THE SHORT RIDE

Just a small incident that stuck with me all these years.

As a Viet Nam veteran, I’m relieved how attitudes about Viet Nam veterans, have improved since my discharged from the Marine Corps in the summer of 1969.

 

When I was in Viet Nam, I recall how the U. S. military indulged in censorship to keep negative news, from back home, reaching the troops. When my tour of duty was up, in the summer of 1968, I was sent home for a long deserved four, or was it six-week leave?

 

During the thirteen months I served in Viet Nam, I had no clue how widespread the negative feelings about the war in Viet Nam was back in the U.S. All I knew was, I was hungry to go home.

 

I soon learned how serious those feelings were. I had no driver’s license so my first day home, ounce I had changed into civilian clothing. I had to ask my mother if she would drop me off at a local mall. When she dropped me off she said she had other errands to run and would I need a ride home? I thanked her and told her no, that I would hitch a ride home because I wanted to enjoy my brief freedom and hanging out for a while.

 

I was eager to wade through crowds of civilians and imagine I was one of them. After a bit of window shopping and poking around for a while, the only thing I bought was a carton of Marlborough cigarettes. I walked across the parking lot and up to the street to hitch a ride home.

 

As cars rushed by me, I stopped to light a cigarette. Then I kept walking backwards facing traffic with my cigarette in my left hand and my right thumb stuck out. I wasn’t paying attention to the cars as they flew by. I was looking at things like, houses and yards and dreaming about owning my own home someday. Every so often I’d glance behind me to be sure where I was going.

 

A car went by and I could hear it pulling over snapping me from my daydream. I spun around and trotted up to the car door, opened it and hopped in. “Thank you,” I said before the driver had a chance to say a word.

 

“Where ya headed kid?” the middle-aged man said.

“Straight up a little ways,” I said nodding toward the windshield. “Just past Howard’s produce stand”.  

 

“Hot one today,” the man said, his head out the window checking for oncoming traffic as he pulled back onto the road.

 

“Yeah, it sure is,” I said placing my right elbow out the open window.

 

“I hate this s**t, don’t you kid?” the guy said.

 

“I don't know, I’m sort of use to it” I replied.

 

“Ya are ha” he said with a smirk.

 

“Yeah, I just got back from Viet Nam. It’s hot as hell over there” I said.

 

“What!” the man said in a raised tone of voice.

 

“I’m in the Marine Corps; I just got back from a thirteen-month tour over there.”

 

I thought a dog ran out in front of us, the way he braked and swerved to the side of the road.

 

A large cloud of dust went from the rear of the car and drifted past the frontend of the car as he hollered at me. “Get out!”

 

“What’s wrong?” I said, completely puzzled. The guy was really upset.

 

“I don’t want no goddamn baby killer in this car. Now get out… now!”

 

I got out and the guy spun his tires, pelting me with gravel and leaving me standing in a cloud of dust. I couldn’t believe what had just happened, I was in my own hometown.

 

I don’t know where that guy heard that kind of crap, but the few enemy I got when I was in country, were at the age of consent and had notches carved in their rifle butts.

I guess that’s just another costs for freedom.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I heard stories about this sort of thing, but never experienced it myself; not until the war was over, at least. Soldiers and sailors just do what they're told, so it was very unfair to treat us that way. I recall hitchhiking in uniform, and being picked up right away. One guy said he didn't usually pick up hitchhikers, but did so because of my uniform. That happened in Arkansas, where I think the attitudes were still favorable toward us. People in the San Francisco area always seemed cold and not very friendly, but no one ever said or did anything to me. The worst I saw was in Jacksonville, Florida, in the mid seventies. There, I was pelted with eggs while walking down the street, hit in the head with a rock as I strolled on the boardwalk. Sitting in a bar, listening to a live band, the singer threw a potted plant at me. Jacksonville-- that bastion of conservatism and religion. Go figure. Thanks for sharing this story, Paul.

[Wesley Dingler]

My father was a Vietnam veteran. His second tour was ended abruptly and he was sent home with a purple heart. My brother and i experienced a little of this. For a while thereafter society seemed to like badgering the children of vietvets as well. I never understood why because objectivity is a luxury of those sitting on the side lines.
As for my own opinion, i think what he did sucked andwas great at the same time. Yes he killed women and children over there to get back to his own over here. If given a lack of options i would do the same.
Personally im proud of him and all of you.
The truth is you guys werent the baby killers. The baby killers were the sick people over there who would send children at you with weapons. Those are the true sickos. But like i said people living in the luxury of objection over here at the time cant/wont see that. Mostly because they are stupid and like myself have little idea what its like to have to do things like that.
But again im proud of all of you, and have no use for these babykiller poets as i call them.

I say keep you head up and leave them to the grass.

And thanks for your service. Noe people like me can continue being free to think and speak as we see fit.

Cheers.

[Paul McCall]

Hello Wesley, and thank you for checking out my story, I appreciate that greatly. The world is full of people who talk about things they know nothing about. Others negative opinions no longer bother me. I hope you were able to get something positive out of that story. Good to meet you Wesley.