He was only 21 when he was dropped alone into an insane world he said smelled like "a 100-degree garbage dump." That began the year that would change his life forever. He was my brother, Stan, who before the Vietnam War, I described as "tall, loud, and laughing." This was his favorite photo. He played bass guitar in a band there, which may have saved his sanity and provided a brief respite from the sweltering heat. After he died in 2014, my brother and I went through his things. I hung his fatigues and the photo on his bedroom wall and took this photo. He blamed Agent Orange for the cancer that killed him at 68. It had killed him long before that. I made sure he was listed on the Agent Orange Registry. To all Veterans: Thank you for preserving our freedoms.