"A Salute to America"

 Here’s another from the Preacher. I hope you enjoy his story of patriotism and a thoughtful reminder of our great nation…

I have for years posted this tale just before Independence Day, and here I go again:

Bristol, RI hosts the country's oldest and largest Independence Parade each year. I've often told you the tale of my return from Vietnam to indifference and hostility, with two shining exceptions, but by and large far from the flag-waving welcomes our WW2 heroes received.

In 1986 I decided to march at Bristol. Very early in the morning, decked out in uniform and medals, I drove the half-hour journey down to the mustering point where I quickly found the Vietnam vets' contingent. We sat or stood about, swapping war stories and jokes, and soon it was time to form up. We had a cadence caller, a grizzled and bearded little Special Forces master sergeant with a Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart with clusters, and more chest candy than a North Korean general. And before you knew what was what, an A-10 zoomed over, almost at treetop level, and that was the signal to step off.

Flags, flags, flags. Flying bright and brave from porches. Soaring proudly from front-yard poles. Waving back and forth in spectators' hands. Music, music all around us. And I noticed one heartening thing.

The people were sitting, enjoying things. But as they heard the ordered tramp of boots, heard our cadence caller singing it out, saw our group approaching - they came to their feet and SCREAMED! "Welcome home!" "Thanks, guys!" "America!" "USA! USA!" And as we marched along, we constantly saw people ahead notice us and come to their feet.

On the porch steps of one old Victorian home, two tall, thin old men in suits and ties, garrison caps on their heads and medals on their chests, stood at rigid attention-holding salutes. "Eyes - LEFT!" shouted our cadence caller as he snapped one back at them. History comes alive before us. And, yes. We were part of that history, we realized afresh.

A pretty young blonde girl, no older than twenty, ran out and pressed a cold bottle of beer into my hand, whispered... 

"Thanks, sailor..." 

and kissed my cheek. I winked, took a swig, and passed it along to the next man.

Finally we approached the town square, which was strangely quiet. The reviewing stand was filled with town officers, military officials and (I found out later) visiting Soviet military officers. As the first Vietnam veteran put a boot in that square...

All the sirens in the fire station and in their engines sounded off and the cheers were deafening as we gave the stand an "eyes right" and showed Bristol and the world what pride and service were all about! A bell began to ring in a nearby steeple. Pandemonium. Joy. America. America!

In 1967 when I returned from our Westpac deployment it was less than it might have been. But don't weep for me or feel badly, for on that hot July day on the shores of Narragansett Bay, I got my "welcome home." We ALL got our welcome home.

Thank you, America!