"Thompson's friends had prepared a "Welcome Home" party for him at the Cajun Pier Restaurant, on the banks of the Bayou Vermillion in Lafayette. This would be the hero's welcome he never got when he returned from Vietnam some thirty years earlier. The party went on for a few hours, until it was obvious that the man of the hour was about to drop from fatigue. He needed to go home and go to bed. It was after midnight when he got home. His son, Steven, met him at the door. "Dad, you got a bunch of mail," Steven pointed out. There, on the coffee table, was a week's worth of mail. It was such a tall pile that some of the letters had fallen off the table and onto the floor. Thompson's eyes lit up. "Boy, that is a bunch. Who's all this from?" he asked, with energy returning to his voice. "People from all over the country. I think it's fan mail." "How did they get our address?" "Well, most of 'em don't have any real address, except Lafayette, Louisiana. Look at how some of them are addressed: 'Hero of My Lai' or "Soldier's Medal Recipient.'" All of a sudden, the weary traveler didn't feel fatigued at all. Maybe his trip to Vietnam did count for something. Maybe his whole involvement in Vietnam was worthwhile. It certainly appeared so, judging from the volume of mail that had accumulated in his absence. If Thompson ever had any doubt about the value of what he had done at My Lai, that doubt was about to leave him. If he had been burdened over the years by some sort of complex about being unappreciated, his burden was about to be lifted. He sat down on his sofa with a handful of letters and started reading."