Is it too late in making amends with our Vietnam veterans?

It is never too late to exhibit kindness and respect for others. Making amends is not so important for those of us that were disrespected for doing our duty to our country as it is for those that did the disrespecting to redeem their own self-respect.

I was lucky in several ways, ways that saved me from suffering the "outrageous misfortune" visited upon Vietnam era vets (keep in mind that all vets of that period suffered abuse even if they didn't serve in Vietnam - the peaceniks were sufficiently caring to distinguish). First of all I was much older and better educated than most GIs of that period. Thus more aware of the world and geopolitics. (I well remember one youngster at Infantry OCS who thought that Vietnam was part of Europe) and more confident of myself and my purpose in serving in Vietnam. (Later research and study would only serve to reinforce my convictions) I was stationed in Hawaii following my tour of duty in Vietnam, where the relationship between the military and civilian community was much better than in CONUS and anyone in military uniform didn't suffer abuse unless they wandered onto the campus of the University of Hawaii. My only real pain was the anger I felt at seeing in news reports other soldiers being abused and not being able to defend them.

That being said, it's not a personal issue for me. My only concern remains for those who were abused and I honestly don't believe that bell can be unrung. The best we can hope for is an end to the abuse.

Sadly, there are some old peaceniks out there who are only too willing to reap abuse on Vietnam Vets is they feel they can get away with it. I know. I've shut down a few over the years. It's quite easy inasmuch as they are essentially cowards. Remember how they only act in mobs? That's a fair bet you're dealing with cowards.

I think the 'amends' needs to start with our government.

What triggered our being in the Army back then was predicated on whether or not we would be drafted. So suddenly we had to make a choice we would not otherwise have had to make- wait and see if they call our number or join and endeavor to manage our own fate by choosing our own MOS as opposed to having one assigned you via the draft.

So now, there we are, in Vietnam. What did we see? Guidance from those above who were largely clueless about how we needed to run that war. Body count lies to satisfy the press. Dumb commands from commanders who had just finished OCS and thought they knew what they were doing and ended up needlessly endangering the grunts they were managing. Second and first lieutenants being shot in the back by whoever was carrying the Tokarev. Fratricide that became a close-hold secret. ("We regret to advise you that your son......"). Parents were never told the truth when their son (or daughter) was killed because of a screw-up.

I finally get my dream job- being in a dustoff unit. What do I see? Wounded, wounded and more wounded. Amputations were common but what was even more common was still having an arm or leg but in name only- the skin had been blasted or torn away, leaving bones with flopping pieces of meat attached.

Bandaging the guys and then having to carefully watch them as they laid there with blank looks on their faces. Blank looks because they saw that their lives as they knew them were over- no more football, baseball, going out on a Saturday night, probably no more girlfriends, either.

How many times I had to jam a cigarette in their faces to keep them from dwelling on this and then simply giving up and letting go. I saw this a few times- after 'stabilizing' the guys and turning my attention back to watching out the door for traffic and then looking over my shoulder to be sure my IV's were running and the bandages were holding and seeing one of the guys apparently sleeping. Only my sixth sense told me there was more to it than that and sure enough, it took more than a tap on the shoulder to rouse the kid because he had decided he was going to check out, having no future to look forward to. Thank you General Westmoreland, thank you President Johnson.

I had a moment of clarity a couple of times- I took a more objective look at what was surrounding me: about six or seven guys all splayed out on the helicopter's cabin floor, pools of blood building up where their legs crossed and me wrapping their bodies, legs and arms with Kerlix and Carlisle bandages.

Hmmmm, I thought, an average of five or so guys, twice a day, nearly every day. Times six days a week, times four point three weeks per month times twelve months a year. Times the number of dustoff medics on first up in each division. TIMES TEN YEARS!

Ten fucking years this had been going on and no one had taken the time to look at what was happening and realize the situation had gotten out of control. How could the lifers back in Washington, D.C. allow for this, I wondered. Why wasn't anyone telling those guys back in Washington what was going on? I had blood half-way up my arms six days a week and no one cared.

Well, we know why. Because they were not part of what we were doing. They had their meetings, their fine white linen tablecloths while we had our hot hoists, hot LZ's, firefights and short rounds.

I'm knee deep in daily examples of man's inhumanity to man and the officials back in Washington were discussing policy. There was obviously a serious disconnect between them and us, I was thinking.

Surely, I thought, if only a few of them would sit in my dustoff helicopter and see all the carnage, up close and personal, they would realize they needed to pull the plug on this war, regroup and re-think their strategy.

But that never happened. Instead we got, after the fact, a book by one of them, 'apologizing' for not having seen more clearly how poorly and ineffectively they were running that war.

An 'apology'?? In book form? For which the guy gets royalties?

Where's the apology in that? Do my dead friends get a share in those royalties?

So here we sit, all these years later, Vietnam mostly forgotten, the lifers who so severely botched that war retired or deceased and I still can't get all the blood off my hands and arms.

The years have passed. Now we have a new war and because it is tied to something more close to home -9/11-, the civilians are more tuned into our military.

"Thank you for your service!" they say. Lady, I am thinking, you have no idea.

There has been no accounting for the damage done to our generation (and don't let us forget Agent Orange, a chemical deliberately sprayed on our own troops which later had them dying from the cancers created by that chemical spray) nor do I see one coming.

Yes, I was asked if I had killed any children. I was asked if I had burned down any villages.

But where the focus was on us, the guys on the spear's point, no one has pressed for an accounting for all the carnage that came from poorly thought-out policies created and pushed down by our Leaders in Washington.

And now, from that same combat zone, they make our tennis shoes. How am I supposed to explain that to my friends when I get to Heaven? "Sorry, guys. You were killed for reasons that evaporated when the politics changed". What size shoe do you wear, I'll ask them. Maybe I'll bring some Nikes with me....

That 'amends' to which you refer needs to come from the Top. That clueless but well-meaning civilian who 'thanks me for my service' was not the one who got my friends killed needlessly, she is not the one who pushed policies and strategies that evaporated with the turning of the calendar pages.

Keep your thanks. I'm still waiting to get a letter postmarked from Washington, D.C. A letter that explains how shifting values can reasonably explain away why it is okay that our brothers (and sisters) are no longer with us.