After 52 years, ‘Welcome home’

It was March 29, 1973, when American boots left the combat sullied ground of South Vietnam save for advisors and some personnel.

When North Vietnamese tanks rolled through the gate of the Presidential Palace in South Vietnam on April 30, 1975, the long-fought war was over.

For the 9 million who served, of which 6 million were volunteers, it’s something that never ends. Returning to a divided nation, there were no ceremonies or even warm welcomes upon many’s return.

On Saturday, in conjunction with the U.S. Vietnam War Commemoration honoring service, valor and sacrifice, the Kiowa, Comanche, Apache Indian Veterans Organization (KCAIVO) did its best to amend that wrong with its role in the 50th national ceremony at the VFW Post 5263.

KCAIVO Vice Commander Rhonda Williams spoke of her father who served. She looked out to the many Vietnam veterans in the audience and reflected on theirs and her father’s service in that war. After her time serving her country, she said she understood how impactful his experiences were to him, as hers are.

“We came today to make it right,” she said. “Today, I am here to honor my dad and my uncles, all of my dad’s brothers. I understand my dad a lot more, though he’s not here today; it’s about you and honoring your service.”

Calling Vietnam veterans her “favorites,” Post Commander Erica Teraxler said she loves to watch their faces light up when she shakes their hand and tells them welcome home.

“Welcome home to all of our Vietnam vets,” she said.

KCAIVO Commander Kristopher Killsfirst, the son of a Vietnam War veteran who served three tours of duty in Iraq himself, noted how the numbers at each year’s commemoration have shrunk as many of these veterans have passed. 

Pat Collins Miller with Gold Star Wives of America is the surviving spouse of Blackwell native, Army Sgt. Danny J. Miller who served in country from 1967 to 1968 and passed in 2008. Her father, Army Captain Joseph E. Collins, who passed in 2006, served in Vietnam from 1965 to 1966.

“Both my husband and my father died service-connected due to exposure to toxic herbicide chemicals, Agent Orange,” she said.

They are casualties just as the 58,286 names on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C., who fell to its cause. The youngest was 15 years old, the oldest was 62.

There are still 1,600 missing and unaccounted for service members from that war.

A table set for one at a place of honor near the nation’s flag carries the symbolism of the prisoners of war and missing in action brethren to the veterans in the audience. They are called comrades, and it is commonly referred to as the Missing Man Table.

Videos to the songs, “Fortunate Son” and “Hallelujah” were shown. The words’ impact concussed with the imagery of American servicemembers taken during the Vietnam War. A photo that stands out to the mind showed the selfless teamwork of soldiers helping a wounded brother from the battlefield while they, themselves are wounded.

During a panel discussion, retired Army Brigadier General Ben Robinson spoke of his journey from flunking out of college to joining the Army one day in Texas in 1968. He would become an Army helicopter pilot. After losing his greenness through countless flights in Hueys and Chinooks taking soldiers to and from battle zones, he had become battle hardened. He was also still able to be awed by the bravery he saw in his fellow soldiers.

“What is courage is when you see it personally,” he said.

Robinson said it was during fighting in 1969 in the Que Son Valley that he saw it. Over 100 helicopters had been lost and he was told he was getting a second tail gunner. He would see a tall, skinny kid from Newton, Kans., walk up with his gun and a couple of tins of ammunition. He called the kid Fig. They enjoyed some rations and began loading up their plates in their vests. He said the John Wayne candy bars you received in rations were the best armor to stuff in there.

At one point, Robinson lost track of his new gunner. Then, he said, he looked to the nose of the helicopter and saw Fig holding himself up by its nose and vomiting. When he was done, he took a swig of water from his canteen, spit it on the ground and asked one question.

“’Well, aren’t we going?’” Robinson said. “That is courage. … I’m here today because of Fig.”

Closing the ceremony, Killsfirst asked all Vietnam veterans in attendance to walk through the arched swords held by Eisenhower High School’s JROTC Officer Training Corps and proceed to the front of the VFW hall. They were being welcomed home.

“We going to do what we should’ve did 52 years ago,” he said.