thedrifter
11-09-08, 07:58 AM
Vietnam vet fondly recalls good will of others
Saturday, November 8, 2008 6:05 AM
By Bob thornton
First Person is a weekly forumfor personal musings and reflections from readers.
One commonly presumed difference between the war in Iraq and the Vietnam War is the respect shown to members of the armed forces.
Although some Vietnam veterans were treated poorly, I had a different experience: I remember only kindness from the civilians I met during the 1960s and '70s.
My favorite memory involves a visit to a family restaurant on Long Island, N.Y., in late March 1969.
A second lieutenant in the Marines, I was wearing my dress blue uniform.
I was alone -- and not in a good mood -- when a young, pretty waitress came to the table to take my order.
Another brought a glass of water. Then a third showed up with silverware, a fourth with a rose in a vase and a fifth with a basket of bread.
Finally, I asked what was going on. The servers said I looked lonely, depressed and in need of cheering.
I probably did look depressed. After all, I'd spent the previous four hours at a funeral home as a body escort -- a job that would keep me in the area for four days.
Whenever a Marine died in Vietnam, another Marine, usually of the same rank, was assigned to accompany the body to his home.
I didn't know the young Marine who had died, but we were the same age, rank and religion -- which is probably why I was chosen. Besides, I was stationed in Philadelphia and the remains were prepared in Dover, Del. -- a decent match geographically.
My primary responsibilities were to ensure that the body arrived at the appointed place and to assist the family in any way possible.
Not having had such a duty before, I focused intently on the mechanics of the job. I wanted to be sure that the casket got on and off the plane with me. I worried that the hearse wouldn't meet us at the correct spot at the airport or that I had overlooked other details.
Somehow, I forgot the true significance of the event -- and was unprepared for the emotional effect when the young man's family first arrived at the funeral home. There, I saw the utter devastation that the young Marine's death had caused.
I introduced myself and offered my condolences, but my presence seemed futile. I was no help, only a witness to their agony. Eventually, the family left and I escaped to the Long Island restaurant.
Despite the warm reception there, I never got back to the restaurant during my stay. I never had time.
The deceased Marine was part of a large Italian family, which took over the funeral home. The two-day wake featured a lot of laughter, tears, singing, eating -- and quite a bit of drinking, too.
I learned a great deal about my fallen comrade as well as his family, friends and fiancee. I virtually lived at the funeral home, where I also got to know the funeral director and his assistant.
On the last day of my trip, the young lieutenant was buried. My job was to present the American flag to the young man's mother.
I'd known these people for just a few days -- and didn't know my fellow Marine -- yet I was crying as much as everyone else.
Never during the experience did I hear a negative word about the war or the Marines.
In fact, during my 3 1/2 years in the Marine Corps (including a tour in Vietnam), I visited big cities, small towns, even college campuses -- and was always treated pleasantly.
There was respect for our service personnel back then, too, despite the prevailing sentiments. Never again, though, did I receive a welcome equal to that offered by the five waitresses at the small restaurant on Long Island.
The memory is pretty special.
Bob Thornton, 62, of Upper Arlington still thinks of the young Marine often -- especially around the Marine Corps birthday (Nov. 10) and Veterans Day (Nov. 11).
Ellie
Saturday, November 8, 2008 6:05 AM
By Bob thornton
First Person is a weekly forumfor personal musings and reflections from readers.
One commonly presumed difference between the war in Iraq and the Vietnam War is the respect shown to members of the armed forces.
Although some Vietnam veterans were treated poorly, I had a different experience: I remember only kindness from the civilians I met during the 1960s and '70s.
My favorite memory involves a visit to a family restaurant on Long Island, N.Y., in late March 1969.
A second lieutenant in the Marines, I was wearing my dress blue uniform.
I was alone -- and not in a good mood -- when a young, pretty waitress came to the table to take my order.
Another brought a glass of water. Then a third showed up with silverware, a fourth with a rose in a vase and a fifth with a basket of bread.
Finally, I asked what was going on. The servers said I looked lonely, depressed and in need of cheering.
I probably did look depressed. After all, I'd spent the previous four hours at a funeral home as a body escort -- a job that would keep me in the area for four days.
Whenever a Marine died in Vietnam, another Marine, usually of the same rank, was assigned to accompany the body to his home.
I didn't know the young Marine who had died, but we were the same age, rank and religion -- which is probably why I was chosen. Besides, I was stationed in Philadelphia and the remains were prepared in Dover, Del. -- a decent match geographically.
My primary responsibilities were to ensure that the body arrived at the appointed place and to assist the family in any way possible.
Not having had such a duty before, I focused intently on the mechanics of the job. I wanted to be sure that the casket got on and off the plane with me. I worried that the hearse wouldn't meet us at the correct spot at the airport or that I had overlooked other details.
Somehow, I forgot the true significance of the event -- and was unprepared for the emotional effect when the young man's family first arrived at the funeral home. There, I saw the utter devastation that the young Marine's death had caused.
I introduced myself and offered my condolences, but my presence seemed futile. I was no help, only a witness to their agony. Eventually, the family left and I escaped to the Long Island restaurant.
Despite the warm reception there, I never got back to the restaurant during my stay. I never had time.
The deceased Marine was part of a large Italian family, which took over the funeral home. The two-day wake featured a lot of laughter, tears, singing, eating -- and quite a bit of drinking, too.
I learned a great deal about my fallen comrade as well as his family, friends and fiancee. I virtually lived at the funeral home, where I also got to know the funeral director and his assistant.
On the last day of my trip, the young lieutenant was buried. My job was to present the American flag to the young man's mother.
I'd known these people for just a few days -- and didn't know my fellow Marine -- yet I was crying as much as everyone else.
Never during the experience did I hear a negative word about the war or the Marines.
In fact, during my 3 1/2 years in the Marine Corps (including a tour in Vietnam), I visited big cities, small towns, even college campuses -- and was always treated pleasantly.
There was respect for our service personnel back then, too, despite the prevailing sentiments. Never again, though, did I receive a welcome equal to that offered by the five waitresses at the small restaurant on Long Island.
The memory is pretty special.
Bob Thornton, 62, of Upper Arlington still thinks of the young Marine often -- especially around the Marine Corps birthday (Nov. 10) and Veterans Day (Nov. 11).
Ellie