By John Oscarson
If we reflect on what we might be doing one year from today, it seems like the end of that year is far off in the future. On the other hand, when we reflect back on where we were a year ago, it seems like the time has flown by.
I felt like I was in a fog as I was leaving Vietnam. The year had literally sped by and I could not believe it was over. I had turned in all my combat gear to the supply hooch and had retrieved the same sea bag that I had brought over from the states. I had boxed up and mailed home all the excess personal gear that exceeded what I was allowed to carry with me. My 12-month tour had ended and I was driven by jeep from Hill 10 to a Marine base that was very close to the Danang airport. Just a year before I had been coming the opposite direction and had been taken from the Danang airport to Hill 55. Now, a year later, I was coming back on some of the same roads.
The barracks where I stayed the one night before my departure flight were completely bare except for the rows of racks where we were to sleep this night. I had become accustomed to having my own rack with a mattress and clean sheets and there were none of these. There was just a bare cot with a blanket. It reminded me of the barracks that I had stayed in while I was in Okinawa on my trip over to Vietnam and it seemed just a little ironic that after a year not much had seemed to have changed. It would appear that what had changed the most was me. We were given no assignments or duties for the one day. I wrote a letter to my wife and listened to the radio and read a book.
As I contemplated the blur of all the places I had been and the things that I had seen and done in the last year, I could not help but wonder what I had accomplished. In all of my various assignments, I had tried my best to follow orders and finish all my tasks. I decided that I was coming home alive and uninjured and that must have been my greatest achievement. Yet, the war was still raging and, as I was leaving, there were Marines still coming over to take the place of those of us that were returning.
The return trip home included a stopover in Guam. I looked out the window of our charter 707 and I was overwhelmed by what I saw. There were rows and rows of B-52 bombers lined up. Many of these bombers were obviously being readied for numerous runs as we were bombing North Vietnam at the time. It struck me that I was going home but that the war was far from over. Guam was and still is a US territory and while there were military bases and planes we were in a civilian terminal with stores and shops. We did not stay but had time to visit the duty free shop at the airport and I purchased a quart bottle of Drambuie for my mother. It had been my favorite after-dinner liqueur before my Marine stint and, while I didn’t know if my mother liked it, for $8, I couldn’t pass it up. My mother told me later that she really liked it until she went to the store some time later and found out that she could not get even a tiny bottle of the same for less than $20.
When we arrived at the airport in California there were civilian crews that were searching all of the things that we were bringing back from Vietnam. I believe that there was some concern that we may have been bringing back drugs but there may have also been a concern that some of our troops may also be returning with auto AK 47s or other illegal weapons. We were asked to produce any weapons that we may have brought back with us. The young lady that was checking my things just stared at me as I pulled out a Gerber fighting dagger with a 5 degree canted blade. The blade had the slight tilt coming out of the handle so that the blade would hug your leg when it was in the sheath. If you used the knife to stab someone, the angle would direct the blade slightly up so that if you aimed for the stomach the slight angle would direct the blade more towards the heart. It was not designed for peeling apples and had been given to me by one of my best friends just before I came to Vietnam. I had carried it for the last year, at all times. She looked at it, saw that it was made in the USA, and handed it back to me. She said, “You can keep this as it is made in the United States but you cannot carry this in the terminal. It will have to go in your luggage”. I am sure that the people checking our baggage were just a little shocked at the look and attitude of the returning vets. We were not the same people that had gone over just a year before and our eyes betrayed us. I am sure that everyone could see and sense the cold feel and detachment that we all exhibited.
I said, “I brought this knife over with me and I’ll put it back in my luggage and take it home.”
I am sure that all of the returning vets looked just a little different than the “spit and polish” Marines that we had been a year earlier. While my hair was still short, it was not boot camp fashion as I had some slight side burns and it was just a little “too long”. I had also grown a mustache, not really because I wanted one but because I could. All of our clothes had taken on a musty, moldy odor as a result of being in storage in the supply hooch for a year. Even our boots had lost the luster and shine that signified a Marine.
Most of the two-year enlistees or draftees where given an “early out” upon their return from Vietnam and the completion of 18 months of service, but I was not. It seemed that my 0141 office clerk designation was considered a “critical” MOS and I would be required to finish my two full years. I was to be assigned to the Camp Pendleton Brig to assist in their office chores. But first, I was granted some time home with my wife and family.
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