Posted by Mark - IN. on November 09, 2011 at 22:04:11 from (71.57.62.154):
In Reply to: Viet Nam Vets posted by Old Roy on November 09, 2011 at 17:25:51:
I was far too young to have served back then. I served, but not that early, and never combat.
That being said, I was taught respect and taught to give respect when I got home from Germany, ETS'd from the Army a day or few before Thanksgiving, 1985. I will never forget that night for as long as I live. Never ever.
1985, stationed at Coleman Barracks in Mannheim, Germany. East and West Germany still existed, but things were falling apart for communism, and East and West Germany were headed for unification big time. I was there watching these guys fighting and gaining more and more freedom day in and day out, at the same time I was reading daily in the Army Times about things going on back home in Elkhart, IN, and the rest of America, things that I didn't like. Freedoms being lost. That was disturbing as all get out to me. I'm from America, and reading about freedoms being lost left and right. At that time, I was being asked to stay in West Germany to work for a military contractor, and was going to do it. They were going to pay me in American dollars and at the time, it was 4 Deutchmarks to 1 U.S Dollar, and in my mind, Germany was becoming freer, and my home was going the other way. I told the contractor OK, I would stay to work for them, but wanted to go home for a month to see my family.
A day or two before Thanksgiving, I outprocessed from Ft. Dix, NJ, and had just arrived home in Elkhart, IN at night via bus from Chicago Ohare. Was cold and snowing, and I wanted to surprise my family and just pop up, but they surprised me and no one was home. I'm at a phone booth calling everyone, no one answers. I picked up my duffle bag and started hoofing it in the snow. A mile or so down the road, there was a bar that wasn't there when I left and is gone now, Gubi's on Cassopolis St, so I stopped in. I didn't know what to think. I knew what happened to Vietnam vets and how they got treated when they got home, and it wasn't good. And while I was in Germany reading the Army Times, I got the idea that I wasn't going to be welcome when I got home either. I guess that it came from being isolated from American society, and having nothing to go by but what I read.
So, its cold and snowy, and I carried my duffle bag up to the side door, and set it down off to the side, and walked in wearingmy Class A's for the last time. I wanted my family to see my ribbons and spit shined jumps for the last time and thats what I was wearing when I walked in the door and stood there looking around. Its like everyone at every table quit talking and just sat there staring at me and I honestly didn't know if I was in trouble or not. I just stood there taking it all in and trying to figure out whether or not I was welcome. There was an elderly couple, in their 70's I would guess, sitting at a table nearest me, and the gentleman looked at his wife and they both sat their flatwear down, and he got up and walked over to me, reached out to shake my hand, and said "Thank you", and then went back and sat down and picked up his flatwear and began eating again. His wife winked at me and picked up her flatwear and went back to eating aw well. I looked around and most were smiling at me I guess, so up to the bar and had my first Amrican beer in a couple of years. The owner of the bar, restaurant, Craig and his wife, Joyce, and a sister, Linda all welcomed me, and let me bring my duffel bag in and set it behind the bar. A couple of beers and few phone calls later, my mother answered and the whole family was now at her house. Craig had his bartender drive me and my duffle bag home, and what a Thanksgiving that was.
I never made it back to Germany, and I learned a lesson from that elderly gentleman that I will never ever forget for as long as I live. I don't care what I am doing or where I am, when a soldier passes by in eyeshot, I stop what I am doing and go over to shake hands and make it very clear that these United States Of America ar their home, and for as long as I'm alive, they will always be welcome here.
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Today's Featured Article - Harvestin Hay: The Early Years (Part 2) - by Pat Browning. The summer of 1950 was the start of a new era in farming for our family. I was thirteen, and Kathy (my oldest sister) was seven. At this age, I believed tractor farming was the only way, hot stuff -- and given a chance I probably would have used the tractor, Dad's first, a 1936 Model "A" John Deere, to go bring in the cows! And I think Dad was ready for some automation too. And so it was that we acquired a good, used J. I. Case, wire tie hay baler. In addition to a person to drive th
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