Fifty Years Later

-Bill Petite 

So, it only took 50 years for this country to begin to seriously recognize the Vietnam Vet. That war (conflict) ended in 1975 but for me it didn’t end until December 1984. That’s when Jesus saved me, pulled me out of that miry pit and gave me a new life. Up until that time, it was like a monkey on my back which I couldn’t shake. When I came home in June of 1970, I just wanted to forget everything about it. I wanted to start my life over and get on with the rest of my life. But after about a month of being home and putting it behind me, I got a letter from a friend still there telling me a close friend had been killed. Then it hit me, that war had followed me home and I hated it. If someone asked me questions about my time there, I answered. It seemed better for me to talk about it then to keep it bottled up inside. So, I would talk about it but then I was told not to talk about by those who were asking the questions. When asked about my thoughts on the My Lai massacre, I was told by one man that I had read too many comic books. (I was not part of that or even in the Army) I was enraged and ready to attack but my brother-in-law was close by and calmed me down.

My mother and father had both died before I was 18 and I was living with my oldest sister and her husband but I couldn’t stay there long since they couldn’t afford the extra mouth to feed so I enlisted in the Marines. My other choice was to live with my brother and work for the railroad. But that would leave me as draft bait soon after my 18^th birthday. Young men were getting drafted before the ink on their draft registration was dry. I had no desire to be in the Army so I made up my mind to enlist in the Marines by my choice. It was the right decision as far as I’m concerned. It was a time when this nation was dominated by protests against the war which eventually turned against those returning home. The treatment by those who threw rocks, spit at and name called was discouraging to the Vietnam Vet. We were called baby killers, women killers and many other colorful names by people who knew absolutely nothing about what was really happening over there. And it wasn’t just spoiled college students; I was asked by adults more than once to leave an establishment as soon as I walked in. This was when I recently returned home with my Marine regulation haircut. It was obvious that I was former military and it didn’t matter whether I was in Vietnam or not. The general public hated the military.

All those guys who were coming home who were treated like criminals and cast offs, couldn’t get a job since no one wanted a Viet Vet working for them. The VA was a lost cause who didn’t help at all. When I got home, they gave me $75 for my time there and that was it. (I think it was $75) My home state of PA at least gave me $300 and wished me well and good luck. Well, that was nice but $375 wouldn’t ease the emotional trauma some of us would endure over the next many years. I suffered from PTSD until I was saved and never even realized it until years later. The VA refused to acknowledge it even was a thing. The general public wouldn’t acknowledge it and simply considered all of us as mentally ill and dangerous. Even Hollywood got into the act. Every bad guy on a TV drama was a Vietnam Vet. I heard another Viet Vet say that the only people you can talk to about it is another Viet Vet because they are the only ones who understand what we went through while we were there. 

How do you describe or explain the experience of having motors falling  around you? Or RPG rockets landing close by? How can someone who wasn’t there understand what being shot at with AK-47s or 12.7 machine guns is like? They can never understand what it’s like when a chi-com grenade goes off and hits you with the shrapnel. Vets from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars might be the only ones who can relate to a booby trap exploding and taking off the man’s legs in front of you in the column as you patrol. The people back home thought we were killing women and kids while they were every bit as dangerous as an NVA soldier. Women who were VC sympathizers would frag you when you turned your back and even send a child in your direction with a grenade on him. And we were the ones being called murderers! The general public, even Vets from previous wars, rejected us. It was very hard to adjust to a civil society when we returned home only to be treated like the bad guy and mentally corrupted. And while many continue to suffer today from their experiences and can’t get them out of their head, the only answer I have for them is Jesus. He took all of that hatred and emotional agony away. Yes, 55 years later I still have a dream here and there but it is only a dream and I know that. When I first came back I had them all the time and I hated it. I was right back there in the middle of that mess. But now, it’s just a dream.

One last thing I want to say about that war, or conflict, is American young men should have never been there. It was an over reaction on the part of McNamara and Johnson and others I’m sure. Eisenhour had advisors there in the early 1950s and into the 60s under Kennedy but that is all that should have ever been there. They feared the spread of communism would run wild and overtake South Vietnam and throughout Southeast Asia. But all the North wanted was the South and a united Vietnam. I used to wonder what they wanted with the South. North of Saigon, the country was a mess and what I saw was a hundred years behind the time. But I must say the North has made much progress in the South and brought it back into the current time. (But many did suffer in reeducation camps)

I have never viewed my time there as fighting to keep this country free of communism. That would have never happened. Every man I served with there had one goal; get home safe and in one piece. The goal wasn’t to save the U.S. from communism but to get home. I simply considered myself as a U.S. government mercenary. I was trained by the USMC and sent off to fight a war which was no threat to this country. The Vietnamese people didn’t really want our support and only wanted what they could get from the U.S. They didn’t like the fact that American soldiers and Marines were covering their countryside with bombs, grenades and artillery. They never wanted us patrolling through their villages and rice paddies. They just didn’t want us there. So, why were we there? Politics is the answer and those political decisions got over 58,000 military killed. Marines I knew and were friends with were killed over those political decisions.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m proud of my service and my time in The Marines and Vietnam. I was decorated by the Marines for my service and accomplishments while there. But I just have to be truthful and serious about what really happened and also give my opinion of that whole mess. In remembering those Marines I knew who were good men and not just numbers, I have cried over their deaths. When you see a good man, a Marine, die, it’s too hard to process at the time and then when it sinks in and hits you, it can be devastating and extremely emotional. When I received that later about the death of my close friend, my eyes were watering with tears and I was all choked up and on the verge of crying my eyes out. It had an extreme emotional effect on me.

And now, 55 years later for me, the people of this country want to thank us and pat us on the back. I’m not bitter about this; but it’s a different generation and many weren’t even born yet when I returned. And for those who were protesting and spitting at us and calling us names, how many still feel the same way? Or have they softened in time and are among those who are now welcoming us home? It’s just a curious question and I’m not concerned with an answer. I was there and I was just one of many who endured for at least one year of their life while serving there. Many of those I served with there are now gone. For those who have never had to endure time in combat, they will never know the closeness of a friend in combat. That is a closeness which knows your friend has your back all of the time and he knows you have his. It’s a life or death closeness and there is no other closeness like it. And we should never forget the over 58,000 lives lost due to bad political decisions.

I’m sure I can get differing opinions about my thoughts recorded here. There would probably be an argument or strong debate concerning what I have written and that’s OK. But just remember, if you weren’t there, you personally, you have no position to argue from. I am also sure that many will scoff at my testimony concerning Jesus saving me from all of this nagging experience and nightmares. That’s also Ok and it's

their right but I know what He has done for me and if you’re one who scoffs and is still struggling with you experience from that time, why not call out to Jesus and get the monkey off of your back.