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Boots, Jungle, O.D., Two Each.

By VVAW

AN ESSAY

They tell you to get a haircut, trim your mustache, give you a few medals, and read a perfunctory thank-you note. Forty hours later you get your shower, ETS pay, steak dinner, and a fresh set of dress greens. "Thanks you, goodbye, we're proud of you."

Then what? Maybe you take your boots home with you. More than anything else they tell your story--where you've been, what you have seen, how much there is to forget.

Before you left, your buddies asked "How ya gonna act?" Maybe you get a job, go to school, drink or smoke too much, or just leave your room. Every thing's normal again. Right. You're back in the world. A lot of people think you were a fool, some want to buy you a beer, but most of all, they're uneasy around you.

For a year you don't say anything. But every time you open your closet your boots are staring at you and asking "How ya gonna act?" You're alone. Oh, you're back on the job, or in school, you've got friends, you are making some money, but you're alone. The newsmen, the politicians, the kids with all the answers, they don't know. They weren't there. Well, at least your country is proud of you. You've got this mimeographed letter that says so.

Then you hear that some guys are going down to Washington. Not students or carryovers from the civil rights days, but guys just like you. You wonder what the angle is. There isn't any. Just a lot of guys who are alone, going to school, working, drinking or smoking too much, or locked into their wheelchairs.

A year ago you put the boots, jungle fatigues, and boony cap away. Since then you've been a stranger, a part of nothing. Now once again you get your gear together. You put those boots on. They're part of you. They're what you know, what you've become...

You're home now and Washington was a long time ago. A thing most Americans want to forget. For a while you were part of something. You were with people who knew. But what good was it? The 101st is back in the Ashau, and guys are still coming home in rubber bags. You're a young man, but for a moment you feel like this was your last hurrah.

Then you think of the guys. The ones with wheelchairs and steel arms, the ones with purple hearts, bronze and silver stars, the guy who "hacked it". Their hair is longer, some have beards, but it won't hide who they are. No, this is one time, America, you can't write them off because of long hair and beards. You've known these guys for a lifetime. You clenched a fist and the history of that year and the time after thank you, goodbye, we're proud of you was told. It's time you listened, America. There are thousands of us walking and hobbling around. You can't avoid us because we're no longer faceless...we're different. You see, we've got those boots in our closets.