THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, May 26, 1996 TAG: 9605250170
SECTION: PORTSMOUTH CURRENTS PAGE: 09 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Cover Story
SERIES: On Memorial Day: Remembering fallen heroes
SOURCE: BY JANIE BRYANT, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: 99 lines
JOHN R. EDELEN JOINED the Navy after high school graduation and before long found himself tending to war wounds in Vietnam.
The war there had intensified in 1967, and about 100 corpsmen a month were being sent over from the Portsmouth Naval Hospital, Edelen says.
``They told you back then the life expectancy of a Navy corpsmen was actually 90 days,'' he says. ``You went over on a big jet plane. You landed, and you stepped out, and the heat and all hit you - and it was just another world altogether.''
Edelen retired a hospital corpsman chief three years ago - after having been called to war again.
In 1991, he joined other hospital personnel who headed for the desert of Saudi Arabia during the Persian Gulf War.
``That started to bring back a lot of memories,'' said Edelen of the day Navy medical personnel gathered in camouflage uniforms to leave for the Persian Gulf.
In fact, Edelen has no problem admitting he did not want to go.
``I think a lot of it was a psychological thing with a lot of us. I didn't run into a whole lot of veterans from Vietnam, but there were a few of us scattered here and there. Different things would happen that would kind of take you back.''
Things like the helicopters flying over and the casualties coming in, many of them injuries from accidents rather than typical war wounds. But they still reminded Edelen of the war wounds he had seen and dealt with in Vietnam.
``To this day, I don't know how many got back. I do wonder about them and think about them.
``That's the irony of being the Navy corpsman,'' Edelen says. ``You try to distance yourself from the people you see on a daily basis. But in company structure, it's hard to do that. You got to know these people rather well. When someone you treated died, you really took it hard.''
That's why Memorial Day is different for veterans like Edelen.
There are too many soldiers they can never forget. There are the ones they could not help.
One memory that still bothers him is the day in Vietnam when he was out with a group of soldiers who were setting up as a blocking force while another platoon made a sweep through the area.
``We had been out there all day, and we got the call that it was OK to wind up things and come home because nothing was happening. We were getting ready to go - and this one guy stood up.''
Edelen doesn't remember the Marine's name, but he can still see his face. He was 20 years old or younger.
The Marine took a round directly to his head. Edelen remembers going through all the motions of trying to save him, even though it was clear the young man wouldn't survive the bullet's impact.
``His eyes were open, but he was probably dead or on the way. I can say that now. But then, everybody looks to you to do something. You're supposed to have the magic.''
Afterward, Edelen received a Bronze Star for bravery in combat as one of three men who went into a radio-relay shack under mortar fire to reach wounded soldiers.
He did not receive the same kind of recognition for his service once he got home from Southeast Asia.
There was no flag-waving welcome like the one he and other hospital personnel received after seven months in Saudi Arabia.
In 1968, he was greeted at the San Francisco airport by ``rude and obnoxious'' protesters waving anti-war signs and placards.
It wasn't a good time to be in uniform.
Fortunately, he had good support in his family, and he needed it.
``I didn't go out very much when I got home. . . . I wasn't prepared. I went over on my own free will, and I felt like I did something. To come home and have that kind of reaction . . . ''
This time of year, Edelen says, Vietnam veterans are often asked to speak to students at local high schools. They talk about what the war was like and what they experienced when they came home. Students are always stunned to hear about the reaction many of those who fought in Vietnam encountered coming home, he says.
And that is part of the reason Edelen joined other veterans in 1994 at a vigil at the graveside of Cpl. Jonathan M. Williams, the only Hampton Roads resident killed in the Persian Gulf War.
He remembers it was cold and rainy that day, but he still wanted to do it.
He says he saw it as a way of saying that ``we care, and he's not forgotten.''
``And that's sort of the motto now with the Vietnam vets, . . . that one generation will never forget another.''
Edelen is a member of the Vietnam Veterans of America, and he is pleased to see veterans coming together again and people beginning to show their support.
The building of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington has been another factor in the healing, Edelen says. It took years before he made himself go, he says, and he's been back seven or eight times.
``I guess I was afraid how my emotions would come out, afraid to let people see me cry. Because that's exactly what I did.
``Once you go up there and you touch the wall, . . . everything says it's OK. It's OK.
``We understand.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photo on cover by MARK MITCHELL
Retired Chief Petty Officer John Edelen, who served in Vietnam and
in the Persian Gulf War, visits the POW-MIA memorial at Portsmouth
Naval Medical Center. by CNB