SGM Manuel R. Beck, U.S. Army (1960-2003)

We landed in Oakland, California, after a twenty-four-hour flight from Vietnam with one stop in Japan. The Army transported us to Fort Ord, where personnel records were taken from us, and we were directed to a large building for a uniform fitting. After that, men being discharged from the Army went to one building, while those going to further assignments went to another building. After completing all the paperwork and getting my discharge orders. I was sent back to get my Class A uniform. The Army can be very efficient. They took my military records to retrieve my awards and decorations and affixed my award ribbons to my new dress uniform.

Wearing my new uniform, I attended my final briefing in the Army. At the briefing, we were told we didn t have to wear our uniforms home. We could wear civilian clothes if we had them because of the war protesters that we would run into at airports and public places. I was thinking I had spent the last eighteen months of my life fighting for what I thought was the right thing to do. I would not let some longhaired hippie spit in my face and call me names just because I was wearing a uniform. I wore my uniform and Green Beret with PRIDE, and I was waiting for someone to say something negative to me about the war in Vietnam.

I got on a bus with forty other soldiers to take us to the Oakland airport, where I would pick up a ticket to Oklahoma City. When the bus arrived at the airport, several hundred protesters were waiting for us outside the airport in Oakland. The bus driver didn t let us off at the designated stop. He had to take us to another area away from the protesters and let us off. I couldn t believe that the American public hated us so much. As we got off the bus, I saw several protesters at the other end of the terminal. I got my bag and started walking to the terminal. When the protesters saw us, they started our way. I stopped at the door along with five other soldiers, and we just stood there waiting for them. We all dropped our bags and started walking toward the protesters. As soon as the protesters saw us coming for them, they stopped and called for two police officers standing close by, watching what was about to happen. The officers turned and walked into the terminal with broad grins on their faces. We started walking faster toward the hippies. There were about fifteen of them and six of us. As we got closer, and they noticed the police officers had left, they also decided it was time for them to go. They turned and ran through the traffic to the other side of the terminal. The six of us turned and smiled at each other without saying a word, went back, picked up our bags, and went our separate ways.

Read the Military Memories of our Runner-Ups.