2,000 Vets of Vietnam in Reunion

Jim Wade came to the second annual Vietnam veterans reunion in La Habra on Saturday to look for a fellow soldier.

“I don’t know his name, but I’ll never forget his face,” said Wade, 44, of Long Beach, who remembers unloading the wounded soldier from a helicopter that had been hit.

“He was a corpsman. He had lost half his leg. From the top of his right (buttocks) cheek right down to his heel, it was missing,” Wade recalled. “He had been given a shot of morphine. I could tell because the ‘m’ was written on his forehead in blood. I know he’ll never forget me because he looked at me and said, ‘Am I going to keep it?’ ”

Wade didn’t find the man, but he found camaraderie among more than 2,000 other veterans who gathered at El Centro Park with friends, families and other supporters to listen to poems, prayers, speeches and music. They ate hot dogs, browsed through booths selling T-shirts, pins, patches and books, threw darts at a photocopied picture of “Hanoi Jane” and offered each other hugs and pats on the back.

To the strains of “Behind Bamboo Tears” and “Good Night, Saigon,” they laid hundreds of carnations in front of a bamboo cage containing an MIA/POW flag, silently saluting their missing comrades. Ceremonies also honored those killed in the war and those who made it home alive. A special ceremony honored Tommy De La Rosa, a Vietnam veteran and Fullerton undercover narcotics officer killed earlier this year in a drug bust gone awry.

The reunion was organized by Brothers of Vietnam, a self-help support group for Vietnam veterans. The La Habra-based group has more than 300 members from around the country in all branches of the armed forces. Its motto is “Lest We Forget,” and the reunion puts it into practice.

“We told stories the other night, and it was surprising the things we could remember,” said Bruce Sartwell, 42, who flew from New Hampshire for the reunion and a chance to see two other members of his five-man Army Ranger team for the first time in more than 20 years. “As bad as some of the situations were over there, I think it’s important not to forget. . . . A philosopher once said that people who forget history are doomed to repeat it.”

Some of the memories were good--beautiful countryside, sunsets, a different culture and partying with fellow soldiers. But more were painful.

Chet Ronzello, 42, of Placentia recalled that when he was sent to Vietnam in the 1st Marine Division, he tried to find his longtime best friend, Tony Spirito, who had gone over a month earlier.

Having no luck, he eventually asked his commanding officer to help and was sent to a building near an airstrip in Da Nang. When he entered and asked for his friend, a sergeant directed him down the hall and through the double doors.

“I went through the double doors and asked the corporal where to find Tony, and then I realized where I was. I was in the morgue. He went over and opened a door and there were all these plastic bags stacked there. He walked over and there were tags and he found one and he asked ‘Is this your buddy?’ That was hard,” he said, his eyes filling with tears as he remembered.

The first time he killed someone in combat, he thought of the man’s family, and it was painful, Ronzello said. “Two days later, it happened over again and when it keeps on happening, you start to build up a lot of walls. When I found Tony, all hell broke loose and all I could do was hate. I volunteered for every patrol there was after that, and all I wanted to do was hurt people.”

When he got home, it wasn’t much easier, facing the rampant anti-war sentiment. Back at El Toro, when the men were finally allowed to leave the base, they were told not to wear their uniforms.

“They told us, ‘You’ve seen nothing, you’ve heard nothing, you’ve done nothing.’ Finally you figure it out. You’re supposed to hide.”

And when he finally made it back to Connecticut, his mother whispered in his ear that she was sorry there was no poster saying “Welcome home, son,” but the airport officials advised her against it.

“When we came home, a lot of bad stuff happened,” said Larry Hughes, commander of Brothers of Vietnam. “We were treated really bad. No one wanted to talk to us. No one wanted to associate with us. . . . That’s why I started this club. I belong to other clubs, and they didn’t want to recognize Vietnam veterans.”

Most veterans there said they suppressed memories of the war for 20 years. Now they are beginning to feel like they’re being welcomed home.

“Never again am I going to let someone put down my brothers for what we did in Vietnam. That won’t happen again,” Hughes said.