In this age of "Reality Television," it's good to know that there are still thoughtful—and thought-provoking—documentary films being made. While the documentary film came about as a way to record and document reality, in many ways these kinds of films go beyond the quotidian to capture the essence of a particular subject. From intensely focused pieces on historical figures, buildings, and locations, to long-form epics on nations, wars, and cultural movements, a documentary film takes as its subject that in which we might find some connection to-and perhaps better understanding of-the human condition.
The best documentary films offer us intimate insight on a given subject, providing the viewer a window into his or her world while at the same time prompting the viewer to act on that knowledge or awareness gained from their particular vantage point. But what about the people behind the camera? How do they see these subjects and piece together the sometimes fragmented narratives they record and turn them into a cohesive story?
In the case of Mik Derks, a longtime documentary filmmaker and producer of Wisconsin Public Television's (WPT) new documentary, Wisconsin Vietnam War Stories, he decided the best way to get at the heart of the narrative was to place the subjects in front of the camera and let them tell their stories.
Derks could hardly believe what he heard from the veterans when they were given the opportunity to talk about the war in their own words: an entire chorus of Vietnam veterans and others describing how the deeply the war touched their lives.
This chorus spoke a message that was in stark contrast to the dire warnings that Derks and his colleagues heard when they first toyed with the idea of developing a documentary that would capture the Vietnam War stories of Wisconsinites who served in the conflict. They heard it time and again: Vietnam veterans are not going to talk to you about their experiences.
"I'm glad they were wrong," says Derks, who has conducted all of the veteran interviews for Wisconsin Public Television's three Wisconsin War Stories programs—about World War II, Korea, and now Vietnam. "The Vietnam vets know from the other vets we've interviewed that we're not going to embarrass them," says Derks. "We treat them with respect. We accept what they're saying. And we listen. It's important to listen."
WPT videographer Everett "Butch" Soetenga worked with Derks onWisconsin Vietnam War Stories, which will be released in late May of this year but is already being previewed in many communities across the state. Soetenga was a stevedore with the 123rd transportation company in Vietnam between 1967 and 1968.
"Spending time with these veterans has been a privilege, an honor," he says. "But," Soetenga pauses, his voice halting, "it was almost too much to take. … I was a wreck behind the camera." Listening to Vietnam veterans is not something the public has often done over the last four decades. For that reason—among many others—the veterans themselves haven't felt compelled to speak out. Add to this the fact that when the war ended there were no parades, no homecomings. Instead, veterans were greeted with bitter feelings, divisive politics, and protests. There simply hasn't been any room for the stories of the men and women who served.
Until now.
"We were dealt the worst of both worlds," says Al Whitaker, a crew chief with the Air Force's 355th Tactical Wing from 1965 to 1969. "The war in Vietnam was bad enough, but then we had the government lying to us and the public decrying us as losers and baby killers. I'm not over this yet."
Nevertheless, sitting down with Mik Derks and Butch Soetenga for a few hours has surely helped veterans like Whitaker.
"I'm not sure how Mik found me," ponders Whitaker, a youthful looking 70-year-old who, even though he is old enough to retire, still works at Wisconsin Aviation. "But I wanted to say something on behalf of the 58,000 we lost who can't speak. The public needs to know that they were wrong about us. We were good soldiers. We did our jobs. We need to correct that error."
Whitaker's comments are echoed by all of the Vietnam veterans who appear in this article and theWisconsin Vietnam War Stories documentary. Some Vietnam veterans will be featured at a special Welcome Home Weekend event organized by WPT, the Wisconsin Historical Society, and the Wisconsin Department of Veterans Affairs—aptly named LZ Lambeau—in Green Bay during the weekend of May 22-23.
But not all the Vietnam vets interviewed for the program share Whitaker's outlook on what the series and the LZ Lambeau "welcome home" event aim to accomplish. "I applaud them for what they're doing," says Jim Kurtz, a former chief legal counsel for the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources who served as a U.S. Army captain with the 1st Infantry Division in 1966. "But the whole thing is just too complex for a TV show and a weekend retreat."
Kurtz earned a Bronze Star and three air medals in Vietnam. To this day, he is unhappy about the treatment he received when he returned home to Madison. "In some ways it was harder being home," he recalls bitterly. "It was better to be a protester in this town than a veteran."
"But," he continues, "I hope [LZ Lambeau] brings out Vietnam vets and helps them to connect with one another … and that the public shows up and tells them, 'It's okay; you're not the only one.' "
Don Jones, another Wisconsin Vietnam War Stories interviewee, is coordinating the LZ Lambeau weekend for WPT and its partners. "It's time Vietnam vets get their due," argues Jones, a U.S. Army counter-intelligence officer based in Da Nang from 1967 to 1968. "It's both a welcome home and a reunion, an opportunity to meet, connect, reflect, and compare experiences."
Jones worked closely with the South Vietnamese forces during his tour of duty. Soon after his arrival, he realized that American soldiers were in the midst of cultural as well as military conflict. "We had a civil war on our hands," he says. Jones also realized that the North Vietnamese would do everything in their power to win. "The North Vietnamese and Viet Cong would do extensive labor, often a person at a time," Jones recalls. "It resulted in surprises … roads and bridges being rebuilt in a matter of days. Stopping them was something else again. It was a very difficult time."
Jones remembers how hard it was to be away from home for so long. "We were always saying goodbye to our families," he says, then notes how the welcome home event might soothe those feelings of detachment. "I think LZ Lambeau is a great chance for families who were separated by the war to come together and say hello and thanks."
"For me, personally," Jones adds, "the Wisconsin Vietnam War Stories program and LZ Lambeau will close the loop on Vietnam."
While the documentary and event might go far to help Vietnam veterans and their families heal, the hesitancy in the voices of veterans like Charlie Wolden, Ken McGwin, Linda McClanahan, and Will Williams is palpable. Perhaps that hesitancy is just part of their Vietnam—and post-Vietnam—conditioning: the caution, the lack of surety.
"You never get back into society," says Wolden, a combat soldier with the 5th Marine Division, 3rd Platoon, Alpha Company, at Hue in 1968. "You have to deal with your own mortality. You develop a sense of a foreshortened future … you lose your spontaneity.
Wolden was engaged is some of the fiercest fighting in Hue during the Tet Offensive of early 1968. "It was brutal. … Every day we were making contact; every day we were taking causalities," recalls Wolden, a mental health therapist with the Milwaukee Vet Center. "We were going through houses and running across streets [through] enemy sniper fire. Block by block, building by building. Nobody knew what they were doing. Marines weren't trained for this. The enemy had a lot of experience in the triple-canopy jungle, in the bunker complexes. We had to learn by doing."
"I was alone, very alone," says Wolden, recalling his thirteen months in Southeast Asia. "Vietnam is a lonely experience. You are very close to people, especially the guys around you, but it was very lonely. You went through alone, you came home alone, and your experiences were alone."
While he hopes the WPT program and LZ Lambeau event can help the public "to be better informed," Wolden has "mixed feelings" about attending. "People need to learn about war," Wolden says. "[To learn] there isn't a good one."
Ken McGwin, part of the Navy's Mobile Riverine Force in the Mekong Delta in 1968, hopes those who participate in the LZ Lambeau event can learn something, too. "My best hope is that people understand how hard we fought, how hard we tried, how hard it was to come home, he says. "We were good soldiers. The LZ [Lambeau] weekend can finally say 'welcome home, good job.' We didn't get that."
For McGwin, who worked the family farm near Montello for 30 years and is now a power plant engineer at UW-Madison, the challenge continues to be just getting through November 1 every year. On that day nearly 43 years ago, his world was changed forever. "In the early morning, there was a tremendous explosion," McGwin recalls. "The VC had planted a huge charge on each side of the hull of our ship, the Westchester County. One went off. It was a harrowing experience. All day I kept thinking, We're not gonna make it through this day."
Many of McGwin's shipmates didn't make it: out of a crew of about 150, 25 were dead and more than 50 seriously wounded. "It just stays in your mind," admits a shaken McGwin. "You can hear it … you can smell it. This was the largest single loss of life for the Navy in Vietnam." He chokes back a sob. "I've tried to live a decent life to honor those guys who died that day. No matter how hard I try, I can't shake that guilt that I have. I just think about how I've been able to have a good life they never had. They never had a chance."
But why talk about all this to a complete stranger like Mik Derks?
"When someone is kind enough to reach out to you, you can't just say no," explains McGwin, whose cousin had written a story about him for a local paper, an article that came to the attention of Derks. "Talking to Mik has helped me feel better. I'm finally home."
Linda McClenahan, a former Women's Army Corps (WAC) communications specialist stationed at Long Binh from 1969 to 1970, believes that this kind of storytelling is extremely important. "Everybody's story is sacred, but there's a special depth in the stories of veterans—those who've been at war&mdashthat people can't imagine," asserts McClenahan, better known as "Sister Sarge" as a result of her becoming a nun with the Order of St. Dominic in Racine, where she works as a trauma counselor for veterans and others. "People need to really understand what war is like, how insane it is, how it brings out the best and worst in people, that you can't fight war in a neat little moral box. You can't do it. It's all immoral."
McClenahan won't get any argument from Will Williams, a combat soldier with the Army's 27th Infantry Division who "served in the U. S. Army for seven years, seven months, and a day" "I joined the military immediately after graduating from high school in 1962," explains Williams. "For me it was a way out of Mississippi. I carried a lot of hate with me to Vietnam.
Williams didn't let go of that hate until recently.
"I went through a program for PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder)," he says. "I didn't know I had it for many years. I'm almost home."
"A bond is built between vets that can't be broken, regardless of their personal beliefs and philosophies," he adds. "They'll always be vets, and I think they'll always respect each other to that extent. These events are happening at a good time."
Williams is quick to point out, however, that some of his views aren't shared by his fellow veterans, respect notwithstanding. "Some guys still look at patriotism as being just 'support my country, my commander-in-chief, right or wrong,'" says Williams. "I don't believe that way. I believe that if someone is taking you down the wrong path, the right thing to do is to speak out. That's patriotic."
"War is not a football game," Derks reminds us. "We're asking people to sacrifice their lives." He pauses. "And why these men and women still shoulder that burden, still fight that war is … it's one reason we did the program." Indeed, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have brought forth hundreds of thousands of new veterans in the United States, with more to come.
"People need to understand that we can't just send our soldiers off to war and forget about them," says. Derks. "All of this is a start—the interviews, the LZ Lambeau event, the amazing portraits of the vets photographed by Jim Gill. Each medium comes at you in a different way, but they're all equally powerful. We can't do enough to ease the pain."
Wisconsin Vietnam War Stories is a good start, though, and this is why many will tune in when it airs later this spring. Hopefully, those who watch the documentary will be motivated to welcome these men and women home, to really listen to their stories, to reach out … and to thank them.
That's really all many Vietnam veterans ever wanted.
