Outside the IO at Plantation in 1970

       On Saturday October 17, 1970, I finally bid adieu to Plantation Combat Base, my home for the last six months of my year-long tour of duty in the war zone.  My outfit there was the 16th Public Information Detachment, a unit attached to the headquarters of II Field Force Vietnam.  Despite the installation's name, the only hostile action my buddies and I experienced on the base during the previous half year had been  some incoming ordnance in early May in response to the US incursion into Cambodia.  That was a welcome contrast to my first few months in country with the First Infantry Division up at Lai Khe, also known as "Rocket City."  After much hand-shaking and many farewells, I got a short ride over to the 90^th Replacement Battalion on the Long Binh main post to report for separation.  I almost felt as though I was dreaming for the next three days because a prevailing mood of joy was blended with a peculiar sense of déjà vu.  The reason seems obvious: I had gone through this process a year before in reverse order when I was anticipating twelve months of danger and physical misery.

"The Neighborhood," and not a bad one at all for a combat zone

In front of the hooch with some drying laundry

 

The guys in charge of our out-processing at the 90^th were a pretty accommodating cadre and even the few who tried to give us a bit of grief were easy enough for me to take since I knew the final result of all these steps would be a return to the freedom of civilian life.  The ones in charge of inspecting our luggage were the most blunt as they went over the possible consequences of being caught with contraband such as weapons, drugs, classified material, or pornography.  I wondered if that last item included all the girlie magazines offered at every PX in the RVN but it did not matter since I had none with me anyway.  After the lecture we had access to a no-questions-asked amnesty area where we could turn over any forbidden items, and I thought that was a decent way to run things.  Even the Vietnamese barbers in the shop at the 90th tried to get into the act by warning us “no haircut, no go home!”  I got a haircut.

Happy Day - the short-timer's calendar is finally complete!

There was a security debriefing after which we signed statements attesting that we had no classified materials in our possession and that we would divulge no classified information in the future.  Then there was a malaria debriefing and statement: “By virtue of having been in Vietnam, I recognize that I have been exposed to malaria.  Malaria may develop long after departure from Vietnam.  In order that I do not contract malaria, it will be necessary for me to continue my antimalarial tablets after leaving Vietnam.  To not do so would be a violation of Department of Defense orders as well as a violation of a moral obligation not to endanger my country, my friends, and my family.”  That was followed by a certification that I had been taking chloroquine-primaquine tablets weekly, the big orange ones, and that I would continue to do so for eight more weeks after leaving Vietnam.  They made some of the guys feel sick, but fortunately I never had that problem.

At the end of all these minor hurdles we received Military Assistance Command (MAC) boarding passes with the origin of HOA, Bien Hoa Air Base, and the destination of SUU, Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, California.  During the interminable wait to board we had the chance to cheer for some poor guys just arriving which, as we had learned upon our own arrival the previous year, was another well-established tradition in the RVN.  As with the journey over the previous October, it was a government contract flight, United Air Lines this time, complete with the “round-eye” stewardesses.  That still just seemed like such a weird way to enter and leave a war zone but, then again, the entire year had been punctuated with strange thoughts, unexpected events, and a pervading sense of irony.  At least this time we were heading the right way.  It also occurred to me that now the rare and exotic species known among the troops in Vietnam as “round-eyes” would once again be “American girls” and that seeing them would be an everyday event.

When the “freedom bird” finally left the tarmac the cheers throughout the cabin were nothing short of deafening.  At that moment I experienced the literal meaning of the expression “having a weight lifted from one’s shoulders” because the release of tension was palpable.  I had not expected that sensation because until then I had not realized the level of stress I had been under for much of the last year.  No longer was I in an environment where countless people would like nothing better than to kill me because they considered that an act of patriotism in the defense of their homeland.  No longer did I have to worry about whether another soldier would snap in an environment where we were all under stress, many were often intoxicated, and all had ready access to lethal weapons.  I had never really acknowledged those feelings, partially because I had arrived in country the previous October with a combat Military Operating Specialty (MOS) expecting things to be so much worse than they turned out when I was assigned to desk duty rather than the combat status for which I had been trained.  But the primary reason for stuffing my own level of tension was because I knew what the men out in the boonies were enduring and I felt unworthy to compare my own issues to theirs.  The sense of relief, however, was as welcome as it was unanticipated and there was yet another chorus of shouting for joy when the pilot announced that we had now left South Vietnamese airspace.

Our first stop was on Okinawa for refueling and we had the chance to deplane and stretch our legs.  Then it was time to head eastward over the vast ocean, and the theme of visiting important sites from WW II continued as the pilot pointed out that we were now passing over Iwo Jima.  Mount Suribachi near the southern tip, site of one of the most iconic photographs of WW II, was visible in the late afternoon light.  As we continued east into darkness things grew quiet and I listened to some music on the plane’s sound system.  One song I remember distinctly is  the Beatles' “The Long and Winding Road” featuring Paul McCartney's soulful lead vocal.  It was the first time I ever heard that one and I was immediately entranced by both its beauty and its appropriateness to the situation.  It was to be their last number one hit because one of the many ways The World had changed during my year in Vietnam was that the Beatles were no longer together.  The greatest band of the greatest era of rock had broken up.  The last year had indeed been a long, winding, and strange journey for Bev, my family, and all of us on that plane.  The mood of the piece was dreamy and melancholy, but also infused with the narrator’s faith that he was fated to have his wanderings end with a reunion with his beloved.  While contemplating those familiar emotions I dozed.

Our next refueling stop was in the middle of the night on tiny Wake Island.  Shortly after that it was Saturday once again as we crossed the International Date Line.  The night was shortened by flying east and by the time we reached Honolulu it was dawn.  Leaving the plane for another break, we stepped back on US soil for the first time in over a year bringing on another wave of powerful emotions.  We still had about five hours of flying left to reach the US mainland so I tried to get in some sleep. That was hard, though, because it was broad daylight now and guys were talking again, but mostly because California was drawing so close.  Finally our pilot announced that the Golden Gate and San Francisco Bay were now in sight.  We cheered yet again and the cabin crew welcomed us home.  Shortly after that we were landing in Fairfield and stepping off the plane, a sensation even more emotionally charged than landing in Hawaii.  Then they took us by bus over to Oakland Army Base

         It was late afternoon by that time so they assigned us to bunks in one of the barracks and presented us each with a certificate for a free steak dinner at the on-base steak house, a nice touch.  The numerous steps of out-processing continued for most of the next two days but, of course, I did take the time to call both Bev and my family to let them know that I was really back on US soil.  We continued to wear our khakis for these many procedures and I could not help but notice some of the admiring looks we received from the base cadre, especially the women.  That uniform included our award ribbons so the red, white, and blue one for my Bronze Star was there for all to see.  Many others shared that distinction, of course, some with the addition of the “V” device for valor.  

         I knew that the men in fatigues and jungle boots who were on their way over to the RVN probably looked at us with more envy than admiration and, remembering my own emotions the previous year in Oakland, I certainly empathized with them.  With all the troop withdrawals, it was now more certain than ever that the US role in the war would end before the agonizing decades-old question of whether Vietnam was to be one nation or two was finally resolved.  Many of those troops heading to Vietnam, probably even more than those of us heading to the war zone the previous October, must have been wondering why they were being asked to put their lives on the line.  Seeing men heading west in those circumstances was a poignant sight and, unlike the end of WW II, none of the millions of us who served in Vietnam experienced the jubilation of a victorious homecoming.  The US involvement in the war truly ended not with a bang but a whimper, and certainly anything but a victory. The joy of returning to the freedom of civilian life, and perhaps the satisfaction of having served faithfully, had to suffice.  For many of us, especially the ones lucky enough to avoid combat, those rewards were to prove at least largely adequate.  But the passage of years would make it all too painfully clear that those sources of validation were insufficient to assuage the trauma suffered by far too many of our less fortunate brothers in arms.

         A presentation that I remember with special clarity was the one where the cadre encouraged us to “re-up” by pointing out all the benefits of remaining in the Army as a man with some seniority, including an immediate re-enlistment bonus.  The wall of the meeting room behind the podium was adorned with the patches of all the major units that had served in Vietnam as well as a few other insignia. 

Uncle Sam is in tears over my departure from the ranks.  Can you guess if I felt guilty?

There was also a poster of Uncle Sam, a variation of the famous “I Want You” portrait, wiping a tear from his eye with the caption “I’ll Miss You.”  We were reminded that our total obligation was six years, meaning that I would be in the reserves until March, 1975, but my unspoken reaction to that was that they would have some trouble putting a uniform on me again.

Re-enlisting was so far from my mind that the entire session seemed like an ironic joke, but the presentation that really did interest me was the one on veterans’ benefits.  Since I had served more than 18 months of active duty, I was entitled to a host of benefits such as home and small business loan guarantees, life insurance at reduced rates, and even burial in a national cemetery.  I was not aware of it at that time but when I went to see Dr. Engstrom for a dental check-up back in Minneapolis in 1971 he said that I would need my wisdom teeth out before long and that if I had it done within a year of leaving active duty the VA would pay for it.  I had them pulled.  But the GI Bill educational benefit was the best one of all for me.  I qualified for 36 months of benefits, four academic years, at a rate that was enough to cover tuition, fees, and books at the UM, as well as a healthy portion remaining for living expenses.  I did end up using the entire allowance for a total of about $10,000 in early 1970s money.

Another welcome item of business was receiving our final Military Pay Voucher.  My basic pay by that time was $162.12 per month with the additions of $8.23 for foreign duty pay, and $45.68 for serving in the war zone.  Final items were a travel allowance of $124.38 for the flight from San Francisco to Minneapolis and accrued leave pay of $252.60, so the total came to a tidy sum in 1970 dollars.

The most important document of all was the DD-214, “Armed Forces of the United States Report of Transfer or Discharge,” since that summarized all aspects of our service and was necessary for applying for any sort of veterans’ benefits.  They gave each of us multiple copies and instructed us to make more as needed in the future for proving our service, always retaining at least one copy for ourselves.  There was also a “President’s Certificate of Appreciation” signed by President Nixon, and a “US Army Certificate of Appreciation” signed by General Westmoreland, now Chief of Staff.  Finally, we were given a DA-1811, “Physical and Mental Status on Release from Active Service” certifying that I was deemed fit for either separation or re-enlistment.

  One particularly interesting touch was that we were also given a blue folder issued by the VA to hold all this paperwork.  The drawing on the front depicted a GI in field gear wearing a steel pot helmet and holding an M-16.  It was clear from the tropical foliage at his feet that he was in Vietnam, but he was staring across an expanse of water to a city of shining skyscrapers on the other side, a contemporary version of Winthrop’s “city upon a hill” representing the promise of America.  The caption was a single word: “Tomorrow…”  It struck me as an unexpectedly poignant image to find on a government publication, VN Folder 1, because it really did seem to reflect the longing of a typical GI in-country for the promise of his life after the war.

On Wednesday the 21^st I was presented with a set of special orders declaring that I was “relieved from active duty not by reason of physical disability and transferred to the United States Army Reserve” as of that date.  Then we were issued dress greens for our travels to our homes all over the country and told we were now once again civilians.  They took us by bus across the Bay Bridge and down to San Francisco International Airport.  My flight to Minneapolis had a stop-over in Salt Lake City so I called home again from there to let them know my flight and time of arrival.  Mom answered and the joy in her voice when I told her the news, as well as hearing her shout it to the others, was a wonderful thing indeed.  I noticed some folks at the airport glancing approvingly at my uniform, which also gave me a lift.

Once we left San Francisco I felt once again almost as though I was in a dream state, especially on the last leg after we departed Salt Lake.  Seeing Minneapolis as we approached made my heart beat faster, and all the joyful hugging and kissing when I finally entered the terminal even made me join all the others in shedding a few tears. 

I believe that day and our wedding day the following March were the two happiest of my life up to that point.  As we drove home through all the old familiar places I felt as though my mind was nearly overwhelmed with the flood of memories those sights were evoking.  Those emotions intensified as we entered the old neighborhood, the old block, and finally the driveway.  Then I saw that Mary had painted a poster so big that it covered three windows of the back porch with the caption “Welcome Home Steve.”  I took her picture by it and then they took one of me, but not before I went in to take off the uniform for the last time and change into civilian clothes.

Thanks, Mary!

Spending some time alone with Bev in her apartment on 4th Street that had now become our first home together was the fulfillment of our fondest dream for the past year but, of course, for now I was still living at home with my family.

When I returned and finally settled into my bed in the old familiar room I felt more relaxed than at any time since I received my draft notice over twenty months earlier.  I could not help but think of the contrast with the last time I slept in that bed at the end of my pre-deployment leave when I knew I would be shipping out the next day.  Now I was home for good.  My mind was racing with both memories and plans for the future, but I was also exhausted and soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Bev shortly after I returned; looks like she's happy to see me, and the feeling was certainly mutual.

 

A shadowbox of memories.  In Dickens' famous words, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

 

At home in our apartment on Melbourne Ave. one year later in in late 1971.  When I returned from Vietnam as a civilian once again, my top three priorities were: marry Bev Minear, return to graduate school on the GI Bill, and grow hair.  One year later: mission accomplished on all three fronts, and next March will be our golden wedding anniversary.

 

 

These recollections are from Volume Two of my memoirs In Liberating Strife: A Memoir of the Vietnam Years, available in two volumes in paperback and e-book formats on Amazon or, better yet, by order from your local bookseller.