richardwboyanton

June 28, 2025
A Victory Celebration: Coming Home from Vietnam at 19

The election of President Trump felt like a long-overdue “welcome home” from the Vietnam War—a victory for our nation, albeit 54 years late. As an 18-year-old, I was told we were fighting to keep socialism and communism from reaching our shores, a notion that now seems so misguided. At just 19, I returned home wounded, stepping off that bus at Travis Air Base to a chorus of hatred. Fruits and vegetables were hurled at us, and the laughter that once filled the air dissolved into an oppressive silence that followed us the rest of the way.

After processing my orders and receiving my pay—finished by 8 AM—I found myself free for the first time in a long while. My flight to New Orleans was the next day, and then I would make the drive to Picayune, Mississippi. I’d been warned not to wear my dress uniform in San Francisco, but it was the only outfit I had left.

Taking the bus downtown to pick up some civilian clothes was a short trip, but I arrived to find all the stores closed with an hour to kill. Spotting a bar that was open, I decided to step inside, duffel bag in hand, and ordered a beer. The bartender, noticing my military attire, asked for my ID. When he saw it, he shook his head—“Sorry, you’re too young.”

Anger surged within me. I had just returned from a war, and here in my own country, I was being refused a drink. It felt like I had landed in an alternate universe, one that was turning further away from me by the minute. My insides simmered, already raw from the experiences of war, and this encounter only ignited the frustration further.

In a moment fueled by rage, I swung my arm and knocked several bottles off the bar in a spray of glass. With my mostly empty duffle bag flung onto a table, I confronted the bartender. His face went pale as he backed away, careful to keep the sizable mop handle he held at a distance.

But my exit was halted when two police officers rushed in, responding to the bartender’s most likely alerted him with some type of button. The first cop came barreling towards me but stumbled, and in my state, I sent him sprawling to the floor. The second officer tackled me, and before I knew it, we were all caught up in a chaotic scuffle.

Eventually, the dust settled, and I found myself handcuffed, blood flowing from my mouth and nose, having made my mark—my fist had met flesh. Then, a officer you could tell was much older and higher rank entered, taking over the scene. He approached me and asked, “Tell me you didn’t just come back from Vietnam?” I nodded most surely. He ordered my handcuffs removed, but the other officers hesitated. With a firm voice, he insisted, and they complied grudgingly.

Free once more, I was sent to his police car, I climbed into the front seat of the car, pulling down the blind to check my reflection. Not too badly hurt, I smirked, yet the adrenaline was still coursing through my veins. The officer driving remarked, “This place is nuts! Just stay at the airport until your flight.” He even took me to get cleaned up and helped me buy some civilian clothes since my army uniform was in shambles and had to be tossed.

Welcome home. The words seemed like a lightning bolt striking me, sending a rush of conflicting emotions. Though I hadn’t been a heavy drinker before, post-war outbursts haunted me until I turned 21. I had risked my life for my country, yet I couldn’t even order a beer. The absurdity of it all was overwhelming.

Returning home should have felt joyous, but it was marred almost weekly by anger and confusion. My experience was not just a solitary one. I am guessing like many others this echoed the sentiments of many veterans who faced similar challenges upon returning from war. It’s essential for the future to realize I was only a day away from fighting to protect my life and already encountered hate,disrespect and a country that had laws that bordered on insanity. The complexities of reintegration and the often harsh realities that veterans confront when they come home set the stage for great trouble..

“The soldiers are like the land around them, filled with holes, destroyed by shells, subject to destruction.They have no choice in the matter.Trauma has fixed their lives in place.”