Travel in Time with Dan: Fictional Interview with Gerry Wright, Vietnam Veteran and Founder of the Agent Orange Monument (1940s–Present)
Dan: Hello everyone! I’m here in Andover, Connecticut, at the beautiful Monument Park—home to one of the very few Agent Orange Monuments in the entire country. Over my shoulder stands a powerful symbol of remembrance and responsibility. I’m honored to “sit down” with the man who made it happen—Vietnam veteran and community leader, Gerry Wright. Welcome, Mr. Wright.
Gerry Wright: Thank you, Dan. It’s humbling to be here, especially standing beside something that represents so much pain, sacrifice, and healing. This monument isn’t just stone—it’s memory. It’s a promise that what happened to us will not be forgotten.
Dan: Let’s go back in time. Tell us about your service in Vietnam and how Agent Orange became part of your story.
Gerry Wright: I was a young man when I went to Vietnam, like so many others. We were told we were fighting to stop the spread of communism. But out there, in that dense jungle, the war felt more like survival than ideology. The Vietcong used guerrilla tactics—pop up, vanish, disappear into the green. To fight back, our government launched Operation Ranch Hand, spraying millions of gallons of herbicides to strip the land bare. We called it Agent Orange—named for the orange stripe on the 55-gallon drums. I didn’t think much about it at the time. It was just part of the mission. But years later, my body told a different story.
Dan: You suffered from exposure?
Gerry Wright: Yes. At first, small things—rashes that wouldn’t heal, fatigue that didn’t make sense. Then the bigger issues started. The doctors confirmed what I feared: Agent Orange exposure. I wasn’t alone. Thousands of us came home carrying invisible wounds. Worse, our children—and even grandchildren—started showing birth defects and illnesses linked to that same exposure. That’s when I realized this wasn’t just about me. It was about all of us.
Dan: And that realization led to this monument here in Andover.
Gerry Wright: Exactly. I wanted a place where people could come, reflect, and understand. Connecticut didn’t have an Agent Orange memorial, and there are only a handful nationwide. So, I began a grassroots campaign—letters, fundraisers, community meetings. The people of Andover stood up. They donated, they volunteered, they shared their stories. Slowly, stone by stone, this monument rose—not from government funding, but from compassion and shared purpose.
Dan: It’s amazing what community can accomplish when one person takes the first step. What does this monument mean to you personally?
Gerry Wright: It’s a place of truth. You see, for decades, there was confusion and denial. The government called Agent Orange “strategic defoliation”—a necessary wartime tactic. But others argued it was chemical warfare, a violation of international law. That’s a heavy question—one that puts us on slippery moral ground. I can’t answer it completely. What I can do is make sure we remember. Ignoring history doesn’t heal wounds—it deepens them. This monument says, “We see you. We hear you. We won’t forget.”
Dan: That’s powerful. There’s also a global dimension here—millions of Vietnamese civilians were affected as well.
Gerry Wright: Yes. That’s part of the tragedy. Agent Orange didn’t discriminate between uniforms. It poisoned rivers, farms, families. It’s a human story, not just an American one. And while our country has made progress in caring for veterans, we still struggle with how to take responsibility for the full scope of what happened. Healing means facing the whole truth, not just the parts that are convenient.
Dan: You mentioned earlier that leadership plays a big role in remembrance. What do you mean by that?
Gerry Wright: Leadership isn’t about comfort—it’s about courage. The easy thing would’ve been to forget Agent Orange, to leave it in the past. But real leadership requires empathy, accountability, and the will to confront painful truths. Building this monument wasn’t easy. It forced conversations that some people didn’t want to have. But if we can’t talk about our mistakes, how can we ever grow? Leadership is choosing the harder right over the easier wrong.
Dan: That’s a timeless lesson. What would you say to younger generations who visit this park and see this monument?
Gerry Wright: I’d tell them: remember what happened here—and why. The decisions made in faraway rooms affect real people on the ground. Technology and warfare always come with consequences, often long after the shooting stops. Be thoughtful, be informed, and never lose your humanity. And most of all, honor those who suffered by working for a better, wiser future.
Dan: Gerry, thank you so much for your service and your leadership. This monument stands as both a warning and a beacon—a call to remember, reflect, and lead with empathy.
Gerry Wright: Thank you, Dan. If this monument helps even one person understand that truth carries a cost—and that remembrance is a duty—then it’s all been worth it.
Dan: Beautifully said. Here in Andover, Connecticut, this humble monument reminds us that the past isn’t over—it lives in the choices we make today. From war and pain can come reflection and hope, if we’re brave enough to remember.
