Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, June 13, 1995 TAG: 9506140028
SECTION: EDITIORIALS PAGE: A-5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: CLINT WILLIAMS
DATELINE: HANOI, VIETNAM LENGTH: Long
In a gray, overcast sky, we dropped through the blanket of clouds searching for the yet unseen runway. Since I wasn't a pilot and didn't have any idea where we were in the landing process, the crew's animated gestures and rubbernecking as we made final approach clearly indicated they were as excited as I was about our first trip to the political and ideological stronghold of this former enemy.
Our mission was to pick up the remains believed to be of Americans who were listed as missing in action from the war. It was a profound moment for me as we touched down in a land where contesting for its possession cost the lives of more than 58,000 Americans and changed the lives of millions.
As a child, and later in junior- and senior-high-school years, I saw the war in Vietnam escalate, as well as the deep resentment toward the conflict grow both on television during the evening news, and around Roanoke itself. Friends and relatives went to serve in Vietnam. Some didn't come back alive.
I thought of my Uncle Willy, who had served in both Korea and Vietnam during his 20-plus-year career. An Army medic, he probably saw a lot more of combat's death and maiming than he wanted to, especially after two tours in Vietnam. He seldom talks about what happened to him here, and perhaps it's better to leave the past alone.
I also thought of a kid, a few years older than I, who played on another uncle's summer-league baseball team. Lloyd ``Big'' Starkey, we called him, although he wasn't that big, just bigger and more stocky than me.
``Big'' Starkey hit a home run one year that just sailed through the blue sky and clear out of the ballpark, leaving the opposing left fielder scratching his head in wonder. The ball nearly knocked out the window in a house nearly a block away, or so I imagined.
Starkey left an indelible memory for me to enjoy for a lifetime. If only he and his amazing bat could have done the same. He, too, came to Vietnam, but he died here, his potential as a ball player denied forever.
I also thought of Doug, a high-school friend, whose brother had joined the Marines and ended up in Vietnam. I'll never forget sitting in art class at William Fleming High School and reading a feature article in Life magazine on the war titled ``One Week's Dead.''
The story featured pictures, names and hometowns of the servicemen who had been killed in one week of the war. There was Doug's brother looking proud in his Marine dress uniform, along with other young men not much older than myself.
He had been killed while on patrol with his unit near Da Nang in one of the many ground battles that left no victor, only death and heartache for the families receiving word their sons had died and that they had died in service to their country.
There were others. Young guys a few years older than I who had dropped out of school and got their draft notices, and many of them ended up here. Most survived and returned home. However, combat injuries, drugs and alcohol permanently afflicted some of them, and eventually took a couple of them several years after they returned - delayed casualties of Vietnam.
Standing out on the tarmac at Hanoi International Airport after we arrived, I noticed the bustle of airport workers hauling luggage carts, buses carrying passengers to waiting flight connections, and commercial aircraft taxiing for departure. It seemed very much like any airport you would find traveling anywhere around the world.
However, the 10 sealed, brown boxes spaced neatly in a row behind the U.S. aircraft reminded me that I wasn't here as a tourist. Contained in each was what remained of an American who didn't return from duty, and whose family still awaited some final word of his fate.
It was inevitable that a sense of sorrow would creep in as the ceremony began, and I observed the Vietnamese who now surrounded us and watched stoically from a distance.
I sensed no outward hostility from the few I encountered, but I wondered just how they actually felt about all the U.S. military personnel who were there to honor MIAs, who more than 20 years ago, had rained destruction on them from the skies and on the battlefields of their country.
As the solemn procession began, an honor guard began moving the 10 sets of remains on board the aircraft. Marching in practiced, precision movements, the honor guard reverently carried each set of remains, followed by a U.S. Vietnam veteran, into the aircraft's cargo bay.
Sen. John McCain of Arizona, himself a Vietnam veteran and former prisoner of war, was on hand to pay tribute. Even from a distance, I could see returning here meant a lot to him also, as his face showed the emotion of one saddened by what he was witnessing, yet grateful to be a part of honoring these men making their final mission back to American soil.
I, too, felt very proud to be there. And I wondered, as we finally reboarded the plane, and lifted into skies over Hanoi, did these men die in vain? Did Starkey and my friend's brother die in the jungles of Vietnam for nothing? After all, didn't we lose the war? Such questions beg many answers.
Former Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara said we made a mistake being so deeply involved in Southeast Asia. Perhaps. But the concept of fighting for and defending freedom should never be construed as an error.
Too many fine young Americans gave their utmost for that ideal. I only hope that if I'm presented with these same conditions as those being carried home in the metal caskets that I'll have the same commitment they did to preserve this concept of freedom that we hold so dear.
Clint Williams, who grew up in Roanoke, is a technical sergeant stationed at Kelly Air Force Base, Texas.
by CNB