This article reminds me to always question the sacred history books.
Carl Jarvis
----- Original Message -----From: S. KashdanSent: Monday, June 04, 2012 5:47 AMSubject: The Spitting Image: Myth, Memory, and the Legacy of VietnamThe Spitting Image: Myth, Memory, and the Legacy of Vietnam
Jerry Lembcke, Holy Cross College
Research Libraries Group, 1999 Annual Membership Meeting
In February 1991, I was asked to speak at a college teach-in on the Persian
Gulf War. My presentation focused on the image then being popularized in the
press of Vietnam-era anti-war activists treating Vietnam veterans abusively.
Drawing on my own experience as a Vietnam veteran who came home from the war
and joined Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW), I called the image of
spat-upon Vietnam veterans a myth. The historical fact, I pointed out, is
that the peace movement reached out to veterans as potential allies in a
struggle against an unpopular war, while many veterans were joining the
anti-war movement by the late 1960s.
My talk was published as an opinion piece in the Hartford Courant and the
response to it encouraged me to look further into the truth and origin of
the spat-upon veteran stories. My research focused on three sets questions:
the evidence for and against the claims that the alleged acts of spitting
ever occurred; the political and cultural roles played by the stories; and
the way in which the stories were constructed and popularized.
My strategy on the evidentiary question was two-fold. First, I assumed the
position of the prosecution and asked myself what it was that someone trying
to prove that the alleged acts did happen would have to find as evidence and
where would they find it. If these things happened as frequently as is now
believed, I reasoned that it would be possible to find a record that someone
at the time (the late 1960s and early 1970s) at least claimed that such acts
were occurring. In newspapers of a city like San Francisco, where many of
the spitting incidents supposedly took place, one would expect to find
reports and perhaps even photographs that would constitute proof that the
alleged incidents occurred. Other places to look included police reports and
written histories about the anti-war movement.
My search for evidence turned up a couple of claims which, if interpreted
generously, could have been construed to suggest that veterans or servicemen
in uniform may have been spat on. But I also found research done by other
scholars that showed quite convincingly that acts of hostility against
veterans by protesters were almost nonexistent. No researchers cited reports
that veterans were spat on (Beamish, Molotch, and Flacks, 1995).
I also found historical evidence for what I came to call "grist" for the
myth. There are newspaper reports, for example, of pro-war demonstrators
spitting on anti-war activists. In their retelling over the years, the oral
accounts of these incidents could easily get reinterpreted and inverted and
made into stories about activists spitting on veterans. There is also a
record of military authorities warning GIs that they might experience
hostility from opponents of the war. Most interesting in this regard were
the warnings issued to Vietnam-bound troops that their families might
receive harassment phone calls from communist sympathizers saying the
soldier had been wounded or killed.
Another kind of grist is the claims by veterans today that they were spat
on. During the 1980s these stories began to proliferate, which prompted
Chicago Tribune columnist Bob Greene to ask Vietnam veterans to send him
their stories of being spat on. Greene compiled the responses he received
for a 1989 book, Homecoming.
These stories have to be taken very seriously, but as historical evidence
they are problematic. In the first place, stories of this type didn't
surface until about ten years after the end of the war. If the incidents
occurred when the story tellers say they did, in the closing years of the
war, why is there no evidence for that? Moreover, many of the stories have
elements of such exaggeration that one has to question the veracity of the
entire account. One that Greene published read,
My flight came in at San Francisco airport and I was spat upon three times:
by hippies, by a man in a leisure suit, and by a sweet little old lady who
informed me I was an "Army Asshole."
Besides the fact that no returning soldiers landed at San Francisco Airport,
I find it hard to believe that the same veteran was spat on three times in
one pass through the airport.
There are many stories like this one (the prevalence of San Francisco in
these stories might be suggestive of a story-telling cliché) but my favorite
example appeared in a November 2, 1998 New York Times story about Vietnam
veterans taking a bicycle trip the length of Vietnam. (The trip was
televised for broadcast on NBC a few weeks after the Times story appeared.)
The Times story told what motivated Peter D. Kiernan the 3rd, a partner at
Goldman, Sachs, to organize the trip:
"It was not until Mr. Kiernan spent a long evening three years ago listening
to a top executive describe his Vietnam War homecoming-on a stretcher with a
bullet in his leg-that he gave the idea much thought. 'He said college kids
rushed up and poured rotten vegetables on him,' Mr. Kiernan related. 'They
spat on him. He was so ashamed.'"
Given that under normal circumstances civilians without rotten vegetables
could not get near the area where healthy returning GIs deplaned, this story
seems highly implausible. My effort to correspond with the reporter, Laura
Holson, to see why she and her editors found the story believable enough to
retell, have been unsuccessful.
I cannot, of course, prove to anyone's satisfaction that spitting incidents
like these did not happen. Indeed, it seems likely to me that it probably
did happen to some veteran, some time, some place. But while I cannot prove
the negative, I can prove the positive: I can show what did happen during
those years and that that historical record makes it highly unlikely that
the alleged acts of spitting occurred in the number and manner that is now
widely believed.
The historical record shows that there was widespread solidarity between the
anti-war movement and veterans. The earliest efforts by the anti-war
movement to reach out to GIs had taken the form of legal aid for soldiers
wishing to leave the service or simply fight for their rights within the
military structure. Veterans of World War II active in the Fifth Avenue
Peace Parade Committee in New York City were some of the first opponents of
the war to propose that the movement recruit Vietnam veterans into protest
activities. By 1969, large numbers of Vietnam veterans were joining the
anti-war movement. During 1970, Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW)
began conducting educational activities designed to "bring the war home" to
the American people. The most effective of these activities were the
guerrilla theater reenactments of village raids that VVAW members conducted
in public spaces and the Winter Soldier war crimes trials that it held to
call attention to the brutality of US policy in Vietnam. Invoking my own
version of the Pauli exclusion principle from physics (that two objects
cannot simultaneously occupy the same space), I conclude that with the
documentable mutuality between activists and veterans, it is unlikely that
the alleged acts of hostility occurred with the frequency believed
twenty-five years later.
The spitting image is a myth, however, not because the alleged acts of
spitting did not happen, but because of the way the image functions in the
society. The spitting image, I contend, helps to tell a story that is not
true, namely, that the United States lost the war in Vietnam because of
betrayal on the home front. In other words, the spitting image helps
construct an alibi for why the war was lost. The alibi runs that we were not
beaten by a small, underdeveloped, nation of Asians but rather by liberals
in congress who "tied one hand behind our backs" and by radicals in the
streets whose actions demoralized our troops and gave aid and comfort to the
enemy. It is an alibi that helps preserve key elements of American national
and racial superiority: we were not defeated by Asian "others" but by our
own kind. In effect, the alibi allows those who wish to believe that we were
defeated by the only power on earth capable of beating the United States:
the United States itself.
The alibi also helps rewrite history in ways that displace from memory the
uncomfortable image of war-veterans-turned-war-protesters. The image of the
spat-upon veteran is the image of a victim-veteran, an image that is wholly
incompatible with the image of angry veterans empowered and politicized by
their wartime experience. Today, it is the image of the victim-veteran, spat
on and deranged by his war and coming-home experience, that persists in the
American memory. The historical fact that thousands of Vietnam veterans
joined with other opponents of the war to help end the carnage in Southeast
Asia is lost in the mythology of wartime betrayal. The mythology of
betrayal, in turn, is deeply rooted in the social psychology of Western
masculinity, a point to which I shall return.
On the matter of how the myth of the spat-upon veteran is created, there are
three dimensions to explore. They are: the historical context that gives
rise to the myth; the complicity of mental health professionals,
journalists, and film makers in its construction; and the role of the human
imagination in the process.
The myth was conceived in the context of the Moratorium Days against the war
in 1969. Designated as a day when business-as-usual would stop for teaching
and reflecting on the war, the first Moratorium Day, October 15, was a huge
success. Thousands of Americans who had not previously taken a public stance
on the war turned out for anti-war events. The success of the day signaled
to the Nixon Administration that opposition to the war was reaching into
mainstream, middle America. In response, the Administration launched a
political attack on the anti-war movement that was intended to divide the
radicals from the newly emergent liberal wing of the movement. By deploying
a rhetoric of betrayal-those who are opposing the war are betraying the
fighting men in Vietnam-the Administration hoped to discourage the
continuation of mainstream America's involvement in protest politics (Wells,
1994).
The problem with the Administration's strategy was that by 1969, thousands
of Vietnam veterans were, themselves, part of the anti-war movement and
hundreds of men still in the service were openly opposing the war. In
Vietnam on October 15, some soldiers wore black arm bands to show their
support for the Moratorium; some combat units even refused orders to fight
on that day. The Nixon Administration's response was to challenge the
credibility of these anti-war warriors (Moser, Richard, 1996; Wingo, 1969).
Initially, that challenge took the form of raising questions about the
authenticity of anti-war veterans. Administration spokesmen would plant
doubt about the identity of protesting veterans by making statements to the
press such as, "We've been unable to confirm how many of the self-identified
veterans at the demonstration were really veterans." Or they would question
the masculinity of radical veterans with gay-baiting remarks. In one of his
speeches, Vice President Spiro Agnew joked that he heard one protesting
veteran tell another, "If you're arrested, give only your name, address, and
telephone number of your hair dresser" (Coyne, 1972). The administration
also infiltrated the organized arm of veteran resistance, Vietnam Veterans
Against the War (VVAW), to build a legal case against it. That effort
resulted in the court case known as "The Gainesville 8," in which VVAW
members were charged with conspiring to terrorize the 1972 Republican
National Convention in Miami Beach, Florida. The "eight" were acquitted, and
the course of the trial revealed that it was Richard Nixon's "plumbers,"
later convicted for crimes related to the Watergate case, who had
infiltrated VVAW with agent provocateurs and attempted, unsuccessfully, to
incite the veterans to commit violence (Cook, 1973).
If dissident veterans couldn't be dismissed as unauthentic or "not real
men," their credibility could be impugned in another way, by raising doubts
about their mental stability. Ultimately, this is the course that events
would follow, a course that led to establishment of a new psychiatric
diagnostic category, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and the
marginalization of Vietnam veterans.
The use of psychiatric labels to stigmatize unwelcome social behavior has a
long history in Western medicine (Conrad and Schneider, 1992). In Vietnam,
disciplinary problems were sometimes "medicalized" and treated as
psychiatric casualties (Bourne, 1970). The most famous example of this is
probably Charlie Clements' case (Clements, 1984). Clements graduated second
in his class at the Air Force Academy in 1969. After flying a few missions
in Vietnam, he refused more assignments on the grounds that he opposed the
war. His superiors sent him for psychiatric evaluation which led to his
confinement in a military mental hospital in Florida. Following his release
from the military, he graduated from medical school and in the 1980s became
famous for founding the organization Medical Aid to El Salvador.
The extension of psychiatric labeling to cover the political behavior of
dissident Vietnam veterans came about through the convergence of efforts by
mental health professionals and journalists. Since 1969, a small group of
psychiatrists had been working to formulate a new diagnostic concept that
would apply to soldiers psychologically hurt by the war. A decade later,
their efforts would bear fruit with the inclusion of PTSD in the psychiatric
profession's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM). But in the early
1970s, these psychiatrists were having difficulty finding a receptive
audience for their concept, then called Post-Vietnam Syndrome (PVS). Their
break came in the spring of 1972, when the New York Times published an op-ed
piece on PVS written by one of them, Chaim Shatan. The acceptance of
Shatan's article gave public visibility to the concept and bolstered the
chances that it could gain legitimacy within professional organizations.
The Times' publication of Shatan's piece was timely. The Republican Party
convention in August promised to be a raucous affair. Thousands of
demonstrators were planning to be in Miami Beach to protest the expected
renomination of Richard Nixon as the party's presidential candidate.
Caravans of Vietnam veterans were forming to bring members of VVAW to the
convention site. While the Times would report on the extraordinary
occurrence of war veterans in the street to protest the war they had been
sent to fight, the paper's interpretive pieces framed the veterans'
political dissent as a mental health problem. On the very day the convention
opened with over a thousand protesting veterans in the streets, the Times
ran a major front page story on Post-Vietnam Syndrome. Entitled "Postwar
Shock Is Found to Beset Veterans Returning From the War in Vietnam"
(Nordheimer, 1972), the article alleged that 50% of Vietnam veterans needed
"professional help to readjust." The association with mental illness was
deepened in the text of the story that contained a liberal sprinkling of
phrases like "psychiatric casualty," "emotionally disturbed," mental
breakdowns," and "men with damaged brains." The story provided no data to
support the image of dysfunctional veterans that it spun; what it did
provide was a mode of discourse within which America's memory of the war and
the veterans' coming home experience would be constructed.
If post-traumatic stress disorder was as much the construction of
journalists as psychiatrists, it was not built from materials found within
the veteran population. Its key concepts were imported from contexts outside
the Vietnam war. The concept of "alienation," for example, was borrowed from
the literature on youth rebellion; "survivor guilt" came from Robert Jay
Lifton's study of Hiroshima bombing victims; and "flashbacks," which did not
officially appear in the PTSD literature until the 1980s, was likely
inspired by its use in Hollywood portrayals of Vietnam veterans as early as
1965.
The discourse of disability that came to frame the veteran experience
accomplished several things that are important for understanding how America
remembers the war. First, it displaced the war itself from people's
consciousness and focused on the men who fought the war. Second, it
contained the subtext of neglect and abuse that fed the myth that hostile
Americans had spat on their own soldiers. Third, and most important, the
image of the PTSD-stricken veteran screened out the memory of veterans who
had been empowered and politicized by their wartime experience. While few
people today remember VVAW, many are familiar with the image of the
traumatized, spat on, and forgotten veteran.
Hollywood was a major accomplice in the construction and popularization of
the victim-veteran image. Rambo: First Blood (1982) provided the most
indelible image of the disturbed and dangerous Vietnam veteran. The film's
story laid the problems of Rambo more at the feet of an America that had
betrayed the military mission in Vietnam than the horrors of war itself. And
it was his coming home experience-"I see all those maggots at the airport.
Protesting me. Spitting. Calling me baby killer."-that ignited Rambo's
rampage against the small town he had drifted into.
But betrayed vets were a Hollywood staple by the time Rambo went into
production. The best of the pre-Rambo betrayal stories is Coming Home
(1978). "Bob," played by Bruce Dern, comes home to "Sally," played by Jane
Fonda. Sally is having an affair with another veteran, "Luke," played by Jon
Voigt, and she has become an opponent of the war. Luke is a paraplegic and
impotent. Luke, too, opposes the war and, consistent with the psychologizing
of political behavior provided by the champions of PTSD, Coming Home
portrays Luke's politics as a form of catharsis. Coming Home ends with Bob
going into a rage, and after threatening to kill Sally and Luke, he commits
suicide.
Coming Home added to the list of a couple dozen films that by 1978 portrayed
Vietnam veterans as deranged, armed, and dangerous. It also gendered the
betrayal of the military more graphically than any film prior to it. The
Fonda character, Sally, was pretty direct in that regard: she was unfaithful
to her soldier-husband and turned against the war while he was in combat.
More interesting was the way film makers used images of masculinity to build
the betrayal narrative. Bob's sexuality is problematized for us throughout
the film. The bedroom scenes we see leave us wondering if his sexual
performance meets his own standard of male machismo. His return from Vietnam
to an adulteress wife is enough to destroy even a healthy sense of sexual
self-but Waldo Salt, the screen writer who won an Academy Award for the
script, gives us still more. Sally's impotent lover, Luke, is apparently
able to give her more satisfaction than the virile Bob! Bob discovers it is
not only that he can't give her what he wants that is the problem, but that
she doesn't need what he wants to give her. She has, in effect, rejected the
traditional image of masculinity in favor of a man who, by the traditional
standard, is less than a man. Bob is betrayed, in other words, by more than
just a member of the opposite sex. It is not only "the feminine" that Coming
Home equates with deception and betrayal, but flaccidity in all forms.
Although heralded as a feminist film in 1978, Coming Home can be seen two
decades later as helping pave the way for the backlash politics of the 1980s
and 1990s. At the turn of the century, it is the political Right's mantra
that the same liberal "softness" that sold us out in Vietnam continues to
reproduce an infectious permissiveness that threatens to rot the nation from
within.
There is, finally, an important role played by the human imagination in the
creation of the myth of the spat-upon Vietnam veteran. When I began research
for the book I expected to find a "smoking gun" kind of origin for the myth.
I thought, for example, that I would find that a leading political figure
like, say, Vice President Agnew, claimed in a speech that activists were
spitting on veterans and that, forward in time from that speech, I would be
able to trace a path to the popularization of the image. But there does not
appear to be any such point of origin. It appears, in fact, that around 1980
stories of spat-upon veterans begin to percolate more or less
spontaneously-spontaneously, that is, against the backdrop of what I have
described above. Why? And why do the stories take the form of spitting as
abuse? Why not rock throwing or hitting with sticks?
There are two clues leading to the consideration of male fantasy as a factor
in the origin of the myth. One clue is that many of the stories have it that
it was women or young girls who were the spitters. Students of gender
behavior are usually quick to point out that girls do not spit, at least not
as a form of communication. That being the case, it seems all the more
significant that defeated male warriors would make a point of giving the
spitters a gender. One has to consider that the loss of war equates in the
culture with a loss of manhood. Coupled with the tendency to alibi for
defeat on the battle field, it is understandable that men might have
fantasies involving hostility from women.
The second clue comes from research by Klaus Theweleit (1987). Theweleit
studied the literature of the German Freikorps movement from the inter-war
period. The Freikorps was a proto-fascist movement of German veterans who
had been defeated in World War I. Theweleit read the letters, diaries, and
stories written by Freikorps members and found tales of betrayal on the
homefront. In Freikorps mythology, it was Jews, communists, homosexuals and
women who had stabbed the military in the back. Freikorps literature often
portrayed "the enemy" as not only female but female with the power to
project. Freikorps fiction writers frequently represented the traitor as a
proletarian woman with a pistol hidden beneath her skirt. The imagined
pistol, Theweleit says, was an expression of the male's fear of a female
with male power, that is, a female with a penis. In Freikorps stories, as in
the stories of spat-upon Vietnam veterans, the body fluid projected was
spit. A story told by Manfred von Killinger, leader of the Freikorps
Ehrhardt Brigade went as follows:
I am presented with a slut..."What's the story with her?"
She slobbers out, "I'm a Bolshevik, you bunch of cowards! Lackeys of
princes! Split-lickers! We should spit on you! Long live Moscow!" Whereupon,
she spits into the face of a corporal.
"The riding crop, then let her go," was all I said.
Two men grab hold of her. She tries to bite them. A slap brings her back to
her senses. In the courtyard she is bent over the wagon shaft and worked
over with riding crops until there isn't a white spot left on her back.
"She won't be spitting at any more brigade men. Now she'll have to lie on
her stomach for three weeks," said Sergeant Hermann (p. 183).
The element of spit in the coming-home stories of veterans who feel betrayed
reveals a binary, man-nature dichotomy that lies at the heart of our
understandings of human existence. When and how did mankind separate from
nature? The answers are provided by creation myths that entail stories about
the emergence of mankind from the sea. The prominence of water in creation
stories correlates with the scientific understanding that human life emerged
from aquatic life, but its psychological origin may have derived from the
experience of biological birthing in which life emerges out of the amniotic
fluid of the mother. Subconsciously, the individual feels a primal
connection with the warmth and dampness of that in utero existence, and
perhaps even desires to return to it, while consciously recognizing that
life itself depends upon successful separation from the safety and comfort
of that watery world.
Whatever its origin, the belief that human existence begins with its
separation from water is accompanied by fears of an involuntary return to
it. We find these fears reflected in stories of a great deluge that
sometimes appear in conjunction with creation stories. The idiom of wetness
in myth is also gendered in ways that help us understand why the stories of
spat-upon veterans frequently tell of women or girls doing the spitting.
From the age of Enlightenment, Western culture has emphasized a link between
women and nature. Rationality, the sine qua non of humanity, was understood
by Enlightenment philosophers to be an attribute of the male, emotionality,
of the female. The control of women became representative of the control of
nature, and with their equation to nature, women became the object of
oppression. The "naturizing" of women was followed by their sexualizing.
Seventeenth-century writers valued women for their erotic physiognomy,
especially their breasts and vaginas. But the ambiguity inherent in
humankind's post-aquatic existence was paralleled by the male's ambivalence
toward women: revered for her life-giving powers, the female simultaneously
beckoned the male to return to its folds and threatened to reengulf the life
that had emerged from it. As Barbara Ehrenreich wrote in the introduction to
Theweleit's Male Fantasies:
The dread arises in the pre-Oedipal struggle of the fledgling self, before
there is even an ego to sort out the objects of desire and the odds of
getting them: It is a dread, ultimately of dissolution-of being swallowed,
engulfed, annihilated. Women's bodies are the holes, swamps, pits of muck
that can engulf.
It is this misogynous equation of women=nature, sexuality, wetness,
engulfment, deeply etched in our culture, that is the basis for the myth of
women spitting on defeated soldiers.
We are what we remember, but how do we remember? Writing about the legacy of
Vietnam in Tangled Memories (1997), Marita Sturken reminds us that memory is
a narrative rather than a replica of an experience that can be retrieved and
relived. We remember through the representations of our experiences, through
the symbols that stand for the events. While the events themselves are
frozen in time, their representations are not. Our memories of what happened
can be changed by altering the images of the events. The power to control
memory is thus bound up with the power to control the representations of
history.
Unlike a society with a strong oral tradition, America today remembers its
history through visual imagery. Film, print, and electronic media are very
capital intensive, which means that most Americans are consumers, not
producers, of the images through which they remember. Our sense of who we
are, derived as it is from the icons through which we collectively represent
our historical selves, is heavily mediated by the institutions of popular
culture and mass communication. As we approach the twenty-first century, the
twisted imagery of Vietnam continues to infect our culture and cloud our
political discourse. Today, mention of Vietnam veterans is likely to elicit
a nodding recognition of the retarded Forrest Gump in the film of the same
name, or the derelict, Russell, who self-destructs for Old Glory in
Independence Day, both Hollywood products of the 1990s. To look into these
films, observes film scholar William Adams (1989, p. 166), "is to watch an
historical image in the making, a public memory in the course of
construction."
Reclaiming our memory of the Vietnam era entails a struggle against very
powerful institutional forces that toy with our imaginings for reasons of
monetary, political, or professional gain. It is a struggle for our
individual and collective identities that calls us to reappropriate the
making of our own memories. It is a struggle of epic importance. Studies of
the twentieth century will shape America's national identity for decades to
come. How Vietnam is to be remembered looms large on the agenda of
turn-of-the-century legacy studies.
Remembered as a war that was lost because of betrayal at home, Vietnam
becomes a modern-day Alamo that must be avenged, a pretext for more war and
generations of more veterans. Remembered as a war in which soldiers and
pacifists joined hands to fight for peace, Vietnam symbolizes popular
resistance to political authority and the dominant images of what it means
to be a good American. By challenging myths like that of the spat-upon
Vietnam veteran, we reclaim our role in the writing of our own history, the
construction of our own memory, and the making of our own identity.
Notes
Adams, William. 1989.
"War Stories: Movies, Memory, and the Vietnam War." Comparative Social
Research 11:165-83. New York: JAI Press.
Beamish, Thomas D., Harvey Molotch, and Richard Flacks. 1995.
"Who Supports the Troops? Vietnam, the Gulf War, and the Making of
Collective Memory." Social Problems 42 (3):344-60.
Bourne, Peter G. 1970.
Men, Stress, and Vietnam. Boston: Little, Brown.
Clements, Charles. 1984.
Witness to War: An American Doctor in El Salvador. New York: Bantam Books.
Cook, Fred J. 1973.
"The Real Conspiracy Exposed: Justice in Gainesville." Nation, p. 295-302.
Conrad, Peter, and Joseph W. Schneider. 1992.
Deviance and Medicalization: From Badness to Sickness. Philadelphia: Temple
University Press.
Coyne, John R. 1972.
The Impudent Snobs: Agnew vs The Intellectual Establishment. New Rochelle,
NY: Arlington House.
Moser, Richard. 1996.
The New Winter Soldiers: GI and Veteran Dissent During the Vietnam Era. New
Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.
Nordheimer, Jon. 1972.
"Postwar Shock Besets Ex-GIs." New York Times, August 21, p. A1.
Sturken, Marita. 1997.
Tangled Memories: The Vietnam War, the Aids Epidemic, and the Politics of
Remembering. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Theweleit, Klaus. 1987.
Women, Floods, Bodies, History. Vol. 1 of Male Fantasies. Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press.
Wells, Tom. 1994.
The War Within: America's Battle Over Vietnam. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Wingo, Hal. 1969.
"From GIs in Vietnam, Unexpected Cheers." Life, October 24.
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