by Tom Reilly
How many people get to experience something so profound that they can say it completely changed the trajectories of their lives?
In his book, Walden, Thoreau wrote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.” He was reflecting on the unfulfilled lives that many people live, being caught up in the tedium and boredom of society’s expectations. It’s a somber 19th century commentary on the state of 21st century life. Vietnam Vets don’t have the luxury of quiet desperation.
There is nothing quiet about the year that we lived nor the lifetime of memories that we’ve humped. We witnessed profoundly raw moments that became lifelong impressions.
Normal was never normal again. We discovered that our return to normal was a fool’s errand; that there was no going home to normal for Vietnam Veterans. Our new normal brought with it a threshold for excitement that could only be satisfied by the rush of life on the edge. Risky didn’t feel risky anymore. It was just more of the same. What rush we experienced from living so close to death we brought home to the promise of a quiet life of desperation.
We found the silence to be too much at times. We had stories to tell but no listeners; at least, none who could or would be willing to hear the naked truth. As Elie Wiesel said: the silence benefited the tormentor more than the tormented. We had things to say but no words. How could we explain the simple reality and consequences of sending boys to war? How could society accept that it stole the silly years of youth and replaced it with the somber years of men who grew old before their time? There was no coming home from so much living.
Loose ends and unfinished business would dog us for a lifetime. One day it would be over, but not today, and sadly not tomorrow … but one day. Missions were moments on a timeline that ran in a continuous loop. Today we served; tomorrow we leave; the next day is ground hog day. What did we accomplish? What did we leave hanging there? Success was, one mission, one sortie, one patrol, one day at a time. Long-term acquiesced to short-term.
We witnessed the worst and the best of humanity. Selfish and selfless lived in the same hooch, stomped the same rice paddy, and flew in the same aircraft. We laughed and cried and puked our homesickness. Holidays were just another day. There were no birthdays, Christmases, or Thanksgivings … only a Deros date, the day we would leave the Nam. Short-timer sticks replaced calendars.
We did return to the States. We brought with us a lifetime of memories that play in a continuous loop in our memory banks. We remember faces more than names. Did the names really matter that much? Maybe it was a way to not get too close … just in case. Stewart, I remember his face, bad back, and hangovers. Willoughby, his fair skin, red hair, southern drawl, and a skin rash that introduced us to Agent Orange. Callahan with a goofy smile that said, “I know something that you don’t know.” Karl, quiet, gentle … dead. Max, a pilot who crashed with Karl and was the only survivor. I flew with both. And Moose, a simple and serious guy whose brother had already given the last full measure in VN. I always wanted to ask, “Why are you here?” I didn’t; I knew the answer.
Vietnam gave us a sense of confidence, gratitude, and pride that only we could know. The man paid us little but gave us a lot. A lot to think about. A lot to remember. A lot to be proud of. Our service—unpopular, underappreciated, counter-cultural—was something to conceal then, but today some want to steal our valor. They wear our hats and sport our brand. Ain’t life funny?
What we got no one can take from us. Memories. Guilt. The thousand-yard stare. Gratitude. And, a complicated status that only we know. For me, mostly pride. There has been no life of quiet desperation. Nothing in my life has been quiet. The only desperation I have ever felt was the desperate need to serve … then and now.
Tom Reilly is the author of 17 books. His novel, Hope In The Shadows Of War, tells the story of what it was like to come home from war.
