I never went to Vietnam. I served my country in another way. But I had several friends who did go. And that time period was the most exciting of my life. My generation was turning the world on its head. The comfort of the ‘50s had given way to a group of young people who began rejecting everything handed to us. Some of us demanded that our sexual preference be respected. Some of us demanded that the color of our skin should not be the definition of our worth. Others fought to be recognized in terms of gender. And all of us decided that having sex was a very, very good thing.

A few days ago I was speaking on the phone with a friend and the subject of the war in Vietnam came up. He asked if anybody ever spit on me and I replied that number one, I never wore the uniform, and number two — that never happened. You would have thought I had punched him in the face. He went from a level two to a level eight and I could tell by the anxiety in his voice that he might break the 10 level.

“Whoa, man!” I said, “Bring it down. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t tell me that! I saw it on the news. Everybody knows what happened,” he said.

He’s seven years younger so I used that and said, “You were just a kid, bud. I was there. I was right in the middle of it.” This brought him down a bit, because it was true and he began to regain his composure, so as he sputtered a bit I continued, “I’m not saying this never happened somewhere, but I can guarantee you there is no documentary evidence. It was never on TV.”

He calmed down, but I don’t think I convinced him. So after our conversation I did a little research. Guess what? Nada. Bupkis. Did it happen? Did it happen one time? Maybe. But it was never documented. What did happen is “Uncle Bill” told us about a close friend of his named “Marty” — and it happened to “Marty” — according to Uncle Bill. And then the clincher to the myth came in 1982 when “Rambo First Blood” came out. John Rambo became the poster boy for the forgotten soldier. It became part of the American ethos.

Jerry Lembcke, professor of sociology at Holy Cross College, was so intrigued by this syndrome that in 2000 he wrote a book called “The Spitting Image: Myth, Memory, and the Legacy of Vietnam.” A slim opus, only 200 pages, yet it encapsulates the truth. It was well regarded, well received. The San Francisco Chronicle reported, “Lembcke builds a compelling case against collective memory by demonstrating that remembrances of Vietnam were almost at direct odds with circumstantial evidence.” Amazon shows two consumer reviews of the book, both lauding Lembcke on his scrupulous research and reportage.

If you visit Quora, you’ll see several entries, all disputing the possibility of the “spit” and two of them citing something that was the first thing I thought about when I imagined myself in that situation, newly arrived back in the U.S., maybe as recently as yesterday being shot at by the enemy, still mentally back in that chaos, deplaning, and somebody walks up to me and spits on me?! Oh! Yeah! It’s on. And I don’t personally know any other vets who would not, as a reflex action, have hurt that spitter. Hurt them with extreme prejudice (thanks “Apocalypse Now”). And if I, or that other vet, might have been arrested, well, I’m pretty sure the cops at that time were very much in tune with the soldier and not the peacenik.

Law professor Jim Lindgren, writing in his blog the Volokh Conspiracy, cites several instances he says are totally believable spitting occurrences. But Lembcke wades in and taking them one at a time, finds hole upon hole, fuzzy remembrances, etc. and blows them all out of the water. Lembcke has challenged Lindgren to produce evidentiary proof and Lindgren fails in each instance. Lindgren was not able to produce even one contemporaneous news account, in print or on film.

I can categorically guarantee you there was no spitting going on in Hillsboro. And I consider Hillsboro emblematic of most small American towns. The returning Viet Vet was held in high esteem.

Now, here’s the thing — there was a very vocal minority of college students, Hollywood personalities, legitimate members of American intelligentsia who saw the truth behind our presence in Viet Nam. I remember, in 1967, Muhammed Ali refusing to honor the draft, claiming to be a conscience objector, and declaring “I ain’t got no quarrel with them Vietcong!” It took years for most Americans to recognized that once again the powerful had bilked the populace. But that was years later. Trust me, there were very few (maybe not even one) instance of the returning vet getting spat upon. Many people did not approve, but that was a totally different response.

Garry Boone is a Hillsboro resident.