An interesting phenomenon occurs about this time every year. May 7, 1975 was the last day America’s military recognized its ever-diminishing number of Viet Nam or Viet Nam-era Veterans. Or was diminishing until the passage of the PACT Act reinfused it with tens of thousands of Vets from Thailand, Anderson AFB and certain places in Korea, Laos and Cambodia. The phenomenon is nothing more than a tempest in a teapot. My email fills up with still-disgruntled V Vets complaining about being spit on, ridiculed as baby killers, or deprived of meaningful employment for years after one glance at their DD 214. 

After much introspection, I’ve reached acceptance. There’s really nothing that can be done now to rectify the “subdued homecoming” we received as the local fish wrap called it utilizing the lens of historical perspective in 2004.

But first, I’d note I’d just arrived at Travis AFB  from Yokota AB Japan non-stop on a C 5 on 20 May 1972 fresh out of the bush. We landed about 0100 and went through customs and then on to wherever we were going. I took the shuttle over to San Francisco International to catch a flight back to DC to see my mom. It had been 2 years and some change since I left.

SFO, at 0230 Hours in Spring of ’72 was pretty quiet. You could hear the Hare Krishna chants and the green tambourines jingling when you arrived. I totally missed out on all the flying spit medals. I was still wearing my camo fatigues and jungle boots with a survival knife peaking out on my hip. My .357 was in my shoulder holster inside my shirt. And yes, I unloaded it per regs before boarding the Klong flight at Udorn 30 hours earlier.

I’d popped a few Desoxyn about 12 hours into it so I was still humming  right along. You cannot sleep in an empty C 5.  Chances are I wouldn’t have been in a great mood anyway if someone had wanted to harangue me. Pussy cutoff date had been two weeks before so I was already a hot mess.  But fortunately for both of us, their modus operandi was a bit more leisurely- a couple of lattés at 10 AM and a toke or two before the arduous, devoted work of civil disobedience called.

So here we are 51 years later using medal math or 51 + 18 if you choose March 29, 1973, if you want to pretend we all went down to the Aerial Port Bldg at Tan Son Nhut, or  Phan Rang or Udorn, duffel bag on shoulder, hung over to beat the band, to depart home. The emails are from all those who still say things like “If they drafted me tomorrow at 75, I’d still do it all again.” Right. Pass the Desoxyn first, please.

Let’s analyze this. What would anyone get now from a gigantic “Welcome Home” Parade for serving in Viet Nam? Give me free dinner for two and all you can drink at Applebee’s™ and I could call it good. How about a Starbucks© free coffee for life card? How about 25% off at Cheapo Depot on John Deere® 360° riding mowers? I guess I shouldn’t complain. I’m getting paid at SMC S as it is.

Quite frankly, the only thing that bugged me after I got out was the VFW “Sargent at arms” who told me I couldn’t join because Viet Nam was just a “conflict”- not a genuine war. But seriously, guys. Carrying that “they dissed me” chip on your shoulder for 50 years can give you a serious complex- an inferiority complex. To me, that Viet Nam Vet hat is a cry in the night for a thank you for your service or a ‘sorry we were all assholes back in ’68’.

There’s nothing to be ashamed of now. I know for some it might be a painful subject to discuss even now. We were conditioned to bury that part of our lives and assimilate, get married and procreate. Nobody wanted to hear or talk about that era. In 1980, Cupcake found out I’d served. Several of my friends and I were all meeting up at our local watering hole for Happy Hour one evening and a car backfired close by. I was down to the ground with that .357 out when she got out of her car. In retrospect, I think that’s what might have impaired my chances of talking her into marrying me until 1987.

Since none of us own a DeLorean with a  10 gigahertz flux capacitor on the trunk, we’re stuck here in the present. Why wallow in the past? We should be harassing our congressmen for freebies. Screw the mea culpas and the Pity parades. We should be going to Mecum Car auctions and demanding  50% discounts on them ’67 GTO convertibles with the Hurst four-speeds. That’s the currency we should be talking. As for Starbucks, for me it’s too much work to comb my hair, brush my teeth and apply two squirts of Right Guard just to drive 10 miles for a cup of coffee. Screw it. I’ll make my French press here. Besides, they probably wouldn’t let Pickles come in.

Now, on to today’s teaching moment. You’ve probably heard me talk of the ‘shit or go blind’ technique in VA law- or at least my version. I filed Marion here for his entitlement to R1. The Board granted it but VA shmoozed him and said “Dude. you have a L 1/2 already. The new L is less value. So there’s no retro. Get it?” So I filed a 995 and said send the money to this address. and don’t forget the Barry bump. They seized up and scheduled a c&p exam!. So I sent in a 4138 and said ‘Disregard the Barry bump. Proceed to rating. Do not pass go!” Then I sent in a §5103 saying “That’s all, Folks!” Incipient Blindness and an urge to defecate began immediately.

Friday evening at 1630 quitting time this popped up. I include the June 2025 BVA decision that said “Johnnie Vet, come ooooooon down!” So the BVA gal grants. VA hems and haws over a paltry $220K and finally says “We ain’t granting because the VLJ is full of shit. It’s pyramiding.” But then they get the code sheet right. I can’t make this shit up. We’re off to the Board and another year of waiting. By then, they’ll own him about $260K. Idiot’s delight.

Redact BVA Decision grants a&a

Redact 4.29.26 2nd RD deny SMC R

Redact 4.29.26 CS grants SMC R