Earlier this year, I learned that my investigative memoir, Because: A CIA Coverup and a Son’s Odyssey to Find the Father He Never Knew, was shortlisted and ultimately became a finalist for the highly respected Chanticleer International Book Awards in the Military & Front Lines Service to Others Non-Fiction Category. Last night, I received the news that Because won first place. Of the ten awards the book has received so far, I am most proud of this one, and I like to think my father is as well, since the award’s central focus is on works that focus on service to others. When I’m asked at author events what I most hope readers take away from my book, my answer is always about how to serve those in most need. It’s strange—I never intended for my book to adopt a spiritual theme, yet the phrase “the least of us, among us,” from Matthew 25:40, comes to mind whenever I reflect on my father’s written words and actions in Vietnam, reminding me how closely service and faith are intertwined.
Much like Jesus, my father fought for, served, and cared for the marginalized and those in need—especially the poor, the hungry, the sick, and refugees. His compassion was not passive; it was a living, breathing force that guided his every action. As examples, he wrote:
“I could eat and sleep with the American military but I don’t feel I should. Never did think they should … like separate. Still don’t know how in the hell can you know what people are doing, how they are living if you don’t do it with them. I am sure what I say is correct. I can do so much more than most Americans. I try to be part of the people.” He added in other letters, “Even the VC know I am for the people…I hope,” and “No one, but no one gets out with the people and sees that they get food or what they have coming.”
I tell others that I hope my story about my father serves as a beacon—a much-needed reminder in this day and age that more of us should be unwavering in our commitment to truth, willing to take bold risks, and ready to stand up against injustice and corruption—especially for the marginalized whose voices are too often silenced.
Perhaps it’s due to my advancing age, but I often wonder: How can anyone find peace while living a lie—and eventually face the end of life carrying that burden?
Perhaps, in the end, it is our willingness to take risks—even to lay down our lives for the truth—that defines the legacy we leave behind. Through acts of courage and selflessness, we carve lasting marks upon the world, leaving indelible traces that urge others to rise, to speak, and to serve. If my memoir can spark even a single moment of bravery or compassion in another, then I will know its deepest purpose has been fulfilled.
James B. Wells 