If I had stopped to think, we would not have gone. But the opportunity that my children could participate in an historic occasion spurred me on.
The Chicago Vietnam Veterans Welcome Home Parade was scheduled for June 13, 1986. Although I had never ridden the METRA commuter downtown, on that morning I stood at the Oak Lawn commuter station with my three children and two of their friends. Their ages ranged from eleven to fourteen. Not wanting to spend money on expensive downtown food, p&j sandwiches, apples and fruit drinks were packed in a bag. Without knowing the protocol for trains, we clamored on board to the dismay of the daily commuters whose “assigned seats” we occupied.
We walked from the train station to Michigan Avenue. Both sides of the street were already crowded with people ready for a five-hour parade. Mothers held large photos of their deceased son in military uniforms. The six-person deep onlookers waved flags or held up signs of welcome. We squeezed through the crowd and sat on the curb so others could see. It was later reported that up to 500,000 people lined the parade route. When the procession began, the hushed applause signified the reverence of the event as the color guards marched by.
When the first group of Veterans trooped by in curb-to-curb formation, pandemonium broke out. Applause and shouts of encouragement filled the air. Wave after wave of vets marched by with many looking surprised at the enormous crowd. Soon, tickertape floated from the windows of the high-rise corporations. This presented a challenge to those pushing vets in wheelchairs. The buses from Hines Hospital crawled slowly through the paper as smiling men pressed their faces on the glass to view the spectators. Floats holding men in bamboo Tiger Cages tightened my stomach and caused tears to flow. The children next to me watched in silence with outbursts of cheers.
As the last unit slogged through the tickertape, we joined the press of the crowd to make our way home. The ride on the train to the suburbs was quiet. My own thoughts reeled as I recalled 1964 graduation from high school and teens I knew being drafted. The marches against the war. The people wearing MIA-POW bracelets prayed that the person whose name was engraved in the metal would come home. The stories of returning vets who changed into civilian clothes to depart from airplanes while hiding their service to avoid the charge of “baby killer”. The Vietnam Vets who sat in the back of my college classes and challenged the professors with words: “that’s not the way it is. “
This parade was the beginning of the healing for many of the Vietnam Vets. The ceremony at Grant Park around the moveable Wall with names of 58,000 of those who gave their all brought mending of repressed emotions. But the issues of Agent Orange, cardiovascular and chronic illnesses due to combat exposure, hearing damage from heavy artillery, PTSD, and reintegration to society still plague many of the vets. Some would be helped, but many would feel the repercussions of their tour of duty into old age. That is why the parade became important to all who attended.
Am I glad that I took the young teens to this long, hectic, emotion-infused day? You bet that I am!! Charles Neilsen, a Vietnam Vet gives us all a bit of advice. “If you see a Vietnam Veteran, ‘Welcome Home’ is music to their ears. That’s what we didn’t get back then.”
“I will give you back your health and heal your wounds, says the Lord. For you are called an outcast.” Jeremiah 30:17 NLT