"Six days after his first and last battle in Vietnam, he was back at his mother's home, in the last week of January 1968. He'd missed the Tet Offensive, the January 30 across-the-board attack on American installations, by a hair's breadth, and his buddies back in Detroit thought it was good sport to tease him about how he'd gotten off easy. He never contradicted them. In fact, he agreed with them, insisting that nothing had happened during the war. He tried to appear unaffected and sociable. Those who didn't know him well couldn't tell that anything was wrong. He seemed to be filling up his days with as much activity as possible. No one knew he was having nightmares. One friend said, however, that he had color slides of dead Vietcong in his room. In the fall, Johnson started trying to get a job, and his cousin Thomas Tillman got to see a side of him he didn't know existed. Johnson was a friendly, gregarious, outgoing guy, a practical joker. But when he tried for a job, Tillman said, "He'd just sit and mumble a few words when they'd ask him questions. It was like he felt inferior." He only tried for the jobs that had minimal qualifications, even though he'd qualified as a tank driver in the Army. And even then, he got nowhere. "For two months we went around to place after place and got doors slammed in our face... People gave him a lousy break. Nothing happened decent to him.""