JUNE 1985# MINUS 5

AN ALMOST ANONYMOUS INFORMAL NOTE

WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE SOLDIERS?

It appears that a shocking number of Americans who saw action in Vietnam died shortly after returning from that war – perhaps the greater part of one million.

They count soldiers, of course. They don't just account for them, they line them up and count them every day. The whole point of having them stand in rows and columns is to make them easier to count, and that goes for having them stand with their feet together and their hands at their sides, too. Standing at attention is awkward, but it makes the soldier easier to count. The man makes himself look like a one.

Generally, one reckons that the one is drawn so as to look like a finger. There is a crude counting system that goes l,ll,lll,llll. There is the tally system that then makes the fifth count a diagonal slash. There are the Roman system (I,II,III,IV), the Arabic (1,2,3,4), the binary (1,10,11,100), the hexadecimal (1,2,3...9,a,b...f, 10) and others, but generally, in the western world, of all the possible symbols for a one, we use a picture of a finger ... or a soldier standing at attention. All the way back to Homer, to the Old Testament, soldiers are counted and that count is remembered. Absolute count is maintained in any modern military unit.

In 1980, the national census also counted the number of veterans. This was a sound and reasonable undertaking. After all, in any major undertaking, it is proper to do a followup study and find what effect the undertaking has had on those involved. It would, naturally be assumed that the maturity brought on by discipline and responsibility would produce a veteran population would live longer and better than otherwise similar non-veterans. The survival rate of veterans should also be enhanced by the process that excludes the seriously ill, the insane, the permanently incarcerated and the irredeemably drug dependent from service. But it is always wise to check. The veterans were counted.

On November 11, 1984, the Tampa Tribune and Times published these numbers: Participants in Vietnam War - 9,834,000

Deaths in Vietnam War - 109,000

Living Vets - 8,238,000

One of us looked at these numbers and felt there was a problem. On the surface it looked as if 1,487,000 former military people died between the war's end ten years ago last November; the conclusion was not valid. A letter to the Veterans Administration (in fact a number of letters to different people) turned up the fact that in November '84, there were 554,200 active duty military personnel who had also served during the Vietnam era.

That is good news. If the military says they have them, it must be true. Their count can be assumed to be the most scrupulous of any large number counted in the country. Those men and women are alive and well.

That still leaves 933,000 unaccounted for. That is an enormous number, far in excess of what you would expect for healthy young people. If a college of 1,000 has a student die, it is a bad year. But a million deaths out of ten million in ten years would be ten times one per thousand per year. Recall also, that the total number of battle deaths – the usual figure taken as the cost of the war in American lives – is less than 60,000.

(Before going an, it should be pointed out that throughout all of this, the Veterans Administration has been most helpful and courteous, answering all letters promptly, clearly and completely. Their evident skill and eagerness to do their Job right seems above question.)

Matters may be worse. The actual count of veterans in 1980 was 8,036,900. The number 8,238,000 was reached by adding to the 1980 count the number of men discharged from service during the intervening years and by subtracting a number calculated from the actuarial expectation of the death rate. The fear here is that deaths are far in excess of actuarial rates for the same age.

The official position is, watch closely now, ONLY 9,200,000 PEOPLE PARTICIPATED IN THAT WAR. The way that number was determined was by calculating backwards. They took the number of veterans counted at census, figured out how fast they ought be be dying (274,000 between the war and last November), and came up with the number that were in the war. The discrepancy between the calculation and the previously published number was 634,000.

274,000 seems at gut level to be a rather high death rate, more than twice what I had guessed for collage students, but in fact, the officials use the age specific death rate for non-blacks, expecting a higher survival rate than in the general population. {They say they have research to support this, but admit they have no data available on the mortality experience of veterans alone.) Had they included blacks, and many of those who fought that war were blacks, the discrepancy would have been less.

The number 634,000, becomes the number at issue. The official position is that the number arose simply because many reenlisted and were counted as veterans twice - and goodness knows that would be harmless enough.

But if you believe the numbers prepared at the time it was happening, that is over 600,000 former military personnel dead or missing in excess of expectation as of 1980. If true, that would constitute one of the greatest disasters of all time.

A number of questions arise:

The first question is what to believe. Superficially the figures say one thing; the official stance is something quite different. The way to answer the question is brutally simple and a little expensive. Someone must take the service number of everyone who was in the service at the beginning of the war, list them, and add to the list the number of everyone inducted until the war ended. The list must be culled far repeats and then counted. If the number comes very close to 9,200,000, the next questions are less pressing.

If the number is much closer to the original published number, then a more detailed study is needed.

Is the census wrong? Did people, disenchanted with the war, lie about whether they had been involved? Small harm done, but it would be important to know.

If there is an excess mortality rate among veterans, was it a phenomenon of the first months after leaving service, or is it still going on? Are there actually in excess of one million dead by now?

What are they dying of? Is this some hidden effect of Agent Orange or a similar injury, or does this reflect an inability to adapt to civilian life?

Is there an identifiable group, blacks perhaps, that sustains a disproportionate post-war loss? Should that group be granted draft exemption in event of the unhappy day when draft is reinstituted?

7.8% of Vietnam veterans are not in the labor force, compared with 4.8% of those who served only between the Korean conflict and the Vietnam War. Does the excess number not in the labor force consist of students and housewives, the rich and retired and seasonal workers in "off" season, or does it consist of "discouraged workers," the disabled and inmates of institutions?

36% of Vietnam era veterans were "exposed to at least one combat situation." How does their survival rate after leaving service compare with that of their peers not so exposed? Have excess deaths of up to one million occurred virtually solely among the three or four million veterans of actual combat?

Finally, is this a problem specific to that war? Or is it the general experience of warriors? What happened after WW II?

When setting out to find the answers to some of the questions, there are a few things to be born in mind.

First the potential numbers are huge. There is a monument to the battle dead of Vietnam in Washington. In the end it may turn out that the stone should be ten or twenty times its present size. The Great Pyramid weighs about 14,700,000,000 pounds. If you could shovel it like coal, and if a strong man can shovel two tons in an hour, a million men could shovel it all away in less than four hours. They wouldn't even need a lunch break.

Second, this is nothing that was expected. There is no particular finger of blame to point. Any excess deaths might be directly due to injury incurred in combat, but might equally be due to the fact that we live in a very difficult society for anyone to adjust to.

Third these men have returned to a society that is rapidly (even illegally) importing unskilled labor, and rapidly importing manufactured goods, depressing the market for skilled labor. It really does not seem fair, even before one considers the shabby recognition their sacrifice received.

And fourth, yes these people did make a sacrifice and yes it was for us. Indeed most feel now that it was a war that should not have been entered. And indeed, many of those who participated were drafted, but that is not to say they had no choice. Their choice was whether to render the required service and support the society, the system, the government and the social order that they knew, or to run away, cheat or be jailed, and be that system's enemy.

But they stuck. The avowed purpose of the war was not gained. But they stuck. The hearts of their fellow youths were not in the war, but they stuck. At terrible cost and with no hero's welcome in sight, they stuck. And if we have a social order today, if as a nation we have survived the terrible disruptive pressures that existed then, we have many to thank; among them are the veterans.

It is as if the real war was not there, but here after all. Here in the United States was the risk, the risk of losing the coherence of the oldest and strongest, and yes the noblest nation on earth. Here was where there was something to be gained. Perhaps it was something simple, like new reverence for the words THOU SHALT NOT KILL. Perhaps it was more subtle, like a better comprehension of what we can and cannot properly expect of our fellow humans. And here, it seems, were the overwhelming majority of the deaths.

How much of what they thought they were fighting for was gone when they came back? Much, lost to all of us as well as them. How should we have welcomed them? Why, with a country, of course. With homes, churches and schools that would reach out to them, tell them they were something special, that their efforts mattered, that their dreams meant something and that their interests were more important to us than any issue on the planet beyond our shores.

Did we?

Booty

Editor's Note:

WILD SURMISE is an occasional newsletter of speculative matter. The plan is to come out with perhaps five or six issues numbering from minus five. The prospective contributors and the benefactor funding us feel that under the circumstances of publication, it would be unbecoming to give their full names, and I intend to join them in this policy.

Booty says that he intends to write 1) a piece on time, space and reality 2) a piece on indoctrination 3) a description of the theory of relativity that even I will understand and 4) a definition of love. The intention is that this letter be pleasant to read, and Booty assures me that none of the articles listed will be as grim as the one in this issue.

Booty also says that aside from the original article in the TAMPA TRIBUNE, all his information came from.

Office of Information

Management and Statistics

VETERANS ADMINISTRATION

Washington DC 20420

M, our traveling correspondent, is outside clubbing squirrels just now, but I think he will be producing more stories from his travels.

MILD SURPRISE

Bader Field, eight minutes before the controls froze, I put them through their motions, finished running up the engine on the Cessna 150 and taxied out onto the cross-wind runway. The skyscrapers facing the end of the runway looked like a canyon wall. I locked the brakes, pushed the throttle to the firewall, popped the brakes, approached rotation speed, dropped in 10 degrees of flaps (unorthodox, but it seemed to work) and lifted off. There seemed to be a down draft coming off the skyscrapers, but the stout little airplane climbed over it all and still climbing, balanced off to the west, toward Baltimore, toward home.

One minute before the controls froze, level at three thousand feet over Delaware bay, I unfolded the sectional chart so that it about covered the windshield, and began to study its mysteries. In clear air, possible encountering turbulence from another airplane past some time before, the 150 gave a lurch that threw me against the straps and sent every loose object flying about the cockpit. I dog paddled the sectional chart, which had been thrown over my head, into a loose wad on my lap and then swept it aside into the right hand seat with the back of my right hand while my left hand found the left side of the left yoke (control wheel) in front of me. A quick glance at the horizon showed that the plane wanted to be tilted back toward the right. Right hand came sweeping back from its housekeeping chore, felt yoke and latched on.

On the first heave, nothing happened. On the second heave, I could feel cables stretching, brackets bending, cotter pins yielding, but the controls refused to move and let me level the wings. The world began to rotate.

A gentle tug on the controls also produced no response. I didn’t try to heave hard, which is probably lucky, since drastic up elevator in a steep spiral can turn a plane upside down. Then it struck me; my story title would be: "How the kid came to Baltimore with nothing but rudder, flaps, trim and throttle. (And maybe some judicious opening of windows.)" Those were the only controls I had, since the ailerons and elevators weren’t working, and maybe I could control the plane with just them.

I knew that I would have to control the airspeed if this was going to work. In that plane, the airspeed indicator was placed in front of the right hand seat. I glanced toward the gauge, but I couldn't see it. Now that was odd, usually I could see the air speed indicator. (Delaware Bay was taking up more and more of the view.) Then I noticed that it was because my right hand was in the way. Strange – usually the right hand wasn't in the way.

0, I see. The right hand isn't on the right side of the left yoke, it’s on the left side of the right yoke. That shouldn't make any difference, should it? Should it? (The waves are looking a little bigger.) All right, I'll just try letting go. (That’s when the hand froze.)

Leggo that control wheel right hand. Like the tar baby, right hand don't say nothing. Leggo that yoke. Nothing.

The yoke, alas, seemed to be on me. You see the control wheels, which level the wings when you turn them left and right, and raise and lower the elevators when you push and pull on them, are connected. When one turns to the right, the other turns to the right. Pulling up on the left side of one and down on the left side of the other only jams them. I wasn't coordinated enough at the moment to lift BOTH hands and level the wings, and I couldn't let go. I couldn't even peel my thumb off.

All right, right hand, we're sipping lemonade in the back yard, right? Nothing. A nice formal little party, right? Nothing. Ladies, right hand, ladies'. The little finger uncurled into a more elegant position.

That's better, but if you are really going to be proper, you hold your cup with the ring finger up too. Up comes the ring finger. Now I wouldn't want you to show off for the ladies, but a strong right hand like you could easily hold the cup with just your thumb and index fingers. (Fish are visible leaping away from the plunging shadow of the airplane.) Slowly the middle finger comes up too.

"Got cha!" I screamed, wrenching my right hand away with one tremendous heave of shoulder.

Left hand leveled the wings and pulled out of the dive easy.