Christmas 1970. For the first time in the war, the Defense Department decided to allow military personnel in Vietnam to put in for Christmas leave. Normally, barring emergencies, American forces arriving in Vietnam were there for the duration of their tours, 12-13 months being the norm. But in 70, for reasons I cannot begin to imagine, the DoD began allowing troops to apply for Christmas leave. I had been in Vietnam about five months when the word was passed, and I put in for it most skosh. I was lucky. I was on the very first plane load of troops coming home for a two-week Christmas vacation from the war. I caught a local bird from Da Nang down to Saigon, then a chartered American Airlines flight from Da Nang to the U.S. with stops in Honolulu (for refueling), San Francisco, Chicago, and probably New York, though Chicago was my off-loading point. We left Saigon on Christmas eve, and somewhere over the Pacific, midnight came and it was Christmas Day. The flight attendants (they still called them stewardesses in those days) passed out champagne and we all toasted and sang Christmas carols. Then we crossed the International Date Line, and it was Christmas Eve again. We landed in Honolulu and disembarked while the plane was refueled. We werent allowed to leave the airport or the immediate area around the gate. So I saw a souvenir shop and a picture of a palm tree on the wall, and thats all Ive ever seen of Hawaii. Then we reboarded and headed for San Francisco. In San Francisco, we were surprised to find a large contingent of locals waiting at our gate. We all got off, and there were hundreds of people, long-hairs with beads and headbands, and straight (in the 70s sense) types, too, all holding signs and yelling Welcome home! There was a local news crew filming our arrival, too. When I hear stories about bad treatment or no welcome for troops returning from Vietnam, all I know is a few hundred San Franciscans came to the airport on Christmas Eve to hug us, shake our hands, and say Welcome home. No one in the States ever treated me differently. We got back on the plane, those of us continuing on, and we took off for Chicago. As I recall, somewhere over the Rockies, it turned midnight, and it was Christmas again. Out came the champagne and again the plane resounded with carols. We landed in Chicago around 1 a.m., and the guys who got off the plane with me there said goodbye to the ones continuing onward. Most of the guys in Chicago either had family meeting them or connections to make, so I was quickly alone in OHare Airport. And I really mean alone. It was zero-dark-thirty on Christmas morning, and not a creature was stirring. The joint was empty. I found a bench and curled up to try to get some sleep, as my flight to Dallas wasnt until around 9 a.m. Id borrowed a set of short-sleeved summer tropicals in Da Nang to wear home, but they were insufficient to the demands of Christmas in Chicago, and I shivered on the bench all night. The next morning, I caught my flight home to Dallas. I was champing at the bit to get home, and the tension was increased by flight delays. But it was a crisp, sunny day, and landing at Dallass Love Field, even an hour late, was a rapturous feeling. Normally, my family always met me at the airport when I came home on leave, but for reasons I forget, they werent there when I arrived. I didnt want to wait for them to come from home in the suburb of Irving, so I grabbed a cab. Before long, I was standing on the sidewalk in front of my home at 1711 Henderson Court in Irving, heart pounding and about ready to kiss the dry brown grass of my front yard. It was 11 a.m. I lugged my seabag up to the porch and rang the doorbell. My dad came to the door and we hugged a very long time. My mom came up, and we hugged a long time, too. Then my three sisters came to see what was going on, and there was some more hugging. Then I came inside. I looked to my left, into the living room, and there was the Christmas tree, glowing in light and color. And surrounding it, nearly filling the room, was.... wadded up reams of ripped-open wrapping paper. There were a handful of presents still under the tree, but clearly dozens and dozens had already been opened, the contents carted off already to other parts of the house. Christmas, for most of my family, had come and fairly recently gone. I turned to my mom and said, You didnt wait for me? She sort of shrugged, smiled weakly, and said, Well, you were late. Merry Christmas, everybody!
Posted on: Thu, 25 Dec 2014 04:44:19 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015