As I was sitting in my window seat on Flight 302 from Las Vegas to      Orleans I had plenty of mixed emotions.  I was feeling guilty
         about leaving since my son Billy had just arrived home this
          morning after spending almost four weeks in the ICU ward at
          Sunrise Hospital. As I left the house, once again my wife Sue told
          me that everything would be all right at home and had promised to
          call me everyday to keep me informed on Billy's well being.

          How would I handle my feelings of being with my old friends of so
          long ago?  Would they remember me?  Would they still be the same
          wild and crazy guys that I had known so many years before?
          Would it be a happy or sad time that lay ahead for me?  Or maybe
          it would be both!  I just had no way of knowing.

          While sitting at the airport terminal in Las Vegas I had looked
          around at the group of 130 plus men and women about to board
          our plane.  Did I know any of them?  Was I the only one on board
          going to the Reunion?  I wondered how many other men all across
          the United States were doing the very same thing as myself -- all of
          us seeking to recognize a friend from Vietnam.  I looked around,
          but didn't see anyone who looked like a vet.  But, as I was later to
          learn, I had been wrong!

          As I got off the plane a blast of hot muggy air was there to greet
          me. It instantly reminded me of Vietnam.  And I had a strange
          feeling that I was about to take a trip back in time.
 

          The sky was dark and filled with rain clouds as small groups
          infiltrated into the city quietly by planes or cars.  By Friday night
          we were over 1300 strong.  Enough elite fighting men to take
          control of a city as large as New Orleans.  But we weren't here to
          fight, bomb or destroy this southern town.  We were here to
          celebrate rejoice and meet our long lost comrades who we hadn't
          seen in more than 25 years.

          Once again we had accomplished another mission.  The mission of
          finally arriving at the 13th annual 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment
          Reunion.   As I headed toward the downtown area in the direction
          of my hotel, I realized that I was already starting to perspire, and it
          was only 8 o'clock in the morning.  Welcome back Jack, welcome
          home.

          I knocked on the door (room 706) and when the door opened there
          stood Bruce Stevens my fellow ARP and long-lost friend.  We
          shook hands at first and then hugged each other for what seemed
          like a long time.   In my mind I was thinking,  'Thank God you're
          safe Bruce.'  It was one of those times that I'll remember always.  A
          special moment in time that can't be taken away, but will be filed
          away in my eternal memory.

          Bruce's good friend John Covington was also there and the three of
          us would share the room during the next three days.  John had also
          served with the regiment, so of course I immediately liked him.

          Soon we were ready and we departed for the two-block walk to the
          host hotel, The Radisson.   I was excited as we walked into the
          lobby to register for the reunion.   There were a lot of troopers
          standing around in small groups but some were alone and seemed a
          little lost in this time of confusion as the computer was down and
          we were told to come back in about two hours to register.

          A lot of the troopers already were wearing their name tags so every
          one was looking at those as they walked by.  Looking for a name
          you remembered as the faces had changed too much.

          Our little gang headed for breakfast and actually ran into two more
          Air Cav troopers!  So the now larger bunch went into the restaurant
          together.  Everyone was laughing and joking and soon the
          humorous stories started to come out.  I was soon to learn that the
          funny stories always came first.

          I was still up there floating on some proverbial "cloud 9" when I
          grabbed the $80.00 check from breakfast and yelled, "no problem, I
          got it - ain't no big thing!"  A short while later, brute reality begin
          to sink in, and I realized I couldn't keep this up as my wife would
          probably kill me when I got home!

          We spent the next few hours buying some souvenirs from the Cav.
          Store while waiting for the third and last ARP to arrive for this
          reunion. Before long, Phil Massengill and his wife, Barbara,
          arrived.  Phil had joined the ARPs shortly after I had left Country,
          but had served together with Bruce for a time

          As I was sitting in the hotel lobby, I started to join in a
          conversation with four of the wives of my fellow troopers.  I found
          what they were saying was to be particularly interesting.  While they
          all had only one husband each, it was like they all had been married
          to at least three different men at the same time.

          The first, of course, being the guy they fell in love with back in high
          school and with whom they shared all the joys and dreams that
          only teenagers in love can have.  The second man in their lives was
          the husband who returned from Vietnam a far different person
          from the one who had left.  He wouldn't speak about his time in
          country.  He was short-tempered with her and the kids and seemed
          to have a hard time keeping any kind of a job.  These weren't the
          same men they had married and been with only a year earlier.

          Their third and current husband, for those relationships that
          survived, was the man they were here with today.  A guy, while he
          had finally learned to calm down a little, was still not the same man
          as he was before.  But, I overheard them say, he was much easier to
          live with today than he was when he first came home.  At least now
          he was finally able to talk about the war and start to unload the
          burdens of guilt and fear that he had held inside for so long.  At
          last, they were ready to start their healing process, and this reunion
          was a very good place for them both to be.

          Boy, did that ever ring a bell with me.  After hearing these women
          talk about their husbands, I realized these wives of veterans could
          have been talking about me since I, too, had been there and done
          exactly that and have the T-shirt to prove it.  And maybe, just
          maybe, they unknowingly
          and somewhat accurately, might also have described the reasons
          behind the collapse of my first marriage after my second tour in
          'Nam.

          But that was then, and this is now.  Our small group of six headed
          toward the French Quarter to play typical tourist for awhile.  While
          it certainly wasn't like returning to the narrow streets of Saigon, our
          walk opened a floodgate of long-suppressed memories as we yelled
          for Bruce to "take the point" and Phil replied, "I got the rear and
          everything's clear."  Barb, Phil's wife, just shook her head over our
          little game!

          Later that evening at 1900 hours (7 p.m.) the bunker was finally
          opened to the troopers and their guests.  It was a large room with at
          least a hundred large round tables inside with starched white
          tablecloths on them.  Each table had small unit designation flags in
          the center, such as "K" Troop, "M" Company, etc.  Ours said,
          "Air Cav Troop," and we had three tables.  There were draft beer
          dispensers positioned at each corner of the room, and that was the
          first place everyone headed!

          As the troopers started to fill the room, it was interesting to watch
          the single guys come in looking somewhat lost.  They would walk
          around by themselves looking for their table while some others
          would go directly there and sit down.  Still others would look
          around as if
          trying to find a familiar face.  Soon somebody would walk over to
          them and put out his hand asking, "What troop they had served
          with? I was there in '68 and think I may remember you."  And the
          two new friends would join the group. The sad part was that some
          no longer remembered their former units, only the name of a
          friend.  But soon everyone sitting at the table started to share
          scrapbooks and photo albums with each other and the humorous
          stories started to flow like beer as relaxed laughter engulfed the
          room.

          There was a lot of "Do you remember this or that" or when did that
          happen?  It was great just to listen to the language that I recalled
          from so long ago.  And, before long, the war stories started.  Do
          you remember when Frank got killed?  Or the time we were pinned
          down in that rice paddy?

          Each soldier there had at least one story of his own.  That’s more
          than 1300 stories being shared among old friends.  I can't and won't
          tell you any of them.  They belong to that individual soldier.  That's
          his link to the past.  Maybe someday I'll write a book from a
          collection of donated stories from the troopers of the 11th CAV.
          Maybe next time.  I can't even share the stories about me that I
          recalled this weekend.  It was hard enough sharing some of the
          things that I have written about myself in Vietnam.  But I did it so
          readers could learn what it was to have served in country as a
          combat soldier.  Not like it was portrayed in some of those make
          believe Hollywood versions.

          We partied hard until midnight and I really hated to leave.  I was
          really having fun, but we had to be at the paddleboats no later than
          0900 the next morning. Bruce and I walked back to the hotel.  John
          wouldn't show up until much later. We talked until 2 am and I hope
          that it helped you Bruce. I've been where you are old buddy!

          Early on Saturday morning John, Bruce and I made our way down
          to the docks.  There were two riverboats waiting to load up the
          CAV troopers. It was still overcast and hot as we waited to climb on
          board the Cajun Queen.

          I met Brigadier General John Sherman Crow (the 49th Regimental
          Commander of the 11th ACR) and even had my picture taken with
          him.  Gen. Crow is known as soldiers, soldier, and a very fine man
          indeed.  He was our guest speaker for this 13th reunion.   The
          General was the Regiment
          Commander after the unit had been sent home from Vietnam to
          Fulda Germany.  The Regiment's job was then to protect the
          invisible thin line separating the east and West Germany.

          While on board the Cajun Queen I had a nice conversation with
          Col. John Rosenberger the current and 58th commander of the
          11th ACR.  He even offered to help me in any way he could to get
          my book out so that the troopers of the Black Horse could read it.

          We navigated down the river for about an hour when we docked at
          the sight of the Louisiana War memorial.  Just as we were
          unloading the boats it started to rain.  And within minutes it was
          pouring.  Here were a thousand troopers, family plus the Army
          Band from Ft. Irwin California
          standing in the open field getting soaking wet.  Of course the next
          thing heard was "wet T-shirt contest!"  It was just like the
          monsoons of Vietnam! In 30 minutes it had stopped and we all
          started to dry out.

          The memorial service went very well even though we were minus the
          band (their instruments were all wet).  And as the final taps
          sounded in Remembrance of our 767 fallen comrades from the 11th
          ACR I couldn't help but feel the tears streaming down my cheeks as
          I stood at attention in this Green Field of Honor.   I was not the
          only one and I actually felt good about being able to cry.  I
          couldn't do that after I came home from Vietnam.  To me it means
          that I'm healing.  As I put out my hand to shake the hand of the
          bugler, I couldn't even speak and just mumbled "thank you."  I
          couldn't look him in the eye, as I was afraid I'd start crying again.
          I think he understood.

          The return trip back to the docks at downtown New Orleans seemed
          much quicker since a lot of the troops were looking forward to the
          formal ball at 1900 hours that night.  We finished our last minute
          shopping and then headed back to our rooms to get ready for the
          celebration.

          It seemed that the streets were alive and filled with Blackhorse
          troopers having fun as we joked our way down the crowded narrow
          streets mixed with tourists and vets.  It may have been long time
          overdue, but the Vietnam veterans were no longer ashamed to show
          their colors, and their Blackhorse patches were worn proudly and
          could be seen everywhere.  It was great!

          Everyone looked fantastic in their mix of dress blues, greens and
          civilian suits, as we sat down for a roast beef dinner, followed by a
          list of distinguished guest speakers, including retired Major General
          John Crowe, the 49th colonel of the Regiment. He spoke on the
          many contributions made by non-commissioned officers
          throughout the Vietnam War.

          Then there was the presentation of the Jack Qilter Memorial Award
          that was very special to me.  He and I were good friends and his
          picture is included in this book.  He served his tour in Vietnam and
          returned home to commit suicide a few years later when the tragedy
          of war caught up with him.  We miss you Jack.

          The sadness of having to say goodbye to all my special friends, new
          and old, started to set in as soon as the after-dinner music began.
          Our long overdue reunion had been all too short.  I left with my
          wallet stuffed with cards, which I will treasure more than money.
          Even tried my hand at doing the twist with Barb, but soon
          discovered how out of shape I had become.

          We all had tears in our eyes as we bid our good-byes as the clock
          struck midnight, and now as I sit alone at the airport I can see the
          faces of 11th ACR troopers standing out above the crowd walking
          tall and proud.

          It took me all these years of healing before I was able to attend my
          first reunion and I'm glad I came.  I learned a lot about the
          regiment and myself.  Things like why "K" troopers wear those
          dark Calvary blue scarves in honor of the May 1967 massacre of
          the entire 1st Platoon during those early days of the Vietnam War.

          I also learned that while you can't go back, you can still help those
          comrades who may still need that special handshake, smile or just a
          little joke to help bring them back home.  I'm so lucky to have my
          special little family, Sue, Chris and little Billy.  This trip to the
          reunion may have cost more than I wanted to spend, but it was
          worth it. Next time I hope to share them with my new found
          Blackhorse family.  As our former Regimental Commander Col.,
          now a retired Maj. Gen., George S. Patton said in his battle motto
          " Find the bastards and pile on!"
 

          Jack Stoddard's "Going To Meet The Boys - 11th Armored Calvary

          Regiments' 13th Annual Reunion held recently in New Orleans, is
          excerpted from his forthcoming book about his Vietnam
          experiences.
          Copyright 1998