Two other childhood friends served in the USMC in Nam at the same time, but were both in the rear at Da Nang. It wasn’t really possible to talk to them because their experiences and mine were as different as day and night. It was a long time before I found some other grunts to talk to. In fact it was a long time before I even wanted to talk to anyone about the experience. This whole phenomenon of ‘forget it and get back to life’ was common, I believe, to the majority of vets, especially combat veterans.
What was very irritating was when I heard Viet Vets that I knew had never been out of the rear or fired a shot at anything other than a paper target at a firing range telling some amazing war stories. I suspect it has been true throughout history that you never hear combat veterans telling stories of things that occurred. These events are so unnatural in human life that it isn’t possible to fully or accurately explain the events and feelings, or even tell of the events with any expectation that the listener can truly comprehend even a tiny fraction of what’s being said. Nobody could understand so it’s best to just say nothing. On the few occasions that I tried to relay a story I found that I physically couldn’t. It’s easier to filter stories through a dispassionate keyboard rather than trying to relate them verbally.
In the 1980s, when Reagan was president and the military began to regain some of its former luster, I started to hear from men who would say that they could have and would have served in Vietnam but for this or that reason. I just listened and responded that perhaps it was best that things turned out the way they did for them, as there was no way of knowing what would have happened had they gone. We make our decisions and we live with them. There was no need for anyone to try to rewrite history or amend after-the-fact how they faced the decision when it was their turn to make it. The fact is, being a veteran is one of those things that you earn the hard way — there is no shortcut. In the ‘80s being a Vietnam vet began to have a little sex appeal but it was just a little, and it was very late. To be sure, young men did not join the military during the war knowing it was an almost certain guarantee of service in Vietnam, so that they might get some recognition when they were in their forties. They did what they felt was right at the time, or at least accepted the inevitable, come what may. None of us did it for future praise or glory.
Due to the 2 or 3 year interruption in their post-high school lives many vets faced an obstacle when competing for promotional opportunities during their careers — especially in jobs requiring college degrees. Most of their peers at work were men and women who had gone the normal route from high school to college, perhaps to graduate school, and on to gainful employment. They didn’t have the break caused by military service or the war. Obtaining a college degree while working full time and raising a family is a tough way to go, but many thousands of vets earned their college degrees in that manner. I have long felt that there should be some form of credit given for military service in a formal education sense. There is certainly no denying that a person learns a huge amount about every aspect of life by serving in the military, especially if that service included combat experience. But in any event I know of no veteran who held it against their peers or employer for their situation. Perhaps some did, but most felt that they played the hand they were dealt and made the best of it. It’s not anyone’s ‘fault’ I decided to join the Corps — that was entirely my decision and I lived with it; proudly, I might add.
1 Souvenirs of War My name is Penny Evans and my age is twenty one, I’m a widow of the war that was fought in Vietnam. I have two baby daughters and I do the best I can, They say the war is over but I think it’s just begun.7
7Ballad of the Penny Evans. Written and sung by Steve Goodman, 1971.
Reflections
(The Future Isn’t AsBright As It Used ToBe)
Like many of my peers once home I plunged into work in an effort to restore normality. A six-day per week job at the local Chevrolet factory, coupled with working on the farm kept me very busy. I tried hard to forget and move on. A new 350 horsepower 1969 Chevelle Super Sport, bought with the money I had been sending home, was a fun diversion that did its part in helping me forget. But even dream cars couldn’t work for everyone. I recall one young man that was part of a larger group that I hung with, just returned from Vietnam, who died when he wrapped his new car around a tree due to drink and
150 Souvenirs of War Reflections 151 speed. The urge to let it all hang out was very strong and took the lives of a lot of newly-returned vets. As a result of this, as a group we paid a price for being viewed as reckless.
I recall going to see the family insurance agency when I was buying my car. We went to school with the kids of the owner, and in fact a young man that I graduated from high school with was sitting behind the desk when I walked in. After some small talk I told him what I needed in the way of car insurance and he told me the premiums would be in the range of $1,000 for six months. (In 1969 dollars, of course!) I told him that I wasn’t about to pay that much money, even if I could afford it. He explained that insurance companies charged Vietnam veterans a significant surcharge for the first two years following their return home due to their reckless behavior and high accident rate. It was another slap in the face. What did society expect — that we would wear flowers and beads and join a peace commune? Of course there would be irrational behavior; we had just survived a totally irrational experience for God’s sakes!
I very clearly remember exactly where I was and what I was doing, and what I felt, on two dates that were Post-Vietnam milestones. The first was on January 27, 1973 when it was announced that a peace deal had been signed and that the Prisoners of War were to be released very soon. I cried as I watched those men walk, limp, or be carried off the planes that brought them home over the next month. Imagining what they endured, some for as long as eight and a half years at the hands of their captors was just overwhelming. The nation wept for joy when these men were finally reunited with their families. The long nightmare was finally, really, over.
The second date was April 30, 1975, the day that the North completed their capture of the South, and Saigon fell. The pictures of helicopters frantically removing the last of the Marines from the embassy rooftop and leaving hundreds of desperate Vietnamese friends and allies behind to suffer at the hands of their captors was very distressing. I guarantee that the picture of those helicopters, and of the people on the roofs with their outstretched arms desperately seeking a way out, is forever burned into the brain of every Vietnam veteran. Those scenes of disarray and despair were what we all had been fighting to prevent. I felt so sorry for all the people we had let down, and who now had to face a very uncertain and difficult future. I also wondered, though of course I knew the answer, where the world outrage was given the fact that North Vietnam had so blatantly violated the peace treaty they had signed that had supposedly ended the war. Of course all the treaty accomplished was allowing us to declare victory and hand the war over to the Vietnamese. Vietnamization worked well for us but it didn’t work worth a damn for the South Vietnamese.
There were legacies, unwanted souvenirs of Vietnam that lingered. All Nam vets possess many war souvenirs, some wanted, but many not wanted. Some are physical but most are mental. Every vet carries lots of psychological residue. This of course wasn’t unique to Vietnam, but on the other hand I believe there was less attention paid to emotional issues because returning vets simply melted back into society on a one-byone basis upon their return. Entire units didn’t return en masse like they did after other wars. The soldiers came home alone to resume life among people who either didn’t give a thought to the war, or were actively anti-war and in extension against their countrymen that served in the war. In either case, returnees certainly didn’t get empathy or support from the people around them. Nightmares and what came to be called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder were common conditions. That’s just normal. In earlier days the condition was called shell shock. It didn’t mean weakness; it simply meant the surviving vet was very
human.
As a youth I had greatly enjoyed the use of firearms in target shooting and hunting. Suddenly the use of guns wasn’t nearly as appealing. In my first real job I was required to carry a sidearm and qualify with it on a regular basis. While my cohorts were quite gungho when range day arrived and we shot for practice and qualification, I strongly disliked the whole affair. Shooting at a paper silhouette of a man disturbed me. The noise and smell of gunpowder bothered me. The nonchalant talk of shooting someone if that extremely rare event ever came to pass bothered me. I have absolutely no problem with sporting arms and their use, but throughout my post-Vietnam life I wanted no part of guns designed and meant for the sole purpose of killing another human being. I understand and fully support the necessity of these weapons in the right hands, but I personally wanted no part of it anymore. And to be certain, there was nothing exciting or enjoyable about carrying such weapons for me.
But at the same time nobody but me knows about how many years I slept with a handgun within reach at night. As a DNR Conservation Officer in rural Michigan I wasn’t the most popular man in the county by far, but that wasn’t it at all. In an absolutely illogical and inexplicable way I had an overwhelming fear and expectation that all hell was going to break loose at night and felt I needed to have my faithful life-saving companion within reach just as in Vietnam. The same reason that I still triple check doors and locks prior to going to bed, I suppose.
To this day I get orange-colored glossy newsletters from the Veterans Administration. These unwanted souvenirs discuss the many health issues connected with exposure to the herbicide Agent Orange. The use of defoliants in Vietnam was quite widespread. There were several different herbicide mixtures but of course the one most commonly talked about is Agent Orange (I understand this name was given because of an orange stripe painted on the 55-gallon drums that the chemical was shipped in). I was in many areas that had
15 Souvenirs of War Reflections 155 been sprayed with herbicide. In the jungle it did help remove some cover for the Viet Cong or NVA, and may have saved some lives by making ambushes against us more difficult, and of making troop movements of the NVA in particular more obvious. If one studies the map depicting where defoliant was used it’ll be found that the great majority was along infiltration routes. This includes in and adjacent to the DMZ, the A Shau Valley area, and along the Laos and Cambodia borders. The III Corps area, which was a hotbed of VC activities, also received heavy spraying. Of course the health problems documented from exposure to the chemical have plagued many thousands of vets and Vietnamese civilians for decades after; physical souvenirs of the worst kind. I will always wonder if my son’s handicap was caused by my exposure to Agent Orange. I’ll never know of course, but if so it’s a terrible price for an innocent offspring to have to pay.
Our society has to learn to accept that the cost of war doesn’t end when the troops finally return home. We may want to immediately forget the war and move on with our lives, but associated costs of war that society has a moral obligation to pay will remain for at least an entire generation. Disabled soldiers and their dependents must be cared for. Thousands of badly wounded vets will require medical care their entire lives — and society has a moral and legal duty to provide compassionate and adequate care. It was the American people after all who sent the young man or woman away to war on their behalf — they can’t just forget about the veteran once they are done fighting the country’s battles.
I was able to save a few artifacts as souvenirs of the experience. A bayonet from an assailant’s rifle, an enemy’s canteen from another, and some other small memorabilia. It required significant effort to carry items such as these with us in the field so what most grunts brought home with them were small items that could be stuffed in their backpack without interfering with other more important supplies. These souvenirs are inconsequential things that except for their value as mementos of the experience have no value whatsoever. As the family’s unofficial historian and archivist I have several boxes in the basement that contain similar memorabilia and souvenirs from my four uncles’ wartime experiences. They’re long since dead but these items, so very meaningful to them at the time, remain stored in my basement. Soon they’ll have no emotional connection or value to anyone. Life goes on and it seems that very important things inexorably grow to be meaningless.
For several years I attended USMC birthday events at a Lansing bar that had a big celebration each November 10th. This was a good place to go to talk, or not, but at least be among some fellow grunts. One of the first times I went I recall a man asking me what unit I had been with. I told him the 27th and 9th Regiments. When I said G 2/9 he just looked at me and said “Good God! The Walking Dead!” This was a name actually given to a couple of Marine units in I Corps. The First Battalion of the Ninth Marines deserved it the most.
But while it’s important to honor the past and remember those who served, I felt it wasn’t a good thing to re-live it. I really didn’t want any part of telling or hearing war stories — I had seen the original live play; that was enough. As a result I quit going to these and other gatherings of that type.
One of the most troubling souvenirs that soldiers have to deal with involves the knowledge of having taken another human’s life. This is an emotionally complex and difficult reality that goes against everything that we’ve ever been taught or felt inside. As the song goes — “it’s hard to be a Christian Soldier when you tote a gun”.
Even in a kill-or-be-killed situation doing something that you know is going to maim or kill another person is troubling in a way that’s impossible to explain. Putting a human being in your rifle sights for the purpose of killing him is perhaps the most unnatural act a person can perform. The thought and reality of it are another constant stress before, during and after the occurrences. Actually I’ve always been amazed that so many men can leave a war zone — whether it’s Iwo Jima, Germany, Korea, Vietnam or Iraq — where they have had to kill other humans, and then come home and live the rest of their lives as if nothing of the sort ever happened. Untold thousands of people have pulled it off and it strikes me as an exceptional trait that allows humans to have to perform such unnatural deeds and then put it behind us at least to the degree that those forced into that situation can function as basically normal people.
15 Souvenirs of War
Rejecting Ste reotypes
Our generation got a bad rap for many years subsequent to Vietnam. We were depicted as less honorable than the WWII generation and less worthy of respect. The fact is our generation was ready and willing to “Bear any burden and pay any price” as President Kennedy challenged us to do. We were ready to carry the load when the time came. Problem is — the load we were given to carry was one that most people later renounced and rejected and that we were treated like dirt for having foolishly carried.
But it was our generation that finally had the resolve to fight the civil rights battles, in which the opponent wasn’t a foreign power — it was the long-standing attitudes and ideas of our own citizens. It was our genera
10 Souvenirs of War Rejecting Stereotypes 11 tion that had the courage to recognize that it was time to change long held assumptions when it came to issues such as the environment, women’s rights, civil rights, poverty, and other major social issues. I believe that some of the most courageous Americans of the twentieth century were the civil rights protesters and Freedom Riders who made the dangerous trip to the South in the early 1960s to fight the civil rights battle. It was a very dangerous step to take and several paid with their lives. But they represented the best of a generation ready to fight and die for what was right.
Members of this generation also had the audacity to take dramatic steps, whether people agreed with them or not, to either join the military and likely go to Vietnam, or to drastically disrupt their lives by doing things like going to Canada out of a conviction that going into the military and Vietnam was morally wrong. Either decision created major problems in f
amilies and the lives of the individuals involved, and took courage. I remember a man that I worked with prior to joining the military, a very conservative Republican and World War II veteran who told me to my face that I was “a fool” to join the Marine Corps and go to Vietnam. He said if I was going to get drafted I should go to Canada rather than go into the military with likely service in Vietnam. And people wonder why our generation at times seemed confused?
Ours was a generation that didn’t have the luxury of black and white issues. We had to learn to sort through shades of gray and decide which was best or which one was at least the lesser of two evils. There are those that say the baby boomers shaped society by the outrageous way we sometimes dressed and acted. I believe it’s largely the opposite. We were shaped by the events that were all around us. We responded to them, we didn’t create them. Our behavior and dress was a reaction to the social and political events of the time, not their cause. As Billy Joel so aptly put it: “We Didn’t Light the Fire”.
For years music favored by our generation was the target of much derision. Our music had a hard edge; it wasn’t the comfortable and socially acceptable music of the big band era or of the Lawrence Welk show. But even our music was a reaction to society and events, not the cause of the contentious times we endured.
From chart-topping hit songs such as Barry McGuire’s Eve of Destruction to Springsteen’s Born in the USA, our music reflected the time we lived in — it didn’t create those conditions. These two songs are like bookends of the time. The first spoke of a world gone insane with hatred, death, and the ultimate specter of nuclear war as the prevailing conditions of our youth.
Souvenirs of War Page 11
