I resurrect this not-quite dinosaur or zombie thread because the subject has become an issue for me, again.
If you're willing to read my four-page story I'd enjoy knowing your thoughts. My healing came from putting this into print. If this helps anyone else, so much the better.
Thanks,
Bob
Bob,
I enjoyed reading your story. It makes a lot of sense to me.
I was a bit different. I grew up hearing my Father talk about his experiences in WWII. He wasn't a front-line soldier, but he drove a jeep all over England, France, Belgium, and Germany...delivering orders from HQ to various units. He landed on Utah beach on D-Day (in his jeep), was in and around Bastogne when the Battle of the Bulge began (though he left, he said the guys from the 101st were moving into their billets as they were moving out). He carried a Thompson sub, and got into a few scrapes and had some chilling and amusing war-stories.
I began to read military histories and the like very early on. My brother went into the Army in 1970, but luckily was sent to West Germany for his entire hitch, after training, of course. Obviously, like you...I grew up watching the evening news, with the daily stories and film of Vietnam.
Even though my Father and brother had been in the Army, and I had various Uncles and a Grandfather who had been in the Army and Navy, and one Uncle who was a Marine...I had become enamored of the Air Force. So, three weeks after I graduated H.S. in the late '70s, I was off to Lackland AFB, San Antonio TX, at the ripe old age of 17. I had decided before I finished my Technical Training that I was going to make a career out of the USAF.
I always felt that I had joined out of patriotism...but it's also true that the job situation wasn't that great in the Rust Belt in the late '70s.
I remember the night of the failed rescue attempt of the U.S. hostages in Iran. It was late at night, or very early in the morning. I was stationed at Griffiss AFB, and almost simultaneously with hearing the news, we watched the alert B-52s and KC-135s do their "elephant walk"...and then they all took off. Didn't know if we were about to go to war, if nukes were going to fly, or what. It was a bit disconcerting.
I was in Iceland when Iraq invaded Kuwait. A bunch of us volunteered to go to Saudi Arabia, or wherever they were going to deploy to, to be a part of the operation to liberate Kuwait. We were told that *no one* would be deploying from Iceland, because it was of vital strategic importance. A couple months later, I PCS'ed to Bitburg, Germany.
While flying back from Iceland to the U.S., for 30 days leave before I went on to Germany, I was in for a shock. I realize I never experienced the horrible treatment that Vietnam-era vets got, but the military was still viewed not-so-favorably in the late '70s and through the '80s. For the first 10 years or more of my military service, I never heard anyone say, "Thanks", or really ever heard any positive comments. I had heard plenty of negative, and even threatening, comments. But walking through the airport in my uniform upon arriving from Iceland...people were friendly! People smiled at me, gave the thumbs up, were generally positive. What the heck? I had only been away for 13 months...how did things change so drastically?
When I got to Bitburg, I learned that my shop had already deployed people to Saudi, and I was told that I was #1 on the list to go if they needed anyone else there. Had my uniforms, chem gear, and everything else in a bag just inside the front door of my apartment, but never got the call. I was disappointed by that...until reports started coming back of the health issues some G.I.s were experiencing from the fires, and whatever else may have been in the air over there. Not sure how many AF guys were exposed to any of that...probably mostly Army or Marines "on the ground" in Kuwait. Part of me still wishes I could have gone...the practical side of me says I'm probably lucky that I didn't. The reality is that my shop at Bitburg did more work on the "black boxes" from the F-15s that were in the war, than our guys in Saudi did. So...I like to believe I did my part.
While in Germany, my parents came over to visit. I took a month off, and we just toured around Europe seeing the sights. We went to a couple "Battle of the Bulge" museums in Belgium. In one museum, my Dad was explaining something from one of the displays to my Mom and I, and two women came up to us. One of them, the older one, asked my Dad..."You were here, yes? During the war?" He said he was, and she very gratefully thanked him. She said she was just a girl then, but she remembered all of it. My Dad said that he didn't really do anything...the guys who were buried all over Europe were the ones who deserved the thanks. She, and I believe the other woman was her daughter, both hugged my Dad, and we were all on the verge of tears. Then they asked if I was his son, and if I was stationed there, and then they thanked me.
I knew they meant well, and I was proud of my Father...but I kind of felt small, and undeserving of any "thanks". I mean...my tour in Germany was practically a European vacation.
Well, anyway...now that I've written all of this I'm not sure how to wrap it up. But I guess I better before it gets any longer. I guess I'll just say that I like to believe I did my part. I went where I was told, and did what I was ordered to do. I may not have gone in harm's way, and at times that makes my contributions seem pretty trivial...
Tim