A soldier's dog tags become many things - symbols of patriotism, of brotherhood, of pride and of sacrifice.

For Denzil Messman, the dog tags he lost in Vietnam remind him of other things he lost in that war - his youth, his innocence and his trust in the people he swore to protect.

But 35 years later and thousands of miles away from the jungle where Messman lost his tags, some of the pain dropped away when the 55-year-old Jefferson resident was reunited with the tiny silver of metal Tuesday morning in a special ceremony at LeTouneau University.

"It's one of those things you think you'll never see again," Roskam said quietly. But thanks to a little luck and lot of effort by Illinois Sen. Peter Roskam and his parents, he found that piece of his past. "From the middle of the jungle to here - that's quite a journey it's made."

In December 1969, the 18-year-old radio operator was repelling from a helicopter, when his helmet was shot off his head. He dropped to the ground and quickly joined his fellow soldiers in a fierce gun battle, not realizing until much later that the dog tags had fallen from his neck.

The first steps

To see the tag now, still hanging from the same metal chain but black and tarnished by time, it's obvious the years have weathered the metal as it passed from hand to hand on its long trip home.

Martha Roskam never imagined she'd find such a tiny piece of American history in a busy marketplace in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon, when she and her husband, V.R. traveled to Vietnam two years ago.

But as she looked at the basket full of metal the small Vietnamese woman was hawking on the crowded street, Roskam knew she couldn't just pass them by. They belonged to American soldiers. If it were her son's dog tag being sold as a souvenir, Roskam knew she would want someone to help. "She was just right on the street," Roskam said, selling the dog tags for a dollar apiece. When Martha told her husband of the experience, he suggested that she hurry back and buy them, whatever the cost.

"Dog tags are near and dear to every serviceman's heart. They don't belong in the street. They belong with the individuals and the families," V.R. said, easily reciting his own serial number that he earned during his tour in the Korean War.

The Roskams bought all of the dog tags for $20.

Using the political connections of their son, Illinois Sen. Peter Roskam, as well as government databases and private detectives, the Roskams have been able to track down many of the soldiers and their families using the serial numbers on the tags.

"It's not an easy task," V.R. said. "If our son Peter had not been in the political arena, I don't think this would have been successful."

Many people haven't yet responded to the Roskam's letters, but through their efforts, "The Dog Tag Return Project" has reunited 10 men and their families with that small but significant piece of their past.

One man died before the Roskams could return his tag, but his mother asked that he be buried with it. Three tags were returned to mothers who sons died in the war, including one who gratefully thanked the Roskams, telling them, "My son is not forgotten."

And Denzil Messman, surrounded by his family and old and new friends, received his tag with tears and heartfelt thanks.

For the Roskams, it has become a sad but fulfilling crusade. Every dog tag has a story, Martha Roskam said, and like their owners, they've all seen a long journey back home of the war. "It opens old wounds, but it brings closure, too," V.R. Roskam said. "It's days like this and these few moments that make it all worthwhile."

A soldier's story

For Messman, the journey has been hard.

When he returned from the war, Messman remembers how he and his friends were not welcomed home, but rather met with scorn, shame and hatred as criminals and murderers.

"When we came back from Vietnam, we were condemned for being there," Messman said. "We hid from people. We withdrew into ourselves, and when you can't bring it out, it festers." That pain still haunts Messman and many others today. It makes it easy to spot a Vietnam veteran, he said, not by that they say but by what they don't say.

But regaining his dog tags has helped to ease that pain a little, Messman said. It's a miracle, he said, the way the private investigator found his old address in Odessa and a miracle how one of his old co-workers in the past office happened to recognize his name and forward the letter to his new address.

He felt disbelief at first, he said. "But when I saw it in the pictures they sent, I knew it was mine."

Messman chuckled a little Tuesday, realizing that so many years later the chain no longer fits around his head. And he gripped it tightly, the metal dwarfed by his hands.

"I'm afraid I'm going to drop it again!" he said, laughing.

But the laughter faded moments later as he remembers the soldiers now fighting for the United States in Iraq, enduring the same hardships that he faced in his "eight years, six months and 28 days" in the service.

Messman hopes that people will remember the lessons of the past and that these soldiers will be welcomed back as the proud men and women they are, rather than the outcast he was made into.

The soldiers are doing what they believe in, Messman said, just as he did.

"When I was 18, I was doing what I felt my country wanted me to do. I did my duty," he said. "We didn't know if it was right or it if was wrong. We did what we were asked. What I'd like to see the American people do is come back to treat them properly.