This Day in Military History (American Troops Leave Vietnam)

March 29, 1973—With President Richard M. Nixon declaring "the day we have all worked and prayed for has finally come," 2,500 troops—the last remnant of America's combat forces—departed Vietnam.

This blog post today, however, will not be about the troops who came home, but the ones who were never able to—including the young man in the photo here.

The American withdrawal came nearly nine weeks after the Paris peace agreements ending the 11-year-old Vietnam War. Make that "seeming to end the 11-year-old conflict."

The withdrawal did bring to a conclusion American's military role in Southeast Asia. But it didn't result in the "peace with honor" that the Nixon Administration had been publicly advocating, but rather what National Security Adviser (and later Secretary of State) Henry Kissinger called, in diplomatic parlance, a "decent interval" between an American exit and what he told Chinese ministers in July 1971 would involve "let[ting] political realities shape the political future"—i.e., accepting a Communist takeover if events evolved in that manner.

In another sense, of course, the war never ended, and not simply because, as William Faulkner wrote in Requiem for a Nun, "The past is never dead. It's not even past." This time, we are fighting the war over its lessons. Given ideological divisions then and now, as well as misunderstanding of Vietnam, its history, its people, and its factions, not to mention deception by Presidents from both political parties, more heat than light has been and is still being shed on the war. All of this is not surprising, considering that more than 58,000 lives were lost in Vietnam.

That statistic may be too much to grasp. Sometimes it's better to focus on one or two cases, as I will do now.

My friend Brian has brought to my attention an instructive interactive online Vietnam War Memorial created by Footnote and the National Archives. Featuring the largest photo of The Wall on the Internet, it allows you to find names, service record and casualty reports.

If my experience is indicative, you'll need to exercise some patience as the site processes your request, depending on the amount of site traffic at that time of day. Once it does, however, you will find much to move your heart.

Let's take two examples —James Thomas Gordon and William C. Ryan Jr., the serviceman pictured here. Both Marines were associated with St. Cecilia—either the now-closed high school or the still-existing parish—in Englewood, N.J. I chose them because they were, literally, close to home for me. I'm sure you'll find similar cases where you are.

From this site, and from what I've been able to piece together elsewhere, here are mini-bios of these servicemen who died all too young.

James Gordon was a 20-year-old rifleman with the U.S. Marine Corps when his tour of duty began on October 14, 1967. The corporal had passed his 21st birthday and the four-month mark in Vietnam when he died in small-arms fire. A younger brother, Michael, attended my elementary school, four years ahead of me.

Born in Hoboken, William Ryan grew up in Bogota, N.Y. Nicknamed "Billy" and "Rhino," he became a three-sport star at St. Cecilia High School. He graduated from St. Francis College in Loretto, Penn, in 1966, and was recruited by the Marine Corps the following summer.

After marrying a fellow St. Francis student, Ryan went to flight school in Pensacola, Fla., and trained in El Toro, Calif. and Miramar before shipping out to Vietnam in August 1968.

Lt. Ryan was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and many Strike/Flight Air Medals. That is a tribute to his tremendous skill and resourcefulness as a pilot. Perhaps even more extraordinary to me is that he flew 300 combat missions. Imagine that—day in, day out. The mind boggles at this kind of courage.

On May 11, 1969, Lt. Ryan was flying over Savannakhet Province in Laos when his aircraft was hit by hostile ground fire. His remains have never been recovered, so he is listed on the MIA/KIA rolls. In addition to his wife, Judy, 1st Lieutenant Ryan left a year-old son, Michael Sean Ryan.

The remnants of Lt. Ryan’s plane and unopened parachute were discovered in 1993—two decades after the last American combat troops came home. As I look now at his photo, and another I found of Corporal Gordon’s, what comes to mind is the Wilfred Owen World War I poem, “Anthem for Doomed Youth”:

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

- Only the monstruous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; -

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.