Veterans Day

Veterans Day for a Platoon Sergeant
November 10, 2006 at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
San Antonio, Texas

I retired from the Army twelve years ago. Even though I was a platoon sergeant for less than year, it was still the defining moment of my 22-year military career. During that short period, I took a platoon of interrogators to the first Gulf War. Before we left Germany, I reminded my platoon that we were well trained to accomplish our mission and to defend ourselves. Their job was the mission. My job was to bring them all back in one piece. As a direct support unit, we were at times close to the battles, but we never shot at anyone and no one shot at us. Vehicle accidents and mine fields were our biggest threat. A sister platoon lost two soldiers who violated safety regulations and smashed a hummer into a concrete culvert. My soldiers all knew when they got into a vehicle, they couldn’t leave until they looked me in the eye and recited the safety rules they had to follow. Then they had to look every passenger in the eye, say their names and the names of their spouses and children. They drove away with a fresh reminder of the awesome responsibility they bore. It may not seem much like war, but the modern Army deploys about seven support personnel for every front-line fighter, so my “combat” experience is more common than that of guys who actually dodge and throw bullets.
Twelve year after leaving the Army, I still see the world through a platoon sergeant’s eyes. My family is my most important platoon. The first time my oldest son got into the car to drive the whole family outing, I used the same “look me in the eyes” briefing I’d used in Desert Storm. Then he looked at his mother and each of his brothers in turn. He drove away with me riding shotgun and know the awesome responsibility of having not just a steering wheel in his hands, but our lives.
Since retirement, I’ve been teaching English as a second language to professional adults. Every class is a new platoon. There are a lot of similarities. We have a mission, but the students have to accomplish it. I help them and guide them, and sometimes I have to kick them in the butt, but I very rarely lose a student. We all make it. I can’t choose who will be in my classes, anymore than I could choose who would be in my platoon. They’re all mine, with all their strengths and weaknesses, joys and sorrows. I never have a problem with playing favorites – the highest status my soldiers could achieve was to be a member of my platoon. I had to work harder for some, not so hard for others. See, as platoon sergeant, I had to help every individual succeed. The better they performed, the better my platoon became. It’s the same with my classes.
I don’t just think about myself on Veterans Day. My father was a gunner on a B-17 during WWII. His plane was shot down over Germany and he spent the last 18 months of the war as a POW. He belonged to the Air Force and stayed until he was medically retired for arthritis. He struggled with pain, alcoholism, debt, and life until 1965, when he ended his own life with a .22 caliber bullet. The Veterans Administration ruled that his death was service related. I think they were right.
I think of my brother, Jimmy, on Veterans Day. He joined the Army and went to Vietnam. The Purple Heart and the medical discharge he got when he came back to the States didn’t seem to help him much. He led a hard life for a dozen or so years, then ended his own life after finalizing his fifth divorce.
I think of my mother on Veterans Day. When Dad left her and eight kids, she took over the family. I won’t say she was a better platoon sergeant than my father, but if the mission was to raise us and prepare us to lead successful lives, then she accomplished it.
I’ve struggled, too. I miss the Army in ways my wife can’t seem to understand. The “band of brothers” concept may seem corny, but it’s still real. I could trust my fellow soldiers – I supported them and they supported me. In my experience, the civilian world doesn’t work that way. Teaching is a good second career because when I close my classroom door, it’s just me and my class – me and my new platoon.
It took a while, but I’ve changed my mind about the Army and about war. When we were in Desert Storm, I didn’t think about the meaning of it all until the war was over. We had to sit in canvas tents in the desert in 120 degree heat for over 2 months until it was our turn to go home. That’s when I started to question why we were there. Even then, we all knew the Army would be going back. I believed one thing – we were never there just for the noble cause of liberating Kuwait. I was certain of this truth: no oil, no war. That’s the way I saw it. I wondered why no one wanted to say it or admit it. I mean, was the true purpose of the war like Voldemort, something we knew was there but was too horrible to say out loud? That was an epiphany for me. This wasn’t just true about Desert Storm; it was true about all wars.
I followed that line of thinking to its logical conclusion. On Memorial Day of 2006, I helped establish the San Antonio chapter of Veterans for Peace. We’re small and we’re not very active, but it feels good to know I belong to a new band of brothers.
I’m writing this at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in downtown San Antonio. The statue is beautiful and sad – one wounded soldier lying unconscious on the ground, another kneeling, feeling for a pulse and looking skyward for help. An M-16 rifle lies useless in the mud. At that moment, shooting and killing are no longer part of the mission. I can’t help believing both soldiers would have been better off if they’d never picked up an M-16 in the first place.
This statue is on the corner of Jefferson and Martin. I used to wish it had been placed somewhere more peaceful. After sitting here for a couple of hours, I think it’s appropriate, though. See, everyone knows it’s there, but they’re used to it. They walk by or drive by without a glance. Twice a year, on Veterans Day and Memorial Day, events are held to “remember” vets, both living and dead. It makes us all feel like we do our part to honor our veterans. Well, I think that’s a bunch of crap. Statues don’t help vets heal. They don’t train them for jobs or feed their families. They don’t give them new legs or arms. I know Americans hate taxes, but the only way to support vets – really support them – is with money. Wake up tomorrow and say, “I’m willing to pay slightly higher taxes to pay for training programs, VA hospitals, a better GI Bill, and transition programs.” That’s the only true way to honor us. The US is not doing it now. While this war is still going on, a war that has created over 4 million new war veterans, military and VA hospitals are being closed. Despite the high percentage of Hispanic vets from the Rio Grande Valley, there is no VA hospital there. Vets are being told that the expense isn’t warranted. THE EXPENSE ISN’T WARRANTED! But someone will find money for a new statue somewhere. I don’t think those statues are for soldiers. I think they’re built to salve the public conscience.
This happens every Veterans Day. I end up angry. I guess a lot of us are, though. I do wish that anger would help us speak out more. I’m not above guilting people into doing what’s right. Since Veterans Day, San Antonio buried another homeless Vietnam vet. Our statue wasn’t much use to him.