Arlington Midwest was more than a symbolic reminder of the human cost of war: it was a place where that cost could be openly expressed. Ray was an example. Grand Circus Park in downtown Detroit is home to many of our city's homeless. And all too many of these folks are veterans of America's many wars, especially Vietnam and, most recently, Iraq. So when this travelling installation of over 4200 mock wooden tombstones and poles with the names of both U.S. troops and civilians killed in Iraq came to their park, there were strong reactions. Dan Lombardo, Detroit's organizer for this event, and the volunteers he had enlisted to stay with the installation 24 hours a day from Thursday until Tuesday morning, were often in the line of fire. When I got there on Saturday afternoon, they'd already had to call the police once because of Ray's rage and threats. But the police had never shown up. So when Ray, an Iraq war veteran, again got in Dan's and then in Cindy's faces with his yelled objections to the Arabic music that was part of the CD that accompanied the exhibit, we all understood but were uneasy about where this might go. After Ray's rant had gone on for a long ten minutes, I found myself scooting up and taking his hand. He stopped yelling for a moment and looked down at me. I said, "My name's Patricia. Can you tell me your name?" I can hardly describe what happened next. Within a minute or two I'd opened my arms, and Ray had put his head on my shoulder and started to weep. It was then that we saw the wrenching grief and remorse that his anger was trying to hide, especially from himself. "I trained these boys. I should have protected them!" He then told us of a 19 year-old man in his unit who had died in his arms after his legs had been blown off by a roadside bomb. We never know, do we?