By Renée Vazquez Anderson

It started on November 1, 1955, and lasted all through the 60s. Most would agree that it was a miserable and massive failure. I am, of course, talking about the Vietnam War. 58,000 were killed, 2,000 were captured, and around 350,000 were wounded, according to the U.S. National Archives. The veterans who did survive weren’t welcomed back with much fanfare at all because of the war’s unpopularity. Vietnam following the war was a place of poverty.

The Vietnam War ended on April 30, 1975. My grandpa died in Vietnam on July 3, 1971, just shy of his retirement from the  Air Force. He was a very intelligent, funny, and handsome man, and, according to my grandmother, very suave. He also loved Broadway musicals; he loved them so much that he named my mother after “Maria” from West Side Story. He loved classical music, and he was part of the choir wherever he was stationed. My grandmother said that he had a wonderful voice.

My grandpa, Douglas Ray Anderson, joined the U.S. Air Force around 1953 as a Technical Sergeant and later served with the 12th United States Air Force Hospital, 12th Tactical Fighter Wing, 13th Air Force. My mother was just a few months old when he was deployed, and never saw him again. The impact he left on my mother’s life, and by extension mine, is staggering. 

My grandmother spent around a year or two in a deep depression with friends of hers taking care of my baby mother. My grandmother moved to Mexico to help make my grandfather’s pension stretch as far as possible, and to be closer to family. She couldn’t take most jobs because the U.S. government would stop giving her aid. My mom grew up without her father, something that fundamentally changed every aspect of her life. His family stopped talking to him after he married a Mexican woman and never made any effort even to see my mother. During the war, he wrote a letter to my grandmother in which he asked her if he ever died never to glorify war to my mother, or let her join the army in any way. This has led to my family having strong anti-war sentiments. The Vietnam War wasn’t a noble fight. It was a mess that caused suffering and unnecessary loss of life. My mom grew up with a mother who was always working but who still made time to tell her stories about how smart and handsome her father was. The war gave us perspective.  Even now, my grandmother, although being 87 and dealing with Dementia, remembers going to identify his body on a long beach full of bodies covered by sheets and crying people. My mom grew up in Mexico, which gave her a completely different cultural experience. And, I have a personal connection to associate with war, based on both their stories. 

1960s Editor: Quintus Ni

Sources:

*https://www.archives.gov/research/vietnam-war

*My mother and grandmother