THE FORGOTTEN HEROES - by Madge Endicott

In the 1960's and early 70's, so many of our American boys were sent off to Southeast Asia to fight for their country. They didn't want to go, most didn't understand why they were being sent. But still, they went. Like their fathers did in World War II. Like their grandfathers did in World War I. But unlike their fathers and grandfathers, when they returned there were no parades, no thanks from a grateful nation. They were forgotten heroes.

Well, I know how they feel. For I, Madge Endicott, also answered the call when my country needed me. In the aftermath of September 11th, President Bush urged consumers to go out to the malls and spend to keep our nation's economy strong. And that's what I did.

While others burned their Discover Cards or headed off to Canada (where the dollar is stronger) I was shipping out to places like Westfarms Mall and The Pavilions at Buckland Hills, known as "The Hill" to those of us who were there. We faced the carnage of 50% Off Everything at Lechters, and held our ground under persistent employee barrages at the Disney Store in what veterans now refer to as "Plush Hell." I saw my best friend, Iris Wagner, pay the ultimate price for her country. She maxed out her American Express card during the infamous "White Sale Massacre" at Filene's Basement. If not for the twenty dollars of mad money that I keep in my purse, it could have been me.

Later, having been relieved by members of the Chamber of Commerce Reserves, I'm not ashamed to say that I wept into my Orange Julius. I came home to nothing. As I unloaded bag after bag of merchandise from my BMW, I seethed. Where was our parade? Did no one care? For all of the flags flying from my neighbors houses and patriotic bumper stickers, not one person had the decency to say a simple "thank you."

Perhaps it's tough for them to understand what we went through. How can I explain what it's like to hold their best friend in your arms, fighting back tears as she moans desperately into her cell phone, trying to get customer service to extend her credit limit? This is why, in order to raise awareness of these brave consumers, I have published my war memoirs.

"The Forgotten Heroes" will be published by Endicott Press, my son Jeremy's newest venture. He is a whiz on the computer, has been accepted at Dartmouth and doesn't have a girlfriend. All proceeds from the sale of the book will go towards establishing a memorial to these brave shoppers in Washington D.C. Here's an excerpt: "The automatic door slides shut behind me, cutting off the outside world. The sounds of birds singing and children laughing, the sounds of freedom and innocence, are gone. In their place is an instrumental version of "The Wind Beneath My Wings." A quick glance to the left, Ruby Tuesdays is filled with a mixture of rookies and battle-hardened veterans. For some, this is an oasis, a respite from the horrors of the mall. For others, this is the last taste of civilization before the unknown. I keep moving. As I step onto the escalator the aroma of cappuccino from Gloria Jean's Coffee Beans takes me briefly back to a simpler time, but that doesn't last. The escalator is taking me down now. I can see the madness that I am about to descend into. Iris is behind me, murmuring a prayer. Instinctively I reach into my bag, my fingers find my Gold Card. My heart is pounding. We're about to get into the shit and I've never felt so alive."