Paul F. Tschudi
Specialist 5, United States Army (1967-1970)
I was drafted in 1967. Since I was raised in Ohio in a family environment which taught me not to question authority, I cooperated and went to fulfill my duty to my country even though I had doubts about the validity of that war.
Before entering the service, I was struggling with my sexual orientation. Upon entering the service, I became aware that my sexual orientation was not to be revealed to anyone. While in basic training the troops were verbally harassed by the drill instructors with names like ‘sissy’, ‘fags’, ‘girls’, ‘queers’ etc. It was assumed, I suppose, that if any of us fell into one of these categories, we would not be able to "cut it" and were somehow inferior. Yet time and again, I proved myself worthy.
Being a non-violent person at heart, I knew that I could never intentionally hurt another human being, so I opted for a medical MOS - Operating Room Technician. Throughout my training, I openly expressed my opposition to the war. It was ironic in that the Army instilled in me the notion of sticking up for my beliefs at any cost.
In 1969, I received orders to go to Vietnam. As the plane touched down in Vietnam, I had the strange feeling that I was ‘home’. I was transported to Phu Bai which was in the northern part of the country just south of the DMV - a ‘hot’ place to be. I arrived at the 85 Evac Hospital. The 85th was the first stop for my fellow soldiers when they were wounded. They were given medical attention before being evacuated out to more suitable facilities.
The horror began as I witnessed hundreds of my brothers as well as Vietnamese civilians and soldiers broken, burned, traumatized and dying. We pulled them off the choppers and did what we could. Twelve men died in my arms - men just like me. I am sure that my being gay was not of importance to any of those souls. I was the last human being to look into their eyes as they died. It was an honor, though that most sacred moment was being shared with a perfect stranger. They knew that I cared.
But, my sexual orientation did matter to the military, even though I was a well-respected member of my unit and an effective healer. For the first time in my life, I knew my purpose, I along with my fellow medics, many of whom were gay, saved lives and ultimately kept many more names from appearing on the Wall (Vietnam Veterans Memorial). I was honorably discharged the day I returned to the U.S., which was perhaps the cruelest blow. One moment I was covered in my brother's blood as I tended to their wounds and within a 48 hour period was freed to return to my pre-Vietnam life, supposedly unaffected by it all.
The point of this story is that I served my country honorably, 15 months of which were in a war that I did not support - morally or legally - but I felt an obligation to serve. In the end, I performed well and saved lives.
I visit the Wall regularly as a place to mourn, to remember, to honor and to remind myself that there would have been many more names on that marble slab if it had not been for the courage, strength and love of our brothers that my gay and lesbian comrades showed. I would ask those men and women who returned from that horrible war with mental and physical wounds whether the sexual orientation of the medics, nurses, and corpsmen who treated their wounds and saved their lives really mattered.
Let us continue to serve, if we so choose, in whatever capacity we can. Our country will only be stronger for it.
I never thought I would be saying this - but thank you for allowing me to serve. Because of my journey into hell, I have gained much more than if I had not been able to serve - and America as well as humankind has benefited. It was the most important and meaningful experience in my life, but one that I would not wish on anyone.