The tradition of military service runs deep on Martha’s Vineyard. Islanders have answered the nation’s call in every major conflict, starting with the Revolutionary War. And since 1919, those who served have been formally honored each Veteran’s Day, Nov. 11.
“I think it’s very important to have that recognition, and I value the day greatly,” says Tom Bennett (sergeant, Air Force; medic, Vietnam era), who is director of Veterans Services at Martha’s Vineyard Community Services (MVCS). “I am grateful to have gotten the opportunity to serve. I just wish there was more than the one day that we showed our appreciation for the veterans who are in this community and served this country.”
This sentiment is not uncommon. “It’s nice that we at least have a day to celebrate,” says Dean Teague (Navy lieutenant and medic; Air Force sergeant; Iraq). “But people tend to have barbecues and stuff, and I think, ‘Really? Barbecues?’”
“Veterans Day is just another day for me,” says Kevin Devine (U.S. Army sergeant major, Iraq and Afghanistan). “I appreciate the sentiment, but honestly, I feel awkward when people thank me for my service. I didn’t do any of it in order to be thanked.”
The Vineyard has approximately 900 veterans. They’ve served in the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard. The Island is home to two American Legion Posts and the VFW. On Nov. 11, Island veterans will be honored with road races, parades, cookouts, and wreath-laying ceremonies. These public expressions of respect toward those who put their lives on the line to serve our country are very welcome –– especially for Vietnam vets who were deprived of even basic respect for decades. But within the psyches and social bonds of veterans themselves, every day of the year is defined by being a vet.
The terrible disrespect shown toward Vietnam vets is already well-documented. “The war was pure hell,” recalls Albert Fischer (Specialist 4, Vietnam), who was drafted. “It was awful –– the climate, the heat, the bugs, the snakes, the trauma, the death … and when I got back from Vietnam, I remember walking through Logan in my uniform, and a man came up and spit in my face.” On another occasion, at a dinner party, a fellow diner called him a baby killer –– this was a common accusation, stemming from the My Lai massacre of early 1968, more than a year before Fischer arrived. Bob Tankard (sergeant, U.S. Army Medical Corps; Korea and Vietnam era), the veterans’ outreach worker/advocate at MVCS, remembers landing back in America after time in the Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) and “thinking we had arrived in the wrong country,” referencing treatment similar to Fischer’s.
The failure of both the government and society in general to support one generation of veterans did, at least, change the conversation. Teague, who is the CEO of Community Services, recalls that when he returned from duty in 2003, the Baltimore airport was full of older veterans welcoming the younger ones: “We got off the plane, and the airport was just full of these guys,” he recalls with gratitude.
“I think it’s a lesson learned,” says Fischer, recalling an Iraq vet who said to him, “You Vietnam vets, you paved the way for us. America saw how you were treated, and they changed what they were doing.”
The country taking better care of veterans has given some of them the grace to take better care of themselves, in whatever form that takes. “Nov. 9 is the day I was injured,” says Fischer, “and I usually take that day off and take a long walk on the beach. I think about my friends who didn’t make it. I can’t help but feel guilty at times, that I’ve had this wonderful life and they didn’t, but then I soak in the beauty and walk the beach –– that’s what I do in honor of them.” In general, Fischer does not participate in organized observations of veteran identity, eschewing parades and the biannual reunion of his Vietnam cohort. A writer and photographer, he finds comfort in introspection.
For others, it makes a huge difference to speak with fellow veterans, such as at the weekly support group offered as part of the Veterans Outreach Program at MVCS.
But funding is a serious issue. “The VA [Veterans Affairs] is just looking the other way,” says Teague. “I’m not afraid to say it.” Despite the admirable work of MVCS Veterans Services, resources can be thin on the ground, and when that ground is an Island, going elsewhere is difficult. “A lot of these Vietnam vets, they’re getting up there in age, and their health is declining,” says Teague, “and it’s hard to get off-Island. We have no audiologists, optometrists, dentists.” Even when transport is available, it’s a five-hour travel day, and if the boat is canceled, everything has to be rescheduled. Tankard speaks of paying an Uber driver $500 to get a veteran to Boston and back.
“I think a lot of vets are unaware of actual resources available to them,” says Devine. “People are working multiple jobs to make ends meet, and that might prevent them from being able to come in.”
And then there are the challenges facing all veterans across America today. While everyone interviewed vehemently puts service to country before politics, politics have real-world impacts.
“What the government’s doing was always outside noise to me,” says Devine. “But I’m a realist, and the rhetoric that’s being put out there right now, I think that’s wrong. I used to say, ‘We’re going to follow orders as long as it is not illegal or immoral or unethical,’ but we don’t want to repeat history. In the ’60s and ’70s, they had the National Guard and troops in the streets, and we’re starting to go the same way. I just pray to God that civilians are not going to be harmed the way they were at Kent State.”
“I don’t know a veteran who isn’t upset about the rancor going on in the country and in the world,” says Bennett. “The divisiveness –– people are really upset, regardless of their leanings. One thing people can do, though: If you focus on your own community, that’s meaningful; it gives you at least some hope that you can affect positive change.”
Teague agrees: “You get back home, and see people who believe in constitutional rights, and you think, ‘OK, we’ve got a good chance here,’ and you want to give back.”
“When I was in basic training,” says Tankard, “we were told, the people next to you are your life and death. You have to get to know the guy you’re with –– you talk about your feelings, your fears, you get to know each other.”
Teague speaks of the way in which this close bonding can be reflected in civilian life back home. “You learn to make sure that all the people you work with are taken care of first, that they have the things that they need, and then you take care of yourself.”
“You’re definitely a different person coming home,” says Tankard, “and you need support, you need encouragement, you need avenues to expand. Don’t treat us like we’re some kind of aliens. If you honor us with a parade, that’s nice, but if you honor us with the things that we need to keep us going for the rest of our life –– that’s better.”
