The Fog Of War

• Share

(6 of 8)

Restless by the spring of 1971, Kerrey went home to seek a new life in Nebraska. He tried out the antiwar movement but quit when rallies seemed antiveteran. Then he married and turned his attention to business. With his brother-in-law, he started a restaurant chain that made a pile of money. His dedication to the job took a toll on his marriage; he divorced after four years. Yet in those years came the first release from the psychic pain he said often made "it difficult to see." The moment he felt healed was when his son was born and again when his daughter arrived two years later. Yet he did not tell his grown-up children about Thanh Phong until two weeks ago. Now he talks of how healing it is to hear that they still love him.

Around 1978 he had switched his registration from Republican to Democrat. In 1982 he shocked his friends with another abrupt change: he was running for Governor. No doubt his war record helped in the Republican stronghold: he not only won but wowed the state. His romance with actress Debra Winger added to his allure. Then in 1986 he surprised everyone again by announcing he would not seek a second term, despite a popularity rating of more than 70%.

He didn't explain it then, but Vietnam was pulling at him again. Less than a week after leaving office in 1987, Kerrey was at the University of California at Santa Barbara as an instructor in a class on the Vietnam War run by Walter Capps, a religious-studies professor who would later serve a term in Congress. When they first met, Kerrey asked if Capps had ever read Elie Wiesel, the Holocaust writer. Capps said he had. "Then you know that when an event is unspeakable, it takes a while to learn the right words," Kerrey said. Capps, who died in 1997, recalled that in his first lecture, Kerrey ended with a startling comment: it's more difficult to kill for your country than to die for your country. But while Kerrey would go on at length about tactics and strategy, he never discussed his own experiences.

During the 10 weeks Kerrey taught with Capps, Nebraska Senator Edward Zorinsky died, opening up a seat in the U.S. Senate. Kerrey switched back into politics and won the race. Celebrating on election night, he sang a searing Australian ballad of a soldier whose legs were blown off at Gallipoli: "Then a big Turkish shell knocked me ass over head/ And when I awoke in my hospital bed/ I saw what it had done/ And I wished I were dead./ Never knew there were worse things than dying."

Kerrey flourished in the Senate, where his candor and maverick streak made him a man to respect. But after his dismal 1992 presidential bid, his life took a new direction. He fell in love; a close friend his age died. "He was starting to look at his life in a lot of different ways," says Steve Jarding, his chief political operative at the time. In late 1998, Kerrey considered another White House run in 2000, then decided against it. As a result, Newsweek opted not to publish Vistica's story. "There's something going on in your psyche," Jarding told Kerrey, "that says you don't want to be here." Four months ago, he left the Senate to become president of the New School University in New York City; he and second wife Sarah Paley expect a child in October.