The man looked sad. It was a bright sunshiny day outside the
LA airport, but he looked like rain. "It was 10 degrees when
I left home in West Virginia this morning," he said after we
were comfortably seated in the shuttle van. "There must have
been snow or ice," I replied. Then, for no reason, added, "I
lived in northern Virginia for 16 years and I love the snow.
I worked in the Pentagon. Are you visiting relatives here?"
"No, I treat myself to one trip out here every year to see a
ball game."
Then suddenly he was talking about returning from Vietnam,
landing at the airport in San Bernardino, and getting on a
bus to go to Camp Pendleton. He was in the Marine Corps then
and he couldn't understand why people were calling them
names and throwing things at the troops. He was looking
straight ahead, but cast a quick glance in my direction.
"Things I can't even mention in public." That hurt so bad,
when he got to his room, he cried. "I tried to understand,"
he said. "It's a free country and they could protest. But
why the insults? We didn't do anything wrong. I still think
of it sometimes and when it gets so bad I can't stand it, I
go for a walk in the woods. And I cry."
I told him that I'd written the logistics support plan for
the burial of the unknown serviceman from Vietnam. He turned
to look at me and was very still. Then he reached over and
put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it slightly. "Then
you know what I'm talking about, don't you." I nodded,
thinking of other Vietnam Vets who had shared similar
sentiments. I asked if he had ever visited the Vietnam
Memorial. "Oh, no," he said and sat quietly. His mouth moved
and his lips were moist, but he didn't say anything. I could
see the torment in his face. It was too hard to do.
He told of his mother and father passing away. "I buried
them," he said, "and I cried. I won't go to funerals any
more. I send wreaths, and cards, but I don't want to cry
again." I asked him about the facilities for veterans in
West Virginia. They have fine facilities, he said. "The
psychologists have encouraged me to go in and talk to them.
But if I do that, it dishonors the Corps. It makes us look
less than honorable, don't you think?" I told him it was
okay to get help and that it seemed like he had found a way
to cope. "When the first President Bush said the parade for
the military coming home from the Gulf War was for all of
us, that helped a lot. I thought 'Finally, we're getting a
welcome home.'"
This vet is not angry or bitter. He is dealing with vivid
memories of his fellow Americans turning on him and his
buddies. He seems to be still trying to reconcile his role
in preserving our freedoms with having those freedoms turned
against him. And when it gets to be more than he can stand,
he walks in the woods and he cries. "You understand, don't
you?" When the shuttle pulled up to my place, he stepped
down and offered his hand to help me out. He held on, looked
me in the eyes, and said, "Thank you for being there for him
at the burial."
We Americans must always be there for our veterans.
About the Author:
Jen loves visiting France whenever she can and in particular the Provence & Cote d'Azur regions. She enjoys writing about her experiences to encourage others to enjoy the benefits of a holiday in France!
A Veteran Remembers
