Naw, he just tried to.

Engineer
Hey, Jones! Want to hear my Buffalo story? I
got pics to prove it though.


"fob" wrote in message
news:BtHhb.107047$qj6.3419299@news1.news.adel
phia.net...
Errrrrr....what about Jones ?
I think he fell between the cracks
myself.

"JV" wrote in message
news:godeovolf35h2767togl3n43o01mt3p45n@4ax.c
om...
> From the VN Vets main site and written by a
friend of mine.
> Copyright notice at the end.
>
> "WHAT IS A VIETNAM VETERAN?"
> A college student posted a request on an
internet newsgroup asking for personal
> narratives from the likes of us addressing
the question: "What is a Vietnam
> Veteran?" This is what I wrote back:
>
>
> -------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
>
> Vietnam veterans are men and women. We are
dead or alive, whole or maimed, sane
> or haunted. We grew from our experiences or
we were destroyed by them or we
> struggle to find some place in between. We
lived through hell or we had a
> pleasant, if scary, adventure. We were
Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Red
> Cross, and civilians of all sorts. Some of
us enlisted to fight for God and
> Country, and some were drafted. Some were
gung-ho, and some went kicking and
> screaming.
>
> Like veterans of all wars, we lived a tad
bit--or a great bit--closer to death
> than most people like to think about. If
Vietnam vets differ from others,
> perhaps it is primarily in the fact that
many of us never saw the enemy or
> recognized him or her. We heard gunfire and
mortar fire but rarely looked into
> enemy eyes. Those who did, like folks who
encounter close combat anywhere and
> anytime, are often haunted for life by
those eyes, those sounds, those electric
> fears that ran between ourselves, our
enemies, and the likelihood of death for
> one of us. Or we get hard, calloused,
tough. All in a day's work. Life's a bitch
> then you die. But most of us remember and
get twitchy, worried, sad.
>
> We are crazies dressed in cammo, wide-eyed,
wary, homeless, and drunk. We are
> Brooks Brothers suit wearers, doing deals
downtown. We are housewives,
> grandmothers, and church deacons. We are
college professors engaged in the
> rational pursuit of the truth about the
history or politics or culture of the
> Vietnam experience. And we are sleepless.
Often sleepless.
>
> We pushed paper; we pushed shovels. We
drove jeeps, operated bulldozers, built
> bridges; we toted machine guns through
dense brush, deep paddy, and thorn scrub.
> We lived on buffalo milk, fish heads and
rice. Or C-rations. Or steaks and
> Budweiser. We did our time in high
mountains drenched by endless monsoon rains
> or on the dry plains or on muddy rivers or
at the most beautiful beaches in the
> world.
>
> We wore berets, bandanas, flop hats, and
steel pots. Flak jackets, canvas, rash
> and rot. We ate cloroquine and got malaria
anyway. We got shots constantly but
> have diseases nobody can diagnose. We spent
our nights on cots or shivering in
> foxholes filled with waist-high water or
lying still on cold wet ground, our
> eyes imagining Charlie behind every bamboo
blade. Or we slept in hotel beds in
> Saigon or barracks in Thailand or in
cramped ships' berths at sea.
>
> We feared we would die or we feared we
would kill. We simply feared, and often
> we still do. We hate the war or believe it
was the best thing that ever happened
> to us. We blame Uncle Sam or Uncle Ho and
their minions and secretaries and
> apologists for every wart or cough or tic
of an eye. We wonder if Agent Orange
> got us.
>
> Mostly--and this I believe with all my
heart--mostly, we wish we had not been so
> alone. Some of us went with units; but
many, probably most of us, were civilians
> one day, jerked up out of "the world,"
shaved, barked at, insulted, humiliated,
> de-egoized and taught to kill, to fix
radios, to drive trucks. We went, put in
> our time, and were equally ungraciously
plucked out of the morass and placed
> back in the real world. But now we smoked
dope, shot skag, or drank heavily. Our
> wives or husbands seemed distant and
strange. Our friends wanted to know if we
> shot anybody.
>
> And life went on, had been going on, as if
we hadn't been there, as if Vietnam
> was a topic of political conversation or
college protest or news copy, not a
> matter of life and death for tens of
thousands.
>
> Vietnam vets are people just like you. We
served our country, proudly or
> reluctantly or ambivalently. What makes us
different--what makes us Vietnam
> vets--is something we understand, but we
are afraid nobody else will. But we
> appreciate your asking.
>
> Vietnam veterans are white, black, beige
and shades of gray; but in comparison
> with our numbers in the "real world," we
were more likely black. Our ancestors
> came from Africa, from Europe, and China.
Or they crossed the Bering Sea Land
> Bridge in the last Ice Age and formed the
nations of American Indians, built
> pyramids in Mexico, or farmed acres of corn
on the banks of Chesapeake Bay. We
> had names like Rodriguez and Stein and
Smith and Kowalski. We were Americans,
> Australians, Canadians, and Koreans; most
Vietnam veterans are Vietnamese.
>
> We were farmers, students, mechanics,
steelworkers, nurses, and priests when the
> call came that changed us all forever. We
had dreams and plans, and they all had
> to change...or wait. We were daughters and
sons, lovers and poets, beatniks and
> philosophers, convicts and lawyers. We were
rich and poor but mostly poor. We
> were educated or not, mostly not. We grew
up in slums, in shacks, in duplexes,
> and bungalows and houseboats and hooches
and ranchers. We were cowards and
> heroes. Sometimes we were cowards one
moment and heroes the next.
>
> Many of us have never seen Vietnam. We
waited at home for those we loved. And
> for some of us, our worst fears were
realized. For others, our loved ones came
> back but never would be the same.
>
> We came home and marched in protest
marches, sucked in tear gas, and shrieked
> our anger and horror for all to hear. Or we
sat alone in small rooms, in VA
> hospital wards, in places where only the
crazy ever go. We are Republicans,
> Democrats, Socialists, and Confucians and
Buddhists and Atheists--though as
> usually is the case, even the atheists
among us sometimes prayed to get out of
> there alive.
>
> We are hungry, and we are sated, full of
life or clinging to death. We are
> injured, and we are curers, despairing and
hopeful, loved or lost. We got too
> old too quickly, but some of us have never
grown up. We want, desparately, to go
> back, to heal wounds, revisit the sites of
our horror. Or we want never to see
> that place again, to bury it, its memories,
its meaning. We want to forget, and
> we wish we could remember.
>
> Despite our differences, we have so much in
common. There are few of us who
> don't know how to cry, though we often do
it alone when nobody will ask "what's
> wrong?" We're afraid we might have to
answer.
>
> Adam, if you want to know what a Vietnam
veteran is, get in your car next
> weekend or cage a friend with a car to
drive you. Go to Washington. Go to the
> Wall. It's going to be Veterans Day
weekend. There will be hundreds there...no,
> thousands. Watch them. Listen to them. I'll
be there. Come touch the Wall with
> us. Rejoice a bit. Cry a bit. No, cry a
lot. I will. I'm a Vietnam Veteran; and,
> after 30 years, I think I am beginning to
understand what that means.
>
>
>
> -------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
>
> Copyright © 1996 Dan Mouer, All Rights
Reserved
>
>
> 96 Montego (Lil' Blue)