Woog's World: "Vietnam vets' day of honor"

It may be America's best kept secret: Three years ago, Congress designated every March 30 -- the anniversary of the departure, in 1973, of the last U.S. troops -- "Welcome Home Vietnam Veterans Day."

Compared to Vietnam Vets Day, Arbor Day is Christmas, New Year's and the Fourth of July, rolled into one.

Here in Westport -- a town where in 1972 the RTM voted 17--15 to ask President Nixon and Congress to "take immediate action to withdraw from the war in Vietnam," the first time that town body ever debated foreign policy -- a disparate group of Vietnam vets was pleased to hear of the honor.

"Considering that many of us were ignored, badgered and even spit upon when we came home, I am all for some recognition," says Staples High School graduate Carl Swanson.

"I am not a big `day' guy, because it has been overdone. But if you visit the green in front of Town Hall, and view the attention given to World War II and Korean veterans, and then view the tiny plaques of those who died in Vietnam, there is a great disparity."

When Swanson returned from Vietnam in June of 1970 -- just after Kent State -- his short hair and deep tan gave Swanson away as a vet. One of the most vocal opponents was Scott Newman, Paul's son -- though, Swanson notes, they later became "pals of sorts."

For decades since, mention of Swanson's Vietnam service has caused a variety of reactions. In 2006, while living in Houston, his doctor mentioned that she was planning a trip to Vietnam. He told her he'd fought there. She said, "Thank you for serving." That was the first time, he notes, "anyone said anything involving gratitude."

Recently, three friends confirmed the same long-standing lack of sympathy for their own Vietnam service. One was angry at the abundance of "support the troops" messages for Iraq. That's sad, Swanson says. "Wounds are still open."

Swanson admits that Vietnam veterans have not helped their own cause. He recalls a Memorial Day parade in Austin. "The World War II and Korean vets came marching down the street, all proud and proper. Then the Vietnam guys came down like a bunch of bums, with skanky clothes and looking homeless (which they were not)."

Swanson once called the Vietnam veterans' association in Houston, asking for worthwhile causes he could support. "All I heard about was the keg parties they were having," he says. "Perhaps it is because many people were, and still are, screwed up from the war. But many of the efforts I've seen of that era are not memorable, and a reason why we have been ignored."

Steve Doig's experience was different than his Swanson's. There were no ticker tape parades when the Staples grad returned -- but no one called him "baby killer" either. He served out his final 15 months as a Defense Information School instructor in Indiana, then went back to Dartmouth to finish school and lived in married housing. It was 1973; the war was winding down and, Doig says, "I don't think anyone cared much anymore."

Unlike those who never returned from Vietnam -- or came back maimed, injured or messed up -- Doig's experience was positive. Today, as Knight Chair in Journalism at Arizona State University, Professor Doig credits his career success to his Army training.

Doig enlisted voluntarily. That, he says, "gives me license to sneer at chickenhawk neocons like Cheney who pound the war drums without ever having put themselves in harm's way." When he meets "some right wing saber-rattler who starts to harrumph at me about the liberal news media being un-American," Doig asks them where and when they served. When he adds that he is a decorated Vietnam veteran, they shut up.

Doig says that for him, the March 30 event is unnecessary. War was something he did long ago; he does not think much about it these days, one way or the other.

"There's no hole in my life because I wasn't cheered when I got back. I was too busy getting on with that life," he says. "But if this kind of retroactive thanks makes some vets or their families happy, then great."

In 1968 Carl Weiman was in grad school at Ohio State University. He had a 2-S (student) deferment. The brutality and deceit of the war enraged him; so did the police state tactics of "D Platoon," a Columbus police group with blacked-out badges and truncheons who reveled in beating protestors and student onlookers during what Weiman calls "their many declared `emergencies.'"

His youngest brother, Edward, was graduating from high school. Weiman calls him "a witty poet, painter, saxophone player, and very independent."

Edward loved to fly. After taking private lessons, he joined the Army to fly rescue helicopters. He was 19.

A year later Weiman opened a letter from Edward. It began: "Dear Carl, I am alive and well in Vietnam, and yes, I am still a virgin. Guess what, the War sucks." He went on to describe the brutality of mass destruction and rape by American soldiers. He had been there 10 days.

The letter arrived a month after Edward sent it -- and three weeks after, Carl learned Edward had been killed in a flaming crash.

He cried for days, and told his thesis adviser he couldn't think or work. Slowly, the professor brought Weiman back to life, with readings from the Talmud and about the Holocaust.

"I never reconciled with my parents' right-wing view of the war, and maintained a bitter feeling towards the System," Weiman says. "But never towards my brothers who went to endure what happened on the ground. The recent wars I greet with some disbelief in the official line. But not the same alienation I felt during the Vietnam War."

Weiman supports Welcome Home Vietnam Veterans Day. "Even though mine will never come home," he concludes, " I see so many sad, hopeless cases around the country that need to be brought back from limbo."

Dan Woog is a Westport writer. His blog is www.danwoog06880.com; his e-mail is dwoog@optonline.net.