THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, April 30, 1995 TAG: 9504300051
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A10 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY BILL SIZEMORE, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: VIRGINIA BEACH LENGTH: Medium: 88 lines
The images are of a carefree life: A small, blond boy grinning in a sunsuit, sitting on a sidewalk beside an overturned tricycle. Other photos in the family album show him as an active teenager, tan and slim, playing tennis, steering a boat, playing the drums.
``He was very fun-oriented; very sociable, very sweet,'' said his sister, Betsy Bobbitt. ``He did not belong in the Army.''
But that's where Bill Bobbitt found himself in 1968 as the United States was rapidly ratcheting up its involvement in a military quagmire in Southeast Asia.
Six weeks after landing in Vietnam, he was dead.
A local military chaplain showed up at his father's home in Norfolk early on a chilly February morning to deliver the news. Before he could utter the words, Joe Bobbitt knew. ``It's Bill, isn't it?'' he said.
Retelling the story last week, Betsy Bobbitt broke down. Even after 27 years, the tears still flow. The pain, the anger, the terrible void have never gone away - and probably never will.
For many Americans, Robert McNamara's new book conceding that the Vietnam War was a tragic mistake has provided a new target for their still-festering emotions. They have redirected their anger toward the former defense secretary who was one of the war's chief architects.
But not Betsy Bobbitt.
``I think what McNamara is doing is a very wise, intelligent and loving thing,'' she said. ``He's trying to prevent another 58,000 wasted deaths in the next futile war.''
For her, the McNamara confessional validates a conclusion she reached long ago: Her brother's carefree young life was thrown away, cut cruelly short for no reason.
``I would love to be able to tell myself a world of comfortable lies,'' she said. ``But I'm acutely aware that my brother's death and the 58,000 others accomplished nothing.''
Betsy Bobbitt, 50, is a petite woman with short-cropped hair who lives in a quiet, pine-shaded neighborhood three blocks from the waterfront in northern Virginia Beach. Divorced, she is executive editor of Donning Co. Publishers.
She was the baby of the family, two years younger than brother Bill. He finished at Maury High in 1961, but his college draft deferment was shaky because of his dyslexia, a learning disorder. After several unsuccessful tries at college, he gave up and enlisted in the Army.
``He figured the draft board was right behind him,'' his sister said.
She was married and had a son when word came that 1st Lt. William E.G. Bobbitt, an infantryman, had been killed by explosives and small-arms fire. He was 25.
``He was sent back in a body bag marked `unviewable,' '' she said. ``Our letters to him were sent back stamped `deceased.' ''
The family's grief was compounded when Betsy's oldest brother, Rosser, a career Army man, received orders for a second Vietnam tour after Bill's death.
Betsy recalls her son Bobby saying, while waiting anxiously for his uncle Rosser's return, ``I wish war wasn't real. I wish it was just a game to play.''
Bobby, now 29, reminds Betsy of Bill. In a way, her son stands at the center of her personal odyssey on the Vietnam issue.
During the war, she said, ``I had a sense of a bunch of old men playing double dare with the North Vietnamese: `I'll throw so many men away; let's see how many you'll throw away.' ''
Now, she hopes McNamara's book will spark a candid reappraisal of the Vietnam disaster that might prevent the nation from repeating its mistakes somewhere else.
``I want my son to live,'' she said. ``I want the grandchildren I don't have yet to live.''
Betsy Bobbitt takes issue with those who say McNamara's timing is bad - that after keeping quiet for 25 years, he is needlessly stirring up painful memories by speaking out now.
On the contrary, she said, ``this is absolutely the right time. It should be brought up while everybody still hurts. Pain is a great motivator. The debate can produce so much that is good. . . .
``Healing comes not by forgetting. Healing comes through understanding and reconciliation.'' ILLUSTRATION: Photo
BETH BERGMAN/Staff
For Betsy Bobbitt, the pain of losing her brother Bill in Vietnam
will probably never go away - even after 27 years the tears still
flow.
KEYWORDS: VIETNAM WAR by CNB