Sean traveled for several months, but he was not finding the answers he sought. He decided to get a job. The man at the employment office told him there were no jobs available for someone with Sean’s infantry skills. There were no hills to take, men to lead, or battles to fight. The state employee who had been sitting in a nice safe office while Sean had been at war was telling him he was unemployable. Sean McBride had risked everything for his country, shed his blood, and been willing to die if necessary. Now the nation was turning its back on him. Okay, if they wouldn’t let him work, he would go to school.
At the university, Sean found that many of his friends from high school were about to graduate. On campus, Vietnam was a bad word. Four students had just been shot at Kent State University in Ohio during a war protest. Some Vietnam veterans were being misdiagnosed as schizophrenic by incompetent doctors and thrown into rat-infested Veterans Administration hospitals. When a friend introduced Sean as a Vietnam veteran at a campus party, he was met with silent stares. Wherever Sean went, people were asking him what it felt like to kill someone. Sean was having nightmares. He was getting anxious and depressed. People were openly ridiculing the returning veterans, calling them fools. The politicians, generals, and American people in general avoided responsibility for the war. The veterans themselves were made the scapegoats. Many killed themselves.
Sean was hurt and confused. He went to talk to a counselor on campus. She was an attractive psychiatrist, about thirty-five, well dressed.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m a Vietnam veteran. I’ve been feeling depressed, anxious,” Sean said. “I’ve had some thoughts of suicide.”
“I won’t help you. You fought on the wrong side.”
Sean left the office. He walked around for several hours, thinking. He understood now. There would be no help from his country. He had only himself, his family, and his Vietnam veteran brothers. They would have to help each other.
The gnawing pangs of hunger ripped through his guts like a bayonet. Sean McBride was no stranger to the feeling. In Vietnam, he had fought for days with little food or water, taking casualties all the while. His money was gone. He had not eaten today. The sandwich he was saving felt good and warm in his jacket pocket. He would find a nice, sunny spot and enjoy the food. That’s when he saw the veteran. He was coming down the street, wearing an old army field jacket. He looked about Sean’s age, but he was dirty, disheveled, and foraging through the garbage cans. The veteran found a piece of food and plopped it into his mouth. Sean walked over and touched the veteran’s arm. The young man turned around. The light was gone from his eyes. He had the thousand-yard stare. Sean gave the veteran his sandwich. The vet sat down on a bench and devoured it quickly. Sean sat down beside him. The two Vietnam veterans sat quietly, not speaking but knowing. Sean gave his fallen brother a hug, and then they cried.