A Minnesota PBS Initiative
coming of age
Is this a story? i still don't know...it is my experience during this time (1966-the end). I grew up in small town MN. My father was an active VFW guy...my Mom in the Auxillary. My Dad had served, been wounded and still had nightmares of WWII. He and my Mom wept at Memorial Day parades when Gold Star mothers passed; and at the cemetery when Taps was played by the first chair trumpet in the HS band. It was a small town.
What did I know of Vietnam? It was not a real concern for this HS cheerleader of a HS in Benson, MN...population: "400o friendly people".
My brother did two tours in Vietnam. He made it home. But not one word was ever spoken to anyone about the war; as if it was some gruesome tale from a storybook. And perhaps it was.
My brother, many years my senior, a "career" soldier, went as he was ordered to do. I did not know; not really, where he was going; certainly not what he would see or do or hear or experience there No one seemed to question the war in Vietnam. We were enjoying our high school years; safely removed and protected from the horrer of the war.
I still have the 3x5 cards with notes for my required speech in Speech Class as a Senior at BHS. The topic was the Vietnam War.....and support for our troops there. Just a few years later, and still today, I am embarrassed at my own words. Putting shame on those who did not support "our men" . What did I know about this place; Vietnam? Really...what did I know?
Following HS I went off to nursing school in the City. The year was 1967. There I met and learned about the greater picture. That Christmas I received a photo card from the boy who was my reluctant Junior Prom date....in army fatigues in front of a sandbag barricade of some sort. The imprinted message: "Peace on Earth".
It punched me in the stomach; where was the young man I knew? He was lost...I could see it in his eyes.
LOOKING DOWN THE TRAIL, Watercolor by James Pollock, CAT IV, 1967, Courtesy of the National Museum of the U.S. Army
By the time I graduated in 1970; I was what was and is, known as a hippie. I wore my hair long and straight; dressed in bell bottoms and tie-dye. i moved into an apartment on the West Bank; a place for like-thinkers. I met a boy, fell in love and moved to NYC where he was a student at NYU. He and I, there on the campus of NYU and our small apartment in the Village, marched and protested.
My mother tried...tried to support the war her son was fighting ....and the daughter who was in the streets protesting it.
I did not speak to my parents back in Benson, MN except for benign exchanges of benign information. I could not write to my brother...it seemed there was nothing to say. I know my parents were anything about proud of me. But still, my mom wrote to me her letters about the church Ladies Aid and who she had coffeed with that week. When we called, my Dad had little but "hello" to say. My mother tried...tried to support the war her son was fighting ....and the daughter who was in the streets protesting it.
My mother, my brother never spoke of it. There was so much love it hurt...but a difference was there. Whether my brother believed in the war, or not, I do not know. It was n ot spoken of then; it is not spoken of now. I still cannot watch the movie The Deerhunter all the way through. I see too many familiar faces there. I know my brother and mother forgave...or at least understood...my point of view. But still it was never spoken of. My father loved me, I know...but my choices were never ever truly accepted or valued.
SEARCH FOR AMMO CACHE (11th CAV) by Robert T. Coleman, CAT VI, 1968, Courtesy of the National Museum of the U.S. Army
My brother did two tours in Vietnam. He made it home. But not one word was ever spoken to anyone about the war; as if it was some gruesome tale from a storybook. And perhaps it was. As a young woman, one who yearned to have a family and live the new American dream, the slaughter of civilians cut me to the core. i did not blame the American soldier...I blamed the war that had taken their innocence; taken their sensibilities.
Prior to watching the Ken Burns film, I asked my brothers daughter, my niece, if she could find out from her mother where my brother was based; anything at all that could personalize it for me. Anything. But nothing. Nothing. Nothing to be shared. As if it never happened.
Biographical Details
Submitted From: Chanhassen, MN
Story Subject: Family
Story Themes: Antiwar Movement, Brother, Gold Star Family, Protest, University of Minnesota
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