himself up the ramp his father had built for him. The same familial tensions that existed in his childhood resurface. Kovic feels sorry that “the old man had worked hard on the ramp [...] like he had worked hard at everything he ever did in his life,” while his mother seems to be upset at him often and laments to her husband that “we’ve got a drunk for a son” (128). One night after Kovic has urinated on himself because the catheter falls out of his penis, his father cleans him up, while Kovic only wants “to explode, to get out of this crazy numb body and be a man again” (129). However, Kovic comes to realize his condition is permanent.
In the third section of chapter 4, Kovic recounts a trip to Mexico he takes to chase a “free feeling that he couldn’t get unless he was out of the chair” and to visit brothels (131). He stays at the Village of the Sun, a place for paralyzed veterans, and is happy to be with people who make him think “he might be able to feel human again” (132). He ventures to various brothels and feels the touch of women even though he cannot do anything sexual with them. He vows to “sleep with a different one every night” but gives up on his plan after a night out with another veteran named Charlie (138). Charlie gets very drunk, makes a speech complaining about his condition and the atrocities he was forced to commit during the war, and urinates in a Mexican truckdriver’s truck. The driver does not complain, but “somehow that was the end of it for” Kovic (139), who returns to New York.
In the fourth section, Kovic gets his own apartment and starts to attend college classes on Long Island. He is determined to learn to walk again but breaks his leg and is forced to stay in the V.A. hospital in the Bronx, which is even worse than it was the first time. There he almost loses his leg. He feels forgotten and tells the staff that he “fought in Vietnam” and has “a right to be treated decently” only to be told by one health aide that “Vietnam don’t mean nothing to me” and that he can “take [his] Vietnam and shove it up [his] ass” (143). Kovic tells his parents nothing about this nor that fact that the war and the wound and the hospital are “beginning to go round and round in [his] head,” since it would “only hurt them if they knew” (146).
The fifth section of the chapter opens with Kovic explaining that he was in Vietnam when he first heard about the people in the United States protesting the war. He hated them while he was in Vietnam and felt they were betraying him and his fellow soldiers, but after being in the hospital, he says, “I wanted to know what I had lost my legs for, why I and the others had gone at all” (146). Out of the hospital in 1970, he hears of the shooting at Kent State, where four antiwar protesters were shot by National Guardsmen, and observes a protest from his car before asking his cousin’s husband, Skip, to drive him to Washington, DC, to participate in an antiwar rally on the National Mall. Kovic states that he “gave up my tie and sweater for no shirt and a big red bandana” (149).
In Washington, he notices the barricades surrounding the White House and wonders why the government is so afraid of its citizens. He watches as Skip joins others in swimming naked in the Reflecting Pool; Kovic reflects that swimming presented “total freedom” even if it did not have much to do “with the invasion of Cambodia or the students slain at Kent State” (151). Finally, he watches police attack the protesters and announces to Skip that he will never be the same again. He has felt a “togetherness, just as there had been in Vietnam,” but one directed at healing people to “set them free” (153).
In the brief final section of the chapter, Kovic describes his first antiwar speech. He is waiting to speak in a school auditorium and is reminded of when marine recruiters came and spoke to his school. Kovic wonders if “things would have been different” for him if he’d seen a paralyzed combat veteran instead of the Marines he saw (154). Then, as he gets up to speak to the students, he begins “by telling them about the hospital” (155).
The chapter is organized as a series of speeches and public events in which Kovic finds his voice. He is a passive participant in a Memorial Day parade where he writes that he was not allowed to speak for himself because “there was something wrong now with” him and so the veterans and military leaders had “to have others define” him (120). He is also a mere witness to Charlie’s tirade in Mexico. In his first act of defiance, he speaks out individually to the uncaring staff at the V.A. hospital. Then he participates in a protest before he finds his voice enough to make a speech in a high school auditorium. In finding his voice, Kovic claims a new life for himself, the life that Chapter 5 will focus on.
Chapter 4 presents Kovic’s rebirth. Before he ends up in the V.A. hospital, he is still clinging to the idea that he might be able to find his old life and regain his sexuality, which is a symbol for his masculinity but also his sense of wholeness. He commits to learning to walk again after chasing human connection in the brothels of Mexico. In the hospital, however, he is treated horribly and almost loses his leg, which, though “numb and dead,” he says, is still “a part of me” (143). Losing his legs would be like death to him, but he also recognizes that he is not who he used to be and never will be.
The hospital experience kills the rest of the past for him and also awakens him to the reality of the war. He is in a hospital with old equipment and learns that the hospital is not getting sufficient money from the government. This convinces Kovic to listen to the antiwar protesters; he reflects that he “wanted to know what I had lost my legs for” and no longer saw the antiwar protesters as traitors (147). The hospital experience ultimately leads him on the path to finding his voice, too, and he makes it clear by starting his speech in the high school auditorium by “telling them about the hospital” (155). Kovic uses the first person to describe the sections of transformation and rebirth but the third person for the sections about the Memorial Day parade and his trip to Mexico. In the latter two, he is passively watching his life rather than experiencing it.
Chapter 4 is also a quest for Kovic to find a community, with each section highlighting different groups he could join. In the first section, he is put on display as a symbol of sacrifice by men in his town who did not sacrifice anything for the country. In addition to his disgust at being used as propaganda, Kovic feels that “no one seemed to care” about him or Eddie Dugan (118). He does, however, feel he can talk to Eddie and especially Tommy, both wounded veterans like himself. In the third section, he similarly connects with the veterans in Mexico, where “it made him feel good to be with so many others who were like himself” (132). Kovic suggests that wounded veterans can only really relate to other wounded veterans who know the war for what it is and do not have to explain to each other what happened or why.
This dynamic is juxtaposed by the way he is with others in his town in the second section of the chapter, when, trying to fit in with his peers, he ends up drunk and embarrassed, covered in his own urine. In section 4, the only interactions he has are with the hospital staff who mistreat him and his parents, whom he doesn’t want to talk to because he cannot tell them how much he continues to think about the war. However, at the protest in the fifth section of the chapter, as the police rush in on protesters, he finally feels a “togetherness” like “there had been in Vietnam” (153). The protest movement ultimately leads Kovic to the community he has sought.
The protest also represents a liminal space for Kovic, as it is a transformative and transgressive space that allows him a moment of clarity and a new feeling of freedom. He enters the National Mall and starts to recognize that the government is not for the people, as the White House is barricaded to keep the citizens away from the leaders. He also recognizes “total freedom” in the actions of the protesters, freedom he wants to experience. While he cannot join them in jumping into the Reflecting Pool, he watches the police act like an army and attack the protesters. Kovic makes the war metaphor explicit by calling the protesters “the invading army’s forces” being pushed back into retreat by “the blue legion” (152). Throughout the book, Kovic makes it clear that the war lives on for him in his head; here he sees warlike carnage used against American citizens, and it angers him, as he wishes he could “shout back at the charging police [and] tell them [he] was a veteran” (152). The protests in Washington thus allow Kovic to experience the high of human freedom and also the anger necessary to transform him into the antiwar speaker he will become.
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