Tommy  Kingston  lived  here.   He  still does,  in  a  way.  Because people cared about  what happened to him.   When I wrote about Tommy,  who was our carrier boy and neighbor,  last January, I wondered if it really mattered to anybody in the world beyond 1812 Munster Ave.

They cared enough about Tommy Kingston to send his mother, Mrs. Vlovodale Kingston McLean,  hundreds of  letters  and  cards.   They  filled  the  "Visitor" books at  the  funeral  home  and  church  where  services  were held.   Scores of people who took time out on a busy weekend to honor a young man whom they had never known.

Because  Tommy's  commanding  officer  cared,  Mrs. Kingston McLean knows that her son was mortally wounded in action on the night of last Jan. 21 during an enemy attack and that, despite quick first aid, died at 9:10 p.m. that evening, but not before he had been given the last rites of the church of his faith.

Because the commanding general of the 3rd Marine Division cared, he sat down and  wrote,  from  his heart,  "There  is nothing  I can say  that in  any way  will lighten  your anguish  over  the loss of your dear son.   Words  are feeble things at best and, at a time like this quite useless . . . . But we, his comrades, are in his debt forever."

President Lyndon Johnson  may  write  the  same message  to the parents  of all those who die in Vietnam, but Tommy's mother believes,  and I do, having read it, that Mr. Johnson  personally signed  the note which said,  "Dear Mrs. Kings- ton,  I  was  deeply  distressed  to  learn  of  the  death  of your  son, Lance Cpl. Thomas L. Kingston . . . . Calling on young Americans to  suffer great pain and even  loss of life in Vietnam  is the most agonizing and  painful responsibility of my office."

If  there is a  theme to  the letters  and cards  neatly  filed  in a  big box at  1812 Munster Ave.,  it is what  Gov. LeVander wrote.   Parents of other sons killed in Vietnam sent letters.  And said these words.  Retired soldiers and Marines, living in Minnesota, expressed that hope.

There was the simple understanding expresses in a card from Blue Earth, Minn., "Our only son and brother . . . . was killed in Vietnam . . . . We understand and really know how you feel.  

"We have been thinking of you.  Our son . . . was killed in Vietnam on Oct. 14.  He, too, was a Marine." read yet another card.

There  were  many  letters that began,  "You don't know  me and  I don't  know you, but . . . . I have been thinking of you so much and will continue to do so in the days ahead."

"You  asked a question:  Do people care?"  said one of  Tommy's uncles.  "And you pricked American conscience.  And what is in these  files is an expression of that conscience as much as anything."

There were memorials for Tommy too.   Someone cared so much about Tommy and  his comrades  that he sent  5,000 green  scapulars from  the  Shrine of  Our Lady of  the  Immaculate  Heart to Tommy's outfit,  the  26th Marines,  at  Khe Sanh.  They are being worn today by Marines.  And they are also a living shrine to Thomas Kingston.

I  closed  the door  of the  house at  1812 Munster Ave.,  the  home of a  United States Marine,  and a question someone asked  in one of the letters kept repeat- ing itself,  "When will the world care enough for men like  Tommy Kingston  so that it will no longer be necessary to write these letters?"