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.
I was a teenager during those years in a small rural upstate NY town (had a WWII vet Dad) and remember the local, universal support for the war in Viet Nam.
I consider it a privilege and a pleasure now (at the age of 49) to educate youngsters just out of the indoctrination camps (universities) that most of us were solidly behind the efforts to save South Viet Nam from the Communists.
These young "skulls-full-of-mush" are always astonished to hear that.
This is not a "come to Jesus" admission. I and (I believe) most of us were behind you guys. Shame on us for not making it better known back then.
The subject of Vietnam Vets being mistreated (or even appearing to be mistreated) is a touchy one for me, because of my dad.
I remember when I was little, asking him things like if he'd ever been spit on, did any of his friends die over there, did anything bad happen to him, did he ever have to kill anyone, etc. He always evaded the issues, pretended like everything had been OK, told me about all the wild and crazy things he and his friends did over there, making it sound more like he'd spent a year at Summer Camp rather than in a war zone.
I didn't find out until much later, when I was an adult, how truly bad it had been for him. I learned the truth, when the traveling Vietnam Memorial Wall came to town. My dad broke down, though he tried to hide it, and I saw the names of some of his wild and crazy "Summer Camp" friends on that Wall. Some of those names he expected to find there; others came as a complete shock to him, and that's what caused him to lose some of his composure.
When I was a kid, my dad wanted me to keep my innocence and feel secure, so he protected me from the cold, hard truth and pretended all was well with him. Now, as an adult, I feel equally protective of him and (as an extension of him) all other Vietnam Vets, too. That's why I can get so irate on threads like these. It could've been worse, though. This could've been a Jane Fonda thread. ;-)
I was about 16 coming back from Hawaii (where I helped my cousin look after his first 2 kids while his wife was having number 3 - nice work if you can get it!) in the early 70s and changed planes in LA. Got on 2nd plane and sat next to a nice young man in uniform who was headed home from 'Nam. He was very upset because some hippies in the airport had spit on him and called him baby killer, etc. I did my best to reassure him that most civilians didn't feel that way, that it was just a few kooks hanging around the airport to bother returning soldiers - but I was only a kid and probably didn't express myself very well. But that kind of attitude sure didn't sit well with most of us then - we thought those extreme anti-war types were nuts, they didn't bathe regularly either. Of course, the men in our family have made every war since the French & Indian . . .
Topeka, Kansas, May 1967. Five or so guys from my Comm Sqnd all got orders and were leaving shortly, so as GI's are wont to do, we stopped on the way home for a couple beers. All except me were going to Nam or Thailand.
Anyhoo, after half an hour or so, four or five Washburn U longhair types and a couple of chicks came over and started talking to us. At first they were pretty cool, but wasn't long before they started getting smart-ass. Finally one of them got right in my face and called me a something-or-other, poured his beer on me, and generally pissed me off. So, I replied in the language young GI's know best, with a right-hand from hell upside his jaw. Man, did I ever connect! His jaw snapped big-time, and was way off the side of his face. Problem was, I had a bone sticking almost through the skin on the back of my hand!
Funny thing tho. I was on orders to Ciampino airport in Rome, Italy. I couldn't have done any of the things these punks were accusing us of even if I had wanted to.
I agree, and I was one of those.
I had a wife and three kids I was trying to feed, but that's a cop-out.
I knew what was going on, and I did nothing to stop it.
NEVER AGAIN!
By the way, folks, our VietNam vets and ALL our vets are STILL being mistreated.
Have you visited your local VA hospital lately?
My dad and an army buddy who lives near him said they weren't going to see "Saving Private Ryan". As dad said, "I saw it live, didn't need to see the re-run."
Both were wounded, my dad very superficially. His buddy was shot in the knee at D-Day. Still carrying the bullet.
For that reason that asshole CJCS after the gulf war that refused to look for that Navy fighter pilot in Iraq should be tried for treason. Coming from a SERE backround and telling all those Marines & Navy warriors that the country wouldn't forget you if in a PW /survival situation then lying like that just pisses me off to no end.
And, the undying gratitude and admiration of patriotic Americans.
Welcome home.
One fun "R&R" was to be plunked down for three days with his team in North Vietnam to look for survivors and to ensure a downed F-111 had self-destructed, as programmed.
At the end of the year, he was plucked from the jungle and sent to Bangkok, boarding a chartered flight back to San Francisco.
While the hostesses tried to prepare them for what was ahead, suggesting they travel in civilian clothes, that was not possible for most, having to be in uniform to get Standby rates; in his case across country to South Carolina.
As they debarked in San Fran, they were greeted by a large contingent of college students, with taunts and jeers, and one girl did spit in his face.
Fresh from a year of combat, routinely patrolling the villages surrounding the base, obvious, stickout newcomer communist infiltrators 'dealt with' before they could try to down our aircraft, leaving or landing, he acted instinctively.
In full view of several police officers, he snapped and broke her arm, and without a word the military group each grabbed a student and dragged them into the bathroom.
They were given lessons on "Thou Shalt Not Spit in Public 101."
When they finally emerged, the police smiled and gave thumbs up salutes.
It got worse.
As he boarded a flight to Dallas, the stewardess frowned at him and told him he had to sit in the back of the plane "so the civilians would not be upset."
Same thing on the Dallas to Columbia flight.
Knowing only he would be aboard an available flight from Dallas, I met every plane from there all day long, until one after 4 p.m.
Again, all the passengers off-loaded, and my spirits fell - but suddenly, he appeared - the very last one allowed off.
Welcome Home, Hero?
You never get over that, and when the returnees from Desert Storm tried to make amends, suppressed emotions of two decades poured out from us both.
Side Note - the year he was away, alone with children 5, 12 and 13, I taught school at Myrtle Beach AFB, but not only was the civilian population not supportive, but military wives and men were not!.
Only one couple (the fellow having worked with him and his wife from Okinawa) helped me.
I finally figured out every wife feared the dark shadow would touch their husband if they spoke of my (and that of others) situation, and they would be sent to fight.
Toward FREEDOM
While walking along Turnpike Road in my home town in front of the airport, I had people throw things at me from their cars, beer bottles, and shout out Baby Killer. This was 1977.
I had people I grew up with call me baby killer in the local bars, people spit at me there, all people I knew personally only 3 months before as friends.
The girls off the base in Havelock called us baby killers, wouldnt talk to us at all. At the local beach, only some of the much older girls would speak to us, maybe because they were flatterd that the 18 year old guys were flirting with the 30 year olds.
California was a little different, but we were still targets for the scam artists and junkies just for being servicemen. The homosexuals went out of their way to pull over their cars to give us rides if we were hitchiking! I learned to take the bus or go nowhere!
I got to Hawaii in late 79, we were treated like kings there...yeah, right, the locals beat up several servicemen on the 15th and 30th of every month. I know one guy who was shot in the back of the head with a 22. Lucky for him, they had the gun at an angle, he was out of the hospital in 2 days, deflected of his skull, he wasnt even a big tough guy, God smiled on him that day!
The tourists loved us there, I made pen pals with a Canadian woman I met there, went to visit her in Vancouver twice after that.
Australia was the only place that liked us as people I felt. Everywhere else we were just an economic boom they looked forward to.
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