I thought there were no tears left, but I was wrong. When I read about the parade in Chicago (Part I, June 14) for the men who fought and died in Vietnam, I cried again. It reminded me of a day in May, 1969. My son was being buried that day. He died in Vietnam. The long procession of mourners including Ernie's six brothers and sisters, his father and me plus hundreds of friends and relatives sat in the parking lot and waited; we waited because the people going to the races at Hollywood Park had top priority. It was a sign of the times and made this sad experience even more unbearable.