Murphy – Home and Reception – 1971

     Getting home was a full-time goal in July 1971.  It was on what I concentrated my thoughts and days.  I found out that I could get a “drop” of two days if I was able to get the direct flight from Saigon’s Tan Son Nhut airbase to McGuire in New Jersey.  There would be no need for another civilian flight from the west coast.  Battalion arranged it and I left early.

     We were flown from Phu Bai by C-130 to Saigon — my first and only visit to the capital.  It was a different Vietnam and seemed quite secure.  Troops were in Khakis and the roads were bustling.  We were billeted in barracks much like arrival at Long Binh as I recall and had a whole new out processing again that took several days – mostly because we all had to undergo drug tests.  If you failed, you were extended to rehab as the Army did not want to return current addicts to the states.  Some troops were a bit anxious as we waited the test results.

    We also were able to purchase new uniforms and put our ribbons together.  The climate played hell with mold and mildew on the stuff we brought with us.  I had several awards to which I was entitled.  Of course, I had the US Bronze Star medal with “V” for valor and Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry with Silver Star for Lam San 719 which I was proud to have.  Interestingly, I would later get the citations for each.  According to the US citation, I cleared numerous enemy mines – most all were Marine mines.  And the Vietnamese apparently divided the killed enemy and weapons captured in an operation among medal recipients – I got credit for 37 kills but killed no one I knew of in the operation. 

     I also had another Bronze Star and Army Commendation Medal from the division for service in a combat zone.  These two were called “roster awards” in the division.  If you kept yourself clean and alive for six months you got the Commendation Medal, for ten months the Bronze Star – they were for honorable service in the combat area and issued by roster lists — I did not think too much of them.  I also got the US Vietnam Service Ribbon and the Vietnam Campaign Medal for the same thing – being there.  I was really glad not to have a Purple Heart, but so very respectful and proud of those who did.  The guys next to me got hit, but for some reason God spared me.

     The third medal I was proud of was an Air Medal award.  In WWII you received an air medal after 30 combat missions in an aircraft (like B-29 missions over Germany).  In the airmobile Army, you got one for 30 combat assault helicopter flights.  Pilots and crews had dozens of awards – many oak leaf clusters.  All you had to do is keep track of the CAs (combat assaults) you were on.  LTC Rodolph’s staff had turned our officers on to the recognition and submitted our guys when we hit 30.  I had one award.

     I want to make something clear about military awards.  I was around some very brave men – men who acted without regard to their own lives and in defense of their buddies.  Sometimes, they get recognized with a medal because someone else takes the time to recommend them and write the justification.  That did not always happen because of time or circumstance.  With the exception of LTC Rodolph’s Silver Star, all the valor awards I saw awarded were earned – Chaplain Young’s stands out.  I guess service awards are for doing your job.  Not sure where that ends and exceptional effort begins.  There were a lot of exceptional and brave guys in Vietnam without many military awards.

     Anyway, we finally left Saigon on a commercial airliner and the cheer was deafening as the plane took off. 

We again flew for hours through Japan and across the polar ice cap.  I remember how beautiful the Great Lakes were from 35,000 feet. 

     We arrived at the New Jersey airbase and processed through customs.  I had no souvenir weapons or stuff, and my jungle fatigues and gear were taken from me at Saigon.  The customs agent at the base was very nice and he said, “Welcome home, Captain.”  That was my first greeting.

     Several family members met other troopers, but I knew I would be alone.  I had hoped to surprise Mary Ellen with my early return and planned to take a bus to New York and another to Teaneck.  She knew a “drop” was possible, but I still thought I could surprise her.  She knew the plane was down and I had returned.  In those days information was given out readily.

     I took the bus to New York’s Port Authority Building in Manhattan.  I was in clean Khakis with my ribbons and carrying my B4 bag.

To most everyone I was invisible.  Several in the station did look at me and then quickly away – one hippie- type spit in my general direction.  Homecoming was not so welcoming an affair from many of my countrymen.  On the bus to New Jersey, I sat near the driver — nice guy.  We passed some girls in hot pants (real short, tight pants) that had become popular while I was away.  I stared and he said, “Well, soldier, some things have gotten better.”  I agreed. 

     I got off the bus at Queen Anne Road and Cedar Lane as I recall and walked the several blocks to Grayson Place.  My pace quickened with each step, and I hoped that Mary Ellen and Sean would be home.  I rang the doorbell and her Mom answered.  I walked in and Mary Ellen leaped at me from the kitchen.  She was wearing a yellow hot pants outfit and I thought she never looked more beautiful – lucky guy I was, indeed.  We kissed and held each other like there was no tomorrow, and her parents retreated to the kitchen.

      Sean was not there.  Anne Marie and Kathy, Mary Ellen’s sisters, had taken him out for a walk in his carriage.  Soon they returned and I held him for the first time in my life.  What a feeling!

     After some calls to my folks and an evening together, we traveled the next day to Port Chester to see my Mom and Dad.  While the year had been hard on Mary Ellen and me, I really did not appreciate the tough time I had put my parents, brothers, and sister through.  We all enjoyed the reunion. 

     One of our neighbors down the street had penned a makeshift sign and put it on the lawn.  All it said was “Welcome Back Capt Murphy.”

This is the final chapter of a seventeen-part series, entitled “Pop’s War”, written originally for and dedicated to the Murphy grandchildren.