Monday, December 03, 2007
Vietnam vets share spitting stories
Tom Angleberger
The New River Valley-based reporter answers your questions Mondays in his column, What's on Your Mind?
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Well, I knew that it was a touchy subject going in.
A question about soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines returning from service in the Vietnam War being spat on isn't going to have a pretty answer.
If the answer is, yes, it did happen, then that's ugly. And if the answer is, no, then -- as I found out -- some veterans become very upset and one will call in to tell me that his only further use for my column will be as toilet paper.
As it happens, last week's column wasn't about whether the spitting had happened or not, only whether it had been documented, whether there's a photo, a movie or even a quote from that time that describes it. My answer was that a Vietnam veteran who has studied the matter and written a book about it has not found the "smoking gun."
But that doesn't mean it didn't happen; it just means there's no documentation.
As one anonymous veteran said, "How are you supposed to prove you were spit on? Keep the spit for 30 years?"
Or as Ed Hayes, of Christiansburg, wrote, "I can't show you the spit, I can't prove to you that I'm not a baby killer. I would think that we deserve the benefit of the doubt from people such as yourself."
That sounds fair. So, let's listen to their stories:
"I can remember looking out the window of the plane we were on, coming back in 1967," wrote Hayes, a member of the 11th Armored Cavalry.
"We were coming into Oakland, Calif. There were tears in some men's eyes when the jet touched down on that runway. We all were so glad to be back home where we could put our feet on U.S. soil. Some of us got down on our knees and kissed the ground. We were proud of serving our country and to have done what we could to free people from communism.
"After we were processed in and done all the paperwork that was needed, we were in a hurry to get home to our families, girlfriends, and to get a home cooked meal. The soldier who did my papers said that I might want to change into civilian clothes before I started home. I thought that he was just kidding. I was proud of my uniform and what I had been doing for the last year.
"After I managed to get to the airport and as I was looking for where I had to go to purchase a ticket home, I was somewhat taken aback by the changes in some things. The girls in the airport were wearing very short skirts, hairstyles were much different than I had seen before. As I was going to the ticket counter I passed three people who were dressed in what looked like at the time to be white sheets. There were a man and two girls. The man had long hair.
"As I passed, one of the girls looked at me and asked, 'Hey GI, how many babies did you kill?' I was so unnerved by the question that I didn't know how to respond. After they had passed, I, of course, turned toward them and the other girl made a spitting gesture at my feet. For her sake it was good that she did not actually spit on me; it was at me, though. I just stood there trying to figure out what I had done to have deserved that."
***
"I will assure you that I was spit upon on my return to the states," wrote Jim Coulthard, of Childress, who served in Vietnam in 1965 and 1966.
"I returned to the states through the San Francisco International Airport. After clearing customs, my buddies and I were herded through the airport like sheep to a waiting bus for transportation to the Oakland Army Terminal for processing. During that escort process by Oakland Army personnel, I was spit on, as well as others in my group.
"The spitting was done by groups of people who were harassing troops on their return (I assume they were anti-war protestors). We were not allowed to retaliate because we were closely escorted by military personnel.
"I don't need documentation. I know what happened."
Got a question? Got an answer? Call Tom Angleberger at 777-6476 or send an e-mail to tomangleberger@yahoo.com. Don't forget to provide your full name, its proper spelling and your hometown.
Look for Tom Angleberger's column on Mondays.
