I wonder if my parents had heard of the Vietnam War when they decided to move their seven children to the United States. I doubt that it raised any red flags (no pun intended) for them since the war was just beginning. Americans thought it would be a cakewalk and their boys would be home by Christmas. But soon the US was embroiled in a hellish conflict that brought the country to its knees. As for my family, Vietnam would become part of our lives and leave an indelible mark until the present time.
In 1969, we were a happy immigrant family doing our best to adapt to life in Ohio when the dreaded military draft was instituted. By then the war in Vietnam was in our faces every evening on television and we knew it wasn’t good, especially after the carnage of the Tet Offensive the previous year. I still recall sitting in front of a black and white television waiting for the lottery that would decide the future of any men between 18-26 years of age. The most interested in the proceedings were my older brothers Carlos and Luis. There was a sense of foreboding in the room when Luis’ number came up within the group that would be drafted that year. Carlos luckily escaped.
It wasn’t long before Luis got a formal letter ordering him to report for training camp at Fort Campbell in the state of Kentucky where he would be taught to kill people. I was amazed how my brother took the whole ordeal with such coolness; like a cool hand Luis in the guise of one of Paul Newman’s most famous film portrayals. He could have chosen to return to Mexico or remind the government that he wasn’t an American citizen, but he didn’t. He had made a commitment to defend the country as a legal resident and wasn’t going to back down. So, he took it all in stride and went to Kentucky. I can imagine him walking into Fort Campbell tall and proud ready to comply with his oath.
The year Luis spent in the Vietnam War was a season in hell for our family. I can’t imagine what went through my mother’s mind. The anguish, the anxiety, the constant worrying, the fear of a military visit announcing the worst. How many times she must have wished it was all a nightmare from which she would wake up. My father worried too, but was so busy trying to keep the family afloat that he had little time to reflect on the situation. The rest of us who were aware of the war kept Luis in our prayers and went about our lives thinking positively, sure that he would come back alive.
It was before the age of cell phones, so Luis kept us informed of his whereabouts and activities by sending long letters that brought joy to the family. He painted the regular life of a soldier, always on the happy side to allay our fears, in particular those of my mom. He sent many pictures where he looked like a badass, invincible Michoacano. The North Vietnamese couldn’t touch him, but they did. He was wounded on one occasion, a fact most of us didn’t find out until he returned with a Purple Heart Medal in hand.
I can’t describe the joy and happiness our family felt when Luis returned to Ohio. The dark clouds disappeared and, to steal words from Credence Clearwater Revival, we stopped seeing the rain coming down on a sunny day. My parents once again had their eight sons and daughters living happily under the same roof (we had added a baby brother), safe from wars in unknown countries.
Luis followed in the footsteps of Cincinnatus, the famous loyal Roman soldier who left his farm to go fight in wars for his country and afterwards returned to his farming chores without missing a beat. Like this Roman soldier, my brother picked up where he had left off when he was drafted. He worked in Penn Ohio Towel Supply as a foreman; picked fruits and vegetables in the fields of California; he got married in Mexico and returned to work as a mechanic for Conrail in Youngstown, Ohio. When Conrail laid him off, he moved out to Oxnard, California for good. There he learned the skills of carpentry and became a master carpenter, all while raising with his wife, Hortencia, four wonderful daughters. In other words, he is an example of a loyal, productive, model citizen, though ironically Luis didn’t get his citizenship until he was in his fifties!
As has been the case with most war veterans, Luis never talked much about his experiences of Vietnam. I do remember his frustration and sadness when the South Vietnamese lost the war in April 1975. I also recall that after a slate of Vietnam War films came out in the eighties, he mentioned to me how unfair it was that people were making money out of his and his fellow soldiers’ experience in the war. Up to then, he hadn’t participated in the Veteran’s Day parade, but soon after he began to do so. I was glad to see that he was finally seeking to heal the wounds in his soul. A couple years ago he visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington D.C., accompanied by several of my siblings and their spouses. He wanted to look for the name of a fellow soldier who served with him, Robert Sabatini, who hadn’t survived the war. My sister, Elena, tells me that during the visit many people saluted him and showed him the respect he deserves, and that Luis was genuinely touched by this.
I’m happy that my brother lived long enough to receive the recognition he deserves for his military service. For too long the Vietnam vets were ignored and stigmatized, but not in our home. When Luis came back in 1971, we were proud and admired his courage and his commitment to his adopted country. He’s the kind of man the US is now in dire need of. Since 1970, Vietnam has been in our family, a presence that reminds us of a dark year when we had to come to grips with a war foreign to us and which in the end made us a stronger family.
On behalf of my brothers and sisters, I want to express the strong love we have for you, Luis. We look up to you as an exemplary brother, a symbol of loyalty and honor, a man of great valor, courage, and profound principles. On this National Vietnam Veterans Day, we proudly and respectfully salute you, brother, and acknowledge the great, invaluable service you have given to the US.
Postcards From a PostMexican 
Wow, Alvaro. I really enjoyed this very moving, very real account of your brother Luis’ and your family’s experience with the Vietnam War. You did a great job expressing the feelings of anxiety and concern the family had worrying about Luis’ safety. I’m glad the story had a somewhat happy ending, though I was prepared for the worst. “Somewhat happy” because, although Luis has had a successful life, he never overcame the emotional cloud that many, maybe most, Vietnam veterans carry with them. It sounds like Luis’ visit to the Vietnam Memorial and his connecting with old army friends were salutary, meaningful steps. Good for him. And thank you for sharing this deeply personal story with your readers.
Hope to see you soon, amigo mio!
Jerry
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Thank you, amigo. I really appreciate your comments.
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Thank you for sharing your family’s experience. Luis, your service to our country is greatly appreciated.
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