HERE’S TO YOUR HEALTH
John Dewey, an American philosopher reverenced growth as the finest of all human traits and his ethical criterion was the notion that absolute good does not exist in any human, but he believed that it was a “noble goal.” Not perfection as a final goal, but the ever-enduring process of perfecting, maturing and refining should be mankind’s aim in living. In Dewey’s view, the “bad” man is the man who, no matter how good he has been, is beginning to deteriorate, to grow less good. The “good” man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better. Such a conception makes one severe in judging him/her self and tolerant of others and it’s that conception that qualifies Steve as “good” because his story is proof that no matter how far down the scale of alcoholism and addiction we have slid there’s hope.
By working A.A.’s 12 Steps, regular attendance at meetings, and getting the right kind of help, recovery is possible.
Steve’s story is not only about his recovery, but it’s also about helping others who still suffer. Here then, is the continuation of Steve’s story.
After that first night battle with the NVA, skirmishes went on daily, but none quite so intense as our initial contact with them. Although my remaining time in Vietnam seemed like an eternity, the day came when I was sent back to Saigon to be rotated stateside. Since I was sent to Vietnam by myself (not with any particular company), I would be returning home alone.
After returning to Saigon, I was mustered out and sent back to Tent City, rumors there ran rampant and although I was warned that customs officers had drug sniffing dogs at the airport, I nevertheless cached a large bag of Cambodian Red (marijuana) in my duffle bag. We had an inspection at Tent City prior to our departure and while that was going on I stuffed the bag of Red inside my uniform before they asked me to dump my duffel’s contents out on my bunk, and then while I was putting my uniforms back into the bag I stuffed the marijuana in with my other belongings.
We heard rumors that anti-war riots were going on stateside so I changed into civilian clothes before our short trip to Saigon’s airport where we boarded a plane. I vividly remember landing at LAX in Los Angeles where a crowd of irate civilians met us. Although I’d tried to disguise the fact that I was a GI returning from Vietnam I could not hide it. There was little protesting going on when we arrived, but we could feel the hatred towards us and see the look of disgust on people’s faces. My mind suddenly raced with the thought of getting as far away from there as possible. Soldiers who wore uniforms were called ugly names and I thought for sure we were going to end up fighting another war right there in California.
I caught the next flight to Indianapolis, IN and from there it was only an hour drive back to where my parents lived. I secretly despised my dysfunctional parents, but I stayed with them anyway until new orders came through for my next duty station. There was no welcome home and nobody asked what happened in Vietnam, nor did I volunteer any information or discuss it with them. It didn’t take long before I learned to keep my mouth shut about Vietnam because people on the street and in the bars were against the war and they got over emotional if it was mentioned.
I stayed drunk and stoned the whole time I was home; times had changed and so had I.
It was a mystery to me how I’d ever become a stranger in my old hometown, but I was. I watched television at the bar and saw all the anti-war riots and masses of people burning their draft cards and our flag. Protesters called us baby-killers. I learned to kill or be killed in Vietnam and I survived by regarding civilians, young, old, men, women or children as potential Viet Cong or NVA enemies who were trying to kill me. But the naïve and ignorant stateside schmucks only knew what they saw on television or reacted to opinions of sissy politicians who had never been in a fight in their life while others repeated whatever leftist line Hanoi Jane was spouting.
People in the bars tormented me by making loud noises or they tried to scare me by charging at me from the blind side and then laughed because they thought they’d played a great joke. Some of those sneering, leering, contemptuous faces will never know how close they came to triggering a reflex action that almost sent me to Leavenworth and them to the Promised Land.
Instead of being able to come back home and slowly decompress after surviving a hellish, impossible, political-situation, I found myself living among people who tried to keep me in a constant state of rage and hatred and that made me want to fight like I had been trained by our military, and they laughed as though I were the fool instead of them. That was the really big tragedy of the post-Vietnam era.
If we are not careful, I am afraid today’s civilians are going to repeat the same tragedy with our men and women coming back from Iraq. American Soldiers do their best to do what we asked them to do—-in the name of country and flag.
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