Class of 1972 - Class of 1972 Memories
Classmates,
While I never met Brian Keefe before our 40th Reunion, he was an integral part of the Reunion
Committee. With our former yearbook photographer, Rob Goldman, Brian put together the slide
show which was continuously played throughout our class party; he spent untold hours combing
through newspapers from 1968 to 1972 to capture important events and people from that era. It is
no wonder that Brian is so accomplished at research. After majoring in economics and political
science at Penn, he obtained a JD at UCLA School of Law, an MBA at Berkley, and a masters
degree in library science from University of Texas. He has been a law librarian for 25 years. Brian,
who hails from Oakland, CA., currently lives in Reno, Nevada with his wife Giok Hua (Irene) Ko.
It would be remiss if I did not again credit Brian for originating this whole memoir project. In
response to the class survey which I sent out after the Reunion, Brian suggested that I encourage as
many of our classmates to submit some type of Penn memory which would be shared via
email. Since it was Brian who convinced me to undertake this project, it was only fair that I
requested for him to submit one.
His very personal reaction to the Mai Lai massacre is attached.
In upcoming months, we will have additional memoirs written by H. Kell Yang, Margaret Rose Ryan,
Mitch Rofsky and Mick McCue. However, we still need another 36 pieces to meet our goal of 45 for
45. Please email me at [email protected] if you would like to share a story with us. I will be
happy to utilize my once formidable editing skills to work with you.
Best,
Jeff Rothbard
President, Class of ‘72
MY LAI/MY LIFE
By way of introduction, I came to Penn as a junior transfer student from
California—driven by the need to go to an Ivy League college. At Penn, I was
driven again to get great grades, and so I ran from dorm to meals to library. I
was nerdy, but there was more to my angst; it came from a family pursued by
demons and plagued by illnesses. So, all in all, I considered myself an “outlier”,
the moody loner type.
During my second semester at Quaker U, in the spring of ’71, I was in the
office of my statistics TA, Lee Sorkin. By then, the massacre at My Lai in
Vietnam had been revealed, and Lt. William Calley was on trial. The
conversation in Lee’s office revolved around this international catastrophe. At
one point, I said that Calley’s platoon had suffered casualties in the time
immediately before the massacre. I offered that by way of explanation for what
he did. Then, I added that all Americans bore some guilt for Vietnam, and by
implication, My Lai.
Another student in the office at the time disagreed with my idea of
collective guilt. While that student left, I continued to express some sympathy
for Calley. Mr. Sorkin responded with a comment on the concept that Calley
was a hero. “He was not a hero,” Mr. Sorkin said. “He was only an average man
or less so.” I could have sympathy, even empathy, for this American officer,
sent to fight in the convoluted, hellish agony of Vietnam in a war that many
avoided and that later proved to be unnecessary. I could, or thought I could,
understand how someone could give way to fear and hatred and from those
emotions kill and order others to do so.
By contrast, I had neither the maturity nor the broadmindedness to feel
such sympathy and empathy for the dead villagers. They were not young
Americans. They were not on trial. They were not outliers. I could not grant to
them the humanity that I granted myself or others. Yet, these villagers were
people like me who desperately wanted to live just as I did.
It has taken me years to lift my gaze and to see more widely, to see not
just the outcast but to see their victims as well. We need to grieve the victims.
Truly we need to do more—to protect them. We need to understand the outcasts
and to heal them so they do not victimize. Having one perspective does not
preclude having the other. We are all on the journey of life. Part of it is an
emotional journey. That day in Dietrich Hall was a small part of mine. I hope I
have moved beyond it emotionally.
Penn was a part of my journey. I am glad it was, and I am glad that it was
a part of yours.
By Brian Keefe, W’72