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Toward FREEDOM
Posted on 10/19/2002 3:53:18 PM PDT by Exton1
In 1989 Bob Greene wrote the book “Homecoming.” In it he researched the question “were you spat upon by anti-war protesters. When you returned?” He asks the question to let the American People know if it was a myth or fact.
Any reader of this post wish to relate their stories.?
In my case it was a figurative spit. I had just finished my time at Lowry AFB in Denver, Colorado where I was a shift supervisor in an Emergency Room. As most solders returning to civilian life I went looking for a job. At an employment agency, I told the lady behind the desk about by time in the Air Force, and how I was trusted to run an Emergency Room. She looked at me and said, ”Well that is nice, but what kind of real work experience do you have?” I was totally crushed. Four years in the Air Force and it counted for nothing. Later that week when I told the story to the boyfriend of a girl I had know before I went into the service. His comment was even worse, for he said, ”Well what do you expect, you were a fool for going. You should have been brave and fought the draft board.” Needless to say, I never talked to her or him again.
Exton
Some of the response follow.
Alvin L. Long, Wimberley, Texas
“For the record, I was t two-tour Vietnam vet, 1969-1970 and 1972-1973, In April 1970, when I was returning home from Vietnam, a “lady” spat at me in the airport in San Francisco. She also called me a baby killer, which was probably true.
Do not kid yourself; the peace movement was not just against the government, but also against us fools who served this country loyally.
The American people can go to hell before I or my sons fight another war for them.
M. Tierny, Las Vegas, Nevada
I attend a military reunion in New York in 1968. I was standing in front of the Waldorf waiting for a cay when a young girl walked up to me and spat. She said something and walked away.
The doorman told me that it was not a “good idea” to wear a uniform in New York.
Robert E. McClelland, Massillon, Ohio.
Yes, I am a Vietnam veteran who was spat upon-literally and figuratively. San Francisco International Airport on October 11, 1971 at 3:15 p.m., and yes , I was sill in uniform. To be exact, it was the same uniform that I wore during the last Fire Support Mission I was involved in, just 36 hours before landing in SF. No, I didn’t have mud, dir, or gunpowder on my uniform. A very kind Vietnamese woman at the Transit Company washed and ironed it for me so that I could come home to the country I love, looking nice. This was one hell of a lot more than I received upon arrival.
If I were the only one to be spat upon, the score would be: not spat upon, 1,999.999, spat upon 1. Of course, I know this score to be wrong. Literally because I saw others spat on, and figuratively because to spit on one Vietnam veteran is to spit on them all.
The person who spat on me was wearing a shirt that said “Welcome Home Baby Killer.” Now I am sure that this person did not represent all people in the US. In fact, I know this, because my wife and family didn’t spit on me and call me a baby killer. Of course, why would they. They know me. They know I was only doing what my country asked me to.
I was young, 20, when I went to Vietnam: I was there for a year and came back 21 going on 50. No joke intended here. I was so confused when the girl in the mall asked me if I just came back from Florida because I had such a nice tan. Then she moved a couple of steps away from me and stopped talking when I said, “No, back form Vietnam.”
Did you see “Platoon?” Try living what you saw in “Platoon” for a year. Go from that to McDonald’s hamburgers, fast cars, and flush toilets in just 36 hours. Have you ever had a 12-year-old kid ask you, “how many people did you get to kill, mister?” Try a few scenes like that and see if you feel spat upon.
I am sure by now you thing I am probably one of the Vietnam veterans who sit in a bar all day and can’t hold down a job. WRONG. I own an auto repair business and employ six other people.
About that image of a burly Green Beret walking through the airport and being spat upon by a war protester-let’s also remember that most war protesters or hippies or whatever name you want to attach to them were also becoming very aware of their rights as US citizens, and they knew that if this burly Green Beret did nothing they (protesters) had won, and if the burly Green Beret retaliated, they (protesters) still won. How could they lose?
For fifteen years I put Vietnam behind me by working 12 hours a day and telling myself that it couldn’t get to me because I wouldn’t let it. Then the tough guy started to fall apart. My wonderful wife of sixteen years couldn’t do anything right, and I was about to lose her and my three children.
After some of my friends (Vietnam veterans) told me that it wasn’t her that had change, it was me, I went to three doctors to find out what was happening to me. I ended up at a Veterans Clinic talking to psychiatrist, who told me this was very typical post—traumatic stress and depression from Vietnam. My wife (very understanding and supportive) and I are working on putting things back together while I am trying to learn to deal with my problems. Yes, my problems-not yours, or the US government’s, or that hippies’, or the war protesters’, or the girl at the mall’s, or my employees’ or my customers’, or my children’s. For God’s sake and by His Grace, never my children’s, yours, or anyone’s.
The book tells of hundreds of stories like this. I pray that it is not repeated in this war.
Those of us who support, and are grateful and appreciate the services our men and women of the armed forces can make damn sure this behavior is not acceptable. It is those who oppose that always make the most noise and we need to turn that around.
We could not get on the planes. Students on standby had no difficulty.
We did not understand. This was just 4 months after the Russians invading Czechoslovakia, and our units were still on Red Alert. It was like these people only thought one thing of anybody in the military.
We ended up renting a car. I still had my American Express card leftover from my earlier and wellpaid civilian lifestyle. I recall it taking a very long time to do a credit check on that card. Probably thought I stole it!
6 of us drove home to the Midwest in that car.
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Toward FREEDOM
I attended protests. Can't remember any direct encounters but I had a class consciousness of superiority for my college deferment, and a feeling that the war was for suckers.
I was an idiot.
This anal orifice had just gotten his phd (piled higher and deeper) at Berkley. Family members pulled me off before I could terminate him, and I haven't seen him since (nor has the desire to terminate him abated since).
But to put the record in full context, just about a year later (maybe more) the 26th Marines returned to San Diego. My C.O. had the unit records searched, and all of us who had been attatched to the 26th were shipped to San Diego so that we too could march in the ticker tape parade that the city of San Diego put on. THAT DID WONDERS FOR MY MORALE. But it was Ronnie Reagan that got our country to respect us.
It's a good question.
No. It's a bad question; condescending and hateful.
A more proper (and respectful) response would have been: "So, you ran an ER in the military. What duties did you perform there? Tell me more about your education, training, experience, qualifications, etc."
...is no different from...
" Tell me more about your education, training, experience, qualifications, etc."
You are playing sematics. Forty years later, I doubt if
the exact phraseology has survived.
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