My Brother, My Hero

When I was thirteen years old, the summer of August 1966, my oldest brother Gene left our home in Bakersfield, California with two of his new buddies from boot camp...destination Viet Nam. He was a Marine, and he had been playing the Marine Hymn on our family organ since I could remember. So, the military choice was an obvious one, not the Navy which had been my father's choice, but the Corp. That hot day in August was not unlike many others that we had shared as kids, but it was eerily heavy, it was scary, and it was sad. I will never forget the stiff hug and his words, "See ya later, kid" and then the slamming of the patio garage door and the sound of the car driving away.

New technology had brought Viet Nam into our homes via the nightly news, and the body bags, wounded on stretchers, the bombs, and the gunfire made the impending dangers that my brother faced very real. The realization that I might never see him again swept over me and the rest of my family. It was hard. We anxiously waited for letters, that came regularly as possible, and we prayed allot. Especially my mom, at night when she thought we were asleep I would see her with the family Bible walking around our backyard. She had waited for my dad to return from the Pacific during WWII and now, she waited for her son.

As a mother of a son, I cannot imagine how she held it together and seemed to make life as normal as possible for my two older brothers, dad and me, but she did. I have great admiration for her strength and her character. Well, the one thing that I can say about the similarities of today's War and the Conflict of Viet Nam is that unless you are personally connected, life seems to go on as if nothing is happening on the other side of the globe. I know we lived with it, in silence mostly, every day.

The letters from my brother when he was first "in country" were beautifully idealistic. He spoke of the people, the children, the beauty of the country. However, as a few weeks went by we began to see a change. Gene was with with the 1st Battalion 2nd Marines Echo Company stationed in Da Nang. He grew up quickly, too quickly. He had been a Boy Scout and was the leader of the neighborhood games that were initiated in our one acre backyard in the 50s'. He was the pirate , the Calvary leader, the leader of the Marines as all the neighborhood fellas scrambled over our back fence, and onto the canal bank and into the neighboring pasture. He was my big brother and he could do anything better than anyone ( well in my eyes, he could ).

Only a few months into his tour, we received word that one of the boys, Atkins, that had left with Gene that day had been shot in the leg and was on his way home. The other, Stevens, who had been a student at Purdue before enlistment, was having some problems adjusting and had been moved to supply duty. Gene was on the mortar team and we would soon learn that his orders were to make nightly raids in groups of six or eight or four. The call to move out would occur anytime after 1:00 a.m and they would return to base camp at sign of first light. This of course was normal, customary and routine..no big deal ..just a days work.

My brother returned stateside, February 1968, to Oakland Naval Hospital, where he spent close to a year recovering from a wound to his left arm. This wound has left him without the use or feeling in his arm ,as the bullets that ripped through his flesh severed the nerves beyond repair. He quickly told anyone who offered sympathy that they weren't to waste it on him. There was an amputee ward in the other building and those that had lost their eyesight, suffered brain damage and his wound was nothing and at least he was alive. He knew many that were not.

He returned to school, earned a BS degree from Chico State University and his Single Subject Credential in Science. He taught High School for a while and then turned to solitary work in Soil Conservation for the Government. He liked working by himself and being alone. The last time I saw him was in 1981, he just disappeared from "family" view. He was haunted by flashbacks, tormented by what he had seen and done. He never completely got over the reception he received upon his return home, especially on the University Campus, as he staid the course to complete his education and get on with his life.

I never thought less of him for disappearing, I knew he was broken in some way and was doing his best to move forward with his life. He never stopped being my hero. On August 1, 2006, two days before my birthday, I received the best gift a baby sister could receive. My phone rang, and I heard a voice say:

"Is this Malinda ? Yes. Did you use to live at 505 Terrace Way? Yes. ( long pause) Well are you going to tell me who you are? Gene. ( pause and spoken quietly and questioningly) My brother? Yes. Do you have any idea how long I have waited for this phone call? Nope. Well, where have you been? Around. Guam, South Carolina....

That was one of the best days of my life and the best birthday present I have ever had. The conversations come regularly now, along with packages of family memento's and memorabilia. It is wonderful and he writes! Wonderful stories, sad stories, personal stories of his experiences in Viet Nam, and children stories that are so perfectly 50's. I have not seen him yet, but the voice on the other end of the phone is enough for now. He is the brother I remember, my hero. I love you Gene!