A Warm Welcome for Vietnam Vets, 40 Years Later

Over 200 gathered Friday at the for an unusual Veterans Day celebration: a belated welcome home to the soldiers, airmen and women who fought in the Vietnam War, just 40-years too late.

Click on the photo, at right, to watch an audio slideshow.

It’s a familiar story: the soldiers were young (the average Vietnam service man was 19-years-old) and though most didn’t ask to make the long trek to 'Nam  – over 25 percent were drafted into the war –  many perished once there. 

The young men who returned home were not regarded as heroes by the populace of the politically charged late 60s, though they carried losses commensurate with heroism.  Over 75,000 Vietnam Vets are classified as ‘severely disabled’; more than 5,000 soldiers and airmen lost limbs.

It’s an oversight that Dan Parker, commander of Post 1943 and a lifelong Sonoma resident, saw an opportunity to correct with this year’s service.

A veteran of Desert Storm, Parker returned home to parades and a warm welcome. Not all veterans were given the same recognition.

"We never did anything for Vietnam veterans – when they came home they were met with hostile Americans for no good reason – so they never did receive a welcome," Parker said.

"Historically if you go up to a Vietnam Vet and shake their hand and thank them for their service, it means the world to them because they never got that,” he said.

About two dozen Vietnam Veterans took to the stage, where they were greeted with cheers of ‘welcome home’ and raucous applause.

The former soldiers and airmen were also serenaded by a special tune, ‘Unsung Hero,’ composed and performed by Gail Weir, along with vocalist Phyllis Carter.

Keynote speaker Col. Bucky Peterson, who served in Vietnam, encouraged the vets to find pride in, if not what they accomplished, what they endured.

 “We fought at a war that was ambiguous at best, a war with highly questionable motives, a war that made us feel shame and guilt and made us question ourselves – a war in which 2,138 are still missing in action,” Peterson said. “Every soldier, airman, marine and woman should have enormous pride that we served, because it was our duty – we faced a country with its collective anger struck out against anything that reminded them of the war and we were the most prominent targets.”

It’s a familiar sentiment for Mike Thomas. When the now 65-year-old set off for his service, his whole family saw him off at the airport. When he returned, just his brother came to offer him a lift.

Thomas was just 17 when he enlisted in the Air Force – a fresh-faced 19 when he requested a post in Vietnam, to escape the drudgery of the Nebraska base for what he assumed would be a heroic tour defending democracy.

“I had no idea: I was pretty naïve,” he said.

For a year, starting in April of ’66, Thomas flew security missions for a base in Nah Trang, in the south of Vietnam. By the time he returned home, like the rest of the country, he was disillusioned. He joined Vietnam Veterans against the War; he was done with the military.

To define his post-war views, Thomas is a pacifist – but he's glad that, regardless of political affiliation, veterans of the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan are not met with the same breed of distain.

"It’s really positive now that veterans get recognition rather than contempt: Now soldiers aren’t blamed, it’s politicians that start these wars," Thomas said.

Eventually Thomas moved past his experience: he married, worked for a time teaching high school, before becoming a full time private investigator.

He never put on his uniform again.

Though Gene Campagna wears his uniform with pride now, he wore plain clothes for his ride home from duty.

Like many vets, he was deterred by the stories – veterans being spit at, shouts of “Baby Killer” and “murder,” – “Why go through all the abuse,” he thought at the time.

“We were made to feel ashamed with what we did,” said Campagna.

On Friday, the now 65-year-old stood in front of a small huddle of kids, fielding questions about day to day life during the war (His description of ‘pungee sticks,’ the sheets of bamboo that the Viet Cong shaved into a sharp, pointed skewers to line the bottoms of booby traps, drew wide eyes from the youths.)

Recounting even the worst of his service is healing, says Campagna, who attends the “Here and Now” support group for combat veterans in Santa Rosa every Monday for a chance to talk about the horrors of combat with fellow servicemen.

“Depression, anxiety, paranoia: That’s why a lot of us turned to drugs,” says Campagna. “We had no one to turn to – we’re only able to talk about it now.”

For seven years after the war, Campagna was a virtual shut in – leaving his home only to go to his job repairing phone lines for PG&E. Every where he went, he heard the rat-ta-ta-tat of guns; behind every corner lurked the Viet Cong.

“It was just classic post-traumatic stress disorder,” he said.

Sonoma's veterans fared better.  Dennis O’Neil was greated with fanfare after he returned to Sonoma after his 1967 tour in Vietnam, where he was drafted right out of high school at 19.  Friends and family honored the young veteran; his picture was printed in the Sonoma Index-Tribune: "They rolled out the red carpet for me.”

But, O’Neil, now 65, is still haunted by the memories of his four high school classmates, who perished during their service in Vietnam.

“The unanswered question: Why did I come home and not my classmates? That I’ll never be able to understand,” said O’Neil.

Campagna still struggles to understand his part in the war, and the staggering body count, which he says should be multiplied by 10 – for the loss felt by friends and family of the fallen soldiers. But talking about his service is a game-changer, he said.

“I’m happy about a day like today, where I can feel recognized and proud of my service,” he said.