"Forgotten Soldiers"

[thedrifter]

"Forgotten Soldiers"

eMail | 2-1-04 | by a daughter of an Air Cav Troop commander, in 1972

In 1972, as I took my first breath, thousands of men took their last. I was born during a war, but was raised in a time of peace. My father fought in this war. Yet, I never quite understood the exact nature of the sacrifices he and so many other men and women made to secure what they deemed as our freedom. I always knew that Vietnam was a "bad" war and I always knew it was a negatively charged memory in the minds of those who lived during that time, but I never really felt it. Growing up in the aftermath of such a brutal past, I was brought up in a time of newfound peace and spared the harsh details thought best to be forgotten. It wasn’t until 1999, that I began to realize the full extent of the effects the war had on my father.

I was in the process of planning my wedding when I received a call from him. He asked me if I would be interested in attending a funeral with him that was to be held in a town close to where I lived. It took me by surprise. What funeral? Who had died I wondered, concerned by the obvious distress I heard in his voice. He continued, explaining that the remains of a man under his command, Lt. James R. McQuade, had just been found in the jungles of Vietnam and they were finally going to be able to bring him home and put his soul to rest. "Oh", I said, somewhat taken off guard, "Sure daddy, I’ll go". As I hung up, my mind began to race. I had no idea such things were still going on. After all, it had been almost thirty years since the war and my father had never revealed to me that there were men he knew that had been lost over there.

The day finally came when my father flew up for the memorial service. The funeral was not really on my mind though, just the happiness to see him. We drove together down to the area where the funeral would be held the next day and stayed on the military base that night.

As we sat there in the room, my father said, "There’s something I want to show you". He left the room and came back with a stack of letters. As he laid them in front of me I noticed they were old, handwritten letters. He had kept them all these years he told me. A grieving mother had written them, Jim’s mother. "The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do is write to this woman and tell her that her son was gone," he said, "She wrote me back and this is what she said". I took the letters from him, very interested in what they might say. She thanked my father in this letter for taking the time and care to write her a personal message about the death of her son and then continued to tell him to hang in there and that she was proud of what he and the others were doing over there. I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as I read this letter from a woman who had lost her oldest son forever and was able to write words of encouragement to my father who she had never met.

She had continued over the years to write to him and he had kept every single letter she wrote. I didn’t know what to think. I was not expecting to have such deep emotions on a trip, I thought, was about spending time with my father and had now turned into a trip back to an unsettling time I had never known. As I lay in bed that night, my curiosity wandered through thoughts of what I might encounter at the funeral.

The next morning as we began the journey to the church I felt oddly somber for a man I had never met who had died a couple of months after my birth. I couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that while my life had just begun, his was close to its end. When we finally reached the church, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to get out of the car. I had no idea how I would react.

We walked in and immediately Jim’s sister approached my father with a smile and appreciation for his presence. Unfortunately, Jim’s mother had passed away only a few month’s before. I felt great respect for my father as we were seated in the front area reserved for the family. He was asked to do part of the eulogy that day and I was at the edge of my seat in anticipation as though I might catch some hidden piece of his character as he walked to the podium to speak.

I sat there in the church pew and watched him cry as he spoke of the bravery of a man who had given his life in an attempt to save the lives of others. He spoke of how Jim had heard of a downed helicopter crew and without hesitation declared, "Let’s go get em’". My heart sank as I watched the pain in my father’s face. I had never really noticed this part of my father that affected him so deeply and now seemed so obvious to me. He had spent so many years keeping these feelings to himself perhaps to shield those he loved from the horrific reality of what he encountered in Vietnam.

By the time we reached the gravesite, my emotions were still being bombarded with more to take in. Hearing the helicopters fly overhead in the missing man formation, my sorrow deepened when I watched the lone helicopter separate from the group signifying the lost pilot. Even more heartbreaking, I discovered that Jim and his mother’s remains were to be buried in the earth together, finally reunited. These were all blows, one after the other, on my fragile state of being at that moment. What was I to do with all of this? A new world opened up to me that day, one that I was unaware existed which my father had lived in and will never forget.

Since the funeral, what I experienced has remained fresh in my mind. That day, my father opened a door inside himself and revealed to me a substantial part of who he is. It had remained locked up to this point and I was teeming with curiosity with what I might discover on the other side. I have been continually asking him questions since then about that time in his life in an attempt to understand what had never been explained to me.

I have many questions and a great need to quench my thirst with the answers. One particular question I just could not seem to get out of my mind was why I had never before heard amazing stories of valor during the Vietnam War like I had about other wars.

My father is a strong man; nevertheless, I know the war profoundly affected him and others. I have met veterans who are unable to move past that time in their life. They are trapped in the terror that goes hand in hand with any kind of warfare, yet there seems to be so much more involved when talking about this specific war.

The more I talk with my father about what he suffered through during Vietnam, it has become clear to me that he carries much more than just the usual psychologically damaging effects caused by war. He bears a sense of deep resentment. His resentment, however, does not originate from his tours in Vietnam, but instead what he encountered when he came home. He felt and still does feel he had been condemned for believing in the fight he fought even though he gave up everything including the possibility that he may never see his family again by volunteering to protect the American way. He still has not recovered from the way he felt the media used their power to criticize all aspects of the war and with those protesting in the name of peace by attacking soldiers, calling them "baby killers" and countless other appalling names.

After the tragedy of September 11th, I have seen people pull together in a way I have never experienced or thought possible. I felt a deep sense of pride in my country more than I ever had before in my life. My generation has never really been exposed to such ruthless aggression and mass suffering on American soil before, so I was very moved by the multitude of encouragement that came pouring in from everywhere for the heroes who are willing to give their lives for our freedom. I watch on the news in absolute amazement as I revel in the unity of all Americans when our brave soldiers come home to the thousands of cheering people. But still, a part of me remains melancholy.

What reception did the men of my father’s generation meet? Where were the cheering crowds when they stepped off the ships and planes that brought them home? How sad it is that they were treated like traitors, these men that fought in the name of freedom. There were so many that lost life and limb, their posttraumatic stress excelled by the rejection of their heartfelt efforts.

My father recently told me a story of his trip home after one of his tours in Vietnam. A woman behind the counter of an airline refused to serve him because he was in military uniform. That was his homecoming, no cheering crowds and no recognition of his sacrifices. Even worse, soldiers like my father were confronted with hatred and disapproval. The history books say we lost the Vietnam War, but the real loss was not in the shortcoming of those that fought, yet instead the weakness created by a tremendous lack of support from the very people these soldiers sought to protect. There was no strong bond between Americans during the Vietnam War like that of World War II with Pearl Harbor or now with the World Trade Center disaster.

continued.......

[thedrifter]

My philosophy has always been that war is unnecessary. Nobody should have to experience the horror of watching their friends die while fighting for their own survival on a daily basis, however, history has shown that it happens over and over again. Fighting in a war requires a kind of strength I am not sure I possess or at least I have never had to test myself in that way.

It is understandable that many people used Vietnam as a chance to promote peace especially since Human Rights was in the forefront of the political scene. Unfortunately, it was at the expense of one of our country’s greatest assets, the few exceptional members of our society willing to risk their lives for the safety of the whole.

The ultimate goal of any good nation should always be that of peace, but without those who are willing to fight to protect it, peace could never be maintained. There are those who seek chaos and destruction and it is a bittersweet irony that sometimes the only way to keep peace is to fight for it. We all understand that now in the midst of terrorism. It offers us the opportunity to understand how vulnerable we really are and how valuable the protection of peace is to our way of life. Now, while we are in a time where our freedom has been threatened, we should look back to 30 years ago and ask ourselves what the difference is between those men and the ones that fight today. The only mistake the soldiers of the Vietnam War made was to be of fighting age in American history’s most unpopular war. The burden of our mistakes as a nation has unfairly been placed on the shoulders of some our most courageous members of society. These soldiers were no different than any other person who has ever fought for our country. Now is the time for us to shout our approval to these brave souls who gave their best a generation ago, our forgotten soldiers. Welcome home daddy. Welcome home to you all.

Note: Lt. James R. McQuade was flying an OH6A (Hughes 500) trying to land next to another crashed OH6, and got hit by an SA7 surface to air missle. All happened 6/11/72.


http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1069567/posts


Sempers,

Roger