Homecoming!

Company A

227th Assault Helicopter Battalion

1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile)

Homecoming!
"When Johnny Comes Marching Home"
by WO-1 John L. Keller, 1st Flt Plt, A/227, April 1966-67

Growing up in a small farming community in Central Wisconsin, the Village of Stratford had it's share of World War I and II veterans of every branch of service. Only one was a pilot in the Army Air Corps. I was the first and only one of the early 1960's graduates (1963) from the local high school to attend U.S. Army Warrant Officer Flight School. I had been at many of our Memorial Day (Decoration Day), and Veteran's Day services held in the Village of Stratford Park. It wasn't a big Park, but all of the Vets in their uniforms were very impressive for a young farm-boy who yearned to be a military pilot. The annual parades were eventually led by me, since I was the Stratford High School Marching Band Drum Major. I had learned to march in the local Composite Squadron of the Civil Air Patrol located in Marshfield. It was always a "proud day" when I led the parade through the Village.
Fast forward to April, 1967, and I was returning from my first tour in Viet Nam with A/227 AHB, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile). I flew into Chicago's O'Hare Airport and was welcomed by my parents and many other relatives who lived in the area. Returning soldiers had to wear their Class B uniforms back then to ride on the contract flights and the commercial air carrier flights. At a cousin's home there was a big sign over the patio door; "Welcome home Johnny." All I could think of was the song, "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." They all wanted to know what it was like "over there." What could I tell them? Heat, humidity, rain, red mud, sand, beautiful beaches, incredible rivers with tumbling and impressive waterfalls, friends getting killed, shit burning in barrels of JP-4, bone tired, greatest bunch of guys you'll ever know, counting the days till DEROS, etc. I was glad to have a group of cousins, aunts and uncles to celebrate my homecoming. One Uncle told me he was a Signal Corps balloon "aeronaut" during WWI and then showed me his uniform and equipment. None of the other relatives had ever been shown any of this. I must have joined the brotherhood of soldiers he so long ago had been a part of? There was only one problem; I wasn't with the men and machines of A/227. Those were the people I had grown to trust and respect during my tour. I really felt this was all unreal and I wanted to head back, RIGHT NOW! This was kind of a "fight or flight response!"
When I arrived at our farm just outside of Stratford, I felt like an outsider. People treated me like I was "shell-shocked." Nothing would ever be the same for me in this community, again. It was too slow of a pace and they didn't have the increased level of adrenalin or urgency of our missions. I had been accustomed to quick meals and daily flights over the past 12 months. It seemed like everyone was talking in "slow motion" when I was around. I really wanted to get out of this place! I wrote two half-page articles for each of the local newspapers. I ended up going fishing with a former WW II Army Air Corps Lieutenant, Ardell Klemmee; who had flown a P-51 in the Ploesti oil field raids in Romania, and was shot down, captured, escaped then hid out for 18 months. His "fighter squadron" was escorting B-24's to their targets. He wanted me to talk about my tour with the now famous, First Cavalry Division, that he had seen on so many news reports. I explained what we did, how the "air war" had changed, and what the country was like. All the time, I was wishing I was at the controls of that "throaty, Merlin-powered" North American P-51 he had flown! Now, that would have been flying! At age 17, I had a chance to be a one-fourth partner in a nearly complete P-51 that was down at Midway Airport. Now, that is "another story." Fishing was just a sideline; talking was what he and I needed. He had been declared "dead" for 18 months after he was shot down, but eventually found his way to "friendly lines" and returned to New York. No one at home knew he was still alive! The War Department had not sent a telegram to his parents. He made a call home. His Mother had a heart attack after talking with him so he was coming home on the train to attend a funeral. He never really got to talk to another pilot about his long adventure during the WAR. He never had a "real" homecoming because of the funeral he had to attend. We parted from our fishing session with the promise that I would get him a pair of the ARMY-issued, American Optical Aviator sunglasses. I had about five pairs by now, due to being a good "trader," so I gave him a pair when he dropped me off at the farm. I told him he looked like an "aviator" again and thanked him for talking with me. His wide smile let me know this was a special day for him.
The local Lion's Club and VFW invited me to their evening meetings so I could tell my "story" with slides and a verbal presentation. Many of the members of the Lion's Club were former Military Veterans of WWII and KOREA. A few members of the VFW were WWI veterans. They had many questions about the new type of war I was fighting in Viet Nam. They especially wanted to know about jumping battle lines with the HUEY and what this new AIRMOBILE concept was all about. Many of them had been in the Battle of the Bulge and Normandy before that. One had been on the Bataan "Death March." A few had been crewmembers on B-29's that bombed Mainland Japan. Some had liberated "death camps" in Europe. They had a few tears in their eyes as they recalled missions long ago that were atrocious compared to our present-day warfare. Everyone thanked me deeply for my service and gave me a hearty, "Welcome Home!" I sensed that a few of them wished they were young again so they could participate. There are always a few who remain "warriors" when peacetime exists. Their sense of "duty" exists as part of their psyche and does not diminish with age. These were my neighbors who welcomed me and made me one of their own! I guess it was at this time when I joined a "band of brothers?"
I had another very important "mission" to perform when I got home; proposing to the "girl of my dreams." Kathy was WO-1 Steve Hafner's (1/9th ) younger Sister who I had taken as my "blind date" to the Warrant Officer Graduation ball at the Officer's Club Lake Lodge. Somewhere near Kontum (June, 1966), I received pictures from my folks of Kathy and I at the dance, so I started writing to her in Boulder, Colorado. She wrote back almost immediately about happenings in Boulder. A long-distance letter writing romance evolved (over 300 letters to APO USF 96490), so I was on my way to her place with a proposal! I never even thought about, "What if she says, NO!" On top of Flagstaff Mountain outside of Boulder I proposed and she accepted. This was better than passing the final Flight School check ride with a grade of 98! I felt then, that my "homecoming" was complete. The "rest of our lives" was about to begin. Twenty eight moves and 40+ years of marriage; we are still "homecoming" sweethearts