California Dreamin'

San Jose didn't have a big airport at the time, so my parents and I had no trouble finding each other when I got off the plane. In those days, some of the airlines would give you a little price break if you were a servceman travellng in uniform, so I did.

I picked up my sea bag and on the way out to the car, it was evident that things had changed somewhat since I lived there almost three years ago. There weren't any protestors out there like I'd heard about at some of the airports, but people would be going INTO the terminal, staring at me and moving further away, like I was some kind of freak.

(By contrast today, I can go through a checkout line somewhere, and a cashier might notice my Marine Corps hat or tattoos and say "Thank you for your service!"----that wasn't happening in 1969).

In the living room of my parent's house, Dad had a big map of Vietnam on the wall, marked with thumbtacks, so they could keep up with where I was, as they'd get letters from me. "I can toss THIS out, now that you're home..........unless you'd like to have it...."

"Nope.......I never want to see that place again." (That would change in 2005).

We'd watch the nightly news, where the hippies and draft dodgers would be out there demonstrating, and Mom would say "Go ahead and just turn that off.' I'd say "no, we heard about all this, I'd like to see it for a few minutes"

Dad would interject by telling me that the WHOLE country isn't against you guys, so don't judge it by these yellow pukes out in the streets.

But it was hard NOT to, because even as I ran into a few guys I'd gotten to know the short time I spent in High School in San Jose..............you could tell. Nobody really asked me how I was, how long I'd be home on leave, or if I could make it to some bar-b-que that weekend. I DID get asked if I'd killed anybody! Yeah, THAT was "important."

Nobody actually said it. They didn't have to, but you knew.............("Welcome back Bradbury, did you shoot up any villages or burn up any little children, you murdering s.o.b!") The media had done its job. I was a complete stranger in the San Jose I THOUGHT I remembered.

Over the 13 months I was in Vietnam, I'd had money sent home for Dad to find and restore a 57 Chevy for me. It was waiting for me when I got back, and one of the first places I drove it was 51 miles north to San Francisco. I'd lived in San Jose only a brief time before I enlisted. All my REAL friends were the old "Hooligan bunch" back on Potrero Hill, and I'd surely feel more accepted THERE.

But the "Hill" wasn't the same either. All my buddies were gone now, either drafted, in jail, married & moved away, etc. The neighborhood ITSELF still looked familiar and there were still some pretty seedy-looking characters lurking around, though. (In 2005, it STILL didn't look too prosperous!)

I drove over to Galileo High and walked around a bit. Still lots of Chinese kids, Italian kids, blacks, whites, etc, but not ONE that I knew. One of my old shop teachers was still teaching there. When I walked in to see HIM, he was fairly friendly. He laughed as we shook hands and said "Not YOU again!.......ha-ha-ha"..........and then leaned forward a bit and said, "you didn't come back here to STEAL anything did ya?"

That was it. I'd had enough. It wasn't home anymore. I got back into the Chevy, went down the Aquatic Park, where Tony Granada and I used to sit on the steps at lunchtime and stare out at Alcatraz. I just sat there awhile and remembered back. San Quentin was on the other side of the bay, and not too many miles from there was Berkeley "first aid kit" College. I thought LONG AND HARD about THAT..........but...........without a stovepipe and a couple of rockets for it, why waste the gas?

I cut my leave short, tossed the sea bag in the trunk, and headed for Pendleton. I took the coast route, old highway 1, and parts of 101. It was a pretty drive back then, past Carmel, Pismo Beach, San Luis Obispo and Malibu. Every now and then I'd stop to watch the surf, folks out there on the beach, roasting hotdogs, drinking beer, surfing, tanned girls in bikinis, sailboats out there on the ocean.............just like nothing had ever changed.

But on the other side of that same ocean, men were fighting and dying, for nothing. Absolutely nothing, and it didn't matter ANYWAY because nobody back here cared. That last night in San Jose before I left, Dad and I were sitting at the kitchen table, talking. He said he didn't believe ANYTHING he'd been hearing on the news (you STILL can't)........he looked straight at me and asked "What's actually going on over there? What IS this all about?"

"I don't know Dad........I really don't." That answer bothered him. And it bothered ME. Still does. I look at Iraq/Afghanistan TODAY, and nothing has changed, except the terrain.

When I rolled through the gates at Camp Pendleton just as 1968 was turning into 1969, I felt for the first time like I was "home." It was the hard-looking place that it still is today, barracks and quanset huts that had been around since Korea. It would be spit and polish again, formations, inspections, long hikes, lousy chow and uncomforatable bunks.

But we'd at least be with our "own kind." Mutual respect, salute the flag, honor our Corps.........nobody THERE would look down on ya, and wimps "need not apply."

I was finally home.

I still make it down there every 4 or 5 years. Being retired military now, I can drive right on and pretty much go where I want. To THIS DAY, not much has changed and some of those old barracks and quansets where I lived in the 60's ARE STILL BEING USED! (The Navy budget spares "no expense" on the welfare of the Corps.).............."They're MARINES------they don't need any comforts!"

Everytime I'm there, I always drive out to the old areas and walk around a bit, and of course, I get over to the big PX at Mainside to stock up on T-shirts, sweatshirts, caps, decals, etc. And I never seem to have to remember how to get to anywhere. It's like I never left.

In my heart and mind, I suppose I never HAVE. Semper Fi. If you've never been, you could never know.