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Honor and duty for his fallen son

Richard Dvorin is working the night shift, answering a hotline for those who have felt war's pain -- a pain he feels every day.

COLUMN ONE

April 26, 2008|Erika Hayasaki, Times Staff Writer

As Dvorin speaks, Barack Obama flashes across his big-screen television. He's on CNN talking at a campaign event in Greensboro, N.C. For half an hour, Obama answers questions about poverty, immigration, labor, Social Security, religion, the economy.

No one asks the Democratic presidential candidate about the war.


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Polls show that interest is waning. Between August and February, public awareness of the number of American military fatalities in Iraq declined, according to a report by the Pew Research Center for the People and the Press.

At the same time, news stories devoted to the war dropped from an average of 15% of the news hole in July to just 3% in February, according to the Project for Excellence in Journalism.

Dvorin doesn't need statistics to confirm what he already knows. After the five-year anniversary of the U.S. invasion of Iraq recently came and went, he watched tributes sputter out of the news cycle again.

The television is off now, the room quiet. The flag that draped Seth's coffin rests folded in a wooden box on the coffee table, next to his military medals and a dried rose from the funeral.

"Seth was more than a son to me," Dvorin says. He draws his breath and cries again. "He was my friend; he was my confidant; he was my idol. I lost a lot."

Dvorin wipes his tears, puts on his jacket and climbs into his gray van, its rear painted with Seth's name.

"I know that's what he would want me to do -- continue helping people," he says.

"So I do."

The call center is buzzing when Dvorin sits down at his cubicle, tilts a framed photo of Seth toward himself, and turns on his computer. He has an important number to dial today.

A week earlier, he went to a soldier's funeral. He tries to attend as many local services for soldiers as he can, and he usually stays anonymous. But this time he offered his condolences to the family and told them about the hotline. A few days later, the mother called.

Her husband "was just starting to lose it," Dvorin says. He spent two hours talking to her, staying calm and focused.

"Everybody in the office was there, and ready to jump on the call just in case I broke," Dvorin says. "But I handled myself well."

Dvorin arranged for the couple to receive counseling, and a therapist got in touch with them that day. Tonight, Dvorin pulls their file up on his screen and dials the number, reaching the mother.

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