By Rhonda E. Sobecki

They served for a country that treated them like second-class citizens because they were black.

But war seemed to change that for some. The distinction of color vanished in the presence of gunfire and all were equal. Unfortunately, that equality often had to be left behind on the battlefield.

In commemoration of Black History Month, four black veterans of war recently told their poignant and sometimes horrific stories of pain, suffering, and what it was like to be a minority serving in the military for a country that offered opportunities based on the color of one’s skin.

Some are bitter; some are proud.

Vietnam veteran James Shannon was headed in another direction when his number came up. It was 1970 and American men were being drafted through a lottery system. His number was three. It’s not a lucky number, he said in a recent interview — not one he uses to play the lottery or regards as “his” number.

Shannon, 49, graduated from Elston High School in 1969 and was attending college in Grand Rapids, Mich., when he got notification from Uncle Sam he was being sent to Vietnam. At 19, Shannon was unprepared for what lay ahead in a war-torn country where hatred for American soldiers was rampant and American’s hatred for the war was a well-known fact.

“I had a choice,” Shannon said of refusing to go. “I could go to jail or to Canada. I didn’t have any money and I was too scared to go to jail, so I went to Vietnam.

“I thought I was something, a tough guy,” he continued. “I wasn’t. Being in the Vietnam War scared me to death, that’s what it did.”

The mere mention of Vietnam altered Shannon’s mood. Leaning slightly forward in his chair, his good mood turned somber, he eyes clouded over as if he was no longer in the room, and his jaw was clenched. This interview was painful for Shannon as he reluctantly recalled vivid memories a dense jungle with foliage so thick it hid the sky as he was fighting for his life and the lives of his fellow officers.

Shannon served in the Army’s 101st Airborne ICOR unit as a combat medic on the front line, where he saw things he didn’t know existed. Shannon said they are memories of war that never leave, memories he is afraid will haunt him on his deathbed, crowding out memories of a decent life with his wife and children.

“How do you tell the American public that you killed kids because they were trying to put a live hand grenade in your pocket?” Shannon asked. “How do you tell them about seeing fellow officers hanging from a tree shot with their skin peeled from their bodies?”

How do you discuss the decision to run over a baby placed in the middle of a road by its parents?

Shannon explained that the enemy would place babies in the middle of the roadway hoping vehicles would go around them. Either side of the road was littered with land mines.

“It was run the baby over or get killed,” he said.

Shannon’s view of life was never the same, he said.

With his right arm nearly blown off from an AK 47 while saving a fellow officer, Shannon was released from the Army and sent home after 21 months of duty. He was decorated with a Purple Heart for being shot and a Bronze Star for saving a life.

But home wasn’t the same anymore. The American public didn’t care about Shannon and what he had experienced. They hated the Vietnam War.

His frame of mind upon his return home, Shannon said, was “Resentful. There were no bands playing out there for us, welcoming us home. There were no rehabilitative programs to help us. I had a bad attitude and a short fuse. They should have at least had some kind of counseling for us. I had not the slightest idea what I was fighting for.”

Even so, Shannon still cries whenever he hears the National Anthem.

He was able to pull his life together. He now is the Post Commander for Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 10670. He also worked 11 1/2 years as a firefighter for the city of LaPorte.

Not knowing what they were fighting for was common among Vietnam War veterans.

Alaston Gillard Jr., 52, asked, “What was it for?”

He only knew he was fighting to get home, he said.

“There were only three ways to go home,” Gillard said, “dead, half or whole.”

Gillard, too, was drafted into the Army at age 19. It was 1966 and he had just graduated from high school. He served in the Army Special Forces.

“I had good thoughts going in,” Gillard said. “And bad thoughts coming back. And I still have them. I don’t want anyone to bother me.”

Gillard was released after 13 months of duty after being temporarily blinded.

“I don’t feel I got a fair shake for nothing I did or didn’t do,” Gillard said of post-war support.

He looked to Shannon and told him of a recent visit to a Veterans Administration hospital for medical tests.

“They treated me like a dog, James,” Gillard said, breaking down. “ ... No better than a dog. I deserve better than that.”

Dropping his head down on the table, Gillard began to sob and was unable to continue talking.

Shannon reached over and grabbed Gillard’s hand, squeezing it tight, telling him, “It’s all right brother. It’s OK.”

Lifting his eyeglasses for a moment, Shannon wiped away his own tears that were now freely spilling down his cheeks.

Korean War veteran Tom Frye, 65, enlisted in the Army in 1950. Back then, there were little opportunities for a black man fresh out of high school.

“It was either go into the service or end up in jail,” he said of his destiny as a young black man in Michigan City.

Frye acknowledges that Michigan City has come a long way since then, although he encouraged both his sons to join the service after graduating from high school.

“Certainly it has changed,” he said. “Michigan City has made some tremendous changes since then, although it definitely needs some more changes.”

Unlike many Vietnam veterans, Frye said he had a good frame of mind entering the military and a good frame of mind upon his release.

“I had nothing against it,” he said of the military. “It provided me with a number of things. How to simply make it in this world, how to listen closely. It taught me a lot about life.”

After serving four years in the Army, Frye enlisted in the Navy and served an additional three years.

Frye said if one looked for racism, it could be easily found in the military, although there was little time for color distinction in a foxhole during the Korean War.

“We all ate out of the same utilities, used the same utensils. We drank out of the same glass. We slept in the same bunk and we washed our clothes in the same river,” Frye said of brotherhoods and friendships forged during war.

But, he said, those friendships of color were unacceptable beyond the battlefield.

“Even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t, especially in certain parts of the country,” Frye said of a white veteran continuing a friendship with a black veteran. “He had to break it off or set himself up (for disapproval).”

Tom Frye’s son, Brian Frye, 31, served in the Gulf War, enlisting in the Navy with his father’s encouragement after graduating from high school.

“I was heavy into sports in high school,” Brian Frye said. “And he always told me if I wasn’t going to college, the service was a good place to get discipline and stay out of trouble.”

Brian Frye was a special boatswain with the Navy Seals, stationed in California. He was one of the first soldiers called to Desert Storm.

By the time Desert Storm rolled around, racism in the military was less apparent, Brian Frye said.

The worst part, he said, was and still is defending himself to his own race. Frye recalled a recent conversation in which a young black man questioned why he would serve for a country that he perceived as caring little about a black man’s well-being.

“I found it offensive,” Frye said of the young man’s comments. “It’s enough to have to defend yourself for just being black, it’s another thing to have to defend yourself for serving as a black man.”

Although their military experiences differ, perhaps because of the differences in the wars in which they fought, these veterans all agreed that serving for your country — no matter the color of one’s skin — is one of the most honorable things one can do. It is a brotherhood that can never be broken.

“You never forget,” Shannon said.

You can contact Rhonda Sobecki at rsobecki@intranix.com