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In this war, troops get a rousing welcome home
By Rick Hampson, USA TODAY
WARMINSTER, Pa. — The young soldier hadn't slept in 48 hours or bathed in 72. Now that he was finally back from Iraq, all Pfc. Justin Gindhart wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.
But these days, Gindhart discovered, a soldier's homecoming isn't always that simple.
To his surprise, there was a troop of motorcycle-riding Vietnam vets to greet him at the airport; a police-escorted motorcade, past blocked-off intersections and highway entrances, that backed up traffic for miles; an appearance at a support-the-troops rally; a gathering of neighbors and friends, alerted by fire and ambulance sirens, outside his family's house. And the biggest shock of all — a reunion with a disabled comrade whose life he'd helped save in Iraq.
"Wow! I thought I was just gonna come home," the startled private told the crowd that spilled across his lawn and into the street on Father's Day. "I didn't expect anything like this!"
celebrations that are increasingly elaborate, frequently surreptitious and occasionally over-the-top.
Like many of those who are greeted like latter-day Caesars, Gindhart was quick to point out that he wasn't exceptional. He was a 20-year-old medic who'd spent eight months in Iraq and hadn't been seriously wounded or highly decorated. He was home only on an 18-day leave.
For many communities, nothing is too good when it comes to showing support for returning troops.
"He really deserved something special," says Gindhart's mother, Lisa, who had only 18 hours to complete arrangements after learning of her son's scheduled arrival at the Philadelphia airport. "This is the happiest day of my life."
She, like many other Americans, says any military homecoming — for temporary leave or to stay home for good — deserves major festivities.
Celebrations such as Gindhart's reflect a renewed national appreciation of those who serve, says Morten Ender, a sociologist at the U.S. Military Academy.
One reason, he says, is that the home front is asked to sacrifice relatively little for the war effort — no tax surcharges, rationing or draft. So some civilians show their patriotism by how they honor the troops.
"The (Bush) administration has set the tone of going about our normal lives, but people aren't necessarily comfortable with that," Ender says. "They want to do something to show their appreciation."
Sarah Schoen of Port Clinton, Ohio, says that partly explains the elaborate homecoming reception she planned for her boyfriend, Army Sgt. Travis McCleary: "There is a war going on, and we're here back home, just hangin' out. This was a way of doing something."
Diane Mazur, a University of Florida law professor and former Air Force officer, goes further: "What motivates these ostentatious displays is the unspoken, almost unconscious guilt over the way military service works now. A narrow slice of Americans serve again and again. It's as if we're saying, 'We will engage in these very public displays of worship, provided you don't ask us to serve.' "
And there's something else. Talk to those who stage these welcome celebrations, and it becomes clear that it's not only about the reception these troops deserve, but also about the reception another generation of returning veterans deserved, and did not get.
It's about Vietnam.
An egg and a parade
In February, El Paso announced plans for a "Welcome Home Heroes Parade" to mark the return to Fort Bliss of a unit of the First Cavalry Division.
The parade wasn't expected to be much of a draw. It would be held on a weekday and feature no floats, pop stars or beauty queens — just the 4,000 soldiers and 31 riderless horses to mark those who did not come back.
About 12,000 people showed up, lining the mile-long route and making the parade the Iraq war's largest civilian-planned homecoming celebration so far.
The unit commander, Col. Stephen Twitty, was shocked by the turnout. He said it showed that regardless of how people feel about the war, "they still support the troops."
Tellingly, the El Paso event's roots go back to 1970, during the Vietnam War. A just-discharged Army officer named John Cook stepped through the gate at Fort Lewis in Washington state and, he says, was hit by an egg thrown by a war protester.
Cook is now mayor of El Paso. "That was my welcome home to civilian life," he says.
He vowed to do better for veterans who followed. The parade, 38 years later, was a result.
At almost every homecoming celebration, there are people like Cook, repeating the lament — about how Vietnam vets were at worst spit on and at best ignored.
Tom Murtha is one of the Vietnam vets who escorted Justin Gindhart home this month. He says that when he came home to Philadelphia in 1968 with a shattered right leg, World War II veterans shunned him for not having fought in "a real war."
Murtha's determined that won't happen again. He recites the motto of Vietnam Veterans of America: "Never again will one generation of veterans abandon another."
Many Vietnam vets felt abandoned by the public for whom they supposedly were fighting.
Like Murtha, Mike Stuckey is a member of the Patriot Guard Riders, a national organization of motorcycle enthusiasts that provides escorts for military funerals and homecomings. Stuckey returned from Vietnam to his native Mazon, Ill., in 1970.
"When I came home, I just came home," he recalls. "My family was happy to see me, but the public attitude was, 'OK, you're home; big deal.' I don't know if I really resented it. It was just the way things were. But in retrospect, I don't think the sacrifices made in that era were respected. I want it to be different this time."
Some historians say abuse of Vietnam vets has been vastly overstated.
Jerry Lembcke, a sociologist at the College of the Holy Cross who served in Vietnam, studied news reports and other sources from the era and found virtually no reports of veterans being spit on or attacked by protesters. In polls, most veterans said they were well received.
But the stories, endlessly repeated, reflect an emotional reality: Vietnam vets often felt disrespected by war protesters and ignored by war supporters.
Today, although many Americans who opposed the Vietnam War still say it was immoral and ill-advised, many others feel guilty about how its vets were treated.
This regret finds expression in the welcome given those returning from another war. Ender calls it "a way to make collective amends … for collective guilt."
Like many other servicemembers, Gindhart makes it a point to seek out and thank Vietnam vets.
"It's horrible how they were treated," he says. Gindhart told Murtha, who'd himself been a medic, "a lot of the stuff we (medics) do now was pioneered by you guys back then." Murtha beamed like a kid.
Scenes like those tell Bonnie Melland of Sherwood, Ill., who's had surprise homecoming celebrations for both her Marine sons, that as a nation, "we've learned our lesson." The lesson is this: Don't confuse the warrior with the war, don't blame the private for the decisions of the commander in chief.
Surprise, surprise
Recent military homecoming blowouts have included:
•Airport privileges for the welcome party. Though access and parking at airports is restricted, troops' relatives and friends often are permitted to meet them at the gate or even on the tarmac.
In one case, a commercial jetliner landed and was diverted toward a hangar at LaGuardia Airport. Bill "Hawk" Connelly of the New Jersey chapter of the Patriot Guard Riders says that as passengers watched, a soldier on board stepped off onto the tarmac and the hangar door went up to reveal a crowd of his family and friends. The plane then taxied off to the terminal.
•A police-escorted motorcade. The Patriot Guard Riders help form escorts from the airport that are usually led by police cars. Highway ramps and intersections often are closed; sometimes toll plaza lanes are shut down so the motorcade can roll on without stopping or paying.
•A triumphal arch. Sometimes the motorcade will pass under an arch formed by two fire trucks' extended ladders. A flag is hung from the apex (under a spotlight at night), as it was when Elliott Favaro returned home to Fair Lawn, N.J., after serving with the Marines in Iraq.
•The key to the city Many troops are greeted personally by the mayor or other local officials, often with an official proclamation. April 26, for example, was Elliott Favaro Day in Fair Lawn.
•A big party — and maybe an illegal beer. Although the guest of honor was not 21, no one seemed to object when Marine Cpl. Andrew Lenzie hoisted a Bud Light at his homecoming blowout in New Lenox, Ill., in April. There aren't many no-nos on such occasions except for fireworks, which often are not appreciated by those just back from war.
The Iraq homecoming celebration's most conspicuous element is the one of surprise.
In Iraq, Justin Gindhart helped save the life of Cpl. Wesley Leon Barrientos, who was severely injured by a roadside bomb five days before Christmas and spent months undergoing rehabilitation at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington.
The two had not seen each other since the attack. Then, at the rally Gindhart attended on the way home from the airport, an event organizer told him to turn around. There was Wes — walking toward him with his new prosthetics.
"That was the best part — to see him get up and walk under his own power — not in a wheelchair, not with crutches, not being held," Gindhart said later. "You can't feel any other pride like that."
Other homecoming surprises:
•As McCleary was being driven home from the Cleveland airport by Schoen, the latter mysteriously kept texting her brother. Suddenly, there were flashing lights and sirens behind the car; McCleary thought they were being pulled over for speeding; it was police and emergency vehicles forming a motorcade to escort him to a surprise party.
•Cpl. Lenzie could be excused for impatience when, as his family was driving him home, they pulled off the highway. His mother said she had to pick up something at Kohl's. In the parking lot were dozens of motorcyclists, part of an escort that whisked the family into town.
•Marine Cpl. Bobby Brown, on leave in Minooka, Ill., surprised his little brother by showing up unannounced at football practice. Then he heard sirens, horns and engines — a fleet of emergency vehicles and motorcycles had arrived to lead him to his own surprise party.
Although few of the troops complain about the celebrations, sometimes their organizers "go overboard," admits Bonnie Melland, Brown's mother.
She says that although the outgoing Bobby enjoyed the attention, her other Marine son, Matt, was uncomfortable with his own surprise welcome.
"He said, 'I don't want to talk about what I did over there.' He went along (with the celebration) more for me than anything," she says.
Ender understands such a reaction.
"Some soldiers don't want all the attention. They're socialized to be humble; it's the 'no-I's-in-team' ethos of the armed forces," he says. "The guys coming home don't necessarily feel heroic while there are still guys back there on the front. … Especially if they're able-bodied when they come home, they may feel they don't deserve all these accolades."
As his own party began to wind down, Justin Gindhart admitted he'd been overwhelmed by his reception: "I really didn't deserve all that."
But in a long war of tour after tour, the best he can hope for is another homecoming.
Shortly after he arrived home, a teary Lisa Gindhart asked, "Do you have to go back?"
Her son is in the 101st Airborne; she might as well have been the German commander asking McAuliffe to surrender at Bastogne.
"Yes, Mom, I do," he replied. "I want to go back. It's my job."
In this war, troops get a rousing welcome home
By Rick Hampson, USA TODAY
WARMINSTER, Pa. — The young soldier hadn't slept in 48 hours or bathed in 72. Now that he was finally back from Iraq, all Pfc. Justin Gindhart wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.
But these days, Gindhart discovered, a soldier's homecoming isn't always that simple.
To his surprise, there was a troop of motorcycle-riding Vietnam vets to greet him at the airport; a police-escorted motorcade, past blocked-off intersections and highway entrances, that backed up traffic for miles; an appearance at a support-the-troops rally; a gathering of neighbors and friends, alerted by fire and ambulance sirens, outside his family's house. And the biggest shock of all — a reunion with a disabled comrade whose life he'd helped save in Iraq.
"Wow! I thought I was just gonna come home," the startled private told the crowd that spilled across his lawn and into the street on Father's Day. "I didn't expect anything like this!"
celebrations that are increasingly elaborate, frequently surreptitious and occasionally over-the-top.
Like many of those who are greeted like latter-day Caesars, Gindhart was quick to point out that he wasn't exceptional. He was a 20-year-old medic who'd spent eight months in Iraq and hadn't been seriously wounded or highly decorated. He was home only on an 18-day leave.
For many communities, nothing is too good when it comes to showing support for returning troops.
"He really deserved something special," says Gindhart's mother, Lisa, who had only 18 hours to complete arrangements after learning of her son's scheduled arrival at the Philadelphia airport. "This is the happiest day of my life."
She, like many other Americans, says any military homecoming — for temporary leave or to stay home for good — deserves major festivities.
Celebrations such as Gindhart's reflect a renewed national appreciation of those who serve, says Morten Ender, a sociologist at the U.S. Military Academy.
One reason, he says, is that the home front is asked to sacrifice relatively little for the war effort — no tax surcharges, rationing or draft. So some civilians show their patriotism by how they honor the troops.
"The (Bush) administration has set the tone of going about our normal lives, but people aren't necessarily comfortable with that," Ender says. "They want to do something to show their appreciation."
Sarah Schoen of Port Clinton, Ohio, says that partly explains the elaborate homecoming reception she planned for her boyfriend, Army Sgt. Travis McCleary: "There is a war going on, and we're here back home, just hangin' out. This was a way of doing something."
Diane Mazur, a University of Florida law professor and former Air Force officer, goes further: "What motivates these ostentatious displays is the unspoken, almost unconscious guilt over the way military service works now. A narrow slice of Americans serve again and again. It's as if we're saying, 'We will engage in these very public displays of worship, provided you don't ask us to serve.' "
And there's something else. Talk to those who stage these welcome celebrations, and it becomes clear that it's not only about the reception these troops deserve, but also about the reception another generation of returning veterans deserved, and did not get.
It's about Vietnam.
An egg and a parade
In February, El Paso announced plans for a "Welcome Home Heroes Parade" to mark the return to Fort Bliss of a unit of the First Cavalry Division.
The parade wasn't expected to be much of a draw. It would be held on a weekday and feature no floats, pop stars or beauty queens — just the 4,000 soldiers and 31 riderless horses to mark those who did not come back.
About 12,000 people showed up, lining the mile-long route and making the parade the Iraq war's largest civilian-planned homecoming celebration so far.
The unit commander, Col. Stephen Twitty, was shocked by the turnout. He said it showed that regardless of how people feel about the war, "they still support the troops."
Tellingly, the El Paso event's roots go back to 1970, during the Vietnam War. A just-discharged Army officer named John Cook stepped through the gate at Fort Lewis in Washington state and, he says, was hit by an egg thrown by a war protester.
Cook is now mayor of El Paso. "That was my welcome home to civilian life," he says.
He vowed to do better for veterans who followed. The parade, 38 years later, was a result.
At almost every homecoming celebration, there are people like Cook, repeating the lament — about how Vietnam vets were at worst spit on and at best ignored.
Tom Murtha is one of the Vietnam vets who escorted Justin Gindhart home this month. He says that when he came home to Philadelphia in 1968 with a shattered right leg, World War II veterans shunned him for not having fought in "a real war."
Murtha's determined that won't happen again. He recites the motto of Vietnam Veterans of America: "Never again will one generation of veterans abandon another."
Many Vietnam vets felt abandoned by the public for whom they supposedly were fighting.
Like Murtha, Mike Stuckey is a member of the Patriot Guard Riders, a national organization of motorcycle enthusiasts that provides escorts for military funerals and homecomings. Stuckey returned from Vietnam to his native Mazon, Ill., in 1970.
"When I came home, I just came home," he recalls. "My family was happy to see me, but the public attitude was, 'OK, you're home; big deal.' I don't know if I really resented it. It was just the way things were. But in retrospect, I don't think the sacrifices made in that era were respected. I want it to be different this time."
Some historians say abuse of Vietnam vets has been vastly overstated.
Jerry Lembcke, a sociologist at the College of the Holy Cross who served in Vietnam, studied news reports and other sources from the era and found virtually no reports of veterans being spit on or attacked by protesters. In polls, most veterans said they were well received.
But the stories, endlessly repeated, reflect an emotional reality: Vietnam vets often felt disrespected by war protesters and ignored by war supporters.
Today, although many Americans who opposed the Vietnam War still say it was immoral and ill-advised, many others feel guilty about how its vets were treated.
This regret finds expression in the welcome given those returning from another war. Ender calls it "a way to make collective amends … for collective guilt."
Like many other servicemembers, Gindhart makes it a point to seek out and thank Vietnam vets.
"It's horrible how they were treated," he says. Gindhart told Murtha, who'd himself been a medic, "a lot of the stuff we (medics) do now was pioneered by you guys back then." Murtha beamed like a kid.
Scenes like those tell Bonnie Melland of Sherwood, Ill., who's had surprise homecoming celebrations for both her Marine sons, that as a nation, "we've learned our lesson." The lesson is this: Don't confuse the warrior with the war, don't blame the private for the decisions of the commander in chief.
Surprise, surprise
Recent military homecoming blowouts have included:
•Airport privileges for the welcome party. Though access and parking at airports is restricted, troops' relatives and friends often are permitted to meet them at the gate or even on the tarmac.
In one case, a commercial jetliner landed and was diverted toward a hangar at LaGuardia Airport. Bill "Hawk" Connelly of the New Jersey chapter of the Patriot Guard Riders says that as passengers watched, a soldier on board stepped off onto the tarmac and the hangar door went up to reveal a crowd of his family and friends. The plane then taxied off to the terminal.
•A police-escorted motorcade. The Patriot Guard Riders help form escorts from the airport that are usually led by police cars. Highway ramps and intersections often are closed; sometimes toll plaza lanes are shut down so the motorcade can roll on without stopping or paying.
•A triumphal arch. Sometimes the motorcade will pass under an arch formed by two fire trucks' extended ladders. A flag is hung from the apex (under a spotlight at night), as it was when Elliott Favaro returned home to Fair Lawn, N.J., after serving with the Marines in Iraq.
•The key to the city Many troops are greeted personally by the mayor or other local officials, often with an official proclamation. April 26, for example, was Elliott Favaro Day in Fair Lawn.
•A big party — and maybe an illegal beer. Although the guest of honor was not 21, no one seemed to object when Marine Cpl. Andrew Lenzie hoisted a Bud Light at his homecoming blowout in New Lenox, Ill., in April. There aren't many no-nos on such occasions except for fireworks, which often are not appreciated by those just back from war.
The Iraq homecoming celebration's most conspicuous element is the one of surprise.
In Iraq, Justin Gindhart helped save the life of Cpl. Wesley Leon Barrientos, who was severely injured by a roadside bomb five days before Christmas and spent months undergoing rehabilitation at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington.
The two had not seen each other since the attack. Then, at the rally Gindhart attended on the way home from the airport, an event organizer told him to turn around. There was Wes — walking toward him with his new prosthetics.
"That was the best part — to see him get up and walk under his own power — not in a wheelchair, not with crutches, not being held," Gindhart said later. "You can't feel any other pride like that."
Other homecoming surprises:
•As McCleary was being driven home from the Cleveland airport by Schoen, the latter mysteriously kept texting her brother. Suddenly, there were flashing lights and sirens behind the car; McCleary thought they were being pulled over for speeding; it was police and emergency vehicles forming a motorcade to escort him to a surprise party.
•Cpl. Lenzie could be excused for impatience when, as his family was driving him home, they pulled off the highway. His mother said she had to pick up something at Kohl's. In the parking lot were dozens of motorcyclists, part of an escort that whisked the family into town.
•Marine Cpl. Bobby Brown, on leave in Minooka, Ill., surprised his little brother by showing up unannounced at football practice. Then he heard sirens, horns and engines — a fleet of emergency vehicles and motorcycles had arrived to lead him to his own surprise party.
Although few of the troops complain about the celebrations, sometimes their organizers "go overboard," admits Bonnie Melland, Brown's mother.
She says that although the outgoing Bobby enjoyed the attention, her other Marine son, Matt, was uncomfortable with his own surprise welcome.
"He said, 'I don't want to talk about what I did over there.' He went along (with the celebration) more for me than anything," she says.
Ender understands such a reaction.
"Some soldiers don't want all the attention. They're socialized to be humble; it's the 'no-I's-in-team' ethos of the armed forces," he says. "The guys coming home don't necessarily feel heroic while there are still guys back there on the front. … Especially if they're able-bodied when they come home, they may feel they don't deserve all these accolades."
As his own party began to wind down, Justin Gindhart admitted he'd been overwhelmed by his reception: "I really didn't deserve all that."
But in a long war of tour after tour, the best he can hope for is another homecoming.
Shortly after he arrived home, a teary Lisa Gindhart asked, "Do you have to go back?"
Her son is in the 101st Airborne; she might as well have been the German commander asking McAuliffe to surrender at Bastogne.
"Yes, Mom, I do," he replied. "I want to go back. It's my job."
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