The real War for me

All of the pics in this gallery hit home with me and provoke many memories, good, bad, and some horrific. I was Army artillery 69-70 and served in various hell-holes, most of my time spent in and around a firebase known as LZ Sandy. There my gun crew was wiped out twice, once by enemy fire, once by American sabatours that fixed the powder charges to blow up the gun. But that's war.

The real war started for me when I returned to the glorious state of New Jersey. I was not spit on by the stereotype "hippies" and anti-war protesters. To the contrary, my friends who had chose the opposite path of mine and protested the war, refused to serve, fondly embraced my return. Rather, I was spit on by the state and local governments and businesses of New Jersey when I tryed to resume a normal life. New Jersey offered only token assistance in re-adjustment and education programs that was no more than a joke. Businesses refused to hire me thinking I was some kind of homicidal killer. This surprising response to the service to my country led me down a road of drug and alcohol abuse for 3 years until I finally smartened up and realized my only home was now with the military. I re-uped in 73, this time for special forces and got the hell out of this hypocrytical state. NJ did give me a going away present though...a record with the state narcotics bureau (possesion of 2 joints) that to this day plagues me in seeking employment.

New Jersey: Take your memorial and cram it where the sun don't shine. I needed help and recognition 29 years ago and got the shaft instead.