Coming Home

Col. Ben and Anne Purcell hug for the first time in nearly six years during his POW Homecoming in Augusta, GA on March 30, 1973.

Editor’s Note: I wrote this story five years ago on the 43rd anniversary of my father’s return from Vietnam. I share it again here today in honor of him and ALL the Vietnam War veterans and their families who served and sacrificed. 58,220 Americans never returned home from Vietnam. Their names are etched in black granite on the Washington Mall and on our nation’s collective soul, forever. 

I still remember that night as if it were yesterday. The corsage and pin from President Nixon. The long wait on the tarmac at Bush Field in Augusta. The mounting nerves. The TV crews and photographers. The crowd. The banners. The applause. The screams of excitement when the plane landed and the moment my mother rushed into my father’s arms.

Jessie’s thoughtfulness and words brought our family to tears.

It was unforgettable.

He is unforgettable.

Dad’s been gone nearly three years now. This time he’s not coming home. Still, I hold him close in my heart and often catch glimpses of him in the stories others tell.

One such story recently arrived unexpectedly in the mail. It came in a box shipped from Cape Coral, Florida, from a sender we don’t know but one day hope to meet.

Inside was this bracelet and one of the most moving letters I’ve ever read. Here’s what it said:

Dear Joy & Anne,

My name is Jessie Leopard. I live in SW Florida with my husband, Hal. We have 3 adult children. I was looking for something in my parents’ 100-year-old secretary the other day and came across a very old and dear friend of mine, Ben Purcell. He was and has been a part of my life for 48 years. I had to sit down for a minute, pause and leave 2016 for a return to 1968.

I have a story to tell you.

My family was not rich by any means. Both my parents were working-class folks that raised my sister, brother and I the best they could. My father was a police officer, and mother was a stay-at-home mom.

I was a high school student in Constantine, Michigan, during the Vietnam war. It was not a large city, nor was the school; however, we were experiencing the very deep polarization of opinions about the war, as every other household in America. Our school had its share of tee-shirt wearers with peace symbols, as well as the strong supporters of the conflict.

When the first Americans who died in Vietnam were brought home, I made myself a black armband and wore it every day to school as a tribute to our fallen soldiers. Soon, a couple of others also wore the black armbands as the war went on with no apparent end in sight.

In 1970, I acquired the enclosed bracelet. The bracelet itself was looked at and treated as an adoption of a soldier held in captivity as a prisoner of war. He was with me in spirit from that day forward. I never had a picture of him, never knew where he was from, never could get much information on where he was held captive. I just knew he was an American young man serving in a horrible war, and I wanted to be a part of his struggle. Inside the bracelet is the “VIVA” initials, which stood for “Voices In Vital America.”

Along with my tattered black armband, I proudly went to school every day with the bracelet, hoping each day for Ben’s release.

After I heard he was released, I naturally took it off but decided to keep it since it was part of my life experiences.

When I obtained the secretary from my parents several years later, the bracelet was placed inside for safekeeping. The secretary has been with me some 48 years and contains the story of my life. It is alive with memorabilia, trinkets, treasures, collectibles, political buttons, my children’s toys and hundreds of old photos.

After a discussion with Hal, I felt it was time for the bracelet to leave the secretary and find its way home. It is important for me to remember that part of my lifetime during those years, but do not believe I need the bracelet to jog my old memory any longer. Its rightful place belongs with your family.

I only hope that when asked about the bracelet, you tell them the story of a young lady from Constantine High School some 48 years ago. That will bring a big smile to my face.

Jessie

We’re smiling with you today, Jessie. Dad’s bracelet is home. Your story’s been told.

Your kindness is unforgettable.