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My uncle served 3 tours in 'Nam.
They did a psych eval on him when he wanted to stay for the third. He just couldn't come home while others were still in harms way. He didn't want to be 'that guy' as he tells the story.

As a young man, around the age of 16, I was seriously considering my options for the future. I was speaking with my mother and grandfather (A WWII vet, God rest his soul) about military service. Grandpa, a sage man if one ever existed, made sure I understood it was not all pretty uniforms, and fast planes.
'Luckily, things are different now. See, when your Uncle Bud came home, he was expecting a celebration - instead he got tomatoes, eggs, angry words, and ugly signs.'

I looked to my mother - she was crying at the memory - she was there that day - on the walk down tarmac at San Francisco International airport - to meet her brother - to welcome him home. She is the one who offered my uncle her handkerchief to clean the seeds from his Service Dress jacket.

This is no urban legend. It is simply what happened on a foggy day in San Francisco. It was shameful then, and to deny the suffering that those men endured - the mental shock wave that rolled through them when they realized there was no band, no bunting, no parade - the anguish they felt as they carefully cleaned their faces and their uniforms - that denial my friends is just as shameful, perhaps even worse.

To those who cut the trail before me - you have my heartfelt thanks.
To those who walk the path this day - you have my prayers.

This is no urban legend. It is simply what happened on a foggy day in San Francisco.

I was in San Franciso Airport in March of 1967 after coming back from my first tour. I was waiting for a standby flight to Boston, still in decompression mode, and did a good deal of pacing, it was 2 AM and the flight was leaving at 0700.

Some dirt bag came by and started to make some nasty remarks, I told him to do some unnatural acts and he spit at me, I whooped on him, completely lost it don't even remember throwing the first punch. I was pulled of by a cop who had just gotten out of the Marines was told to make scarce.

In October of 1968 I was in Chelsea Naval Hospital, second tour, it was like old home week a lot of homeys from Peabody, Danvers, Lynn and Salem,(Army and Marines) including a couple of my cousins were there, a kid from Danversport got the Silver Star so we retired down the street to a gin mill to celebrate. I took about an hour for a couple of locals to insult the kid, Dave Keller if I remember correctly, bad, bad for the locals.