A plane landed on the tarmac outside our signal site, it was unloading cargo and refueling to reload and head back to Siagon. The correspondence from Battalion Head Quarters was delivered to our clerk. In the satchel was the orders for Specialist fifth class, SP/5 Taylor, Robert W. RA 16897045 to D.E.R.O.S. or Date Estimated Return Over Seas. I was sleeping in the heat of the day in the 20 man tent that had been my home for the last 10 months. We worked 12 hour shifts and in three day cycles, 3 days of day shift then 3 days of night shift and then three days off. On our days off we usually went to work as there was not much else to do.

The company clerk came running into the tent calling my name and yelling wake up, WAKE UP!! He said your orders are here, you are going home, I thought I had at least a month to go and had not started packing. He said hurry up, get dressed, there is an airplane on the tarmac and it is loading to go to Saigon. I will try to hold it you throw some things together and hurry. I had attracted quite a crowd with the news, and they said they would pack my stuff and mail it home after I left. Someone found an A.W.O.L. bag and I threw some T shirts and under wear olive drab in color, in it and started running. As I was running up the rear cargo ramp, I glanced back at my home and saw 9 ragged G. I.’s with their noses pressed against the chain link fence watching me make my escape, a quick wave and I was on my way home.

I still had to report to battalion head quarters to sign out and it was in Vung Tau. I would need to find another flight there and back to Siagon or Tan Son Nhut air base. In 1968, Tan Son Nhut airport was the busiest airport in the world, with an aircraft taking off or landing every five seconds.

I think it was a Tuesday and my orders were for Thursday afternoon to be on the Freedom Bird headed home. When we touched the airstrip at Tan Son Nhut and taxied to a stop I was off and running to try to get a hop to Vung Tau. It just so happened that there was a helicopter headed there and would return in about three hours. If I ran I might get there in time to be on board before they left. Back at Phan Thiet, I did not care for choppers as they drew enemy fire a lot, but it was a ride that you never forget.

Now I was lean and mean, but running in 100+ degree weather was probably not the best idea as I had to stop by the bushes and make a deposit. When I got to the heliport there was the helicopter that would take me to Vung Tau and my ticket home. Here is where I should stop and thank the Helicopter patron saint of safe flights. The chopper I was to fly on belonged to a Full Colonel and the Captains that flew it were ordered to bring it back without any holes in it. So we flew at about 5,000 feet, just out of small arms range. Thanks for the uneventful flight there and back. Our Battalion head quarters was at the top of a mountain and I thought about running, but instead got a ride on the back of a two and a half ton truck that was taking supplies to the top. There are three hair pin turns on the road to the top and the 2 ½ ton truck had to turn hard and stop and back up with the back of the truck hanging over a cliff. Then turn sharp again to get around the hair pins, in the back of the truck my heart was racing as I had forgotten the road to the top.

I picked up the rest of my orders and turned in my rifle and as I was smiling and thinking about running back down the road to the top, I heard these words; Soldier, stand at attention! Do you know that you are out of uniform? Oh, these self important officers. No wonder I had wanted off this hill, probably my filthy scuffed boots or my faded and worn jungle fatigues were insulting his conscience. After being allowed to explain where I came from and telling him where I was going, he finally said; Soldier, get off of my mountain and never come back. I did as the man suggested, and while walking down the road to the top, a jeep stopped and picked me up and took me all the way to the airstrip. It took just over an hour and a half to get back to the air strip and my ride back to Tan Son Nhut had just left 5 minutes ago.

I was informed that there was an U.S. Army CV2 Caribou aircraft leaving for Tan Son Nhut in about a half hour located on the other side of the air strip. Yes, I ran! The Caribou is a light cargo plane capable of short take off and landings, and I believe the pilots loved to make the passengers sweat. It always seemed that they flew straight up and just dropped out of the sky to land. This ride was no different.

It was late when I returned to Tan Son Nhut and as I walked to the international terminal it was starting to get dark. I was so hungry and tired , I didn’t know what to do first, eat or sleep. So I ate, what I thought would be my last meal in the South East Asian country of the Republic of South Vietnam. Well almost, I got back to the terminal and there were about 30 or 40 people from all over the world sitting or standing around all waiting for tomorrow. There was one wrinkled old Papa-san pushing a broom, trying to clean the mountain of refuse on the gray floor. There are places in Vietnam that are constant targets of the North Vietnamese army and the few remaining Viet Cong. The Tan Son Nhut air field was one of those, they were shelling it when I landed and now they were shelling it as I was leaving. I found a place on a narrow gray bench along the wall and tried to sleep.

In my bag I had some underclothes a bar of soap, some things that I had bought to take home for my family, so I tried to keep one eye on it at all times. The next day was a long hot dusty day with a mixture of smells that I will never forget as long as I live. Jet fuel, jet exhaust, red dust, mold, mildew, the food in the mess hall and the garbage cans out in the 100+ degree heat, human and animal feces and underarm smell.

I had traded in one copy of my orders to go home for a place in a line to board the next civilian airplane to land. It turned out to be a DC-8 painted red, with the picture of Saturn on the tail. 200 green newbies disembarked. They looked scared and young, and I was so happy to see them, a Sergeant was yelling “Welcome to Vietnam.” Just after it had landed the Military police showed up with 7 prisoners to be returned to CONUS, or Continental United States. There were 211 seats available and I was number 199 of 211. These 7 prisoners would be knocking 7 passengers off of this flight, Phew! But wait, a military policeman was to escort each prisoner to the States. I will not leave a written record of the words I used at hearing the news.

When all were loaded on and they were ready to close the door, The most beautiful 50 year old stewardess I had ever seen came out of the plane and said “We found room for 4 more, hurry.” I ran again! When we were seated and the door was closed and sealed they started taxiing to the runway to get us airborne, I don’t think this plane was on the ground more than 30 minutes. The passengers were deathly quiet, the plane creaked and squeaked and the engines roared. Not one person spoke or even moved. We got to the end of the runway and we could hear the incoming shells exploding in the not too distant area. The engines roared and roared louder the noise and vibration was almost unbearable, the brakes screamed and then we were hurtling violently down the runway. Nothing, no sound other than the tires on the runway and then the silence of the tires coming off the tarmac, just the engines and the creaking of the plane itself. About a minute later the pilot came on the intercom and said “Welcome to Saturn Airlines, we are now over the South China Sea and out past the shore line of Vietnam. You could not hear yourself yelling, the noise was deafening , men/boys were unbuckling and dancing in the aisles, men were crying, everyone was doing something. Even the Stewardess’s were trying to get us to be seated, we still had over 20 hours until we got to CONUS.

The plane ride back to the United States was kind of a blur, I am sure we stopped in the usual places to refuel and deplane. We got to stretch our legs and wander around looking at people that had no idea that there was a war going on hundreds of miles away. They had on brightly colored shirts, and the women wore sun dresses and had round eyes. The last time I saw round American eyes on a woman was when we came into the country of Vietnam. She was an Australian girl dressed in the uniform of the Aussie armed forces.

The people that we met seemed unapproachable, aloof, busy, in a hurry, no time to stop and say welcome home young man. I wondered about that, didn't they know that we just left a place where chaos and death were daily companions? I am going to wander ahead for just a minute and explain some of the reason’s people were avoiding us. The shrinks coined a phrase for what we all had, "The Thousand Yard Stare". It simply meant that you looked through people, kind of in shock, in awe of all you had seen and done. We were not young men returning from a trip to England, or the French Riviera. We were soldiers, 18, 19. 20 years old, men that grew up too fast, some had learned to shave using a steel helmet for a bowl of cool water. Some had seen the result of firing their weapon at the enemy soldier, some had seen the result of the enemy fire returned and the devastation it caused to the body of their friends. We were not young men and we never would be.

When we landed at Oakland Army Base, we were given instructions of what we were expected to do. We were all to be debriefed, and we were all to see a doctor to be given a clean bill of health before going home to our wives and families. They lined us up in a large auditorium and had us leave everything in a pile on the floor, that we had brought home with us. Some only had the jungle fatigues on their backs, they were dirty and sweat stained. Some still had weapons on them, bayonets mainly, luckily no one had brought home any explosives like grenades.

They took us to the clothing exchange where we were issued our class A uniforms for the trip home. Then to the showers and a barbershop for those that needed it. After the light check up and debriefing we were free to find our way home. I was one of the last to leave and when I returned to get my carry on bag it had been ransacked. The black and ivory pearl ring, the sieko watch, the necklaces, anything of value, all of it gone. I said to myself, Welcome Home Bob! I took my stuff and went out front to catch a cab to San Francisco international airport. There was an older black sergeant, and a couple other GI’s waiting for a cab and we all piled in. The older sergeant was singing a song called "Daddy’s Home", he had tears in his eyes but he sang that song all the way to the airport. I still had not told anyone that I was back in the United States.

When I got to the airport there were it seemed hundreds of us, trying to get a flight out for all points east. I found a desk that said it would take me to Chicago, and booked a flight for early the next morning. I tried calling my wife and sister in Chicago, but for some reason I could not get them. Before leaving in the morning I tried and tried to get them on the phone but no luck. So I called my parents house and my father answered the phone, he said "hello", "hello". Then he hung up, why couldn't I talk? Both of my eyes stung there were tears running down my face, what a baby! So I cleared my throat and redialed, My father again, "hello" I said Dad, it’s me! He said where are you? San Francisco, I am coming home, dad. Now he had a hard time talking , I guess, because he didn't say anything. I asked him if he knew where Sharon was? He said, yes, she is here in town visiting with Sandy. I asked him to get in touch with her and tell her I was on my way to O’hare and told him the gate and time. Then I said I have to run, I will be home soon! Instead I sat on the floor and cried.

The people in Chicago, are like the people in any big city, they are in a hurry, rude sometimes, always on the look out for an easy buck. But when one of their own returns from war, they are the kindest most gentle people in the world. I had porters carry my bag for me and refuse a tip, people applauded us as we walked through the terminal. Ladies hugged us, men shook our hands, everyone said "welcome home son." Yes, I was home.

As I walked outside the airport toward the pick-up zone, I saw the car, and there was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen in my short life. The woman I loved my bride of just less than a year, holding my son in her arms. And there was my sister by her side, was I running, I don’t remember, but I was definitely in a hurry. At the last minute she handed my son to my sister and she was in my arms, there was nothing before or since, that felt so wonderful, and it has been 40 years since that day.

It had been such a long time since I held a woman, in my arms, the feeling was overwhelming. The fresh smell of her perfume, the curve of her body, the soft supple feel of her lips, and those eyes. She was so beautiful, I never wanted this moment to end, my head was spinning. I had a son that I had never seen, and yet I did not want to let go of my wife, I could not take my eyes off of her. It all seemed like a dream, everything was in slow motion, someone was talking to me, what did she want me to do?

It was my sister, asking if I wanted to see my son? Oh man, how much could I take, he was the most precious child I had ever laid eyes on. I was afraid to take him, but I had no choice, he was put in my arms and I cradled him so he would not break. He smelled like soap and powder and his breath on my face was indescribable, I thought my heart would break. He was so clean, it was like they just took him out of the bath, I wanted to count his toes, I knew he had ten fingers already.

My sister was very patiently waiting for her hug and she got it, it was so nice to be home. We got in the car and she drove us back to the apartment, in Stickney, a suburb of Chicago. I don’t remember the ride there, it seems a blur, but I know it was getting toward evening and I was in no mood to sleep. We all talked until the sun went down, would we ever get caught up with the things that had happened since I left.

After my sister went to bed and Bobby jr. Was put to bed we went to bed. The bed had white sheets and a blanket on it. It is funny the things that we take for granted here in the United States of America. In the bathroom was a shower with both "Hot and Cold" running water, a mirror to see if I had gotten all the whiskers when I shaved, and a bathtub, wow! One of the things I had missed most was a toilet stool that worked without pouring a five gallon can of water into the tank so it would flush. After the shower and shave I put on a pair of jeans that I had left here when I left. They were about four sizes too big, when I left I was 165 pounds and now I was 129 pounds.

Here comes the part that seemed unreal, I got in bed with my wife and we just lay there looking at each other. We lay awake talking until the sun came up, I could not believe that we had talked all night. We were so excited to see each other, and the nearness was intoxicating. No day in my life since, has ever been so filled with love and pride, curiosity and concern, emotion that totally overtakes your body and soul. There was an amazing, breath taking, wondrous sensation, in the touch of our bodies, it was a sensation that no words can describe. It was one of those things that people dream about, but few people get to encounter.

Today you can witness it in the reunion of soldiers returning from their duty in Iraq. The children running to be lifted by their Mothers or Fathers, that are still in the uniform of their country. The hugs, the words spoken but not heard, the obvious pride on the faces of the parents of the soldiers. The husband waiting for his wife to return, and the patient loving wife waiting for her husband, the tears of complete joy when their bodies meet, never again wanting to be apart.

I had been given Thirty days of leave to come home and get ready to go to my next duty station at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey. I think it was day three already, and we had so much to do to get ready to move to New Jersey. But first things, first, I had to go home to see my Mother and Father and all the family that had said good bye to me a year ago. The small town of Granger, Indiana, was my home for most of my life, and it was there that I needed to go next. It was about an hour’s drive from Chicago, ILL. Where Sharon had been living while I was in Vietnam.

When we got to my parent’s home, my mother and father were so happy to see us, what a feeling of contentment it was to be home after all that had happened. My whole family was there, my brother, my three sisters, my aunts and uncles all came to say, hello. We still had to go to Michigan to visit Sharon’s family, and then figure out what we would need to do after that. The visit at Sharon’s house was pretty much the same as mine, everyone turned out to see us. Her aunts and uncles, her cousins, even some people from the church, and I think they were related to Sharon also.

I wondered briefly, why no one mentioned the war that was going on in South East Asia. No, "Welcome Home," no one wanted to know anything about the war, not even how I thought it might be going. No one asked about what rank I was, where I was in Vietnam, was I glad to be home, nothing. It was almost like there was no war going on, or if there was, nobody knew it. Life went on, men went to work, kids went swimming at the lake, mothers washed clothes and swept floors. There was no change here at home. Everyone that wanted to work, was working, times were good, there was plenty of everything.

It seemed odd to me that there were a half of a million men and women in Vietnam and it seemed that no one knew any of them. We are doing a lot of the same things today, except that the veterans try not let us forget this time. The veterans did not forget us the last time, they kept silent because that is the way they were treated. Yes, there were parades, dancing in the streets, and when the party was over, the government treated them just like we got treated. When these noble men came home, their wives and family did not want to hear anything about the war. The same way no one wanted to hear about the Korean war vets or the Vietnam war vets experiences. Even the person that wants me to write this story, only wants to hear the discreet, bloodless accounts of the war.

I do not wish to tell some of the things that I saw, I have only recently gotten over some of these things. Nor do I blame anyone, that does not want to hear the gore and death, I would not want to hear that either. Some of the people that asked about my war, only wanted to know, if I had to kill anyone. I did not answer these people, and was very disappointed by their question. Getting some of these things off my chest, has been good for me. So thank you, NJM.

Copyright © 2008 Bob Taylor