Today, Memorial Day 2016, it is 47 years and 50 days since I returned from service in Vietnam with the U. S. Army’s 25th Infantry Division. The day before I and other returnees boarded a “Freedom Flight” at Tan Son Nhut Airbase just outside the S. Vietnamese capitol city, Saigon. Because intelligence reports indicated that a VC/NVA attack on the airbase was imminent, we were hustled on board the chartered plane with no time to wash up or change into clean uniforms so we wore whatever we had on in the jungles and rice paddies when we arrived at the base. We stunk to high heaven, though we really only knew that because we noticed the civilian flight attendants occasionally wrinkling their noses while they tried to maintain smiles. They were pretty cool about it though and we were quite used to it so no problem.
As our plane taxied for takeoff, the base came under rocket attack – we could see the rounds hitting buildings we knew other returnees were in awaiting their own Freedom Birds – but we never knew if they had become combat casualties on their own last day in ‘Nam. Our pilot put the “pedal to the metal” though and we got out of there safely.
It was a long flight but we were all exhausted so most of us slept through most of it until we made a brief stop for refueling midway across the Pacific and then we slept again until we were on approach to San Francisco Airport. (Did I mention that we still stunk?) When the announcement was made by the pilot that we would be landing “in the World” soon we finally became both exhilarated and wide awake – and just a bit nervous that something was bound to go wrong at the last minute as that had been our collective experience in the war. Well, something did go wrong. Really wrong.
Just as we approached San Francisco our plane suddenly diverted into a holding pattern over the Pacific, circling for what seemed an eternity before the pilot informed us – with no explanation – that our flight had been diverted north to the Norton Air Force Base. Now we became both concerned and a bit angry when the flight attendants would not, or could not, tell us what was going on. And so we continued to stink for a while longer.
At Norton, after we landed and boarded buses for the Oakland Army Base and out-processing, we finally learned that our plane had been diverted because police and airport security could not guarantee our safety given the number of protestors swarming the airport. Now we were really pissed off in addition to smelling like that.
At Oakland we finally got to take long, hot showers and were issued clean and crisp new summer khaki uniforms before being ushered into a briefing room where we were paid and received travel authorizations for our bus, train or plane travel home – and advice to go immediately to the Base PX to buy civilian clothes to wear when we left the Base, in small groups only, so we didn’t become targets for protestors. Most of us refused, unwilling to sneak back into our own country, so we walked out in formation in full uniform with our battle and service ribbons on our chests. Did I say we didn’t stink anymore, except perhaps on the inside?
My family back in Massachusetts knew I was due home soon but I did not tell them a specific date or call to say I was home safe as I wanted to surprise them so I boarded a flight to Boston and looked forward to leaving Vietnam behind me forever. But that was not to be as I soon learned at Logan Airport. There I encountered a young couple who came up to me, fingers pointing, demanding to know “how many innocent people I had killed” in the war. Well by that time I had already concluded that the war was both unjust and unjustifiable so in some ways I was on their side, but I was not about to take the blame for it as that fell entirely to our political and military leaders, not to those of us who served there. So my response was “I lost count, but two more won’t make any difference to me – get out of my way.” I guess they felt that I still had some stink on me.
My first night in Boston, before taking a cab home to the South Shore the next day, was spent at my grandmother’s apartment in Cambridge where she doted on me and where I made her promise not to call my parents so I could surprise them the next day. And that was the first night of many yet to come when I was awakened by a nightmare as a police cruiser or fire truck went by the apartment with siren blaring in the middle of the night. The next morning my grandma forgave me for the damage I did to the spare room but she was old enough to remember returnees from both World Wars so I guess she had become tougher and more understanding than I was back then. I guess you could say that I had raised a stink, but she didn’t, so it was cool.
When I arrived at home the next day, fully expecting a Norman Rockwell moment, our German Shepherd dog, Teddy, ran up to me as I got out of the cab – and nipped me in the leg instead of smothering me with doggy kisses. I guess I should have called ahead after all. Or maybe he smelled something strange about me and wasn’t really sure who I was.
Except for the broken skin on my calf, homecoming was great and so I settled in and enjoyed my leave until it was time to report back for duty with a Bomb Disposal Unit at Fort Sam Houston, Texas. And then the trouble started as I found myself consumed with anger and bitterness for all that had happened, not only to me but to all of us who served in Vietnam. We felt betrayed by our countrymen, but also betrayed by our leaders for getting us into that ugly morass in the first place. Like all too many returnees I was quicker with my fists than I was with my brain when provoked. Like many I found I could not sleep through the night unless I anesthetized myself with drugs or alcohol. Like many I felt I was walking on a tightrope and it would only take the slightest push to knock me off. I was home. I was safe. And I still stunk.
I won’t drag this story on – yet – as to how I broke through and finally came to find peace within myself with all that had happened, how I finally managed to wash off the stink that seemed to cling to me for many years. That’s for another day. But my own Memorial Day message to those who tell me “Thank you for your service” today is this: What are you doing to reach the point where that statement – however well intended – will no longer be necessary? What are you doing to support those who do the fighting on your behalf while electing leaders who will at least think of the consequences before committing those Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines to…bearing that stink?
It’s Memorial Day 2016 and we have in our near future a potential President who, if anything else can be said, seems to have a very cavalier attitude towards committing our fighting forces to the next big war solely to excite his base supporters and to feed his own hyper inflated ego. And, yes, I am looking squarely at you Mr. Trump for this time around it will be you and those who support you who will stink to high heaven, not our men and women who serve in spite of you.
Take care; I’m done ranting for now. Enjoy the day but never forget us.