We’re grey headed now. In our youth, we fought an unpopular war in a faraway place called Vietnam. We who served – whether drafted or volunteered – came home to a country that didn’t want to hear about our experiences. We understand we would not be given a parade, both because the feelings most people had about the war and because we came back home by ourselves rather than as units.
And that has bothered many of us – nobody ever had a parade for the Vietnam vets.
The small city of Marked Tree, Arkansas, remedied that.
Two weekends ago, the Mystery Guest Blogger and I went to Memphis for a reunion of men I served with during the war in Vietnam – the men of Company C, 2nd Battalion 5th Cavalry Regiment of the famous 1st Cavalry Division. At the same time, the Wall That Heals, a small version of The Wall designed to travel across the country, was set up in Marked Tree. School buses were dispatched to Memphis, the men and ladies clambered aboard, and off we went to Marked Tree.
Escorted by motorcycles and law enforcement with their lights on, we came to an overpass lined with school kids waving flags and cheering.
Cheering for us!
Cheering for old soldiers whom they considered heroes.
As we entered the town itself, we picked up another escort – an armored personnel carrier manned by members of the Arkansas National Guard – soldiers who had themselves served recently in Iraq. And the
town had closed homes and businesses to stand along the side of the street – to cheer for us. Kids who have no idea where the country is Việt Nam is on a map – adults who were themselves kids during the war – older folks who remember the war in terms of lost loved ones – they were all out there on the street cheering.
Its been a very long time since I’ve returned a salute, but after I took this photo, I pulled in my belly as best I could, came to attention and rendered the best damned salute I could do.
Awhile later, one of these police officers approached me and thanked me for my service. The young man wasn’t even a twinkle in his daddy’s eyes when I was being shot at, but he thanked me.
We’re getting brittle in our old age, and some of us are today paying the price for our service. I doubt
the man named Ronnie in the wheelchair will be with us the next reunion. I have no doubt his cancer is due to the Agent Orange that was used during the war to defoliate the jungle. Of course, its always nice to talk meet, talk, and swap memories with fellow veterans. But this was special – a town took time from their lives to thank us. We old-timers appreciated it.
And they even had a parade for us.
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