Bringing It All Back Home (29 page)

I'm telling you something, I will never forget that: What the fuck do I know? I'm only a kid. You made a million fucking dollars while this kid was fighting. This kid went and fought that fucking war because growing up and listening to you at Thanksgiving, the Christmas parties, the weddings, and the wakes, you always told us what the right thing to do was. You were just part of the whole bandwagon, “Do the right thing.” You were hot dogs, apple pie, and Mom; you were everything—you were Yankee Doodle fucking Dandy. And now I go and I do your dirty work, and then you're going to come back and tell me I'm just a fucking kid; I don't matter for much. To me that was just total devastation … that I'm sitting there … my grandfather never would have said that; I know that.

He returned to Vietnam ten days later to complete his tour. He was convinced, he remembers, that God had sent him home to make peace with his family. In contrast to his first trip to Vietnam and the sense of adventure it had, he felt this trip would be the end. As it turns out, he was just in time to be part of Operation Meade River.

The official U.S. Marine Corps history of operations in Vietnam states that Meade River “was to be a cordon and search operation under the First Marines, like many which had been conducted previously, but on a much grander scale. Rather than surround and search single hamlets or villages, the division planned a cordon around 36 km
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in the Dodge City area, south of Da Nang.” The Dodge City area was so named because of its Wild West gunslinging atmosphere. Between November 20, 1968, and December 9, 1968, Marines from the First Marine Division, supported by tactical air, artillery, and helicopter gunships, killed a reported 841 enemy soldiers, capturing 164 weapons. In the twenty-day operation, 106 Marines were killed and 523 wounded.
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Whatever the reports say, Kenny has his own interpretation.
It was horrific,
he recalls.
We got our asses kicked.

According to the official report, veterans of earlier wars who were present stated that it “was the fiercest fighting they had ever seen.”
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The Marines took heavy casualties, but Kenny distinguished himself, earning the Navy Commendation Medal for his actions on November 23. The first platoon of Lima Company had gotten into trouble; three machine gunners had been shot by North Vietnamese troops, and one machine gun was lost. Despite the presence of a higher-ranking officer, Kenny took charge of the situation.

I took the machine gun, and we took like two thousand rounds of ammo—it was like ten cans of ammo. I said, “You, come with me,” and the fucking guy did; there was no question. I went into the middle of this rice paddy with this guy. They still had at that point fire superiority to us.

The lieutenant said, “What are we going to do?” And I said, “Here,” and I opened up all the ammo and I said, “Link these rounds.” The water was like—like to mid-thigh, the water we were in. He was kind of lying on the bank with half his ass in the water, and he looked at me. It was probably his baptism of fire, so to say. And he was with a guy who didn't give a fuck. It was like, “I'm a dead man; it doesn't matter anymore. I'm already dead.”

In his seminal work on Vietnam veterans and PTSD, the psychiatrist Jonathan Shay identifies a state of mind he calls “the berserker state,” an emotional condition that combines rage with a complete disregard for personal safety. It would seem to be an apt description of Kenny's state of mind at that moment.

And I looked at the guy and I said, “If I get fucking killed, pick up this gun and keep firing.” And I stepped out from behind where we were, and I just fired two thousand fucking rounds; I never stopped firing. And as soon as I fired, almost instantaneously you heard
bababoom, bababoom,
and all three guns started opening up and it was perfect. It lasted all of like maybe a minute or two minutes, and then we were out of ammo. We went back up, and the Marines had gained control; they were able to get the guys with the maps and the dead and the wounded.

According to the medal citation, Kenny acted “when the lead platoon was pinned down by a heavy volume of fire from a well-entrenched North Vietnamese Army force. Rapidly assessing the situation, Corporal Kenny boldly maneuvered his squad across the fire-swept terrain to a position from which to deliver accurate suppressing fire upon the hostile unit. Ignoring the enemy rounds impacting near him, he skillfully supervised his men in placing their machine guns and, boldly directing their fire upon the enemy soldiers, enabled the Marines to gain fire superiority over the hostile force and evacuate their injured comrades. His bold initiative and resolute determination inspire all who observed him and contributed significantly to the accomplishment of his unit's mission.”

As the operation continued, Kenny recalls, he didn't have much time to focus on anything other than the two gun teams under his operational command. But he does remember being concerned about food. As Thanksgiving approached, Kenny remembers making up stories about his mother's cooking, all of which, he concedes, were lies.
My mother couldn't boil water
. But the closer they got to Thanksgiving, the more he looked forward to his turkey dinner. Turkey came in a can. Kenny had stored his away even while, as he puts it,
guys were eating toothpaste on leaves for food
. His group of friends included Phineas, Corporal Richard Dale James, from Shelbyville, Indiana, and maybe two others.

We hadn't eaten in about two or three days. And I said, “Look, man, it's Thanksgiving; we've got to have a feast.” And they said, “Who the fuck has got food?” And I said, “Hey, my man,” and I whipped out this can of [turkey]. And they say, “Oh, man, you got fucking turkey.” I said, “I got turkey. What do you got?” Well, you know, Phin turned out—I think he had like a can of jelly. I said, “Jelly, that's cranberry sauce.” I said, “What do you got?”[Another guy] said, “I got bread.” I said, “Stuffing, yeah; we got stuffing.”

And we had a meal. Between the five of us, we each brought a can of something to that—to that circle—and we cooked it all up, and it's bizarre because we're standing there in this little circle: perfect targets. By then we were arrogant. And we're sitting and everybody took the first fork and it went around—I think it went around four or five or twenty times, I don't know. But we were totally stuffed, and it was like three ounces or four ounces of product, for God's sake.

I can always remember the theology of the fish and the loaves, and we were so fed.

I've always said that the irony of war is that the most inhumane thing known to man, that which we call war, is where we learned our humanity. That's where our humanity comes to us. And it's just the paradox of it.

Sadly, one of the young men who shared that Thanksgiving meal, the kid from Indiana, never made it home to share the story.

I remember James. When [the food] went around, he said, “Wow, I can't believe that.” I said, “What—what—what can't you believe? Speak, ass, what are you talking about?” And he said, “I just took the turkey from, you know, from Phin.” I was like, “Yeah, so…”; it didn't register … what does that mean? And he said, “Nobody at home will ever believe me when I tell them that a black man handed me that spoon, I didn't rinse it, and I didn't clean it or throw it away, and I took the food and put it in my mouth, and it went from his mouth to my mouth.” And everybody was like, “Yeah, duh. Well, you know.” And, you know—but it just struck him—I guess the irony.

I watched him die, too. He never got home. He never got home to tell that.

On December 8, Kenny and his platoon were leaning up against a rice paddy dike when a Marine named Bailey got separated from his squad. Another member of Bailey's squad, David Ned Moore, was stuck on Kenny's side of the dike. With incoming fire passing over their heads, Kenny's squad waited and had cigarettes. Kenny watched as a Marine stood up to throw a hand grenade over the dike and was shot through the hand. Moore came over to complain to Kenny about the situation and asked for a cigarette, which Kenny handed him.

I wasn't looking directly at him and I hear
uhhggg
, like that. He had raised his weapon and he started to come up and he got hit right above [the] right eyebrow, and as he fell over, he landed in the dirt. But as he landed, it was like a fire hydrant. [The blood] was gushing, and it was like, “Oh, man.” I was just covered with fucking blood. I looked and the fucking cigarette was still between his lips and it was like, you know, that's smoke curling up. And the blood just kept going. It was all over.

And then Bailey said, “Moore, Moore.” I said, “Forget it, Bailey; he's hit. Moore is hit.” He said, “I'm coming over.” I said, “Moore is hit; take over the squad.” He said, “I'm coming over. I'm coming over.” I said, “Wait, wait, wait.” We're screaming. I said, “Before you come over, who's next in command for that squad?” He said, “Why?” I said, “Because when you come over that wall, you're going to be dead like Moore.” He never came over. He was sobbing, crying. I felt bad for him. I just knew he—he just lost a part of himself, and he was gone.

By the time the unit returned to base, Kenny was unmanageably angry. He walked back into the tent he had shared with other members of his unit only to find their places already taken by new Marines; there was new gear spread out all over the boxes and bunks once used by men who had been killed and wounded. Kenny reacted by throwing their equipment on the floor and chasing those new men out of the tent, going so far as to throw a knife at one of them who had the temerity to speak up.

Finally, Captain Bennett, who had been his company commander for a significant portion of his tour, approached Kenny. Bennett, by now promoted to major, offered Kenny a promotion to sergeant. At first, not understanding the implications, Kenny accepted. Major Bennett explained that in order to take the stripe and promotion, Kenny would have to stay in Vietnam until the end of his enlistment in June 1969. Kenny responded:
“I can't do that, Skipper. It was pretty bad out there. It was the worst. Skipper, my war's over. I can never go to war again. They can keep their stripe.” And he said to me, “You know, Neil, I knew you were going to say that, but I had to ask you.”

When he returned to the United States in January 1969, Kenny felt a strong compulsion to talk about what he had seen. Some members of his family, though, couldn't take what Kenny had to tell them, especially those who had not been in combat. The combat vets, by contrast, were willing to listen.
I always wanted to talk about it
, he says;
everybody told me not to
. In addition, antiwar sentiment was making many Vietnam veterans feel as though they should be wearing a shroud of shame for their participation in the war. This left Kenny feeling marginalized also. Despite having done what he thought was right, Kenny felt the world believed him to be a bad person for serving there. Jonathan Shay describes the destruction of self-image as one of the central elements of post-traumatic stress disorder. It hit Kenny hard.

Assaults to his dignity began early, starting with his arrival at El Toro Air Force Base in California. Some reservists wanted the returning Vietnam veterans to clean the barracks for an incoming reserve unit. They confronted Kenny and some other Marines. In the end, the staff sergeant making the request found himself thrown out of the barracks, physically, by Kenny and his crew,
ass over teakettle. You're not back seventy-two hours, and people are fucking with you. What is that about?

By the time he got back to New York for good, his attitude was,
My name is Buck and I don't give a fuck. I did sex, drugs, and rock and roll almost until the age of thirty-two. I drank my way out of more good jobs than most people will ever have the opportunity to have.

Most likely, he had post-traumatic stress disorder but didn't know it. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, PTSD symptoms can be grouped into three categories: reexperiencing symptoms, avoidance symptoms, and hyperarousal symptoms. Reexperiencing symptoms include bad dreams, flashbacks, and frightening thoughts that cause problems in a person's everyday life. Avoidance symptoms may include staying away from reminders of the original traumatic event, depression, worry, and even a tendency to forget the dangerous event itself. Hyperarousal symptoms include being easily startled, tension, trouble sleeping, and anger management issues. Kenny's PTSD principally seems to take the form of flashes of anger.

One day, his younger brother, Gary, and some friends invited Kenny to join in a stickball game outside the family residence in Bay Ridge. Some kind of dispute began between Gary and one of the other kids. Kenny taunted his younger brother to stand up for himself and fight, telling him, he recalls,
If you don't stand up for yourself, I will kill you
. Apparently, Gary took Kenny at his word and began to fight. At some point, an older boy intervened. Kenny recalls picking up the stickball bat and hitting the older child in the back.

When that bat hit him right in the small of the back, he was, like, frozen. And he just doubled in half backward, like I severed his spine. He went to the ground, and he couldn't even breathe; I took his breath away.

Someone threatened to get the boy's father. Kenny replied:
“You bring your father. I'll kill your father. I'll kill him in front of you and fuck your mother in your house.”

I should have gone to jail for it. It was criminal assault. That kid was hurt.

Kenny now understands that his early life experiences may have predisposed him to PTSD. Kenny thinks that his father, a World War II veteran who served as a stretcher bearer at the Battle of the Bulge in 1944–45, very likely suffered from his own undiagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder, which also took the form of drinking and violence.