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Memories of Another War
My children's father and my ex-husband, Dan L. Bayes, writes poignantly of his memories of another war. I think his first-person accounts of the Viet Nam War are as important for his era as my father's memories are of World War II. Lest we ever forget.
6/21/2005
36 years ago today -
June 21st, 1969, and I was on a plane from Dayton, Ohio to Chicago, then on to Oakland. I was in my Army dress greens, but after I arrived in Oakland, they, the Army, were pretty insistent that I wear some new green jungle fatigues and boots. They were, as it was, THE uniform of the day, and year, in that area of the world. So, after shuffling through the lines to pick up new clothes, boots, and "shots", for what ever you could catch in Vietnam, it was time to wait. Sitting around, trying to find some comfortable way to sit, then lay, then sit again. I stayed with my duffle bag holding all my possessions, to include my old uniform and new jungle clothes, and just counted the minutes and hours until it was time for my flight number to be called. I waited. And waited. And, as it happens in the Army, waited some more. It was a long day going into night, but just before 10 pm, or 2200 hours Army time, my number was called and it was a bus ride to Travis Air Force Base. California. I'd always wanted to see California. Still did. But other than the flight in, and the bus ride from Oakland airport, that's all I saw of sunny California. Now it was dark and this California hadn't shown me anything.
Soon, we were in the air and headed to Anchorage, Alaska. I'd wanted to see Alaska too, but when we got there, on June 22nd, it was dark and all we saw was that of a pretty empty airport terminal building, enough for a stretch. As we re-boarded the plane, it was very quiet and the next leg was long. Tokyo was our next stop and when we got there, they kept our plane away from other commercial aircraft and had us go to a special area of the terminals. They told us it was to avoid any protestors, but I figured it was so they wouldn't have any of us take a last
minute detour. After maybe an hour, we were back on the plane and headed south.
June 22nd and daylight, and some 20 plus hours after we left Oakland, we were on the ground in South Vietnam. That was one of the longest
days of my life, setting the stage for the longest year of my life.
Funny. Funny how calendars, music, and seeing old cars of those days, can send an old man into his youthful past. The smell of wet grass and the heat of the summer air, has a faint familiarity to it. 36 years ago today... was the beginning of a whole new chapter in a young man's life. A chapter, in a book yet finished.
To my comrades in arms, and mostly to those who didn't come home, you are NOT forgotten. Neither are you, Vietnam!
Dan L. Bayes
Formerly of Co. C, 3/187th Inf., 101st Airborne Division, 1969-70
AIRBORNE!
Veterans, then and now -
It's sometime in mid-June, 1970, and a couple of us were getting our out-processing paperwork ready. In just a few days, we'd be going home, "back to The World" as we would say. Nearly a year after we got there, never really knowing if we'd ever see that day come, and it would be right around the corner.
It was almost funny at the time. I know that in many respects, I had many of the same feelings and fears then, as when I first got "in-country". I jumped, if not physically, at least in my stomach, at every snap, clink, sounds of distant gunfire, and out-going arty (artillery). But instead of jumping because I didn't know what was going on, I was jumpy because I did know what was going on!
"Short Timers" shakes is what I had. So close ("short" amount of time left), and yet, until my butt was on the Freedom Bird and out over the ocean, anything could happen. So close, and yet some Charlie Victor's bullet, or satchel charge, could send me home...in a body bag.
I was ready to go. Well, so I thought. As part of all this preparation for returning to the States, we were told...no, more like cautioned...about what to expect. You see, it was just a month prior that anti-war protestors at Kent State University of Ohio clashed with some National Guardsmen and some students were killed. Vietnam was not only unpopular, but so were we--the soldiers who were fighting the war. We were told that we, as the walking, talking embodiment of that war, were often the targets of the anti-war protestors angst. We were cautioned to change into civvies as soon as we were home and not wear our uniforms around, or we might find trouble.
I'd read the Stars and Stripes (the newspaper of servicemen and women all over the world), and had heard stories from FNGs (F'n New Guys) about the anti-war movement and how some guys were treated when they were getting home. "Don't wear any part of your uniform...or you'll get spit at!" I knew the war was unpopular, but come on, we're Veterans! We're just serving our country! And I can't be proud of my service? I can't be happy that I served and survived! "Stay away from colleges. Stay away from large groups of people. You're not liked back home."
Let it be said that I was, even after serving a year in a combat unit, still the proud pro-American Soldier kind of guy and I couldn't believe that I couldn't go home as an honored Veteran. Protesting was one thing, but to blame us for this? What's that about? I earned the right to walk proud and free. I earned the right to be called a "Veteran". I'd done my time in hell and no one should be able to tell me that I was some piece-o-crap for doing so. I was a 101st Airborne Vietnam Veteran and proud of it.
Soon though, I was off that Freedom Bird and back in "the World". After going through processing back in the States, I, and many other young guys in green of every rank and unit, was finding my way to the airport and booking flights HOME. The airport in Tacoma, WA, was busy and there were lots of soldier types there. Many were headed for places they didn't want to go to.
Many, like me, were nervously anxious to get our flights home. I'm not sure I ever really looked at people as I passed them. And I sure don't recall any jeers. If anything, I do recall some of those guys headed "out". In particular, I remember seeing a fresh Lieutenant, walking toward me with his duffle bag and brand new uniform, with no ribbons yet. Nice new uniform and that state-side look. As he was approaching me and I could see his eyes checking me out. I too had a new uniform, Army dress greens and new boots. Except I also sported a distinctive Asian tan, and smell (for those who know what I mean), and ribbons that themselves told of where I'd just come from.
I expect I had that "look" too. I know that in some way, I felt the look that I must of had as I seemed to be seeing "through" that young officer. I was looking past him and toward my gate. I could see him question himself and what to do, or say. I caught a glimpse of him in a half salute, almost like he didn't know if he should, or not. I didn't. It wasn't out of disrespect that I didn't. But in "the Nam", we didn't salute officers out in the field. That was a good way for Charlie to spot one and target him for a sniper bullet, or ever a mortar round in his area. And, I was mentally already past him. He was spotted early and I was already looking far ahead. As we passed, I never saw his face. Not that I couldn't see it, I just didn't "look" at it. I didn't know him, and didn't want to. And I had no time for chat. I was headed home, and nothing else mattered.
The flight crew was very kind to me. While I sure didn't get a hero's welcome, I was made to feel comfortable. At least as much as I could be after being in a combat area just a few days before. I drew some looks, but that still happens today, to those coming home from their tours of duty.
Veteran ears and Veteran eyes become sharp and very aware of most everything around him. For a year, a soldier relied on the keenest of senses to help keep him, and his buddies, alive. A Veteran would grow keenly aware of every little sound, every whispered word, every movement. From elephant grass blades, to a slow cautious passing of some object in the dim jungle, one became acutely aware of it all. Those same senses were still working. Those same senses would now pick up stares and whispers, a flipped "bird", or someone spitting at the ground where you walked. I was never spit on, but my path was. And some of those whispers were not respectful. And some of those movements of that of unwelcome looks from some I'd pass on the street. Not all were whispers, and the warning I'd gotten really didn't prepare me for some of the names I was called. "Murderer"? "Baby Killer"? "War Monger"?
I had friends in college. One friend was in summer classes at a local college and I wanted to meet up with her in the college union's cafeteria. I never saw her there. Maybe I wasn't there long enough. Maybe the fight scared her away. Maybe the thought of being seen with a "War Monger" and "Baby Killer" was too much for her. Maybe she was ashamed of how I was being treated by her fellow students. In any case, it wasn't fun. And, I learned what I was told was true. Don't wear my Army clothes in public. Hell, it wasn't really that much, just my very prized, and Asian faded, Jungle fatigue jacket, with my Screaming Eagle patch and CIB stitched on. I was proud of it, but I soon learned to not wear it in public.
Why was I feeling such shame? Why should I have felt that? What did I do?
Home, didn't feel home anymore. A soldier, doing his or her duty, shouldn't have to feel shame. In the months that followed, I hid who I was. I made no mention of my Tour of Duty. I hid, in public. I was ashamed. I was more ashamed of hiding who and what I was. A soldier shouldn't have to hide at home.
That was then. That was a different time and place. Thankfully, that was even a different country. Today, I can't say enough about how proud I am of our soldiers of today's military, and of my country's respect for those who serve today. We still have dissent about the war we fight today. We have political in-fighting about the costs and the whys and all that. But our soldiers are respected and applauded in places like airports and public gatherings. I am VERY pleased at such respect. I would be a liar if I said I wasn't a little jealous, but I take great joy in seeing today's patriotism being displayed and the respect shown to our men and women of today's military, today's Veterans. I am pleased to see them walk proudly in our streets and in parades, in all the shining glory of their uniforms. I get goosebumps when I see their patches and ribbons, and know the sacrifice they have made for us. I get even bigger goosebumps when I see Old Glory waving as it passes by, and people stand and show respect. In some small way, I see that respect being shown to ALL past Veterans when that flag is saluted. And I feel that includes me, and every other Vietnam Veteran. It feels good, and I can feel openly proud again.
By the way, I can openly wear my old boonie hat again, as well as the newer "Vietnam Veteran" hat I have, and feel good about it. I do miss that old jungle jacket though. Some A-hole stole it out of my car many years ago in Dayton. Back when wearing it in public wasn't cool, and could even start a fight. Even though I've replaced it with the same style and new patches, it isn't "that one". Too bad. I expect that inanimate shirt would like to be seen in public, and not feel some kind of shame in doing so.
Thank God for today's Veterans, as well as all those who've come, and passed, before them. To my fellow "Nam Vets", we're home guys. We're home.
Dan
Formerly,
Sgt. Bayes, Dan L.
Co C., 3/187th Infantry, Airmobile
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 1969-70