Nightmare at the Grocery Store.

After all the stories about returning Vietnam Veterans having to endure verbal assaults accusing them of being baby killers and being spit on, I got my dose today, 43 years after my return.

Fortunately for me, when I left out-processing in Oakland, California, I was only one of hundreds who had just been told to be on the lookout for that kind of thing. I found it pretty hard to return home from Vietnam and Cambodia only to be warned that we could be assaulted by the skin heads and sheet wearers at the airport on the very day of my return. Under normal circumstances, that would have been a hard punch to the stomach but there are circumstances that changed all that.

I was only one of a plane load of roughly 200 guys that would be going to the airport. Within that group, there were some rock hard combat veterans who had just come out of the jungle and a year of combat in the bush. They made it clear what would happen if anybody decided to spit on them.

These were hard core grunts who had just come out of a year long tour of duty in a horrible war zone and they had no intention of being spit on or hassled by anyone. Needless to say, I picked my seat close to theirs when we loaded up on the bus and left for the airport. It proved to be a great decision on my part.

When we arrived at the front of the terminal, I noticed a group of sheet wearing, bell ringing skin heads. I immediately began to gather my bag and prepared to hit the exit door right behind the guy that said: "I hope one of them spits on me". I figured that would have been the best place to position myself for an excellent right hand, round house punch to some body's face.

I don't know if it was lucky for them or lucky for us but I believe the look that the sheet wearers saw in the eyes of the combat vets was enough for them to completely shut down their dancing and chanting and effectively, shut up until we were in the building. Nothing happened except maybe a few soiled sheets on the part of the skin heads.

I don't know what I might have done if the spitting had started but I do know that I was already in a perfect position to deliver a guaranteed knock out punch to whichever idiot needed it the most.

Forty three years later, I find myself in the check out line at the Albertson's Grocery Store where I've shopped for years. When the guy in  front of me was gathering his groceries and putting away his credit card, he heard the cashier greet me.

Since I knew everybody there, most of them knew about the medical situation I've been dealing with. It was nothing unusual to be asked how I was doing and when she did so, she said: "Hello Mr. Butler, how's the treatment for Agent Orange going"? That's where the trouble began.

Before I could answer, loud mouth turned around with a smirk on his face and said: " I used to work for DuPont and we drank that stuff during break time...ha ha  ha. We thought it was orange juice".

That's when it hit me. At that exact moment in time I had a million visions of what I wanted to do to Mr. Bigmouth. I wanted to say something like: "I can tell you're not a Veteran because real men don't say shit like that".

As the seconds ticked off, he turned and walked away. While he was walking, my mind was going a million miles an  hour. I knew that I couldn't attack him and expose myself to even the slightest hit in the head, especially the right side of my head where the brain surgery took place.

Despite that, I wanted to scream out at him and tell him that if  he said that in a crowd of Vietnam Vets, he would get his ass handed to him along with a trip to the hospital. Despite all those feelings, I did the right thing by not allowing my passion to overcome my principles. I said nothing and did nothing. I just stood there at the check out stand and watched him walk away, fully exposing his back to me, my favorite target area.

As I turned back toward the cashier she looked at me and said: "I found absolutely nothing humorous about that". I'm not exactly sure what I said to her but I hurriedly paid my bill, grabbed my groceries and went out the door.

I knew he'd gotten away and that it would be fruitless to get a plate number or try to follow him home and write down his address. I just got in my car and began thinking about all of my friends who  have suffered  horribly from Agent Orange and especially, Johnny Newberry, who I helped bury a year ago. Johnny was at Khe Sahn and suffered from Agent Orange until it put him down forever. I don't even want to get into the many things I thought about so let's just say that I went  home and was one hell of a wreck when I got there. I couldn't let it go and still can't. I only WISH things had been different and more conducive to a response by Veterans who were in better shape than me.

I thought about taking out an ad in the newspaper that was addressed: "TO THE MAN IN ALBERTSONS WHO MADE FUN OF AGENT ORANGE". I thought about what I would say and then realized that it would serve no meaningful purpose and  he probably wouldn't have seen it anyway.

I sent an email to Roger at the VA and told him to make note of the incident for further conversations about it. I'll see him day after tomorrow so I won't have to wait long.

In any event, I came home and as luck would have it, a buddy of mine from high school days came by. He knows the deal and has been through hell himself. I took my meds and we visited until about 9 pm when he was comfortable enough to leave. Thanks Dupe.

To summarize this, especially since it has occurred during a number of PTSD Editorials I've been writing on the Air Cav Troop site, let me say that many will read this account and, I'm sure, either be astounded that I didn't spit on this guy or throw a grocery cart at him, or they'll be amazed that I didn't say a single word.

I hope to see him in the store again. That will be interesting but the last 7 hours has not. Thanks for the ear.