Latest news with #WhiteChristmas
Metro
9 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Metro
Australian music icon Marcie Jones dies aged 79 after cancer diagnosis
Marcie Jones, the trailblazing Australian singer celebrated for her dynamic presence in the 1960s girl group Marcie & The Cookies, has passed away at the age of 79. Her death on May 31, 2025, came just days after she publicly disclosed her leukemia diagnosis, expressing determination to fight the illness. Her daughter-in-law, Lisa Asta, confirmed her passing, remembering Jones as a 'legend, an icon,' and a guiding light to her family and fans. She wrote: 'It's with great sadness to let you all know that my beautiful mother-in-law, Marcie Jones, passed away yesterday evening. I feel numb inside.' 'Marc, never again will there be our little outbursts of song and dance. You made me laugh so hard and always gave me great advice. You were a legend, an icon, and you will always be remembered,' she continued. 'You always said that we were so alike in many ways, and that's why I know you will always be my guiding light.' Asta concluded: 'I will miss you so much. I love you. Until we meet again to sing another song!' The Australian Recording Industry Association also paid tribute to Jones on Instagram, calling her a 'True pioneer of Australian music.' In March 2025, Jones announced plans for a concert to celebrate her 80th birthday and 65 years in the entertainment industry, scheduled for June 29. However, her health declined rapidly. 'Sorry to start the day with rotten news. I am in hospital with [leukemia], starting treatment soon,' she wrote on social media in late May, per Express. 'We are all feeling very scared but I'll fight as hard as I can.' Born in Melbourne in 1945, Jones began her musical journey at 15, performing with local bands such as The Thunderbirds and The Playboys. Her appearances on the popular television program The Go!! Show in the mid-1960s catapulted her to national recognition. In 1967, Jones joined forces with the Cook sisters, Margaret, Beverley, and Wendy, to form Marcie & The Cookies. More Trending The group stood out in Australia's male-dominated music scene, delivering hits like I Would If I Could and a rendition of White Christmas. Their synchronized performances and vocal harmonies garnered acclaim, leading to tours across Europe, Asia, and the UK. Transitioning to a solo career in the 1970s, Jones signed with Warner Music and released her debut album, That Girl Jones, in 1974. The album featured the single Gonna Get Married, which climbed the charts. Throughout her career, she shared stages with renowned artists such as The Monkees, The Seekers, Cliff Richard, and Tom Jones. Beyond music, Jones was a multifaceted talent. She authored children's books, co-hosted a radio show titled Blonde and Blonder, and published her memoir, Runs In The Blood, in 2008. Got a story? If you've got a celebrity story, video or pictures get in touch with the entertainment team by emailing us celebtips@ calling 020 3615 2145 or by visiting our Submit Stuff page – we'd love to hear from you. MORE: Conflict frontman Colin Jerwood dies aged 63 after 'short illness' MORE: Netflix set to drop major Led Zeppelin documentary that's missing one key part MORE: OnlyFans and adult film star Koby Falks dies aged 42
Yahoo
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Five Movies Worth a Repeat Watch
This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. Welcome back to The Daily's Sunday culture edition. Not all movies are meant to be watched twice. Some leave a glancing effect; others emanate so much intensity that the idea of sitting through them again feels unbearable. But then there are those films that draw you back in, even after you've seen it all before. So we asked The Atlantic's writers and editors: What's a movie you can watch over and over again? Raising Arizona (available to rent on Prime Video) I've probably seen Raising Arizona, the Coen brothers' 1987 classic with Holly Hunter and a 22-year-old Nicholas Cage, a half dozen times over the years. But I've watched the opening sequence many, many more times than that. It's a whole movie-within-the-movie, building up to the title shot with Cage's deadpan narration, rapid-cut scenes, and a jaunty musical bed that goes from whistling and humming to weird ululating. The screenwriting has some all-time great lines ('I tried to stand up and fly straight, but it wasn't easy with that sumbitch Reagan in the White House,' says Cage, with wild hair, aviators, and a 12-gauge shotgun, preparing to stick up a convenience store). The other day, I made my 12-year-old watch it for the first time. When Cage says to his chatty prison bunkmate, incredulously, 'You ate sand?!' my son nearly fell on the floor. A true marker of timelessness. — Nick Miroff, staff writer *** White Christmas (streaming on Prime Video) It makes me miserable to contemplate how many people have never once seen the 1954 film White Christmas, let alone given it 10 to 20 percent of their attention while focusing on other activities, which is the ideal way to view it. Then again, the film's surprising obscurity is its hidden ace: From the moment you press 'Play' on White Christmas, no one who glances at the screen will be able to predict or even comprehend any aspect of the Technicolor encephalitic fever dream exploding before them unless they have previously seen White Christmas. In any given frame, a viewer might be confronted with a horde of people cavorting inside a giant purple void, waggling tambourines adorned with women's faces; the bombed-out smoldering remains of 1944 Europe; or the virtuoso dancer Vera-Ellen, in head-to-heel chartreuse, executing pirouettes at faster-than-heartbeat speeds (for no defined reason). Muted, it makes for terrific social lubricant at a party—there's something dazzling to remark upon nearly every second if conversation lags. Don't concern yourself with the plot; the film's writers did not. — Caity Weaver, staff writer *** The Lord of the Rings franchise (streaming on Max) I suppose my answer is less of a love letter to a movie than it is one to my family. My husband is the movie buff in our family—I'll rarely be caught rewatching movies. But his undying loyalty to the Lord of the Rings franchise means we've watched the trilogy together multiple times, more than once in an 11-plus-hour binge. (Yeah … it's the extended editions, every time.) The movies are a genuinely gorgeous feat of storytelling, bested only by the books; fantasy and action sequences aside, they spotlight friendship, loyalty, and the dueling motivations of pride, duty, and greed. And for our family, at least, they'll be a regular feature—I'm pretty sure it was implicit in our wedding vows that we'd indoctrinate our kids into the LOTR lore—which means that the films are about carving out time for one another as well. — Katherine J. Wu, staff writer *** All Your Faces (available to rent on Google Play and Apple TV) I've watched the French film All Your Faces three times in the past eight months. The movie isn't a documentary, but it's based on real restorative-justice programs in France that were introduced about a decade ago. Why did I repeatedly return to a film about an idiosyncratic feature of a foreign country's criminal-justice system? There's something about the encounter between victim and perpetrator, and the instability and unpredictability of these interactions, that surprised me each time I watched it. Equally intense was the tenderness between the instructors and the programs' participants, most evident between the characters played by Adèle Exarchopoulos and Élodie Bouchez. But it's Miou-Miou, playing an elderly victim of petty street crime, who delivers the most haunting line in the movie: 'I don't understand the violence.' A mantra for our time. — Isaac Stanley-Becker, staff writer *** Little Women (streaming on Hulu) Little Women first came to me as a comfort movie. Based on Louisa May Alcott's 1868 novel, Greta Gerwig's 2019 film adaptation features not so much plot as simply vibes: a familiar tale of four sisters and their childhood friend, scenes of a snowy Christmas morning perfect for the holidays. But with each subsequent encounter during my lonely postgraduate months in a new city, I began to appreciate the little rebellions that make Gerwig's Little Women so special. The story is full of moments of seeing: Professor Bhaer turns around to watch Jo watching a play, Laurie gazes into the Marches' windows, and we, as viewers, feel seen by Jo's boyish brashness. But Gerwig also chooses to focus on Jo's many anxieties. Early in the film, Jo uncharacteristically dismisses her own writing ('Those are just stories,' she says. Just!); later, her monologue reveals a vulnerable desire for companionship (But I'm so lonely!). Gerwig honors the story's essence, but her version is not a granular retelling; rather, it serves as a homage to the art of writing itself—and women's mundane, humble stories, which Jo and Alcott are desperate to tell. — Yvonne Kim, associate editor Here are three Sunday reads from The Atlantic: The perilous spread of the wellness craze Bring back communal kid discipline. The conversations Trump's doctors should be having with him The Week Ahead Ballerina, an action movie in the John Wick franchise starring Ana de Armas as an assassin bent on avenging her father's death (in theaters Friday) Season 3 of Ginny & Georgia, a comedy-drama series about a single mom and two kids trying to settle down in a new town (premieres Thursday on Netflix) The Haves and the Have-Yachts, a book by the journalist Evan Osnos featuring dispatches on the ultrarich (out Tuesday) Essay Diddy's Defenders By Xochitl Gonzalez Diddy—whose legal name is Sean Combs—has pleaded not guilty to the charges he faces of racketeering conspiracy and sex trafficking. Many Americans have taken to the comment sections to offer their full-throated belief in his innocence. Despite the video evidence of domestic violence, the photos of Combs's guns with serial numbers removed, and the multiple witnesses testifying that Combs threatened to kill them, this group insists that Diddy's biggest sin is nothing more than being a hypermasculine celebrity with 'libertine' sexual tastes. Read the full article. More in Culture What the show of the summer knows about intimacy Five books that will redirect your attention Unraveling the secrets of the Inca empire How a recession might tank American romance A film that captures a 'friend breakup' Catch Up on David Frum: The Trump presidency's world-historical heist Adam Serwer: The new Dark Age The coming Democratic civil war Photo Album Take a look at the beauty of the North. These photographs are by Olivier Morin, who captures remarkable images of the natural world, largely focusing on northern climates. Play our daily crossword. Explore all of our newsletters. When you buy a book using a link in this newsletter, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
Five Movies Worth a Repeat Watch
This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. Welcome back to The Daily's Sunday culture edition. Not all movies are meant to be watched twice. Some leave a glancing effect; others emanate so much intensity that the idea of sitting through them again feels unbearable. But then there are those films that draw you back in, even after you've seen it all before. So we asked The Atlantic 's writers and editors: What's a movie you can watch over and over again? Raising Arizona (available to rent on Prime Video) I've probably seen Raising Arizona, the Coen brothers' 1987 classic with Holly Hunter and a 22-year-old Nicholas Cage, a half dozen times over the years. But I've watched the opening sequence many, many more times than that. It's a whole movie-within-the-movie, building up to the title shot with Cage's deadpan narration, rapid-cut scenes, and a jaunty musical bed that goes from whistling and humming to weird ululating. The screenwriting has some all-time great lines ('I tried to stand up and fly straight, but it wasn't easy with that sumbitch Reagan in the White House,' says Cage, with wild hair, aviators, and a 12-gauge shotgun, preparing to stick up a convenience store). The other day, I made my 12-year-old watch it for the first time. When Cage says to his chatty prison bunkmate, incredulously, 'You ate sand?!' my son nearly fell on the floor. A true marker of timelessness. — Nick Miroff, staff writer White Christmas (streaming on Prime Video) It makes me miserable to contemplate how many people have never once seen the 1954 film White Christmas, let alone given it 10 to 20 percent of their attention while focusing on other activities, which is the ideal way to view it. Then again, the film's surprising obscurity is its hidden ace: From the moment you press 'Play' on White Christmas, no one who glances at the screen will be able to predict or even comprehend any aspect of the Technicolor encephalitic fever dream exploding before them unless they have previously seen White Christmas. In any given frame, a viewer might be confronted with a horde of people cavorting inside a giant purple void, waggling tambourines adorned with women's faces; the bombed-out smoldering remains of 1944 Europe; or the virtuoso dancer Vera-Ellen, in head-to-heel chartreuse, executing pirouettes at faster-than-heartbeat speeds (for no defined reason). Muted, it makes for terrific social lubricant at a party—there's something dazzling to remark upon nearly every second if conversation lags. Don't concern yourself with the plot; the film's writers did not. — Caity Weaver, staff writer The Lord of the Rings franchise (streaming on Max) I suppose my answer is less of a love letter to a movie than it is one to my family. My husband is the movie buff in our family—I'll rarely be caught rewatching movies. But his undying loyalty to the Lord of the Rings franchise means we've watched the trilogy together multiple times, more than once in an 11-plus-hour binge. (Yeah … it's the extended editions, every time.) The movies are a genuinely gorgeous feat of storytelling, bested only by the books; fantasy and action sequences aside, they spotlight friendship, loyalty, and the dueling motivations of pride, duty, and greed. And for our family, at least, they'll be a regular feature—I'm pretty sure it was implicit in our wedding vows that we'd indoctrinate our kids into the LOTR lore—which means that the films are about carving out time for one another as well. — Katherine J. Wu, staff writer All Your Faces (available to rent on Google Play and Apple TV) I've watched the French film All Your Faces three times in the past eight months. The movie isn't a documentary, but it's based on real restorative-justice programs in France that were introduced about a decade ago. Why did I repeatedly return to a film about an idiosyncratic feature of a foreign country's criminal-justice system? There's something about the encounter between victim and perpetrator, and the instability and unpredictability of these interactions, that surprised me each time I watched it. Equally intense was the tenderness between the instructors and the programs' participants, most evident between the characters played by Adèle Exarchopoulos and Élodie Bouchez. But it's Miou-Miou, playing an elderly victim of petty street crime, who delivers the most haunting line in the movie: 'I don't understand the violence.' A mantra for our time. — Isaac Stanley-Becker, staff writer Little Women (streaming on Hulu) Little Women first came to me as a comfort movie. Based on Louisa May Alcott's 1868 novel, Greta Gerwig's 2019 film adaptation features not so much plot as simply vibes: a familiar tale of four sisters and their childhood friend, scenes of a snowy Christmas morning perfect for the holidays. But with each subsequent encounter during my lonely postgraduate months in a new city, I began to appreciate the little rebellions that make Gerwig's Little Women so special. The story is full of moments of seeing: Professor Bhaer turns around to watch Jo watching a play, Laurie gazes into the Marches' windows, and we, as viewers, feel seen by Jo's boyish brashness. But Gerwig also chooses to focus on Jo's many anxieties. Early in the film, Jo uncharacteristically dismisses her own writing ('Those are just stories,' she says. Just!); later, her monologue reveals a vulnerable desire for companionship (But I'm so lonely!). Gerwig honors the story's essence, but her version is not a granular retelling; rather, it serves as a homage to the art of writing itself—and women's mundane, humble stories, which Jo and Alcott are desperate to tell. The Week Ahead Ballerina, an action movie in the John Wick franchise starring Ana de Armas as an assassin bent on avenging her father's death (in theaters Friday) Season 3 of Ginny & Georgia, a comedy-drama series about a single mom and two kids trying to settle down in a new town (premieres Thursday on Netflix) The Haves and the Have-Yachts, a book by the journalist Evan Osnos featuring dispatches on the ultrarich (out Tuesday) Essay Diddy's Defenders Diddy—whose legal name is Sean Combs—has pleaded not guilty to the charges he faces of racketeering conspiracy and sex trafficking. Many Americans have taken to the comment sections to offer their full-throated belief in his innocence. Despite the video evidence of domestic violence, the photos of Combs's guns with serial numbers removed, and the multiple witnesses testifying that Combs threatened to kill them, this group insists that Diddy's biggest sin is nothing more than being a hypermasculine celebrity with 'libertine' sexual tastes. More in Culture Catch Up on The Atlantic Photo Album Take a look at the beauty of the North. These photographs are by Olivier Morin, who captures remarkable images of the natural world, largely focusing on northern climates.
The Star
20-05-2025
- General
- The Star
The war that still haunts America
A SCRATCHY prerecorded message crackled over American Armed Forces radio in Saigon 50 years ago, announcing the temperature was '105 degrees and rising', before playing a snippet of White Christmas. It was a covert signal – the emergency evacuation had begun. After 15 years of fighting, US$140bil in military spending, and 58,220 American lives lost, the last US foothold in Saigon was collapsing. The Vietnam War was ending. Or was it? As the United States marks a half-century since that chaotic April day in 1975, veterans say the war still echoes through American culture, politics and their own lives. And its lessons, they argue, remain unlearned. Iconic images of the fall of Saigon – crowds scrambling onto the US embassy roof, desperate for the last helicopters out – remain seared into the nation's memory. 'We watched the city die right in front of us,' recalled Douglas Potratz, a Marine veteran based at the embassy. 'So many had died, and it was all for nothing.' Then a 21-year-old sergeant, Potratz helped hundreds flee before boarding the penultimate chopper. 'Some of us cried,' he said. 'Others were too exhausted to feel anything.' Now 71, Potratz said the war's scars linger. At their five-year reunions, he's seen how anger, depression and regret haunted fellow Marines. Six have died by suicide. 'The trauma was immense,' he said. 'Many didn't realise they needed help until decades later.' The Vietnam War left a festering wound in American life. The US military, the world's most advanced, had entered Vietnam's civil war in the early 1960s, expecting a swift victory over communist insurgents. 'Our machine was devastating. And versatile,' wrote war correspondent Michael Herr in his 1977 memoir Dispatches. 'It could do everything but stop.' By Potratz's arrival, the war was a brutal stalemate. The United States had withdrawn most troops but still funded South Vietnam's army. Few foresaw its sudden collapse. 'We thought it impossible,' Potratz said. 'Then North Vietnamese jets strafed Saigon, and tanks hit the airfield.' Panicked crowds stormed the embassy. Marines frisked evacuees, tossing confiscated weapons into the pool, and loaded choppers bound for US ships. Afghan refugees boarding planes in Kabul, Afghanistan, Aug 23, 2021. – Victor J. Blue/The New York Times The 24-hour airlift barely made a dent. Finally, the exhausted Marines retreated, barricaded the doors, jammed the elevators and burned classified documents on the roof. By dawn on April 30, only a handful remained, watching smoke rise as desparate Vietnamese civilians rammed the embassy walls with a fire truck. Two helicopters finally arrived. The Marines shed gear, piled in and fled. 'It all collapsed on us,' Potratz said. He paused, then added: 'But now, I feel like I've seen it in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Ukraine. It's almost spooky.' Saigon's fall triggered decades of national reckoning. Distrust seeped into pop culture – like 1982's Rambo, where the hero's enemy is his own government. For the next 30 years, candidates for president tried to both condemn the Vietnam War and honour those who fought in it, while accusing opponents of being skaters, fakers and draft dodgers. When the United States invaded Iraq and Afghanistan, political leaders argued over whether those conflicts were exactly like Vietnam or nothing like it. Then came Kabul's fall in 2021 – desperate crowds, frantic Marines – a grim replay. 'The harmonics of Vietnam have reverberated in some really tragic ways,' said James Moriarty, a trial lawyer who was a Marine helicopter door gunner during the height of the fighting in Vietnam. 'I realised within a week we weren't winning,' he said. 'But I believed our leaders knew what they were doing. Later, I learned we'd been lied to.' The disillusionment drove Moriarty to become a lawyer, challenging powerful institutions. 'Those in charge lie, they harm and politicians lack the courage to stop it,' he said. The war's tragedy hit hardest in 2016, when his son – an Army Green Beret – was killed in Jordan. His son was there as part of a Middle East strategy shaped by the American experience in Vietnam. 'I was devastated,' Moriarty said. 'And for the first time, I understood how devastated all the families in Vietnam, on all sides, must have felt.' Many veterans fear those lessons are forgotten. Mike Vining, an Army specialist in Vietnam, later joined Delta Force, a counterterrorism unit that he said was created by combat veterans of the wars in South-East Asia. The lesson, he said, was that focused use of units like Delta often worked better than massive deployments. 'Don't poke a hornet's nest, then try to kill every hornet,' he said. But, he noted, that was more or less what happened in Iraq and Afghanistan. Vining said that to veterans like him, the Pentagon seems to keep repeating its mistakes of 50 years ago. 'They just don't seem to learn,' he said. 'I just don't understand it.' — ©2025 The New York Times Company This article originally appeared in The New York Times
New York Times
30-04-2025
- General
- New York Times
Vietnam Veterans Worry That a War's Hard Lessons Are Being Forgotten
A scratchy prerecorded message crackled over American Armed Forces radio in Saigon 50 years ago, repeating that the temperature was '105 degrees and rising,' and then playing a 30-second excerpt from the song 'White Christmas.' It was a secret signal to begin emergency evacuation. After about 15 years of fighting, $140 billion in military spending and 58,220 American lives lost, the last American foothold in Saigon was falling. The Vietnam War was ending. Or was it? Today, as the United States marks a half-century since that chaotic day in April 1975, veterans say the war continues to reverberate through American culture and politics, as well as their own lives. And the experience still holds pressing lessons, they add — lessons the nation seems not to have learned. American newspapers printed images of the fall of Saigon that are still burned in the nation's memory: crowds clambering to the rooftop of the U.S. Embassy to try to get on the last helicopters out. 'We witnessed the city dying there right in front of us,' recalled Douglas Potratz, a Marine veteran who was there. 'So many people had died in Vietnam, and it was all gone.' He was a 21-year-old sergeant in the embassy guard unit. After helping hundreds of people flee, he left with other Marines on the second-to-last flight out. 'A lot of us cried,' he recalled this week about watching the city recede from the helicopter. 'But a lot were too tired to do anything at all.' Mr. Potratz, now 71, said the Marine guards hold a reunion every five years, and he has seen how the war stayed with them long after they got home. Some have been dogged by anger, depression, drinking and regret. Six have died by suicide, he said. 'There was so much trauma,' he said. 'A lot of us didn't realize we needed to deal with it until 20 or 30 years later.' If they had, he said, 'we could have saved a lot of marriages and a lot of livers.' In the same way, the Vietnam War became a stubborn wound in American life. The U.S. military, the most advanced in the world, had gotten heavily involved in the civil war in Vietnam in the early 1960s, believing that victory over Communist insurgents would come swiftly. 'Our machine was devastating. And versatile,' the war correspondent Michael Herr wrote in 'Dispatches,' his 1977 memoir. 'It could do everything but stop.' By the time Mr. Potratz arrived in Saigon, the war had devolved into a deadly grind. The United States had signed a peace deal and withdrawn nearly all its troops, but was still spending heavily to equip the South Vietnamese Army, which few of the young Marine guards imagined would suddenly collapse. 'We thought it was impossible, but before long, there were North Vietnamese jets strafing Saigon and tanks attacking the airfield,' Mr. Potratz recalled. Panicking Americans and their Vietnamese allies flooded the embassy compound. The Marines let as many as they could through the gates, frisking them for weapons and throwing what they found into the embassy pool, and then loaded people onto helicopters that took off about every 10 minutes, bound for U.S. Navy ships offshore. The airlift lasted nearly 24 hours, but barely dented the throngs hoping for escape. Eventually, the exhausted Marines fell back to the main embassy building, barricaded the doors, jammed the elevators, burned the last armloads of the embassy's classified documents in barrels on the roof, and waited to escape. By dawn on April 30, leaders from the U.S. military and State Department — who had run the war for years — had all gotten out. It was just a few young Marines left, watching smoke rise over the city as Vietnamese civilians frantically tried to ram their way through the embassy wall with a fire truck. 'We waited hours, and we honestly thought we had been forgotten,' Mr. Potratz said. Finally, two helicopters appeared. The Marines peeled off helmets and flak jackets to lighten the load, piled in the choppers and flew away. 'It all came down on us,' Mr. Potratz said. 'I had never seen anything like it.' He paused, then added: 'But now, I feel like I've seen it in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Ukraine. It's almost spooky.' The fall of Saigon began a cycle of national soul-searching that changed how the United States thinks about itself. Trust was frayed to breaking. Suspicion oozed into pop culture. In the first 'Rambo' movie, released in 1982, the enemy that the Vietnam veteran John Rambo is forced to fight is his own government. For the next 30 years, candidates for president tried to both condemn the Vietnam War and honor those who fought in it, while accusing opponents of being skaters, fakers and draft dodgers. When the United States invaded Iraq and Afghanistan, political leaders argued over whether those conflicts were exactly like Vietnam or nothing like it. Then came the fall of Kabul in 2021, with its eerily similar scenes of desperate crowds pressing against a few frantic Marines. 'The harmonics of Vietnam have reverberated in some really tragic ways,' said James R. Moriarty, a trial lawyer who was a Marine helicopter door gunner during the height of the fighting in Vietnam in the late 1960s. 'I was on the ground about a week before I figured out that there was no way we were winning that war,' Mr. Moriarty said. 'But I had a young, naïve lower-middle-class idea that surely our politicians and military leaders knew what they were doing. I didn't learn until later that we had been lied to the whole time.' Mr. Moriarty said the experience shaped his decision to become a trial lawyer and take on powerful institutions and large corporations in court. 'It taught me that the folks in charge cannot be trusted, that they lie to people, they harm people,' he said. 'And the political leaders often don't have the guts to do anything about it.' He said he did not fully understand the tragedy of the war until 2016, when his son, an Army Green Beret, was killed by a terrorist attack in Jordan. His son was there as part of a Middle East military strategy shaped by the American experience in Vietnam. 'I was devastated,' Mr. Moriarty said. 'And for the first time, I understood how devastated all the families in Vietnam, on all sides, must have felt.' Many Vietnam veterans worry that the lessons their generation learned seem to have been lost. Mike Vining arrived in Vietnam as an Army specialist in 1970 and spent much of his time there blowing up American munitions left behind at fire bases that the South Vietnamese Army had abandoned. He later served in the Delta Force, a counterterrorism unit that he said was created by combat veterans of the wars in Southeast Asia. What he and his comrades learned, Mr. Vining said, was that focused use of units like Delta would in any cases be a better approach than the big deployments of conventional forces that seemed only to make things worse in Vietnam. 'You don't go to a hornet's nest, hit it with a stick, then try to kill all the hornets,' he said. But, he noted, that was more or less what happened in Iraq and Afghanistan. Mr. Vining said that to veterans like him, the Pentagon seems to keep repeating its mistakes of 50 years ago. 'They just don't seem to learn,' he said. 'I just don't understand it.'
