My father was the commander of an infantry battalion. He formed the battalion and then he took the battalion to combat in Vietnam in 1966. I don’t recall a departure ceremony for the unit. I just remember saying goodbye to my father for the second time in three years as he again went off to war.
My dad’s departure was surely noted within the tight-knit Army community within Ft. Riley in Kansas, but it was absolutely ignored by the local town.
I was afraid that something would happen to him in combat, but of course, we didn’t talk of such things. The war in Vietnam was not important to the average American unless they were personally involved. When my father came home a year later, nobody cared or noted but his family and the Army. He hadn’t died so he didn’t even qualify for notice as a statistic reported on the nightly news.
Years later, I was an infantry battalion commander myself and, as fate and chance would have it, I was taking my battalion overseas to a war. I remembered my father’s experiences of departing three different times to Vietnam without his fellow citizens supporting him or even seeming to care whether he went or came back.
When I formed the battalion on that hot August day in 1990 to depart for the Persian Gulf, I wasn’t sure what would happen. I told my troops in a short speech before getting on the buses that what they were doing was noble and worthy because they were setting out to set other men free in Kuwait.
I told the families tearfully gathered that I did not know when we would be home but that they had my solemn promise to take care of their husbands, sons or brothers to the utmost of my ability. I promised to bring them all home again safely if that was humanly possible to do. We had already said our individual farewells so I called the battalion to attention and released the company commanders to load their troops on the waiting buses for the long bus ride across Georgia to our port of debarkation near Savannah.
I was preoccupied as I got on my bus and took a seat up front. I was in the lead bus just as I would have been on the lead airplane when I was a paratrooper. The troops were subdued. The usual pranks of young men together were missing. We were all a little preoccupied, I guess. The buses closed their doors and we swung down the road leading to the interstate that bisects the post and the town of Columbus, Ga.
As we got on the interstate, we finally exited the gate from Ft. Benning and headed into Columbus. By this time there was some chatter on the bus as the troops settled in for the long bus ride. We headed up the highway, and the first overpass on St Mary’s Road came into view. We were stunned into silence. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Americans had packed the causeway, waving American flags and cheering us as we left for war.
Their banners wished us well, blessing us and thanking us for going to war for them. They electrified my soldiers. All the windows in the buses came down and the troops cheered back and waved and screamed until they were hoarse. They should have saved some of their voices for later, because every overpass and crossroad across Georgia had well-wishers standing by to see us off!
There had to be 50,000 people coming out to see us off. Some groups had as few as three people, but every single one had an American flag and a simple message conveyed by their presence: We are behind you. We are proud of you.
I saw a young boy of about 10 with a sign on the first overpass that said, “Thank you for giving me a FUTURE. God Bless you!” My troops loved that sign and cheered him to the echoes. He knew they were cheering him and kept grinning and waving until all the buses had passed. The sobriety of his message was not lost on us.
Fortunately, we had a laugh on my bus a few minutes later as one of the well-known girlfriends of one of the soldiers was spotted in one of the groups with her new beau. (Hey! Jonesy, ain’t that Lucille? Who the hell’s that guy she’s hangin’on already? Man, you ain’t even out of town yet and she’s got a new boyfriend! Hope to hell you didn’t leave your life insurance to her!)
The whole ride across Georgia was electrifying. We felt like heroes. We reveled in the warmth offered by our fellow citizens. What they thought about us was important and we were so relieved to know that they were behind us 100 percent.
I was back Ft. Benning recently and heard that my old unit had again shipped out. The unit has a new number designation, but it’s the same unit and some of the sergeants were in the unit as privates in my day. I wish I had been able to send them off. I asked several of the people that I was working with how the sendoff for the unit went, and particularly, how had the town sent them off?
I was stunned to learn that there was no real sendoff other than in the unit area. There was sparse local news coverage of the last unit to deploy, but it was because it was a slow news day. Nobody was on the overpasses as the buses departed.
There were no signs, no banners, no noticeable interest.
I feel as if we have failed as citizens. We failed our soldiers. We didn’t turn out, but maybe that was because some of the departures occurred around dinnertime and it was already dark. Maybe it was because people are worried about the economy and jobs. Maybe it’s because people just didn’t know they were leaving (4,000 soldiers left and nobody noticed?). Maybe going to war is a routine event and not terribly noteworthy in the minds of our citizenry.
Regardless, we have sent our young men and women off to probable war without telling them that we support them, that we’re proud of them and that we pray for them. As we learned to our infinite national sorrow from the Vietnam War and to our unlimited joy in the Gulf War, the support of the American people is a critical component for a successful war.
I can only hope that we have not come full circle to my father’s time. God help us if we have.
