Several years ago I went to a Giants game with my buddy Eric and his friend Norris (The Reverand). A generous amount of beer was consumed that day, and we talked about many things, and even managed to watch the game a bit. At one point I said to Norris that my brother had served in Viet Nam. His reply to that was, "Did he come home?"
No one had ever asked that before. I replied, ' yes he did'. Norris then gave me a pat on the shoulder. That's what guys do. There was a Beach Boys concert after the game, and Norris and I joined a huge conga line that went around Candlestick Park. I told you, beer was consumed that day.
My brother is 11 years older than me, so we really didn't grow up together. He joined the Air Force about a year after he graduated high school. Viet Nam was raging and his draft number was coming up I suppose, so he joined up. It wasn't long before he was shipped off to Cam Rahn Bay for a 1 year tour of duty. I remember that Christmas, we watched the Bob Hope Christmas special on TV. Bob had stopped in Cam Rahn Bay, and we watched closely to see if we could see my brother. Well, you can guess how that turned out. A sea of young men all dressed in green. I wonder how many families watched the screen to see if they could get a glimpse of their son or brother.
The year he was in Viet Nam my parents were on edge (more than usual). I didn't really think of their well being much back then. I was about 8 years old and all I knew was my big brother was in a bad place. Every night we'd watch the news, and every Friday Walter Cronkite would inform us how many U.S. soldiers were killed in Viet Nam. It was a long year. Every time we got a letter from him, it was an event. Way before email and Skype, there was snail mail. I remember his return address was an APO in San Francisco. I wondered how the post office could get the mail from San Francisco to South Viet Nam. Never did figure that out.
As the end of his tour drew near we all became anxious and were counting down the days. In retrospect I think that as the end of my brother's tour came closer, my dad became ever more anxious. Dad was a World War II combat veteran. He saw things that no one should ever see, and he rarely talked about it. About a month before Germany surrendered, Dad's older brother, a tank driver in the 10th Armored Division of Patton's 3rd Army was killed in action near Trier, Germany. At the time, my dad was just a few hours away. There is an iconic photo of my Dad at his brother's grave at Hamm Cemetery. Just a white cross with a soldier's dog tags hanging from it. My Dad would talk of his brother at times, and he would always say, '...so close, so close..' meaning, that the war was almost over. Just a month. But a German 88 mm gun ended his brother's life in an instant. I can't help but think Dad was thinking of that as my brother's tour of duty was coming to a close.
November, 1968. My brother was on his way home. It was Veteran's Day and Dad had the day off. I was home on school holiday and Mom was working, so it was just Dad and me at home in the morning. Dad gave me strict instructions to stay inside and wait for the phone to ring. We were waiting for a call from my brother at the airport to come get him. Dad, with his usual nervous energy, was out in front of our house painting the white picket fence. Really, we had a white picket fence.
We were living in California at the time. Fall and winter in northern California is the rainy season. Along with rain there can can be fog, the low hanging 'tule fog' that can linger for days. Dad is wearing his coveralls to stay warm, and is down on one knee lathering on the white paint. At some point in the morning, I heard conversation from the front of the house. I looked through the large plate glass window in our living room to see Dad in his coveralls, paint brush in one hand, standing up and shaking my brother's hand. My brother was in his dress blue Air Force uniform. He had taken the bus from the airport and walked out of the fog to come upon Dad. Dad always referred to Veteran's Day as Armistice Day. Over the years, when I would hear Dad tell the story of my brother walking out of the fog, it was always on 'Armistice Day'.
I bet Dad thought of the day he came home in January of 1946. The war was over and he was home again. But when he stepped off that train, I wonder if he thought about the brother he left behind, who would come home 2 1/2 years later for reburial in the hometown cemetery.
When Norris asked me if my brother had come home from the war, I remembered that moment. Yes, he did come home. He walked out of the fog and surprised Dad.
When we were all in the house, Dad remarked, '...now both of my boys are home'.
Armistice Day, 1968.
