The only time I saw my older brother cry was when he came back from Vietnam in '72. Some kid spit on him at the airport and called him a "fucking baby killer." It was bad enough that 'Nam really screwed him up [his initiation ceremony for killing his first "slope" was to drink whiskey out of a boiled skull] but to have to face that when he got home almost broke him. He turned to drugs, lived a rough life, kicked it and turned to Jesus, but the damage was done. He died this past March. Even though we had a falling out, I tried to help him. You want to talk about a raw deal, that was his life. Those guys were doing what they were told, and the upper ups got away with it all.