They once were among the most universally admired and revered men in the United States .. There were 80 of the Raiders in April 1942, when they carried out one of the most courageous and heart-stirring military operations in this nation’s history. The mere mention of their unit’s name, in those years, would bring tears to the eyes of grateful Americans.
Now only four survive.

After Japan’s sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, with the United States reeling and wounded, something dramatic was needed to turn the war effort around.   Even though there were no friendly airfields close enough to Japan for the United States to launch a retaliation, a daring plan was devised. Sixteen B-25s were modified so that they could take off from the deck of an aircraft carrier. This had never before been tried — sending such big, heavy bombers from a carrier.

The 16 five-man crews, under the command of Lt. Col. James Doolittle, who himself flew the lead plane off the USS Hornet, knew that they would not be able to return to the carrier. They would have to hit Japan and then hope to make it to China for a safe landing.

But on the day of the raid, the Japanese military caught wind of the plan. The Raiders were told that they would have to take off from much farther out in the Pacific Ocean than they had counted on. They were told that because of this they would not have enough fuel to make it to safety.  And those men went anyway.

They bombed Tokyo and then flew as far as they could. Four planes crash-landed; 11 more crews bailed out, and three of the Raiders died. Eight more were captured; three were executed.  Another died of starvation in a Japanese prison camp. One crew made it to Russia.

The Doolittle Raiders sent a message from the United States to its enemies, and to the rest of the world: We will fight. And, no matter what it takes, we will win.  Of the 80 Raiders, 62 survived the war. They were celebrated as national heroes, models of bravery. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer produced a motion picture based on the raid; “Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo,” starring Spencer Tracy and Van Johnson, was a patriotic and emotional box-office hit, and the phrase became part of the national lexicon. In the movie-theater previews for the film, MGM proclaimed that it was presenting the story “with supreme pride.”

Beginning in 1946, the surviving Raiders have held a reunion each April, to commemorate the mission. The reunion is in a different city each year. In 1959, the city of Tucson, Arizona, as a gesture of respect and gratitude, presented the Doolittle Raiders with a set of 80 silver goblets. Each goblet was engraved with the name of a Raider.

Every year, a wooden display case bearing all 80 goblets is transported to the reunion city. Each time a Raider passes away, his goblet is turned upside down in the case at the next reunion, as his old friends bear solemn witness.

Al so in the wooden case is a bottle of 1896 Hennessy Very Special cognac. The year is not happenstance: 1896 was when Jimmy Doolittle was born.

There has always been a plan: When there are only two surviving Raiders, they would open the bottle, at last drink from it, and toast their comrades who preceded them in death.  As 2013 began, there were five living Raiders; then, in February, Tom Griffin passed away at age 96.

What a man he was. After bailing out of his plane over a mountainous Chinese forest after the Tokyo raid, he became ill with malaria, and almost died. When he recovered, he was sent to Europe to fly more combat missions. He was shot down, captured, and spent 22 months in a German prisoner of war camp.

The selflessness of these men, the sheer guts … there was a passage in the Cincinnati Enquirer obituary for Mr. Griffin that, on the surface, had nothing to do with the war, but that was emblematic of the depth of his sense of duty and devotion:  “When his wife became ill and needed to go into a nursing home, he visited her every day. He walked from his house to the nursing home, fed his wife and at the end of the day brought home her clothes. At night, he washed and ironed her clothes. Then he walked them up to her room the next morning. He did that for three years until her death in 2005.”

So now, out of the original 80, only four Raiders remain: Dick Cole (Doolittle’s co-pilot on the Tokyo raid), Robert Hite, Edward Saylor and David Thatcher. All are in their 90s. They have decided that there are too few of them for the public reunions to continue.  The events in Fort Walton Beach marked the end. It has come full circle; Florida’s nearby Eglin Field was where the Raiders trained in secrecy for the Tokyo mission. The town planned to do all it can to honor the men: a six-day celebration of their valor, including luncheons, a dinner and a parade.

Do the men ever wonder if those of us for whom they helped save the country have tended to it in a way that is worthy of their sacrifice? They don’t talk about that, at least not around other people. But if you find yourself near Fort Walton Beach this week, and if you should encounter any of the Raiders, you might want to offer them a word of thanks. I can tell you from first hand observation that they appreciate hearing that they are remembered.

The men have decided that after this final public reunion they will wait until a later date — some time this year — to get together once more, informally and in absolute privacy. That is when they will open the bottle of brandy. The years are flowing by too swiftly now; they are not going to wait until there are only two of them.

They will fill the four remaining upturned goblets. And raise them in a toast to those who are gone.

Their 70th Anniversary Photo

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By Terry Leonard, Stars and Stripes

As fellow troopers aid wounded comrades, the first sergeant of A Company, 101st Airborne Division, guides a medevac helicopter through the jungle foliage to pick up casualties suffered during a five-day patrol near Hue, April 1968. /ART GREENSPON/AP

South Vietnam, May 20, 1965: U.S. helicopters rake the perimeter of a landing zone with rockets and machine-gun fire before dropping off troops brought in from Binh Hoa.  Mike Mealey/Stars and Stripes

When Neil Armstrong took his small step for man in the lunar dust in July 1969, Americans saw it as proof there were no Earthly limits. Nothing then seemed beyond the reach of American power, prestige and know-how. It took Vietnam to expose the hubris in that sentiment.

The American Century was at its zenith. Unrivaled U.S. wealth and prosperity, predictable fruits of the postwar Pax Americana, lifted national influence to new heights globally. Hollywood, rock music, blue jeans and hamburgers carried American culture, taste and values to the far corners of the world.

Yet with images of Apollo 11 fresh on the mind, Vietnam forced Americans to accept limits to U.S. power and to acknowledge their reach had exceeded their grasp. With apologies to Robert Browning, that troublesome realization was not what they believed a heaven was for.

Fifty years later, the Vietnam War remains an enigma. Its legacy distorted by folklore, myth, political spin, cloudy memories and the perverted history of feature films and popular fiction. Yet it remains clear the war changed America in profound ways still not understood.

It changed who we are and how we see ourselves. It fundamentally revised our view of the world and the world’s view of us. It reshaped our institutions, particularly the military. It altered not only how we fight wars, but when and why we choose to fight.

Stars and Stripes is commemorating the Vietnam War at 50 annually with a series of stories and special projects intended to add context and understanding to the history of that war and to the changes it wrought. The project examines the fighting abroad and the protests, politics and turmoil at home. It includes the voices of veterans who fought and those of others who marched at home for peace.

More than 58,000 Americans and at least 1.5 million Vietnamese died in the war that divided the country as nothing else had done since the Civil War.

“No event in American history is more misunderstood than Vietnam. It was misreported then, and it is misremembered now,” former President Richard Nixon wrote in his 1985 book “No More Vietnams,” a selective history and apologia for his role in the tragic war.

Americans fought fiercely and gallantly in Vietnam. The Medal of Honor was awarded to more than 250 individuals. U.S. troops won nearly every significant battle. Yet it was all in vain. Many fighting men would feel betrayed by political leaders and people at home who turned against the war.

At home, the war taught a generation of young people not to trust their government. In an astonishingly short period of time they taught their parents and even some political leaders.

“The biggest lesson I learned from Vietnam is not to trust our own government statements. I had no idea until then that you could not rely on them,” former Sen. J. William Fulbright told the New York Times in 1985, a decade after the war ended.

The government also didn’t trust its people. Security agencies spying on civil rights leaders and political dissidents added people who spoke out against the war to their surveillance lists. Later Senate investigations detailed widespread illegal intelligence gathering on U.S. citizens.

Anti-war and civil rights protesters were also portrayed in government-run campaigns of character assassination as anti-American or communist sympathizers, sometimes with violent consequences. At the 1968 Democratic National Convention, Chicago police savagely attacked and beat anti-war protesters. A federal investigation later would term it a police riot.

In May of 1970, National Guardsmen opened fire on anti-war protesters at Kent State University in Ohio, killing four and wounding nine. Just 10 days later, police killed two and wounded 12 when they fired on African-American students protesting the war at Jackson State College in Mississippi.

Kent State triggered a nationwide student strike that closed hundreds of colleges and universities and became a symbol of how the war divided the country. In a Newsweek poll three weeks after the shootings, 11 percent of the respondents blamed the National Guard and 58 percent the students. The shootings at predominately African-American Jackson state were largely ignored.

When the war began in the Sixties many had already begun to question a U.S. international policy shaped by the cold war narrative of the Red Menace and the Domino Theory. Domestically, American society was under pressure from many sides to become more inclusive and fair.

The civil rights movement forced a reluctant country to confront its values and its shameful past. The sexual revolution and the women’s rights movement sought to fundamentally change how Americans lived, loved and worked. It reshaped gender roles and widened a growing gap between the younger and older generations.

The assassination of President John F. Kennedy stunned the country and exposed deep and dark divisions. The subsequent murders in 1968 of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and Sen. Robert F. Kennedy destroyed lingering illusions about an idyllic America and raised troubling questions about our violent national character.

The mostly peaceful civil rights movement was fiercely and violently resisted. Police brutally suppressed peaceful demonstrations, and not just in the south. Civil rights workers were murdered or beaten, black churches were bombed, black men lynched. Race riots in the ‘60s rocked New York, Newark, Philadelphia, Detroit, Chicago and Los Angeles. Americans were shocked by television images of National Guardsmen and U.S. paratroopers, locked and loaded, patrolling the streets of burning American cities.

America’s disaffected youth recoiled from society and their discontent gave rise to an anti-authoritarian counterculture that sought to reinterpret the American dream. Peace and love replaced duty and honor. The popular refrain “Don’t trust anyone over 30,” defined the boundaries of the generation gap.

Entertainers such as Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs, Pete Seeger, Joan Baez and others made rebellion part of popular culture. Dylan caught the emerging tenor in his 1964 song “The Times They Are A-Changin’”:

Come mothers and fathers  

Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command

Your old road is
Rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’

The Harvard psychologist Timothy Leary became a counterculture guru by advocating mind-altering drugs such as LSD. He popularized the phrase “Turn on, Tune in, Drop out.” He was fired by Harvard, but he was seen as something of a philosopher by the “sex, drugs and rock and roll” culture of the ‘60s. So much so that even today a common joke is: “If you can remember the ‘60s, you weren’t really there.”

Despite the obvious excesses, mainstream society began to embrace causes of the youth movement, particularly its anti-war sentiment. Peace marches that began with a few thousand students grew into marches by tens of thousands from all walks of life.

Nixon sought to deflect criticism of the war and growing distrust in government. He spoke in1969 of the “silent majority” of Americans whose views supported him and the war but whose voices were being drowned out by a more vocal minority.

That was the summer Apollo 11 landed on the moon and confirmed our belief in American exceptionalism. Americans constantly boasted that if we could go to the moon, we could do anything.

Many historians argue that a series of U.S. presidents and their military and political aides believed it too and erroneously assumed military might would win in Vietnam.

“Tell the Vietnamese they’ve got to draw in their horns or we’re going to bomb them into the Stone Age,” warned Gen. Curtis LeMay, the Air Force chief of staff, in May 1964. U.S. warplanes dropped more tons of explosive on Vietnam than fell on Germany, Japan and Italy in World War II, but his hollow threat would later be lampooned by critics of the war.

In just three years, that overconfidence retreated to a position of curious optimism. Walt Rostow, President Johnson’s national security adviser, tried to deflect bad news about the war in 1967 by saying: “I see light at the end of the tunnel.” That light, his critics joked, was an oncoming train.

Even the curious optimism faded.

Two years later, Nixon, under pressure to end the war vowed: “I’m not going to be the first American president to lose a war.”

Nixon later claimed victory in Vietnam but blamed a hostile press and an irresponsible Congress for “losing the peace.” In the book “Chasing Shadows: The Nixon Tapes, the Chennault Affair and the Origins of Watergate,” journalist Ken Hughes said this year that newly released transcripts of FBI wiretaps indicated then presidential candidate Nixon ordered the sabotage of the Paris peace talks in October of 1968, apparently to bolster his election chances that November.

Over the years, news coverage of the war shifted from supportive to an increasingly grim portrayal of the fighting. As the reporting became increasingly negative, as casualties continued to mount, public doubts grew dramatically.

One of the most enduring legacies of Vietnam and its negative impact on public opinion and policy is the Vietnam Syndrome, the name to the paralyzing effect on U.S. foreign policy brought on by the fear of becoming mired in another quagmire, a questionable war with no clear objectives and a defined end game. Every president since the war ended has had to deal with the syndrome.

The Vietnam War was perhaps the most publicized war in American history and certainly the first televised war with ghastly images nightly on the evening news.

“Television brought the brutality of war into the comfort of the living room. Vietnam was lost in the living rooms of America – not on the battlefields of Vietnam,” Marshall McLuhan, the highly regarded Canadian philosopher of communication theory told the Montreal Gazette in 1975.

That coverage of the Vietnam War and its impact on the public became a serious concern. Early in 1968 polls showed 61 percent of Americans supported the war. By years end, 53 percent opposed it. By the time Armstrong landed on the moon, 58 percent opposed it and s upport for the war would continue to fall.

“Vietnam was the first war ever fought without censorship. Without censorship, things can get terribly confused in the public mind,” retired Gen. William Westmoreland, the commander in Vietnam from 1964 to 1968, would tell Time magazine in 1982.

For some, the key lesson learned was that it was the coverage of failed policies, and not the policy failures themselves, that caused Americans to lose faith and confidence in government.

The military now tightly controls access to a battlefield. With the policy it can and at times has limited what could be seen and by extension, what could be reported. Critics argue the policy supports the old adage: “Truth is the first casualty of war.”

Although support for the war dwindled, until Saigon finally fell April 29, 1975, many still refused to believe we could lose. Today, many scholars contend the war marked the loss of American innocence. It deeply divided a nation unified by World War II and the division and distrust of government continues to grow.

leonard.terry@stripes.com

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I first came in contact with Lisa Pett after she posted a comment to one of my blog articles about vets coming home after Vietnam.  She said she was writing a school paper and needed some help about the topic.  I informed her that I would post her request for help on my FB page and other veteran group pages, and that I was confident of a positive response.  This is the original FB posting for help: 

Hey Vietnam Vets – a little lady needs our help with her school paper! Please read her note below and respond directly to her email as she doesn’t have access to my FB accounts.

Hi john. Thanks so much for offering to help! The main problem with this situation is time. My paper is due Friday and while I already have it 90% finished, I would LOVE to revise it with feedback from your veteran friends. I realize we will receive limited response since this is last minute, but even if it doesn’t make it into my paper I would love to learn anyways.  My two main questions are:

 1)   How were you treated by family members, friends, your community or strangers when you first found out you were to be sent to Vietnam? And how did you feel about going?

 2)  How were you treated by family, friends, strangers, etc when you returned home?

Later that same day, Lisa posted to my FB page with the following:

John, I’m the “little lady” who you are helping I wanted to let you know that in the past few hours I have 23 emails! I am so excited and emotional as I read through them. This is the most meaningful assignment I have ever been a part of and I am so grateful to you for helping me find people who are willing to share their story. Thank you to all of you who have responded!

Little did I know at the time that Lisa wasn’t a college teenager, instead, she’s the same age as my daughter, married and a mother to 4 children.  She’s returned to college now that the kids are all in school and plans to finish her degree.  

This morning, I received the following email from Lisa:

I have attached two things.  One is my actual assignment – which is a pretty boring read since it’s a research paper – but nonetheless it is there.  I have also attached a self-assigned 2nd essay which allowed me to express some of the things I could not in the research paper.  

I cannot thank you or the others enough for helping me.  My professor was excited to read the paper and for the way the information was being given to me. And FYI, I scored a 98%… highest in the class :-)

I was intrigued by her research paper and found it quite interesting.  All the notes and references are removed and I also  took the liberty of adding the pictures to compliment her work.  Enjoy:

 Current day welcome – most soldiers returning home as a unit after their deployment

Over the years, American war veterans have typically been received home with a hero’s welcome.  They are greeted by family, friends, and townspeople and even celebrated in parades as an expression of gratitude for their service.  However, for a large portion of veterans of the Vietnam War, their experiences returning home were far from this warm welcome.  This paper will examine the positive and negative experiences of Vietnam veterans as they returned to their homes after completing their service.  This will occur through the use of personal interviews, first hand accounts and research articles.

As the war in Vietnam escalated in the late 1960’s and through the early 1970’s, many Americans became doubtful about the involvement of the United States in Vietnam.  Protests began to arise and become increasingly popular and common.

 Burning draft cards in 1967

Young men of draft age would burn their draft cards in protest and preferred serving time in jail over serving time overseas.  In October of 1967, over 100,000 protesters marched at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. The National Guard killed four anti-war protestors at Kent University and police at Jackson State University killed two others.

Washington DC

The protests spread to over 350 colleges and universities.  Even some soldiers in Vietnam rebelled against the war, wearing peace symbols on their uniforms, refusing orders and assaulting officers.  Thousands of soldiers deserted the army. This tension over the war made the United States a difficult place to return to after the war.

 Kent State Protests after four students are killed by National Guard troops

According to a study done by David Flores in the Sociological Forum, in which Vietnam veterans were interviewed about their experiences before and after the war, veterans remember feeling a sense of patriotism from their parents’ involvement in World War II.  Many of them grew up hearing stories of the war and attending parades honoring veterans of World War II.  They developed a feeling that America was the “best country in the world” and that Communism was a threat to the American way of living.  This sense contributed to their feeling of duty to protect the country they loved.  Veteran “Sam” described his experience before the war.  “My general opinion was that I was very lucky to be in the best country in the world, that everybody wanted to be like us, that we knew everything, that we were the smartest, and that we were the best, and that we had the right to make everyone else like us.”  Many more were inspired to follow the example of their fathers or uncles who had served in World War II.

World War II Victory Parade in New York City, 1946

Veteran Jeff Goodendorf describes his father as “my idol/mentor and friend and he had served in WWII for 4 years and I, as an only son, wanted to prove I was worthy of his name.”  Similarly, Veteran Bruce Allen’s father and uncles served in World War II and felt that “if you’re American and we have a conflict, everybody ought to take their turn.”  Family patriotism was only one of the reasons that soldiers felt compelled to go to Vietnam.  Some were forced to go due to the draft and others, like Tex Howard, just wanted to get out on their own and “the Army seemed like a good way to do this.”

Others felt a sense of duty to serve their country.  Alex, a combat veteran from Michigan, grew up in a town where nearly everyone served their country.  He expected his draft notice and was prepared to go when he received it.  He did not have a strong political point of view but rather was serving due to a sense of patriotism, not politics.

Regardless of the reason each soldier had for serving his country in Vietnam, a large majority of them share a similarity in their experiences returning home.  According to personal interviews with 25 veterans, approximately 92% of them experienced an overall negative experience returning home from serving their country.  They returned home to various parts of the country, from major cities in the East and West, to small towns in the Midwest or South. They were frequently called names such as “baby killer” or “murderer” and spit on.

Several were physically altercated, including Burnett McManus who “even had one lady tell her little boy to kick me, which he quickly did.”   McManus was also denied the right to rent a car, had his camera stolen in front of a police officer who did not assist him, and was also called names.  Others, such as Kevin DeCantillon, proudly wore his dress uniform to church upon arriving home and described the moment that “no one would sit next to me during the service.  I had grown up in that church.  A woman spit on me while I was standing on the steps of the church. No one said anything…In uniform I was invisible or derided.”  The uniform worn by the soldiers seemed to have given civilians the feeling that they could treat the veterans any way they wished.  Soldiers were strongly advised at the airport to remove their uniforms as quickly as possible and wear civilian clothes in public to avoid conflict.  The uniform invited conflict or negative feelings and memories for some of the soldiers, such as Ron Holz.  He explains, “when I returned home I was treated so badly that I let my hair grow long, hid all of my military clothing so no one would know that I was a Vietnam Veteran, and I never talked about Vietnam to anyone. I never even wore my uniform to my brother’s funeral.”

For some, the treatment was so terrible that it felt more hostile to them in the United States than it did overseas.  Dan Mahoney, who had to be escorted past protestors by police, lamented that “the treatment at home, I think, did more damage than the war did.”   Author and Veteran John Podlaski recalled, “What if I told you that my reoccurring nightmare isn’t about encounters with enemy soldiers on foreign soil, but of a single incident that took place right here in the United States with my own countrymen?  That’s right, it’s about my homecoming after serving honorably for a year in the Vietnam War.”

For Goodendorf, the negativity spread beyond strangers to people he interacted with.  He described a time in college during a course where students were asked to do an oral report on a foreign culture.  He reported on Vietnam, due to his extensive experience there.  He recollected, “Shortly after I started my presentation, the class started leaving, including the professor. Finally, I stood in front of an empty classroom feeling foolish and angry at the same time. I didn’t go back to that class and dropped it from my curriculum. Humiliating.”   His wife at the time refused to let anyone know that he had served in Vietnam.  He states that she made him “ashamed to be a Vet.  She eventually threw away my ribbons and medals, my dog tags, some of my uniforms and pictures.” DeCantillon also endured verbal abuse from people he knew.  “An acquaintance in my old neighborhood verbally attacked and abused me for being a ‘baby-killing war monger’. I was just 17 years-old.” 

Some veterans were fortunate enough to defy the majority of experiences, and received welcoming comments from strangers.  In Maryland, Tony Chliek frequently wore his uniform in order to receive discounted train rides for soldiers in uniform.  People traveling on the train, usually World War II or Korean War veterans, often bought him drinks “because they appreciated my service.”  Allen was only welcomed home by his family, but the reception in the Salt Lake City Airport was peaceful and he did not encounter any negativity.  For Allen, the frustrating part was not the negative reactions he occasionally received elsewhere, but rather the incorrect information being used against him.  For example, he heard accusations of Americans intentionally bombing hospitals, schools and temples.  Contrary to that, Allen explains, “I flew over 100 missions and not once was I programmed to bomb a hospital or school.” 

 Soldier rescues two children that have come under fire from North Vietnamese troops during the 1968 Tet Offensive, 1968

For many, the wounds and emotions still run very deep for Vietnam veterans.  Yet, the pain for some has subsided over time, due to the change in feeling and behavior towards the veterans.  For Charlie Cirillo, the first welcome home came in college.  “For me my first official ‘welcome home’ came in May of 1979, at my Commencement exercises from college.  The college president had all us Vietnam Vets stand up and be recognized. That was a great feeling.” Some states are carrying out “welcome home” parades for the veterans, nearly 40 years since the soldiers returned home initially.  Others, such as California, Connecticut, Delaware, Minnesota and Wisconsin have established a day to honor or “welcome home” Vietnam veterans.   Utah Governor Gary Herbert signed a resolution during the first ever Utah Vietnam Veteran’s Recognition Day ceremony on March 30, 2015, which urged citizens to “express appropriate support for Vietnam veterans, no matter the political disagreements over the war, and states a ‘heartfelt, belated welcome home’ to all Vietnam veterans.”

A parade held in Chicago, Illinois saw 200,000 veterans marching in a 3-mile long parade lined with approximately 500,000 spectators.  The parade provided an opportunity for people like Loral Valley to make reparations.  “Today, it’s like a catharsis. It’s a way to say I’m sorry I didn’t support them then.”

Welcome Home Vietnam Veteran Parade in Chicago, 1986.  This is VVA Chapter #154 Color Guard…I am in the second row – second from the right (John)

At another parade in Delaware, veteran Paul Davis was able to receive some comfort as the crowd thanked him for his service.  “The crowd was saying, ‘Thank you,’ and I get choked up even right now saying that.  There was not one Vietnam veteran who didn’t have tears running down their face, including myself. It was our greatest day.”

In conclusion, there was one thing that all 25 interviewees shared in common in their responses– an expression of gratitude.  Their gratitude was expressed that people would still be interested in what happened to them “after all this time.”  Some mentioned that being able to talk about it brought them a small amount of relief, releasing years of frustration and hurt.  The emotional injuries brought upon them by the treatment they received from fellow Americans rivaled the pain some of them felt remembering the horrors of the war.  Perhaps veteran Dennis Howland stated it best that the lesson to be learned from all of this is that “Vietnam veterans are dedicated to ensuring that veterans of today’s wars do not come home receiving the same treatment.  Never again.” 

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  As a History Education Major, I was assigned to research a topic occurring in United States history after 1865.  The topic could not be broad, such as “The 60’s” or “The Great Depression.”  It needed to be a specific element of a period in time.  Because my uncle served as a para-rescuer in the Air Force in Vietnam, I quickly decided to research something about the Vietnam War.  Growing up, I never heard him talk about it, and in all fairness, I never asked about it either.  All I knew was that it was a sensitive subject and I wanted to avoid causing him any pain.  One thing that I did remember hearing about, however, was the way he was treated when he returned home.  This became my topic.

I have been asked to publish my paper for all of you who were kind enough to help me in my research but as I wrote, I found myself frequently frustrated due to the format of the assignment.  The assignment forced me to report on my research in a “scientific” kind of way; in other words, without my personal opinion or feelings brought into it.  But as I read through 25 emails that streamed into my inbox, I couldn’t imagine writing about this without including my thoughts and emotions.  So here comes “assignment” #2: my own assignment, which will allow me to express to you what I could not in my original paper.

Your emails brought tears to my eyes, repeatedly.  Sometimes while typing your quotes into my research paper, I could not see through my tears.  I am a fairly patriotic person, particularly after two recent trips to our nation’s capitol where I was able to visit the war memorials and bring my mom there to visit as well.  Due to those trips, I finally chose a major to pursue.  (It took me awhile-I’m a 36 year old mother of 4 who went back to school after the kids started school as well.)  As I read of the horrible things people would say to you, the people that would spit on you or hit you, I couldn’t believe how often it happened.  I KNEW it happened because I had heard my uncle mention it.  But literally seeing email after email after email stream in with the same stories, I was saddened – both for you and for those who had been blinded or unwilling to see the truth, which was that you were young men sent into an impossible situation to do an impossible thing and left you with an impossible burden to carry.

Here is why I write to you now.  Each and every one of you thanked me for my interest in the matter and I felt overwhelmed with emotion as I read that.  I hope that you can see that while your own generation may not have given you the reception you deserve, your sacrifice is NOT lost on the future generations.  Your story matters and should be told, so that we don’t let it happen again.  Your sacrifice deserves honor and respect and while I cannot go back in time and force the nation to give it to you the way you deserved it, I can give you MY honor and MY respect now.  Be at peace if only for a moment, knowing that there are people now who think of you and who are grateful to you.  And that there are people now who want to tell your story in hopes of sparing our future veterans the pain you endured and endure now.  The debt can never be paid but we can attempt to relieve it by carrying it with you.

With much gratitude for your help in this assignment and for your service,

Lisa Pett

This is my response to Mrs. Lisa Pett after reading both:

OMG Lisa, you did a wonderful job on both reports and in such a short period of time!  I experienced chills while reading your personal thoughts – the words tugging at my heart.  Some divine power had to guide  you to my blog where you asked for help.  The various veteran groups that I belong to are anxious to help whenever asked, so I wasn’t surprised by the feedback you received after posting your request on the various group pages…

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The Vietnam conflict has been called “America’s first rock-and-roll war” because of the predominance of rock music that permeated the American experience there. As draft quotas were raised and deferment and exemption loopholes closed, an overwhelming number of military personnel belonged to one generation: the average age of combat soldiers was 19 and, according to some figures, 90 percent were under 23 years of age.

During the Siege of Khe Sanh, many of the Marines adopted the song, “No Place To Run” by Martha and the Vandellas as it seemingly depicted their plight at the time.

Many of these conscripts did not want to be in Vietnam, and no one wanted to be alienated from his own generation back home. Therefore, many GIs imported their tastes in music into the war zone. Rock music was the most popular genre, and beads and peace symbols were worn with and on many uniforms.

According to an interview in Rolling Stone, most enlisted men preferred hard rock or psychedelic music; 30 percent enjoyed rhythm and blues; 10 percent, country; 5 percent, classical; and 10 percent, folk.  See my list at the end of this article.

 

Some of the constraints on the type of music allowed on the airwaves came from the Republic of Vietnam (RVN) government, which prohibited from being played, among other songs, the Animals’ hit, “We Gotta Get Outa This Place.” Most of the radio programs were prerecorded in Los Angeles and included top 40 hits.

Because radio did not reflect the preferences of most soldiers, the status symbol among GIs was the tape recorder. Cassette tapes, either brought from home or purchased on leave, were the most popular medium for music in Vietnam. The tape players were small, battery operated, highly portable, and therefore easily carried into the field.

The rhythms, raw energy, and screaming guitars of rock music mirrored the confusion of war and firefights, and since music helps define a generation, music helped define the Vietnam War. Snatches from lyrics of popular songs were used in the context of the war. “Rock-and-roll” substituted for “lock and load,” referring to the procedure for readying the M16 for firing or for switching the weapon from semiautomatic to automatic fire.

Fifty years ago, when black musicians had a difficult time breaking into a music business that was divided by race, Motown changed everything. Catchy dance tunes blending R&B, gospel, swing and pop from Berry Gordy’s Detroit-based record company caught on nationwide.  Initially, Mr. Gordy wouldn’t allow any of the groups under contract with Motown Records to record songs with anit-war lyrics – maintaining that policy until almost 1970.

 

African Americans contributed much of this sometimes forgotten anti-war music. Martha Reeves and the Vandellas released “I Should Be Proud” in 1970, the first anti-war song from the Motown label. It was followed a few months later by “War,” recorded first by the Temptations (not released as a single for fear of conservative backlash) and then rerecorded by Edwin Starr. With its simple but memorable refrain—“War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing!”—the song went to number one on the Billboard Pop Singles chart.

More tender and soulful was Marvin Gaye’s plea for peace and love in “What’s Going On,” where “war is not the answer, for only love can conquer hate.”

“In 1969 or 1970,” Gaye said, “I began to re-evaluate my whole concept of what I wanted my music to say. I was very much affected by letters my brother was sending me from Vietnam, as well as the social situation here at home. I realized that I had to put my own fantasies behind me if I wanted to write songs that would reach the souls of people. I wanted them to take a look at what was happening in the world.”

 

As history has proven, music helps to define a generation and the U.S. soldiers imported their musical preference into the war zone. It is interesting to note that there was not significant separation in musical tastes between enlisted men and officers. Many songs of the period were inspired by the Vietnam War with even the most popular musical artists being influenced, for better or for worse, by the plight of the soldiers forced into battle. For instance, “Purple Haze”, by Jimi Hendrix, a former “Screaming Eagles” paratrooper, made reference to a slang term for the M-18 violet smoke grenade, used by United States armed forces. In the song “Magical Mystery Tour” by The Beatles, the lyrics “Coming to take you away, dying to take you away”, had special meaning for Marines during the battle of Khe Sanh (when the Marine base was isolated and there were a series of desperate actions that lasted 77 days).

There are few songs particularly representative of that period and, all of them, are openly against the war. In chronological order of recording:

“Eve of Destruction” (Barry McGuire),

“Give Peace a Chance” (John Lennon),

“Fortunate Son” (Creedence Clearwater Revival),

“Ball of Confusion” (The Temptations),

“Ohio” (Crosby Stills Nash & Young),

“War” (Edwin Starr). I chose these specific songs because they are the most meaningful of the period and, at the same time, were influenced by and have influenced the Vietnam War Era. It’s interesting to note that these songs were written (except the first one “Eve of Destruction” which was released in the 1965) recorded and released between late 1969 and early 1970. In fact, a few of them were during in the same month: at the height of the American presence in Southeast Asia and at the height of the anti-war movement in the U.S.

Popular among the enlisted men were Filipino, Korean, Vietnamese, and other Asian bands that could imitate British and American rock groups and their hits with uncanny accuracy, even though band members could not speak English.

The second video is 1 hour long and titled:  Vietnam War Music 2:  

Click here ->-> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKm4InL34HE

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction – The Rolling Stones
Action – Freddy Cannon
All Day & All Of The Night – The Kinks
All I Really Want To Do – Cher
Baby Don’t Go – Sonny & Cher
Baby I’m Yours – Barbara Lewis
Back in my Arms Again – The Supremes
California Girls – The Beach Boys
Catch Us If You Can – The Dave Clark Five
Come See About Me – The Supremes
Downtown – Petula Clark
Eight Days a Week – The Beatles
Eve Of Destruction – Barry Mcguire
For Your Love – The Yardbirds
Game of Love -Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders
Get Off of My Cloud – The Rolling Stones
Hang On Sloopy – The Mccoys
Hello Vietnam – Johnnie Wright
Help – The Beatles
Help me, Rhonda – The Beach Boys
I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch) – Four Tops
I Feel Fine – The Beatless
I Got You Babe – Sonny & Cher
I Hear a Symphony – The Supremes
I’m Henry VIII, I Am – Herman’s Hermits
I’m Telling You Now – Freddie and the Dreamers
It Ain’t Me Babe – The Turtles
Laugh At Me – Sonny
Like a Rolling Stone – Bob Dylan
Mr. Tambourine Man – The Byrds
Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter – Herman’s Hermits
My Girl – The Temptations
Nowhere To Run – Martha & Vandellas
Over and Over – The Dave Clark Five
Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag – James Brown
Satisfaction – The Rolling Stones
Seventh Son – Johnny Rivers
Shotgun – Jr. Walker & All Stars
Some Enchanted Evening – Jay & the Americans
Stop in the Name of Love – The Supremes
The Game Of Love – Wayne Fontana & Mindbenders
The In Crowd – The Ramsey Lewis Trio
The Last Time – The Rolling Stones
The Name Game – Shirley Ellis
This Diamond Ring – Gary Lewis & the Playboys
Ticket to Ride – The Beatles
Tracks of My Tears – The Miracles
Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is a Season) – The Byrds
Unchained Melody – The Righteous Brothers
We Gotta Get Out Of This Place – The Animals
Wonderful World – Herman’s Hermits
Wooly Bully – Sam The Sham & Pharaoh
Yesterday – The Beatles
You Were On My Mind – We Five
You’ve Got Your Troubles – The Fortunes
You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling – The Righteous Brothers

1966

(You’re My) Soul and Inspiration – The Righteous Brothers
19th Nervous Breakdown – The Rolling Stones
634-5789 (Soulsville, U.S.A.) – Wilson Pickett
96 Tears – ? & the Mysterians
Ain’t too Proud to Beg – The Temptations
B-A-B-Y, Baby – Carla Thomas
Ballad of the Green Berets – SSgt Barry Sadler
Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) – Cher
Barbara Ann – The Beach Boys
Barefootin’ – Robert Parker
Beauty Is Only Skin Deep – The Temptations
Black Is Black – Los Bravos
Born A Woman – Sandy Posey
Born Free – Roger Williams
Bus Stop – The Hollies
California Dreamin’ – The Mamas & Papas
Cherish – The Association
Cherry Cherry – Neil Diamond
Cool Jerk – The Capitols
Dandy – Herman’s Hermits
Daydream – The Lovin’ Spoonful
Devil With A Blue Dress On – Mitch Ryder & Detroit Wheels
Elusive Butterfly – Bob Lind
Gloria – The Shadows of Knight
Good Lovin’ – The Young Rascals
Good Vibrations – The Beach Boys
Guantanamero – The Sandpipers
Hanky Panky – Tommy James and the Shondells
Hooray For Hazel – Tommy Roe
Hungry – Paul Revere and the Raiders
I Am A Rock – Simon and Garfunkel
I Fought The Law – The Bobby Fuller Four
If I Were A Carpenter – Bobby Darin
I’m a Believer – The Monkees
I’m Your Puppet – Bobby and James Purify
Just Like Me – Paul Revere and the Raiders
Lady Godiva – Peter and Gordon
Lighnin’ Strikes – Lou Christie
Lil’ Red Riding Hood – Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs
Love Is A Hurtin’ Thing – Lou Rawls
Monday Monday – The Mamas and the Papas
My Love – Petula Clark
No Matter What Shape (Your Stomach’s In) – The T-Bones
Nowhere Man – The Beatles
Oh How Happy – Shades of Blue
Paint It Black – The Rolling Stones
Paperback Writer – The Beatles
Poor Side of Town – Johnny Rivers
Psychotic Reaction – The Count Five
Rainy Day Women – Bob Dylan
Reach Out I’ll Be There – The Four Tops
Secret Agent Man – Johnny Rivers
See You In September – The Happenings
She’s Just My Style – Gary Lewis and the Playboys
Sloop John B – The Beach Boys
Somewhere, My Love – The Ray Conniff Singers
Sounds Of Silence – Simon & Garfunkel
Stangers In the Night – Frank Sinatra
Stranger in the Night – Frank Sinatra
Summer In The City – The Lovin’ Spoonful
Sunny – Bobby Hebb
Sunshine Superman – Donovan

1967

A Whiter Shade Of Pale – Procol Harum
(We Ain’t Got) Nothin’ Yet – Blue Magoos
(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher And Higher – Jackie Wilson
A Whiter Shade Of Pale – Procol Harum
Ain’t No Mountain High Enough – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
All Along the Watchtower – Jimi Hendrix (Bob Dylan)
All You Need Is Love – Beatles
Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie – Jay and The Techniques
Baby, I Love You – Aretha Franklin
Baby, I Need Your Lovin’ – Johnny Rivers
Bernadette – Four Tops
Brown Eyed Girl – Van Morrison
California Nights – Lesley Gore
Can’t Take My Eyes Off You – Frankie Valli
Close Your Eyes – Peaches and Herb
Cold Sweat – James Brown and The Famous Flames
Daydream Believer – The Monkees
Don’t Sleep In the Subway – Petula Clark
Don’t You Care – Buckinghams
Everlasting Love – Robert Knight
Expressway To Your Heart – Soul Survivors
For What It’s Worth – Buffalo Springfield
Friday On My Mind – The Easybeats
Funky Broadway – Wilson Pickett
Georgy Girl – Seekers
Get On Up – Esquires
Gimme Little Sign – Brenton Wood
Gimme Some Lovin’ – The Spencer Davis Group
Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon – Neil Diamond
Green, Green Grass of Home – Tom Jones
Groovin – The Young Rascals
Groovin’ – Booker T and The MG’s
Happy Together – The Turtles
Here Comes My Baby – Tremeloes
Here We Go Again – Ray Charles
How Can I Be Sure – Young Rascals
I Can See For Miles – The Who
I Dig Rock and Roll Music – Peter, Paul and Mary
I Had Too Much to Dream (Last Night) – Electric Prunes
I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You) – Aretha Franklin
I Take It Back – Sandy Posey
I Think We’re Alone Now – Tommy James and The Shondells
I Was Made to Love Her – Stevie Wonder
I’m A Believer – The Monkees
I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die – Country Joe and the Fish
Incense and Peppermint – Strawberry Alarm Clock
It Must Be Him – Vicki Carr
Jimmy Mack – Martha and The Vandella
Kind of a Drag – Buckinghams
Let It Out (Let It All Hang Out) – Hombres
Let’s Live For Today – The Grass Roots
Light My Fire – The Doors
Litle Ole Man (Uptight-Everything’s Alright) – Bill Cosby
Little Bit O’ Soul – Music Explosion
Love Is Her and Now You’re Gone – The Supremes
Magical Mystery Tour – The Beatles
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy – Buckinghams
Mirage – Tommy James and The Shondells
My Cup Runneth Over – Ed Ames
Never My Love – Association
No Place To Run – Martha and the Vandellas
Ode To Billie Joe – Bobbie Gentry
On a Carousel – Hollies
Penny Lane – The Beatles
Pleasant Valley Sunday – The Monkees
Please Love Me Forever – Bobby Vinton
Purple Haze – Jimi Hendrix
Reflections – Diana Ross and The Supremes
Release Me (And Let Me Love Again) – Engelbert Humperdinck
Respect – Aretha Franklin
Ruby Tuesday – The Rolling Stones
San Francisco – Scott Mckenzie
She’d Rather Be With Me – The Turtles
Snoopy Vs. The Red Baron – Royal Guardsmen
Society’s Child – Janis Ian
Somebody to Love – Jefferson Airplane
Somethin’ Stupid – Nancy Sinatra and Frank Sinatra
Soul Finger – Bar-Kays
Soul Man – Sam and Dave
Sweet Soul Music – Arthur Conley
Tell it Like it Is – Aaron Neville
Thank the Lord for the Night Time – Neil Diamond
The Beat Goes On – Sonny & Cher
The End – The Doors
The Happening – Supremes
The Letter – The Box Tops
The Rain, the Park and Other Things – Cowsills
Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye – Casinos
To Sir With Love – Lulu
Waist Deep in the Big Muddy – Pete Seeger
White Rabbit – Jefferson Airplane
Windy – The Association
Your Precious Love – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell

1968

(Sittin On) The Dock of the Bay – Otis Redding
1,2,3 Red Light – 1910 Fruitgum Company
A Beautiful Morning – Rascals
Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
Baby Now That I’ve Found You – Foundations
Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde – Georgie Fame
Bend Me Shape Me – American Breed
Born To Be Wild – Steppenwolf
Bottle Of Wine – Fireballs
Cab Driver – The Mills Brothers
Classical Gas – Mason Williams
Dance To The Music – Sly & Family Stone
Delilah – Tom Jones
Do You Know the Way to San Jose – Dionne Warwick
Draft Morning – The Byrds
Elenore – Turtles
Fire – Crazy World Of Arthur Brown
Girl Watcher – O’Kaysions
Going Out of My Head – The Lettermen
Grazing in the Grass – Hugh Masekela
Green Tambourine – The Lemon Pipers
Happiness Is a Warm Gun – The Beatles
Harper Valley P.T.A. – Jeannie C. Riley
Hello, I Love You – The Doors
Here Comes The Judge – Shorty Long
Hey Jude – The Beatles
Hey, Western Union Man – Jerry Butler
Hold Me Tight – Johnny Nash
Honey – Bobby Goldsboro
I Got The Feelin’ – James Brown and The Famous Flames
I Heard it Through the Grapevine – Marvin Gaye
I Love You – People
I Say a Little Prayer – Aretha Franklin
I Thank You – Sam and Dave
I Wonder What She’s Doing Tonight – Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart
If You Can Want – Smokey Robinson and The Miracles
Indian Lake – The Cowsills
I’ve Gotta Get A Message To You – Bee Gees
Journey to the Center of the Mind – Amboy Dukes
Judy in Disguise (With Glasses) – John Fred and His Playboy Band
Jumpin’ Jack Flash – The Rolling Stones
La La Means I Love You – Delfonics
Lady Madonna – The Beatles
Light My Fire – Jose Feliciano
Love Child – Diana Ross and The Supremes
Love Is All Around – Troggs
Love is Blue – Paul Mauriat
MacArthur Park – Richard Harris
Magic Carpet Ride – Steppenwolf
Midnight Confessions – The Grass Roots
Mony, Mony – Tommy James and The Shondells
Mrs. Robinson – Simon and Garfunkel
Never Gonna Give You Up – Jerry Butler
Nobody But Me – Human Beinz
On the Road Again – Canned Heat
Over You – Gary Puckett and The Union Gap
People Got to Be Free – Rascals
Pictures of Matchstick Men – Status Quo
Piece Of My Heart – Janis Joplin
Piece Of My Heart – Big Brother and The Holding Company
Playboy – Gene and Debbe
Reach Out Of The Darkness – Friend and Lover
Revolution – The Beatles
Say It Loud (I’m Black and I’m Proud) – James Brown
Scarborough Fair – Simon and Garfunkel
Sealed With a Kiss – Gary Lewis and The Playboys
Shoo-Bee-Doo-Be-Doo-Da-Day – Stevie Wonder
Simon Says – 1910 Fruitgum Company
Since You’ve Been Gone – Aretha Franklin
Sky Pilot – Eric Burdon and The Animals
Slip Away – Clarence Carter
Soul Serenade – Willie Mitchell
Stay In My Corner – Dells
Street Fighting Man – The Rolling Stones
Summertime Blues – Blue Cheer
Sunshine Of Your Love – Cream
Suzie Q – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Sweet Inspiration – Sweet Inspirations
Take Time to Know Her – Percy Sledge
The Fool On the Hill – Sergio Mendes and Brasil ’66
The Good, The Bad and the Ugly – Hugo Montenegro
The Horse – Cliff Nobles and Co.
The Mighty Quinn – Manfred Mann
The Unicorn – The Irish Rovers
The Unknown Soldier – The Doors
The War Is Over – Phil Ochs
Theme from “Valley of the Dolls” – Dionne Warwick
Think – Aretha Franklin
This Guy’s in Love with You – Herb Alpert
Tighten Up – Archie Bell & the Drells
Time Has Come Today – The Chambers Brothers
White Room – Cream
Woman, Woman – Gary Puckett and The Union Gap
You Keep Me Hangin’ On – Vanilla Fudge
Young Girl – Gary Puckett and The Union Gap
You’re All I Need To Get By – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
Yummy, Yummy, Yummy – Ohio Express

1969

A Boy Named Sue – Johnny Cash
Aquarius/Let The Sunshinshine In – The Fifth Dimension
Atlantis – Donovan
Baby I Love You – Andy Kim
Baby It’s You – Smith
Baby, Baby Don’t Cry – Smokey Robinson and The Miracles
Bad Moon Rising – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Ball of Confusion – The Temptation
Black Pearl – Sonny Charles and The Checkmates – Ltd.
Build Me Up Buttercup – Foundations
Can I Change My Mind – Tyrone Davis
Color Him Father – The Winstons
Come Together” / “Something – The Beatles
Crimson & Clover – Tommy James & Shondels
Crystal Blue Persuasion – Tommy James and The Shondells
Dizzy – Tommy Roe
Do Your Thing – The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band
Easy to Be Hard – Three Dog Night
Everybody’s Talkin’ – Nilsson
Everyday People – Sly and The Family Stone
Fortunate Son – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Galveston – Glen Campbell
Games People Play – Joe South
Get Back – The Beatles
Get Together – The Youngbloods
Gimme Shelter – The Rolling Stone
Gitarzan – Ray Stevens
Give Peace a Chance – John Lennon
Going In Circles – Friends Of Distinction
Good Morning Starshine – Oliver
Grazing In the Grass – Friends Of Distinction
Green River – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Hair – The Cowsills
Hawaii Five-O – Ventures
Honky Tonk Woman – The Rolling Stones
Hot Fun In the Summertime – Sly and The Family Stone
Hurt so Bad – Lettermen
I Can’t Get Next to You – Temptations
I’d Wait a Million Years – The Grass Roots
I’m Gonna Make You Mine – Lou Christie
In the Ghetto – Elvis Presley
In the Year 2525 – Zager and Evans
Indian Giver – 1910 Fruitgum Company
It Looks Like I’ll Never Fall In Love Again – Tom Jones
It’s Getting Better – Mama Cass Elliot
It’s Your Thing – Isley Brothers
I’ve Gotta Be Me – Sammy Davis Jr.
Jean – Oliver
Lay Lady Lay – Bob Dylan
Leaving on a Jet Plane – Peter, Paul & Mary
Little Woman – Bobby Sherman
Love Can Make You Happy – Mercy
Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet – Henry Mancini
More Today Than Yesterday – Spiral Starecase
Mother Popcorn Pt. 1 – James Brown
My Cherie Amour – Stevie Wonder
Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye – Steam
One – Three Dog Night
Only the Strong Survive – Jerry Butler
Polk Salad Annie – Tony Joe White
Proud Mary – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Put a Little Love In Your Heart – Jackie DeShannon
Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man – The Bob Seger System
Reflections of My Life – The Marmalade
Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town – Kenny Rogers and The First Edition
Run Away Child Running Wild – Temptations
Smile a Little Smile for Me – Flying Machine
Someday We’ll Be Together – Diana Ross & the Supremes
Spinning Wheel – Blood, Sweat and Tears
Sugar, Sugar – The Archies
Suspicious Minds – Elvis Presley
Sweet Caroline – Neil Diamond
That’s the Way Love Is – Marvin Gaye
The Chokin’ Kind – Joe Simon
The Worst That Could Happen – Brooklyn Bridge
These Eyes – The Guess Who
Things I’d Like To Say – New Colony Six
This Girl’s In Love With You – Dionne Warwick
This Magic Moment – Jay and The Americans
Time Is Tight – Booker T and The MG’s
Time of the Season – Zombies
Too Busy Thinking About My Baby – Marvin Gaye
Touch Me – The Doors
Traces – Dennis Yost and The Classics IV
Twenty Five Miles – Edwin Starr
Wedding Bell Blues – The 5th Dimension
What Does It Take To Win Your Love – Jr. Walker and The All Stars
When I Die – Motherlode
You’ve Made Me So Very Happy – Blood, Sweat and Tears

1970

(They Long to Be) Close to You – Carpenters
25 or 6 to 4 – Chicago
ABC – The Jackson 5
Ain’t No Mountain High Enough – Diana Ross
All Right Now – Free
American Woman – The Guess Who
Are You Ready – Pacific Gas and Electric
Arizona – Mark Lindsay
Ball of Confusion (That’s What the World Is Today) – Temptations
Band of Gold – Freda Payne
Bridge Over Troubled Water – Simon & Garfunkel
Call Me – Aretha Franklin
Candida – Dawn
Cecelia – Simon and Garfunkel
Child in Time – Deep Purple
Come and Get It – Badfinger
Come Saturday Morning – Sandpipers
Cracklin’ Rosie – Neil Diamond
Didn’t I Blow Your Mind This Time – Delfonics
Easy Come Easy Go – Bobby Sherman
Everything is Beautiful – Ray Stevens
Evil Ways – Santana
Express Yourself – Charles Wright and The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band
Fire and Rain – James Taylor
For the Love of Him – Bobbi Martin
Get Ready – Rare Earth
Gimme Dat Ding – Pipkins
Give Me Just a Little More Time – Chairmen Of The Board
Green-Eyed Lady – Sugarloaf
Groovy Situation – Gene Chandler
He Ain’t Heavy He’s My Brother – Hollies
Hey There Lonely Girl – Eddie Holman
Hitchin’ a Ride – Vanity Fair
House Of The Rising Sun – Frijid Pink
I Just Can’t Help Believing – B.J. Thomas
I Know I’m Losing You – Rare Earth
I Should Be Proud – Martha & The Vandellas
I Think I Love You – The Partridge Family
I Want to Take You Higher – Ike and Tina Turner
I Want You Back – The Jackson 5
I’m Your Captain (Closer to Home) – Grand Funk Railroad
If You Let Me Make Love To You – Ronnie Dyson
I’ll Be There – The Jackson 5
I’ll Never Fall In Love Again – Dionne Warwick
In the Summertime – Mungo Jerry
Indiana Wants Me – R. Dean Taylor
Instant Karma – John Lennon
It’s a Shame – Spinners
It’s Only Make Believe – Glen Campbell
Julie, Do Ya Love Me – Bobby Sherman
Lay A Little Lovin’ On Me – Robin Mcnamara
Lay Down (Candles In The Rain) – Melanie and The Edwin Hawkins Singers
Let It Be – The Beatles
Lola – Kinks
Long As I Can See the Light/Looking Out My Back Door – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Look What They’ve Done to My Song – New Seekers
Lookin’ Out My Back Door – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes – Edison Lighthouse
Love Land – Charles Wright and The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band
Love On a Two Way Street – Moments
Love Or Let Me Be Lonely – Friends Of Distinction
Ma Belle Amie – Tee Set
Machine Gun – Jimi Hendrix
Make It With You – Bread
Make Me Smile – Chicago
Mama Told Me (Not to Come) – Three Dog Night
Mississippi Queen – Mountain
My Baby Loves Lovin’ – White Plains
My Sweet Lord” / “Isn’t It a Pity – George Harrison
No Time – The Guess Who
Ohio – Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
O-O-H Child – Five Stairsteps
Patches – Clarence Carter
Psychedelic Shack – Temptations
Question – The Moody Blues
Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head – B.J. Thomas
Rainy Night In Georgia – Brook Benton
Reflections of My Life – Marmalade
Ride Captain Ride – Blues Image
Run Through The Jungle – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Signed Sealed Delivered I’m Yours – Stevie Wonder
Snowbird – Anne Murray
Somebody’s Been Sleeping – 100 Proof and Aged In Soul
Something’s Burning – Kenny Rogers and The First Edition
Spill the Wine – Eric Burdon and War
Spirit in the Sky – Norman Greenbaum
Still Water – Four Tops
Thank You – Everybody Is A Star – Sly & Family Stone
The Bells – Originals
The Guess Who
The Letter – Joe Cocker
The Long And Winding Road/For You Blue – The Beatles
The Love You Save – The Jackson 5
The Rapper – Jaggerz
The Tears of a Clown – Smokey Robinson & the Miracles
The Thrill Is Gone – B.B. King
The Wonder of You/Mama Liked the Roses – Elvis Presley
They Long to Be Close to You – Carpenters
Tighter Tighter – Alive N Kicking
Travelin’ Band/Who’ll Stop the Rain – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Turn Back the Hands of Time – Tyrone Davis
United We Stand – Brotherhood Of Man
Up Around the Bend/Run Through the Jungle – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Up the Ladder to the Roof – Supremes
Vehicle – Ides Of March
Venus – Shocking Blue
Walk A Mile In My Shoes – Joe South
War – Edwin Starr
We’ve Only Just Begun – Carpenters
Which Way You Goin’ Billy – Poppy Family
Who’ll Stop The Rain – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Without Love – Tom Jones
Woodstock – Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
Yellow River – Christie

1971

Brand New Key – Melanie
Aint No Sunshine – Bill Withers
Amazing Grace – Judy Collins
Amos Moses – Jerry Reed
Another Day/Oh Woman Oh Why – Paul McCartney
Beginnings/Color My World – Chicago
Bridge Over Troubled Water – Aretha Franklin
Bring The Boys Home – Freda Payne
Brown Sugar – The Rolling Stones
Cat Stevens – Peace Train
Chick-A-Boom – Daddy Dewdrop
Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep – Mac and Katie Kissoon
Do You Know What I Mean – Lee Michaels
Doesn’t Somebody Want to Be Wanted – Partridge Family
Don’t Knock My Love Pt. 1 – Wilson Pickett
Don’t Pull Your Love – Hamilton Joe Frank and Reynolds
Draggin’ the Line – Tommy James
Easy Loving – Freddy Hart
Family Affair – Sly and the Family Stone
For All We Know – Carpenters
Funky Nassau – Beginning Of The End
Go Away Little Girl – Donny Osmond
Groove Me – King Floyd
Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves – Cher
Have You Ever Seen the Rain? – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Help Me Make It Through the Night – Sammi Smith
Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again – Fortunes
Here Comes the Sun – Richie Havens
How Can You Mend a Broken Heart – Bee Gees
I Am I Said – Neil Diamond
I Don’t Know How to Love Him – Helen Reddy
I Found Someone Of My Own – Free Movement
I Hear You Knocking – Dave Edmunds
I Just Want to Celebrate – Rare Earth
I Love You for All Seasons – Fuzz
I Woke Up In Love This Morning – Partridge Family
If I Were Your Woman – Gladys Knight and The Pips
If Not For You – Olivia Newton-John
If You Could Read My Mind – Gordon Lightfoot
If You Really Love Me – Stevie Wonder
If – Bread
Imagine – John Lennon
Indian Reservation – Raiders
It Don’t Come Easy – Ringo Starr
It’s Impossible – Perry Como
It’s Too Late / I Feel the Earth Move – Carole King
Joy to the World – Three Dog Night
Just My Imagination Running Away With Me – Temptations
Knock Three Times – Dawn
Liar – Three Dog Night
Lonely Days – Bee Gees
Love Her Madly – The Doors
Love Story – Andy Williams
Maggie May/ Reason to Believe – Rod Stewart
Mama’s Pearl – Jackson 5
Man in Black – Johnny Cash
Me & Bobby Mcgee – Janis Joplin
Me and You and a Dog Named Boo – Lobo
Mercy Mercy Me – Marvin Gaye
Mr. Big Stuff – Jean Knight
Mr. Bojangles – Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
My Sweet Lord/Isn’t it a Pity – George Harrison
Never Can Say Goodbye – Jackson 5
Never Ending Song of Love – Delaney and Bonnie and Friends
One Bad Apple – Osmonds
One Less Bell to Answer – Fifth Dimension
One Toke Over The Line – Brewer and Shipley
Proud Mary – Ike and Tina Turner
Put Your in the Hand – Ocean
Rainy Days and Mondays – Carpenters
Riders On the Storm – The Doors
Right On the Tip of My Tongue – Brenda and The Tabulations
Rose Garden – Lynn Anderson
Sam Stone – John Prine
She’s a Lady – Tom Jones
She’s Not Just Another Woman – 8th Day
Signs – The Five Man Electrical Band
Singin’ The Vietnam Talkin’ Blues – Johnny Cash
Smiling Faces Sometimes – Undisputed Truth
Spanish Harlem – Aretha Franklin
Stay Awhile – Bells
Stick-up – Honey Cone
Superstar – Carpenters
Sweet and Innocent – Donny Osmond
Sweet City Woman – Stampeders
Sweet Mary – Wadsworth Mansion
Take Me Home Country Roads – John Denver
Temptation Eyes – The Grass Roots
That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be – Carly Simon
The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down – Joan Baez
Theme from Shaft – Isaac Hayes
Timothy – Buoys
Tired of Being Alone – Al Green
Trapped By a Thing Called Love – Denise Lasalle
Treat Her Like a Lady – Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose
Uncle Albert Admiral Halsey – Paul McCartney
Want Ads – The Honey Cone
War Pigs – Black Sabbath
Watching Scotty Grow – Bobby Goldsboro
Wedding Song – Paul Stookey
What’s Going On? – Marvin Gaye
Whatcha See Is Whatcha Get – Dramatics
When You’re Hot You’re Hot – Jerry Reed
Wild World – Cat Stevens
Won’t Get Fooled Again – The Who
Woodstock – Matthews’ Southern Comfort
Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore – John Prine
You’ve Got a Friend – James Taylor
Yo-Yo – Osmonds

If you would like to read more about the music during the Vietnam War, my brother in arms and Vietnam Veteran, Bob Staranowich, wrote a few articles in 2012 about the music of the times. In addition to Vietnam, the first article also includes favorites from World War II and Korea.

http://m.burlingtoncountytimes.com/blogs/veteran-voices/music-during-the-wars/article_4a908e7a-2043-52e7-8b38-905c09bd475c.html?mode=jqm

Bob met with Adrian Cronauer and wrote about it here –

http://m.theintell.com/blogs/veteran-voices/good-morning-vietnam-inspiration/article_ac869772-da82-5851-9381-0a03b28ef236.html?mode=jqm

Bob’s last article is about Barry Sandler’s album: “Songs of Our Fighting Men – The Green Berets”-

http://m.theintell.com/blogs/veteran-voices/more-music-of-the-vietnam-war-era/article_958d89df-ddfc-5a7e-85a8-09b99c903095.html?mode=jqm

If you still haven’t had enough, you may also be interested in visiting another page of mine showing 40+ Vietnam War Videos with background music of the time.  Click here to be redirected:

https://cherrieswriter.wordpress.com/my-favorite-vietnam-war-videos-28/

Which songs were your favorites during this time?

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So much has transpired during the 60’s and 70’s, a new generation was born and being a Vietnam Veteran was extremely unpopular during that time.  Thousands of stories have been told of their treatment upon returning home from this unpopular war; protesters heckled and disrespected them, friends stopped being friends, complete strangers felt violated in their presence and employers made it difficult to find jobs and would not hire them.  Many veterans hid in the shadows, keeping their Vietnam experiences to themselves – secrets, if exposed, would negatively impact them one way or the other. Not every vet was treated the same, many enjoyed positive experiences since returning home – picking up right where they left off and building a wonderful life for themselves and their families.

Something in the air changed once the 80’s rolled around.  Vietnam Veterans of America was formed in 1978 and chapters began springing up all around the country.  I joined Chapter 154 in Mt. Clemens, MI in 1984, and felt a great relief, almost like being reborn after the first monthly meeting.  I was surrounded by veterans of every branch of the service, all close in age and strangers, yet I felt a special closeness to these men.  We were coming out of the closet and it was time to roar!  As the membership grew, we formed a color guard (I was a charter member), and marched in many of the local parades, winning 1st place trophies in most every event.  Spectators treated us with respect, standing when we passed and giving us a wonderful ovation.

In November of the same year, the Wall in D.C. was unveiled and dedicated.  This was a powerful monument!  One that I felt started to bring the country back together again!  Chapter 154’s Color Guard and other chapter members rented buses and traveled to D.C. for a two-day adventure.  We presented wreaths at both the Wall and at the Monument for the Unknown Soldier.  Visitors supported us during these two ceremonies and once again, there was an outpouring of love and respect.

June 12, 1986, our chapter members and Color Guard traveled to Chicago to participate in the scheduled “WELCOME HOME VIETNAM VETERANS” parade the following day.

Friday promised to be a day of discovery and awesomeness – the excitement began bright and early.  The Color Guard had exited our hotel and stood on the corner brainstorming about how we were going to get to Navy Pier, a few miles away.  Walking there was not out of the question, but there wasn’t enough time before the parade started.  Picture this, fourteen of us standing there in full camouflage fatigues, berets, buckled cartridge belts, division patches, flags and M-1 Carbines with loaded magazines.  Of course, those “civilians” in the immediate area began moving away, giving us room, when suddenly, several Chicago Police cars came out of nowhere converging on our corner.  Dumbfounded, we stood perfectly still and didn’t have a clue as to what was wrong. After several moments of discussion and once the officers verified that all the rifles were “fixed” and could only fire blanks, they arranged to send a paddy wagon to transport us to Navy Pier.  I’m certain it was an act of kindness, but most likely was arranged to not upset more of the city’s citizens – some were probably unaware of the parade!

The Navy Pier was jam packed by the time we arrived, more groups continued arriving by the busload.  Because of the congestion, the parade started 1/2 hour earlier – General Westmoreland and two legless veterans leading waves upon waves of veterans through the loop.  The veteran on the General’s right was pushed along the route in his wheelchair (forgot his name).  The other, Bob Weland, a forty year old former medic, lost his legs to a booby-trapped mortar round two months after arriving in 1969.  Ironically, he was ready to sign a contract to play major league baseball with the Philadelphia Phillies when his draft notice arrived.  Nevertheless, Bob was determined to march the entire parade route and do so his own way.  That meant pulling himself along with his hands, dragging himself upright, the bottom of his torso fitted with a specially fitted pad.  Westmoreland later complained that at times, he had to hustle to catch up with the former medic after falling behind.  Bob later went on to walk across the United States the same manner to raise funds for charitable organizations.

Veterans carried banners of all kinds, most were organizational, either of military units or individual chapters of national organization like ours:  “VVA Chapter 154″, carried by family and chapter members who followed behind the Color Guard.  One that caught my eye in passing read, “There are no Strangers here, only friends we haven’t Met.”   Crowds were sparse initially and began to thicken the closer we came to LaSalle Street, so did all the emotions!  

As this was Friday, the buildings were filled with employees hard at work.  When the lead sections of the parade finally arrived, employees hung out of building windows or joined other spectators on the sidewalks, standing 8-10 deep in certain areas.  They were cheering, yelling “Thank You” to the veterans, shaking hands, and offering standing ovations when each group passed in review.

A young professional woman in the crowd was waving a newly purchased American flag and commented, “I couldn’t help it!  I cried when I saw these guys and realized how many of them there were who went to Vietnam.  They look like all my brothers and every boy I ever grew up with.  I’ve kissed a few, I cheered every group that passed.  My hands are sore from clapping, and I think I may just take the rest of the day off.  This has been a very emotional day.” 

One vet marching in the parade was overhead telling his friend, “Look at these guys!  Look at the love for each other.  Have you ever seen anything like this?  See…We’re not so bad after all!”

When we took the turn onto LaSalle street, the sight greeting us was unbelievable!  It was a bright sunny day, yet the street was enveloped in shadow as if we were entering a tunnel.  High buildings lined both sides of the street, keeping the street shaded and cooler.

Confetti and shredded paper spewed from every opening and rooftop, floating down onto the troops like a snowstorm in the middle of summer.  Clumps of the stuff still hung from windowsills and looked like lava flowing from a volcano.  The roadway was covered in ankle deep paper snow, which offered the marchers an opportunity to clown around.  Wearing shit eating grins on their faces, many of the participants gathered “snow” , tossing it and one another and recycling clumps into the air.  This was a first for me…an honest to God ticker tape parade!

Organizers expected 50,000 veterans and hoped it would begin a healing process for those participating.  Surprisingly it was the largest parade in Chicago history as 200,000 Vietnam

and their families marched 2.5 miles from Navy Pier to Grant Park and half a million spectators lined the parade route welcoming them home.  It’s 11 years after the fall of South Vietnam and 26 yrs. since the first Vietnam Veteran returned home from the war.  Such a long time passing!

A parade is nothing more than a symbol, but symbols change a lot of minds.  Most vets couldn’t remember marching down LaSalle Street.  They only remember this dreamlike thing, the clouds of white coming down on them, their hearts jumping out of their mouths, many crying.  It’s what should have happened when they came home.  It’s what a grateful country does!

The Welcome Home Vietnam Veterans Parade was dubbed, “Woodstock for Vietnam Veterans,” the ultimate event to symbolically begin to close the real and imagined rifts between veterans and the rest of their countrymen.  One group stated, “the parade was the biggest group therapy session ever.”

The party at Grant Park is another story for another time.  Let’s just say that it was a night of bonding…like a family reunion.  Live entertainment performed at the band shell, groups sat around reminiscing, long lost friends found one-another and I never had to pay for beer once that night.  The good folks of Chicago took care of us well into the wee hours of the night.

After the parade, out of town veterans called Chicago newspapers to say thanks to the city.  One vet was so overwhelmed, he paid $400 of his own money to run a thank you ad in the Chicago Tribune.  Hundreds more signed a large, “Thank You Chicago” banner at Grant Park, which was later presented to the city.  Bags filled with letters of appreciation and thanks arrived daily for the next couple of weeks.

Those two years had a profound impact on my life and brought me out of the closet.  I was proud to be a Vietnam Veteran and wasn’t afraid to let people know.  I purchased a ball cap in 1985 with a Vietnam Veteran patch on the front and began wearing it wherever I went.  I’ve gone through dozens since, but continue wearing them till this very day in 2015.

For those Vietnam Vets willing to accept it…WELCOME HOME!

To all vets…THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE!

To everyone…God Bless!

NOTE:  The Chicago Tribune was used to gather information for this article.

Thank you for taking the time to view this article!  Don’t miss out on the many other articles, pictures and videos available to you on this website (see below).

If you enjoyed this article and want to learn more about the Vietnam War – subscribe to this blog and get each new post delivered to your email or feed reader.   A directory, to the right of each article, lists all my published posts in chronological order – links are live – just click and read.  If you’d rather sample every post by scrolling through the many pages, then click on the Cherries title at the top of this page to land on the blog’s main page…most recent posts are first – a navigation bar at the bottom of every page aids readers in moving between pages.

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By Sp4 Chuck Colgan / John Podlaski

A husky, blonde haired soldier rises from his air mattress, quickly shedding his nightly cocoon, a damp, green camouflaged poncho liner, from around his body.  He scratched vigorously at a multitude of mosquito bites and then brushed off several biting red ants that had found their way inside.  He looks over the rest of his body, pats down his pockets and scrutinizes his boots for additional creatures that might be hiding there.  Comfortable with the results of his inspection, the soldier sits on a nearby log, powders his feet and inserts them into his damp boots, making sure to tuck his fatigue pants into the tops before tying the laces – a preventive measure to keep leeches and ticks from crawling up the legs.  Satisfied with the task, he mutters to himself, “One hundred sixty-eight days to go – more than half-way there.”

The sun works its way through the damp and chilly early morning mist which clings tightly to everything in the jungle. Assorted birds and insects thrive in this environment, and as if on cue, begin chattering, clicking and singing – ready to get on with their day.

“Damn varmints” he grumbles, draping his wet blanket over a couple tree branches to dry then started on a regiment of short stretching exercises.

“What are you griping about now, Tennessee?” Asks another soldier, who sits on the top of his steel pot at the next position.  A scent of hot cocoa permeates from his canteen cup as it simmers on the top of a converted C-Ration can / stove; a heat tab burning inside the small stove glows steel blue in color, as the fire grows, fingers of yellow and red flame dart upward, lapping against the bottom of the metal cup – some are attracted to the large triangle shaped air holes punched into the sides of the can and flicker through – like the tongue of a snake, in an attempt to escape from their raging prison.  Staring at the flames of the burning stove can sometimes mesmerize a person enough to put them in a hypnotic trance. Ever happen to you? 

“Them critters kept me awake for hours last night,” the blond soldier complained, “between them mosquitos buzzing in my ears and feeling things crawling over me, there was no way my brain was going to let me get some sleep.”  Tennessee whined, squeezed a small amount of toothpaste onto his index finger and used it like a toothbrush on his teeth, gums and tongue, spitting out the white foam residue onto the ground next to his lean to.

 “Boy, I thought you southern boys were used to shit like this,” his neighbor crowed.

“It ain’t nuthin like this back home in Tennessee – only a dead person can put up with this kind of shit every night!”  The blond soldier stated  then rifled through his rucksack, pulling out a can of peaches that he’d been saving for a bit.  He took the treasure and sat back down on the fuzzy green covered log, rocking a small opener around the top of the can.  Before the top was fully disengaged, he stopped, folded the lid back and sipped at the sweet nectar inside.

The man next to him raised his canteen cup, blew into it a few times and took a nervous first sip.  The metal was still hot and he’d tried hard to avoid burning his lips on the rim.  “Want some cocoa?” He offered.

“Nah, man, but thanks for asking,” Tennessee closed his eyes, chewed slowly on a single wedge of fruit, savoring every second of this special treat.

The platoon leader was making his way around the perimeter and briefing each team leader about the mission for the day. He saw Tennessee glowing and grinned as he walked toward him.

“Morning, Tennessee!” His voice was overly cheerful.  Tennessee quickly scrutinized his face, looking for any telltale signs that he might be the bearer of bad news.

“Morning, L-T!” He answered respectfully.

“Looks like you’ve died and went to heaven the way you’re carrying on with those peaches,” the L-T chuckled.

 “These are the best, sir.  Most guys here would trade their sisters for a can of peaches,” he raised the can toward the lieutenant in a toast and took another sip, smacking his lips loudly and smiling broadly at the officer.

The lieutenant nods and pulled a neatly folded map from his pants side pocket and takes a seat beside the young smiling soldier on the moss covered log. “You’re pulling point today, right?” 

“Roger that sir!”

“Good!  Here’s the plan for today.  Alpha Company captured a Chieu Hoi a couple days ago who alleged that the VC have a large rice storage point and some bunkers here,” the lieutenant pointed to a position on the map, “and higher-higher wants us to check it out.  Other than giving us the location, he also mentioned there are only two guards covering the stash and they share a single AK between them. “

Tennessee looked up into the L-T’s eyes with an incredulous look upon his face.

“I know!  I know! I don’t believe it either,” the lieutenant nodded, “gunships fired on the area some yesterday, and artillery supposedly tore it up overnight.  If Charlie is still there, he should have a major headache by the time we arrive.  And with you pulling point, we should be able to get there by lunch – providing we get an early start—so plan to leave in 45 minutes.  Any Questions?”

“None, sir,” the point man answers.

The lieutenant handed the point man a much smaller version of map, “here’s your copy – our current location and the storage point are both marked in grease pencil.”

Tennessee nodded in appreciation and began to scrutinize the map – paying special attention to the area in between the two dots.

“Okay then!” The L-T stood, patted the man on his shoulder a couple of times then walked away toward the next team leader.

The platoon leader has a great deal of confidence in Tennessee, whose friends claim that he is the best point man in the company.  Months of experience have taught him to be sharp and listen to his sixth sense – the latter, saving his men on numerous occasions.  When he’s up front, his eyes continually search out any irregularities in the terrain – picking up on things as simple as a broken twig or a turned over leaf on the trail – either is sufficient to alert him of an enemy presence.  His ears analyze every sound heard from the jungle and his body is ready to respond in a micro-second if he senses danger.  He faces booby traps, punji sticks, snipers and ambushes every minute they are on the move.  Tennessee is an excellent map reader, uses the compass regularly and understands tactics in the event something goes awry.  Pick out the coordinates on a map and Tennessee will lead you safely to that very spot.

When a new troop joins the company, he is advised by those around him to watch Tennessee.  “The sooner you learn what he knows, the better your chances are of getting out of here in one piece,” they all recited at one time or another.

 A 21 year old medic, who looked more like 18, was making the rounds.  He passed out malaria pills and salt tablets to everyone on the perimeter, stopping occasionally to inspect cases of jungle rot, athlete’s foot, boils and addressing any other maladies the troops might have.

“Today is big pill day.” he said when reaching the point man.  Doc was holding a large orange pill and a small white one in his right hand.  Orange pills are taken every Monday and the white ones daily to guard against the two most common strains of malaria.  Some guys purposely tossed the pills hoping that it was better for their digestive system.  Besides, contracting malaria was a way of getting out of the bush for a while and shamming in the rear until it passed.  Little did they know how much a person suffered from this disease.  Many never find out, but those who do…quickly regret their earlier decisions.

“C’mon Doc, I’m walking point today, and you know what that pill does to me.  It seems like I just took an orange one yesterday.”  The most common side effect of these pills are diarrhea and severe stomach cramps which hit so fast that a soldier seldom had time to step off to the side and drop his trousers.  Accidents were common place.

“Yeah, time flies when you’re having fun. Just take it and don’t hassle me, man. Give me your hand!”  Doc extended his arm toward the blond soldier, both pills held between his thumb and forefinger.  Tennessee conceded, accepting the pills without another word.  Doc smiled briefly, nodded his head in appreciation and walked toward the next twosome.

When the platoon was together like this, the men talked more about those things they left at home than of the war. Popular topics centered on wives, girlfriends and women they fantasized about, followed closely by cars, other toys, family and topics so personal even the family was unaware.  They’d laugh at every opportunity!  Thus, maintaining their sense of humor to block out the darkness of war.

The shortest men in the platoon (time wise – within a few days or weeks of going home) went to great lengths letting everyone know they were going home soon. It’s a bragging right they’re entitled to and a personal goal everyone hopes to reach; some of their phrases were hilarious.  The following was copied from another article on this website:

Short-timers used to cajole with other short-timers on the amount of time they had left…it was like rank, the lower the amount of days left, the higher the ranking.  I remember some of the bantering:

“Hey man, I just broke fifty – I’m short.”

“That ain’t shit man, I got twenty-five and a wake-up.  I’m getting so short I have to play handball against the curb.”

“I’ve got ten left and a wake-up.  I’m so short, I have to look up to see down.”

“I’ve got one left and a wake-up.  I’m so short, I don’t have time for long conversations.”

My favorite was in the movie Platoon when King was assigned to the “shit burning” detail with Charlie Sheen.  King said something like this, “I’m so short, I could smell the fresh mountain air of Virginia and that fine aroma from the girl I left behind.  I can’t wait!”  Then he looked over to Charlie Sheen and said, “how many you got left, three-hundred and fifty what?”  Kind of puts things into perspective.

Their calendars were different versions of colorful pictures comprised of 365 small boxes – each day, one box was colored in, those remaining blank signified the number of days, hand carved walking sticks were popular in rear areas.  One thing for certain about this war was that every soldier in Vietnam counted down his days, knowing exactly – at any given time – how many more days he had left in country.  

MOVE OUT

The grunts exited the night lager position in a single file and follow behind the veteran point man.  Their heavy rucksacks feel like dead weight hanging from shoulders, most grunts have a tendency to lean forward at the waist when humping and occasionally bounce the rucksack to ease the pull of numbing shoulder straps and shifting the weight around.  Heads scanned the surrounding jungle and weapons held at port arms.  

It’s still early in the morning, the troops haven’t moved two hundred yards, and yet they were already drenched in sweat.  Green towels draped over their shoulders had double duty – cushioning under the ruck straps and for wiping sweat from their eyes and faces.  

Following eight feet behind Tennessee, the next soldier carried an M-79 grenade launcher with a beehive round in the chamber (similar to a shotgun shell with buckshot). He wore a vest with multiple pockets that individually held a mixture of beehive, HE and smoke rounds which were easily accessible.  Before joining the Army, this ‘thumper man’ drove trucks for a living, so the men were quick to tag him with the moniker, “Cannonball”, a nickname he liked very much.

Cannonball was currently training to walk point and taking guidance from Tennessee for the next few weeks – an informal style of OJT without textbooks.  Tennessee prefers that his slack man, Cannonball in this case, carry an M-79 to back up his M-16, claiming that if ambushed, the two weapons together would keep Charlie’s head down until the rest of the platoon moved up.  As the two of them moved along, Tennessee pointed things out to Cannonball without saying anything: each time, the thumper nodded in recognition. Tennessee was impressed and thinks to himself, ‘He catches on fast—he’ll be good on point.’

The platoon made good time at first, but now, Tennessee found himself facing a massive wall of extremely thick green foliage.

 “Okay,” he said to Cannonball while dropping his ruck, “pass the word back to take a break.  Keep your eyes open and watch the trees,” he cautioned,  “I don’t like making all this noise, and if Charlie was nearby – he can hear it too.”

Cannonball nodded again and shifted his gaze upward scanning through the trees.

Tennessee pulled a machete from a scabbard on his ruck and momentarily held it up like a Roman Gladiator’s salute, then attacked the seemingly impenetrable hedgerow.  It didn’t take him long to disappear through the narrow tunnel, the hacking sounds fading as he moved further away.

Finally, he stepped out from the thick vegetation and found himself standing  on a narrow hard packed trail; it followed the contour of the thick vegetation, hugging the edge of the jungle as it continued westward. On the opposite side of the trail and only a few feet away, head- high elephant grass and bamboo thickets filled a moderately sized clearing no deeper than the length of a football field. The point man squatted on his haunches and silently scanned both the trail and the terrain on the other side; periodically taking azimuths with his compass and referencing the small map he carried.  Satisfied, Tennessee retraced his steps to the platoon and called the platoon leader on the radio.

“I found a trail that looked like it’s been used within the last week.  It skirts alongside the jungle – invisible from the air and looks like it heads toward that knoll you mentioned earlier. There’s a clearing on the other side of the trail but it’s covered with elephant grass and clumps of bamboo.  I’d feel more comfortable following the trail for a couple hundred steps and then we can cross over into the jungle again.”

“Roger that!” The lieutenant replied, “just don’t stay on it for too long.”

The trail snaked through the jungle and soon came to a blue line not far from the objective. Giving the men another short break, Tennessee moved upstream to find a safe point for the platoon to cross over.  

By now, the sun was directly overhead and bearing down upon the men; salty sweat continued to flow from every pore, aggravating their many scratches and sores – all trophies of living in the boonies.

The heat and humping continued to take its toll and the stream was a blessing in disguise. Excessive sweating and extreme thirst prompted many of the men to scoop up water with their helmets, dumping it over their heads – enjoying the temporary chill and reprieve.  Others temp fate and filled their canteens from the waist deep stream, throwing caution to the wind, hungrily drinking the lukewarm water without first using iodine tablets and waiting the mandatory half hour to kill bacteria; they’ll be dealing  with the consequences soon enough.

As Tennessee neared the objective, he noticed that portions of the triple canopy jungle were missing – holes just appeared randomly in the overhead canopy offering him a glimpse of the far away clear blue sky.  Dozens of trees and branches lay haphazardly across the jungle floor, scattered about like a handful of dropped toothpicks; small barren craters littered the area, their contents having erupted – covering everything in a layer of foul smelling residue.  Many of the larger trees were shredded but remain standing – shrapnel in various sizes and shapes are clearly visible, the imbedded steel sunk deep into the trunks and limbs – remnants of the rockets and artillery rounds that pounded the jungle the night before.  Now, it was an obstacle course!

“We’re getting close,” the point man whispered to Cannonball.  “See those three rocks shaped like an arrow head in the trail?” Tennessee pointed them out and saw his student acknowledge. “It’s a marker telling Charlie to stay off the trail because of booby traps.  So, this is as far as we go!” The point man dropped his rucksack and secured his trusty machete for another trek into the unknown.  “Pass the word back for everybody to take a break and keep quiet. also call the L-T and let him know that I’m checking things out and will be back in a short.”

Tennessee broke from the trail and traversed the obstacles in his path – climbing over some and then crawling under others.  After cutting a path through a clump of bamboo and working his way through fifty meters of destroyed jungle, he spotted the small staging area about a hundred meters away.  It’s unscathed and sitting intact under the natural camouflage and overhead vegetation.

When he returned, Tennessee called the lieutenant on the radio, “that’s right!  I can see six huts and two bunkers which are still intact – the nearby jungle isn’t even touched.  I also saw several chickens moving about in the open area near the huts strutting around and pecking at the ground like this was a normal populated village out on the side of the road.”

“Okay,” replied the platoon leader, “remain in place and I’ll come to you so we can get some gunships to work over the area.”  

Fifteen minutes later, a light observation helicopter (Loach) arrived and hovered at tree top level.  The L-T guided the small chopper by sound only because of the thick overhead canopy.  It maneuvered overhead – changing direction periodically then stopping once the L-T was confident its position was directly over the objective.  A thousand feet higher, two gunships were circling in a lazy clockwise orbit awaiting instructions. The LOH pilot dropped two smoke grenades into the canopy below and moved away.  Now that the target was clearly marked, the gunships received permission to proceed.

Not one soldier on the ground saw the helicopters through the overhead foliage, but once the attack began, the cacophony of sound got everyone’s full attention.  A sightless opera began; rotor blades popped and continued to change in pitch when diving at the red smoke filtering through the treetops.  First one bird swooped in and then it was immediately followed by its wingman.  This background music continued in a low hum which was punctuated by the sound of rockets launching and exploding and the sound of a buzzsaw, ‘bzzzzzzzzzzzzt’, as mini-guns fired.  A split second later, thousands of rounds ripped holes through the jungle canopy and created a symphony of their own!

After expending their ordinance, both gunships broke away and headed back to base.  Moments later, another pair arrived and remained in an orbit above – standing by until the LOH’s issued new orders. 

 The lieutenant informed the LOH pilot that his grunts were moving in to check the area and would keep them advised.  The pilot acknowledged and told the L-T that they’d hang around for a few in case they were needed. 

He then turned to the blond point man, “Tennessee, take two men and scope out the damage.  Move to the knoll and wait there until I give the word to move forward.  I’m moving the rest of the platoon on line so we can sweep in behind you.”

“Wilco!” Tennessee responded, and then led Cannonball and the RTO into the obstacle course.  They soon arrived at the knoll and were greeted by the sight of damaged bunkers and burning huts, the smell of cordite and wood burning hung heavily in the air.  The trio remained vigilant and awaited the call to move forward.

“This is one part of this job I can do without.’ Tennessee whispered to the others, “my gut tells me that Charlie is still there; it’s just too damn quiet.”

CONTACT

 The three soldiers moved to the remains of the first hut, it was smoldering sparking cinders blew through the air.  Suddenly, the ominous quiet was shattered by three unmistakable cracks from an AK-47. Tennessee instinctively slammed to the ground, unhurt, but from the corner of his eye, saw the RTO slump to the ground.  The point man heard the lieutenant’s voice calling over the radio, but the transmission was unanswered and seemed a thousand miles away.

His body now on auto-pilot from the many hours of training and months of experience, Tennessee moved into action.  He’s unsure of where the enemy fire came from, but instructed Cannonball to fire some HE rounds at the bunkers and jungle beyond.  Tennessee fired small bursts into the tree line to his front, sweeping the area from one end to the other.  The rest of the platoon soon arrived and followed their point man’s lead and also fired at the nearby bunkers and into the surrounding jungle.  It turned into a “mad minute” as the platoon members reconnoitered by fire before moving forward to physically search the area.

  Tennessee crawled toward the wounded RTO and was half-way to him when several Ak-47’s opened up on the American patrol from the distant tree line;  rounds impacted near the point man resulting in puffs of dirt erupting from the ground all around him.  He moved like a racing serpent toward cover and the shot soldier.  He noticed a lot of blood on the RTO, but was relieved to find him still alive, both wounds not looking too serious.  

Tennessee shouted above the clatter of automatic weapons, “Medic! Medic!”  and then spotted the man on the other side of the clearing trying to get his attention.  Seeing a man hurt, the medic tucked his bag under his arm and darted straight across the clearing.

“Dammit!” Tennessee cursed. “ Doc…Doc…get down!” He hollered.  The medic failed to heed Tennessee’s warning and luckily arrived unscathed – skidding to his side like a baseball player did on a close play into home plate.  “Talk to him Tennessee, we can’t let him go into shock,” the medic instructed, dropping to his knees beside the injured soldier and ripped open his shirt.

“Boy, you’d do anything to get some sham time!” Tennessee stated nonchalantly to the wounded man, not really knowing what to say. The RTO was obviously in pain, and tried to force a smile. By now, most of the firing had stopped, and Cannonball repositioned himself to where the other two soldiers were focusing on the wounded man.  He glanced at the man lying on the ground, thankful to see that he was still breathing and then squatted and faced the tree line – standing guard and watching over them while Doc performed his magic.

Tennessee continued talking to the fallen RTO, “Hey man, you’ll probably get a medal for this.”

 “For…what?” The RTO’s voice was now a strained whisper.

“Uh…,” the point man thought for a second, “for being brave—what else do they give medals for?”  He quipped.

The hurt man tried hard not to think of his wounds. Doc had his chest bandaged, an IV running and was nearly finished bandaging his upper arm. Tennessee continued to talk and even though the man didn’t answer, the point man saw that he was listening. When the medic bent the man’s arm, he grimaced and sobbed in pain.

“Hell, pal, don’t sweat the small stuff,” Tennessee asserted, “by this time next week you’ll be back on the block with a CIB, Purple Heart, and Bronze Star.  Why, I’ll bet they’ll even have a parade for you.” Once again, the wounded man forced a weak smile.

Tennessee and Cannonball carried the wounded man to the platoon command post and set him down next to two other soldiers, both casualties during the short melee.  A medivac chopper soon arrived and hovered forty feet above the CP, a small metal seat on the end of a cable (jungle penetrator) snaked its way through a small opening in the overhead foliage and stopped when hitting the ground.  One at a time, each man was lifted aboard and were on their way within minutes to a top-notch medical hospital.

As usual, a sweep through the area didn’t come up with any dead enemy soldiers or discarded weapons.  They did, however, uncover a stockpile of bagged rice – enough to feed the local VC for months.  It was a huge find and made the higher-higher quite happy.

Once the cache was destroyed, the platoon leader had his men hump to a finger of land not far from the enemy complex.  “We’ll set up here for the night,” he informed the platoon members and then assigned areas of responsibility to each of the team leaders.  “Get your positions finished quickly and then start clearing an area for a chopper to land with supplies.  There are things we need before it gets dark!”

“You okay?” L-T asked Tennessee when finally reaching him .

“I guess so. Yeah. I’m okay.”‘

“You did a good job today.”  

Tennessee nodded, “sure looked like more than two VC sharing a single rifle!”

The officer laughed. “Yeah, I hear ya!  It looks like we interrupted one of their local units getting resupplied today.  I guessed at least a squad of them!”

“We’ll never know, especially after not finding any bodies or weapons,” the point man declared.

Tennessee shuts down and the lieutenant can see that his mind is somewhere else. ‘It seems like every time somebody is hurt when he’s on point, Tennessee takes it personal.  Like it’s his fault!’ the officer thinks to himself, ‘no matter what I say, I’m not able to convince him otherwise.’

“I want good fields of fire cut tonight in case we have to stay here a couple of days – put your men on that high ground over there,” L-T ordered, pointing out the location.

Tennessee nodded and walked away with his team of four soldiers.

The platoon cut an LZ within the hour and soon two Huey slicks landed with a vital load of ammunition, water, C-Rations and the first hot chow the men had in over a week.  A red nylon bag garnered the most attention because of its precious cargo: mail from the world.

By the time dusk arrived, all the work was done:  claymores and trip flares in place and two-man hooches erected from shared ponchos.   Many in the platoon were still reading their mail while a cloak of darkness began spreading over the perimeter.

Tennessee was sitting alone outside the shared hooch finishing a can of fruit cocktail when his bunk mate, Cannonball returned from an earlier task. “Got a minute Tennessee?” He asked.

“Sure, pull up a chair,” the point man said cheerfully – the hollowness in his eyes now gone.  

Cannonball sat on the ground, his eyes downcast, Tennessee sensed that something was bothering him.

“What do you think of combat?” Tennessee quickly asked the former trucker.

“I don’t think I like it. It’s sure not like the movies, is it? I was pretty scared and didn’t quite know what to do.”

“Don’t sweat that. You did real good out there.  My first firefight happened when we walked into an ambush. I jumped into some bushes and stayed there – listening to those more experienced saved my life.  I learned over time and so will you.  But, you should know that you’ll always be scared.”

Cannonball looked at him incredulously. “You scared? You were as cool as a cucumber.  Did you know we were going to get shot at today?”

“I had a pretty good idea that Charlie was still there – just like I told you earlier.  The chickens looked fairly well fed and I saw some fresh-cut bushes outside the larger bunker. Remember when I told you to watch the trees?’”

“Yeah!”

“What were you looking for?”’

“Snipers, I thought.”

“Negative!  I’ve heard of snipers in trees, but I’ve never seen any. It’s too hard for them to get away. But I have seen the VC put booby traps in trees. If a grenade explodes in a tree, it could take out half the squad.  Always look for brown spots in a healthy-looking tree. But don’t just look at them… study them.  Most of that will come in time.

“If you’re going to be a point man, you need to be twice as good as the other guy. Don’t ever get careless and forget that there’s a man out there who wants to kill you and your friends. You have to get him first.  Point is no place for a dud. The CO isn’t picking on you when he asked you to learn my job. He thinks you’re pretty sharp and needs a man out front he can trust. I don’t complain about it because I know that if I told him I didn’t want it anymore, he’d go along and put somebody else there. But then if we got hit, I’d feel responsible.

“You’ll hurt. You’ll get so tired and sore, you’ll want to just quit right there. You’ll get blisters and callouses from the machete, and you’ll be counting the days to stand down, R&R and DEROS.

“Charlie is good, but you have to be better!”

It’s dark now, and the two men sat in the silence for a moment before calling it a night. 

It was a long speech for Tennessee.  It was a rough day, and he was tired. Mosquitos were already buzzing and biting exposed skin.  He wrapped himself up his green, nylon poncho liner and scooted onto his air mattress on the left side of the small two-man tent.  Suddenly, the saying, ‘snug as a bug in a rug’ ran through his mind and he let out a small chuckle.  Before nodding off, he simply muttered from inside his cocoon, ‘one-hundred and sixty-seven to go.’

Thank you for taking the time to view this article!  Don’t miss out on the many other articles, pictures and videos available to you on this website (see below).

If you enjoyed this article and want to learn more about the Vietnam War – subscribe to this blog and get each new post delivered to your email or feed reader.   A directory, to the right of each article, lists all my published posts in chronological order – links are live – just click and read.  If you’d rather sample every post by scrolling through the many pages, then click on the Cherries title at the top of this page to land on the blog’s main page…most recent posts are first – a navigation bar at the bottom of every page aids readers in moving between pages.

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For more than 60 years Green Berets have been at the forefront of America’s most dangerous humanitarian missions around the world.

Oz uses his skills as a Green Beret medic to help the locals.

Martha Raye. known as “The Big Mouth” was considered the female equivalent to Bob Hope, Martha Raye was an American icon. It was well recognized that Martha Raye endured less comfort and more danger than any other Vietnam entertainer.  

“Colonel Maggie,” Martha Raye, was an honorary member of the Special Forces.  She had received her prized Green Beret and the title of Lieutenant Colonel from President Lyndon B. Johnson, himself.

From 1964 to 1973, Martha traveled from camp to camp in isolated areas throughout Vietnam making eight (8) visits.  She would stay “in-country” from four to six months at a time–usually at her own expense–to be with the troops she so dearly loved. She used the nurse’s aide skills she learned back in the 1930s, and surgical techniques she picked up during World War II to help treat the wounded.  Whatever her official nursing qualifications, her assistance was often needed and very much appreciated.  Her presence, whether as entertainer or as a nurse, helped to make life bearable for so many enlisted troops and officers.

Martha was wounded twice during her visits with the Green Berets.

In May 1965 Martha began the first of her eight USO tours of Vietnam, visiting military camps and outposts.  She was accompanied by Earl Colbert, a guitarist, and Ollie Harris, a bass fiddle player. During one of her visits, she was performed with Johnny Grant, Eddie Fisher, and John Bubbles.

…to entertain our armed personnel wherever they needed a laugh, a song and a touch of home.

In October that year, Martha was back in Vietnam with the USO for another six weeks. Until America ‘s withdrawal in 1974, Martha toured in Vietnam at least annually, sometimes with the USO (1965-1970) but most often on her own and at her own expense.

She was reported to have made several jumps from planes and helicopters. She received an Airborne Beret. BUT the Green Beret was what she wore the most.

I did not know this.  Don’t let the sun go down without reading this about Martha Raye. The most unforgivable oversight of TV is that her shows were not taped. I was unaware of her credentials or where she is buried. Somehow I just can’t see Brittany Spears, Paris Hilton, or Jessica Simpson doing what this woman and the other USO women, including Ann Margaret & Joey Heatherton did for our troops in past wars.  Most of the old time entertainers were made of a lot sterner stuff than today’s crop of activist bland whiners. The following is from an Army Aviator who takes a trip down memory lane:

“It was just before Thanksgiving ’67 and we were ferrying dead and wounded from a large GRF west of Pleiku. We had run out of body bags by noon,  so the Hook (CH-47 CHINOOK) was pretty rough in the back.  All of a sudden, we heard a ‘take-charge’ woman’s voice in the rear. There was the singer and actress, Martha Raye, with a Special Forces beret and jungle fatigues, with subdued markings, helping the wounded into the Chinook, and carrying the dead aboard. ‘Maggie’ had been visiting her SF ‘heroes’ out ‘west’. We took off, short of fuel, and headed to the USAF hospital pad at Pleiku. As we all started unloading our sad pax’s, a  USAF Captain said to Martha…. “Ms Raye, with all these dead and wounded to process, there would not be time for your show!”To all of our surprise, she pulled on her right collar and said …… “Captain, see this eagle?  I am a full ‘Bird’ in the US Army Reserve, and on this is a ‘Caduceus’ which means I am a Nurse, with a surgical specialty…. now, take me to your wounded!”

He said, “Yes ma’am…. follow me.”

Several times at the Army Field Hospital in Pleiku, she would ‘cover’ a surgical shift, giving a nurse a well-deserved break.

Ms. Noonie Fortin  is Maggie’s biographer and author or the book, “Memories of Maggie”.  Ms Fortin is a First Sergeant, (Retired), U.S. Army and retires with over 22 years of military service to our great country.  Noonie met with Martha Raye many times in order to write and finish this book, eventually becoming friends with Martha.  She also created a website dedicated to this entertainer and has amassed a huge collection of memorabilia spanning her entire career – the pictures below are part of that collection.

In 2003, Noonie Fortin received the following award:

The Vietnam Experience website and Vietnam Veteran Support Network Board wants to recognize your wonderful efforts at promoting and preserving the history of the Vietnam experience. You honor all veterans with your writings. Now we wish to honor your work, including your contributions at calling attention to Martha Raye.

Proudly display this website award on any and all of your websites. This award is given on this day – January 28, 2003 to the Noonie Fortin — Colonel Maggie Website

On behalf of the entire staff and Board of the Vietnam Experience,

Rev. Bill McDonald

First up is a photo that was donated by Kenneth Roberts. It is one of my favorite photos of Maggie that was taken in Vietnam. This truck became well known in the BanMeThout area in 1971. Photo was actually taken by Chris Crain!

Maggie got around by many modes of transportation during the various wars. This picture became her favorite way to travel–on board a chopper. Photo donated by John Mitchell and taken in AnLoc in 1969.

The next picture was sent to me by Tom “Stumpy” Burke. It’s him, Maggie, and Neil Coady at the II Corps Mike Force “Yard” village near Pleiku in 1969.

The next two photos are a bit scratchy but still show Maggie’s caring for our troops. These photos were emailed to me by Bob Waller who said they were taken in late 1968 or early 1969 at the 5th Special Forces Group C-Team Officers Club in DaNang. The photo on the left includes L-R: USAF FAC LTC Ralph Albright behind the bar, and unknown soldier smoking, LT Bill Glendenning, Maggie, and LT Bob Waller. The picture on the right was taken the same night and that’s Maggie next to LT Bob Waller.

In 1968 T/SGT Jeffrey Saddlemire had the absolute pleasure of being selected to present Maggie with flowers at the end of a USO show. He will never forget meeting “what a very sweet lady she was” at Tuy Hoa. He stated that “God has a special place in heaven for people like her. Rest in Peace job well done Maggie!”

Maggie visited many units. One stop was on 2 November 1968 in DucCo. There she posed with CSM Guy Sullivan (on the left) and SP4 Kelley from the 1st Bn, 35th Infantry, 4th Infantry Division.

Maggie flew into LZ Center (Hill 348), about 40 miles Southwest of DaNang, in 1968 to visit members of the Americal Division’s 3/21 Light Infantry, Company D–a.k.a. Black Death. This photo was submitted by Robert Boyd Jr. He is standing in the back on the right and his friend “Beard” is in the front holding his helmet upside down. Beard’s helmet was spotted by Maggie when she saw the words “F*** THE ARMY” written on it.  Recently Larry Henderson wrote saying that the soldier to Maggie’s left is Clarence W “Chief” Stoneroad from Oklahoma. Larry was working at the time in the bunker at the right rear of the photo. He said her visit was greatly appreciated by all the guys there.

Whenever she saw a soldier, sailor, airman, marine, or coast guardsman without a St Christopher medal–she would hand him or her a brand new one. She got them from Chaplin CPT Michael Ortiz who donated this picture taken of him with her in 1968 while they were in NhaTrang.

Martha and her troupe performing for the 25th Division in Cu Chi – 1969

John Wayne narrates this 1970 documentary which featured Gen. William Westmoreland, Lowell Thomas and others. Martha Raye was included to speak about her efforts to entertain our armed personnel wherever they needed a laugh, a song and a touch of home. Maggie was there simply to build morale just as she would be doing today if she was still around.

In 1993 Martha Raye was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her lifetime service to America .

Her final years were plagued by ill health. She suffered from Alzheimer’s disease and had lost both legs in 1993 from poor circulation. While in poor health and resting in the hospital bed, that had to be placed in her home, Martha and husband Mark Harris moved into a hotel after their home was completely destroyed by the 1994 earthquake. Raye died in Los Angeles at 78 of pneumonia on October 19, 1994 after a long history of cardiovascular disease.

In appreciation of her work with the USO during World War II and subsequent wars, special consideration was given to bury her in Arlington National Cemetery on her death, but on her request she was buried with full military honors in the Fort Bragg, North Carolina post cemetery as an honorary colonel in the U.S. Marines and an honorary lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army. She is the only civilian buried at this location who receives military honors each Veterans’ Day.

Hand Salute! A great lady.

Raye has two stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, one for motion pictures at 6251 Hollywood Boulevard and the other for television at 6547 Hollywood Blvd.

Please visit Ms. Noonie Fortin’s website for more on this great lady:  http://www.colonelmaggie.com/

Rev. Bill McDonald’s website:  http://www.vietnamexp.com

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Thank you for taking the time to view this article!  Don’t miss out on the many other articles, pictures and videos available to you on this website (see below).

If you enjoyed this article and want to learn more about the Vietnam War – subscribe to this blog and get each new post delivered to your email or feed reader.   A directory, to the right of each article, lists all my published posts in chronological order – links are live – just click and read.  If you’d rather sample every post by scrolling through the many pages, then click on the Cherries title at the top of this page to land on the blog’s main page…most recent posts are first – a navigation bar at the bottom of every page aids readers in moving between pages.

I’ve created a poll to help identify my website audience – before leaving, can you please click HERE and choose the one item best describing you.  Thank you in advance!

Wikipedia describes Nose art as a decorative painting or design on the fuselage of a military aircraft, usually chalked up on the front fuselage, and is a form of aircraft graffiti.

While begun for practical reasons of identifying friendly units, the practice evolved to express the individuality often constrained by the uniformity of the military, to evoke memories of home and peacetime life, and as a kind of psychological protection against the stresses of war and the probability of death. The appeal, in part, came from nose art not being officially approved, even when the regulations against it were not enforced.

I’ve attached hundreds of unique color photos Huey’s, Chinooks, and more, showing how soldiers decorated their helicopters during the Vietnam War.  Most are elaborate, colorful, and often comical art inspired by Sixties and Seventies pop culture, music, cartoons and comics, psychedelia, and politics, as well as sex and booze.  The artwork personalizes an aircraft for its crew, because it is the crew members who name the aircraft and create the art, christening it with an identity of its own.

I’d like to offer a special “Thank You” to John Conway for allowing me to share many of these pictures from his Vietnam Helicopter Pilots Association (VHPA) Museum – donors of individual pictures are credited below.  The museum website is chock full of pictures, stories and other aviation information from the Vietnam War. The museum continues to grow and John welcomes any donations of images, stories or memorabilia for inclusion into the website and live exhibits. Please make it a point to visit the museum in the near future at http://www.vhpamuseum.org  

Quite a few of these pictures are not identified by unit or have additional details about the artwork.  If you can identify and provide that information, please get back to me.  Also, if anyone wants to contribute personal pictures of their ship’s artwork (Vietnam era) and back-up information, I’d be honored to add them to this article.  You can also mention whether or not I can forward copies to John Conway for the museum.

I hope you enjoy these!

Legend:

AHC – Assault Helicopter Company
AML – Air Mobile Light
ASH –  Assault Support Helicopter
AWC – Aerial Weapons Company
CAC – Corp Aviation Company
HH – Heavy Helicopter

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The 174th Dolphins, the “slicks,” adopted the above nose-art logo in mid-1967 that became a standard for several years. While there were a few individualized drawings used for nose-art on Dolphins, both before and after the ones depicted here, none were known to have been used on more than one aircraft at a time.  Photo by Jim McDaniel, 1967

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174th Assault Helicopter Company Dolphins – photo by J.C. Pennington, 1969 

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A/101 AVN Thunderbirds – Image courtesy of Jan Null

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 71 AHC Rattlers nose art Image courtesy of Jim Adams, 1st Platoon Leader, Dec. 68-Dec. 69

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Born Free Dian 211 ACR – Image courtesy of William Powis

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 Image courtesy of Jan Null

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F Troop (Air), 8th Cavalry Blue Ghosts

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I was the CE of Cobra 1 in the Cobra Platoon, 114th AHC, Vihn Long, 1965.
Image courtesy of Paul Kunkel

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155th Assault Helicopter Company Stagecoach

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116th AHC Wasps – Image courtesy of Pat Ronan

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190th Assault Helicopter Company Spartans

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117th AHC  Warlords

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52nd Combat Aviation Battalion Flying Dragons

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176TH Assault Helicopter Company  Muskets 

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 Image courtesy of Jan Null

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 Early 20th ARA Bird – Image courtesy of Louis Barber

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F Troop (Air), 9th Cavalry

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D Troop (Air), 1st Squadron, 10th Cavalry

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Canned Heat of B & E troops, 1/9 Cav. Roger Snow, gunner,  can be seen standing behind the pilot’s door. The last three digits of the serial number were 555 so the ship was more often referred to as “Triple Nickel.  Image courtesy of Roger Snow

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240th AHC Greyhounds

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We used the Griffin call sign for the UH-1’s and the Little Griffin call sign for the LOH’s. I recall, some time before I left in 69, that we had to give up the Griffin call sign because some other unit was using it. One of the nose paintings was “Virgin Eater”. Another was “Cherry Popper.” This was based upon the logic that the mythical griffin only ate virgins – a perfect theme for young male pilots. Pilots’ names in this shot are; left as you face the chopper – CWO Bruce Sutton, and right as you face the chopper – CWO Richard Vonhatten.  Image courtesy of Pete Rzeminski, CW2 (8/68 – 12/69), HHC (Avn Det), 1st Brigade, 101st Abn Div

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 Here are a couple of pics from my time in ‘Nam….I was with the 114th AHC, and was assigned to our maintenance ship “Road Service”. I was with them from 1971 to 1972.   Image courtesy of CSM Ed Hepler

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 Razorback ship of the 120th AHC – Image courtesy of Joe Stone

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 Nose of the 391st Maintenance Detachment – part of the 68th AHC. This ship was called “Top Tiger Tail”. A Rare example of Nude artwork that was authorized See story on 68th AHC page under “Companies”.   Image courtesy of Dave Green 68th AHC Crew Chief

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 “Pink Pussy” – short lived nose art found on a rough and ready 117th Slick (circa 1967)   Image courtesy Al Bennett

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 Warriors 336th AHC – Image courtesy of Don “RAC” Raczon 

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 Warriors 336th AHC – Image courtesy of Don “RAC” Raczon 336th AHC

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 Image courtesy of Jan Null

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C Troop (Air), 16th Cavalry Dark Horse – Image courtesy of Jan Null

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 “Nice to see my ship represented. We were a Night Hawk that flew out of Soctrang with the 336AHC. They did spell my name wrong on the original. – Tom Wilkes”  – Image courtesy of Jan Null

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 Image courtesy of Jan Null

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 ‘Witchdoctor – 6 ‘  – Image courtesy of Bill Mc Donald, Pilot 128th AHC ‘Tomahawks’ Phu Loi. Vietnam 1967.

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 “Mad Tom” of the 121st AHC – This guys first name is tom. The last I heard he was running a catfish co-op in Alabama? In the early 70’s. He always caught the biggest fish. Got pics to prove it.  Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 A Duck Strike on the Viking ship of the 121st AHC – Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 “The Tin Bin” of the 121st AHC – Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 “Tiger Lady” of the 121st AHC – in keeping with the 121st’s nickname – “The Soc Trang Tigers”  Image by Lowell L. Eneix

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 “Peg of my Heart” of the 121st AHC – Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 “The Good Widow Mrs. Jones” of the 121st AHC – I think this was Capt.. Whites bird?  Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 “The In Crowd” of the 121st AHC – I think this AC got transferred to a scout and got killed. Bad memory, Can’t remember his name but can see him clearly. Does anyone else have that problem? Hope it’s not just me.  Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 “The Incredible Hulk” of the 121st AHC – This ship had some reason to be slung back to Soc Trang. On down wind it began to oscillate and the Chinook had to punch him off at about 300 feet. With about 40 guys watching including the AC. I had my camera and for the life of me don’t know why I wasn’t taking pic’s. Dam! makes me sick everytime I think about it. Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 “Harvy” of the 121st AHC – Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 “Kaptain Klutz” of the 121st AHC – Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 “Buzz Off” of the 121st AHC – Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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 A “very” young me next to my aircraft’s nose art.  I was with the 117th AHC in 1969 at Plantation airfield.  Image courtesy of Dallas E. Figgins

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 We were Battery E (AVN) 82nd Artillery. We did not have a unit patch…The A/C markings were red skid tips to denote an artillery unit and the Cav artillery patch on the nose.  Image courtesy of Ed Lem

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 Warriors 336th AHC – Image courtesy of Don “RAC” Raczon 336th AHC

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68th Assault Helicopter Company Top Tigers – Image courtesy of Joe Stone

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 Image courtesy of Joe Stone

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335th Assault Helicopter Company Cowboys

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176TH Assault Helicopter Company Muskets

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 D 3/5 OH-23 “Raven” featuring nose art of the “Spooks” Scout platoon (circa 1967). The “Spooks” were the predecessors of the Warwagons and possibly the only unit to fly the Raven in combat.  Image courtesy of Richard Bench

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 This piece of Nose art lasted less than a month. This helicopter’s crew chief was the pilot NCOIC for the Aero rilfle plt’s birds. His name was SFC John R Rock. (AT this time the Sgt Rock Comics were hot). D/1/1 had deployed from Fort Hood to join with our parent squadron 1/1 Armored Squadron assigned to the American Div in Chu Lai. Enroute our orders were changed attaching the troop to 2/17 Cav, 101st. This was the period of time when the division went from Airbone, to Airmobile and back to Airborne (Airmoble) in less than 2 months. We had the first Cobras attached to the division and 1st Avn Bde units supporting the 101st were redesignated as 101 units . The Division had become the Army’s second Airmobile Division As soon as the change was “Officially Completed” The word came down from Division Hqs there would be no Nose Art in the division and Sgt Rock disappeared.      Image courtesy of Ray Knight

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 Nose art on F 2/17 Cav. ship. “Comanchero” designation carried over from the units days under Comapny A, 101st Aviation Bn.  Image courtesy of Richard Bittle

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 Sidewinders – 117th Guns (circa 1967) Image courtesy of Dale Garber

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170th AHC Bikinis

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 71 AHC Rattlers – Image courtesy of Jim Adams, 1st Platoon Leader, Dec. 68-Dec. 69

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227th Assault Helicopter Battalion 1st CAV

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 Nose art for the BN commander of the 227th circa December 1970 (Lt Col Islan (spelling not sure)- Victor Call sign “Pouvoir 6″.  Image courtesy of Michael Dwyer, Sp 4, Victor call sign “Blivet”

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 Image courtesy of Jan Null

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 170th AHC Aircraft Flying Dragons – image courtesy of Steve Shepard, C troop 7/17

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2-227th AVN Vultures

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 “Strawberry Bitch” of the 121st AHC (Namesake of the B-24 now in the US Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson AFB in Dayton, Ohio – ” I am pretty sure the pilot of that AC was the SON of the pilot who flew the B-24 on display at Wright-Patterson. Our company commander made him change it from “bitch” to “blonde” didn’t want any “nasty words” being displayed. So this just might be the only picture of the original “Strawberry Bitch” of the 121st” – Lowell Eneix     Image courtesy of Lowell L. Eneix

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SP4 Doug “Short Round” Walton Door Gunner on Casper 061 at LZ English 1968

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Casper Aviation Platoon was the only separate aviation platoon in the United States Army during the Vietnam War.  Casper was organized with the 173d Airborne Brigade on Okinawa in 1963 and arrived in country with the Brigade on May 5, 1965 becoming the first United States Army ground unit committed to the Vietnam War. Casper Platoon supported the Brigade until they all left Vietnam in August 1971.

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335th Assault Helicopter Company Casper

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174th Assault Helicopter Company Sharks

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BGYRR8 A Huey helicopter of the 121st AHC in Soc Trang, Vietnam, has the words, “Super Slick,” and, “Lamont’s Lament,” painted nose art. Image shot 1967. Exact date unknown.

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48th Assault Helicopter Company Jokers

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Playboys 197th AHC 

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48th Assault Helicopter Company Jokers

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48th Assault Helicopter Company Jokers

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176TH Assault Helicopter Company Muskets

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48th Assault Helicopter Company Jokers

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 “The nose art is basically the standard design of several of our Huey’s but I added the name “Tumbleweed”. That’s what I called my ship.   The door art was a take off of a Sunday morning cartoon character. My CE at that point was a Sergeant John Sulfridge. We had to sneak the parts down town and have the art work done. I sent him in while I waited in the jeep. That was a mistake as you see my last name is misspelled. I was with D-Troop 3/5th From Sept ’70 to ’71. We changed our Unit to C 3/17 sometime before I left. I was the “Slick” Platoon Commander “Long Knife 26″.  Image courtesy of Mike Rokey

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 170th AHC Aircraft  Flying Dragons – image courtesy of Steve Shepard, C troop 7/17

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The Judge – Image courtesy of Pat Ronan

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176TH Assault Helicopter Company Muskets

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Donald Steigel Thanks to all the HAL-3 guys. PBR593

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213th Assault Support Helicopter Company Black Cats

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213th Assault Support Helicopter Company

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 Unique nose art on C 3/17 Huey reflecting the feelings of the time – Image courtesy of Ralph Chapman

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 Warriors 336th AHC – Image courtesy of Don “RAC” Raczon 336th AHC

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170th Assault Helicopter Company  Buccaneeers – Image courtesy of David Hooper

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 Found on the nose of the 1st Platoon Hueys in the 117th AHC, Little Annie Fanny led the Beach Bums, and later Warlords, into hot LZ’s from Kontom to Can Tho. She should be considered a traditional symbol of the American soldier’s fighting spirit – straight from the cartoon pages of the 1960’s Playboy magazine.  Images courtesy of James Fischer

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 Long Knife (D troop 3/5 Cav Lift Platoon) nose art 1971 Vinh Long RVN. “I seem to remember there was a flurry of nose art activity in ’71. The crew chiefs were taking their doors and stuff to an artist that was in the town in Vinh Long. Probably the same artist did the work on the “Dutchmasters” (B troop 7/1 Cav) aircraft”.  Don Callison D trp 3/5 Cav.  Image courtesy of M. Clark

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 C troop Lift bird with trademark Motto – Image courtesy of Bill Brooks

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The nose of our Night Hawk UH-1H, D Trp, 17th Cav, Da Nang, ’72. Wish it was in color.  Images courtesy of Rich Neely

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 121st AHC Tigers – Image courtesy of Jan Null

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361st Aerial Weapons Company Pink Panthers

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Don’t forget to visit the VHPA museum in the near future at http://www.vhpamuseum.org  

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Thank you for taking the time to view this article!  Don’t miss out on the many other articles, pictures and videos available to you on this website (see below).

If you enjoyed this article and want to learn more about the Vietnam War – subscribe to this blog and get each new post delivered to your email or feed reader.   A directory, to the right of each article, lists all my published posts in chronological order – links are live – just click and read.  If you’d rather sample every post by scrolling through the many pages, then click on the Cherries title at the top of this page to land on the blog’s main page…most recent posts are first – a navigation bar at the bottom of every page aids readers in moving between pages.

I’ve created a poll to help identify my website audience – before leaving, can you please click HERE and choose the one item best describing you.  Thank you in advance!

I was a featured guest last night on an internet TV show hosted by the North Carolina Vietnam Veterans Association.  Mr. Bill Dixon and Mr. Bob Matthews host the show, “Lessons of Vietnam” and use it to teach others about the Vietnam War and its Warriors.  We spent much of the hour talking about my book, “Cherries”, and how many of the events written were similar to their own experiences and earlier tours in Vietnam.  Both offered accolades for my blog site (this one), citing the many  articles, pictures, videos and visitor comments continue to keep the Vietnam War in the forefront – thus, maintaining an awareness and providing an education to those who visit.

We shared some laughs and also listened to a short story from an audience member who called in.  Thank you gentlemen – I had a great time and felt we could have continued for several more hours.  Good luck in future shows and symposiums that your group sponsors.  Thank you for your service and welcome home!

 I’ve provided a direct link to our show and urge everyone to check it out.  Click below to be redirected:

http://www.nissancommunications.com/playarchive.php?id=2jgiJhG3E74

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The NCVVI website has many videos available in their archives – all taped presentations from earlier shows.  If anyone is interested in visiting their website and scrolling through the archives (click on tv shows), here’s the link:

http://www.ncvvi.org

Thank you for taking the time to view this article!  Don’t miss out on the many other articles, pictures and videos available to you on this website (see below).

If you enjoyed this article and want to learn more about the Vietnam War – subscribe to this blog and get each new post delivered to your email or feed reader.   A directory, to the right of each article, lists all my published posts in chronological order – links are live – just click and read.  If you’d rather sample every post by scrolling through the many pages, then click on the Cherries title at the top of this page to land on the blog’s main page…most recent posts are first – a navigation bar at the bottom of every page aids readers in moving between pages.

I’ve created a poll to help identify my website audience – before leaving, can you please click HERE and choose the one item best describing you.  Thank you in advance!

South Vietnamese Gen. Nguyen Ngoc Loan, chief of the national police, fires his pistol into the head of suspected Viet Cong officer Nguyen Van Lem, also known as Bay Lop, on a Saigon street, early in the Tet Offensive on Feb. 1, 1968. (AP Photo/Eddie Adams)

Perhaps one of the most iconic images to come out of the Vietnam War this photo depicts a uniformed South Vietnamese officer shooting a prisoner in the head. When you look into it, however, there is much more to this photograph than first meets the eye. There is an undeniable brutality to this photo, but even Eddie Adams – who won a Pulitzer Prize for capturing this shot – later admitted that it didn’t tell the whole story and he stated that he wished he hadn’t taken it at all.

Looking at this image out of context, it appears as though an officer is gunning down an innocent prisoner, perhaps even a civilian. You are apparently witnessing a savage war crime. That is the reason this image was adopted by anti-war protesters as an indictment against the Vietnam War. Without understanding the background, there is no reason to think that is not the case. It seems like yet another image showing someone acting horrifically and immorally during war time. But, when you learn the story behind the man who is being executed in this photo, the image and the reasoning behind the execution becomes a little bit clearer.

This man’s name was Nguyen Van Lem, but he was also known as Captain Bay Lop.  Lem was no civilian; he was a member of the Viet Cong. Not just any member, either, he was an assassin and the leader of a Viet Cong death squad who had been targeting and killing South Vietnamese National Police officers and their families.

Lem’s team was attempting to take down a number of South Vietnamese officials. They may have even been plotting to kill the shooter himself, Major General Nguyen Ngoc Loan. It is said that Lem had recently been responsible for the murder of one of Loan’s most senior officers, as well as the murder of the officer’s family.

According to accounts at the time, when South Vietnamese officers captured Lem, he was more or less caught in the act, at the site of a mass grave. This grave contained the bodies of no less than seven South Vietnamese police officers, as well as their families, around 34 bound and shot bodies in total. Eddie Adams, the photojournalist who took the shot, backs up this story. Lem’s widow also confirmed that her husband was a member of the National Liberation Front (Viet Cong), and that he disappeared before the beginning of the Tet Offensive.

After being captured with the bodies during the Tet Offensive, Nguyen Van Lem was taken to Major General Ngoc Loan. In a street in Saigon, Loan executed Lem with his .38 caliber Smith & Wesson.

The photographer, Eddie Adams, had this to say of capturing the photo:

I just followed the three of them as they walked towards us, making an occasional picture. When they were close – maybe five feet away – the soldiers stopped and backed away. I saw a man walk into my camera viewfinder from the left. He took a pistol out of his holster and raised it. I had no idea he would shoot. It was common to hold a pistol to the head of prisoners during questioning. So I prepared to make that picture – the threat, the interrogation. But it didn’t happen. The man just pulled a pistol out of his holster, raised it to the VC’s head and shot him in the temple. I made a picture at the same time…

The General then walked up to Adams and said,  “They killed many of my people, and yours, too,” then walked away.

Was this the right thing to do?  As with so many things connected to war, the answer to that question is murky at best. Military lawyers have not yet decided with complete certainty whether or not Loan’s actions violated the Geneva Conventions relating to the treatment of prisoners of war, so there is no official decision on the matter. From Loan’s perspective, the man before him was a cold blooded killer who not only killed some of his friends and colleagues, but their families and other innocent people. This was a dangerous man, who in the name of patriotism nonetheless believed his political stance justified his actions, as presumably did General Loan himself concerning the execution. The question is- how would you have reacted, on both sides of the coin?

This may have been the end of Lem’s life, but it was not the end of the story. The image of Lem’s execution, and public reaction to it, played a small role in bringing the Vietnam War to an end. Although that is no bad thing, it also demonized General Nguyen Ngoc Loan, which was something Eddie Adams was extremely sorry for. He was quoted as saying,

The General killed the Viet Cong; I killed the general with my camera. Still photographs are the most powerful weapon in the world. People believe them; but photographs do lie, even without manipulation. They are only half-truths. What the photograph didn’t say was, “What would you do if you were the General at that time and place on that hot day, and you caught the so-called bad guy after he blew away one, two or three American soldiers?”

Adams felt that, by taking the photo, he had ruined Loan’s life. He felt Loan was a good man, in a bad situation, and he deeply regretted the negative impact that the photo had on him.  In fact, Major General Loan later moved to the United States. When he arrived, the Immigration and Nationalization Services wanted to deport him partially because of the photo taken by Adams. They approached Adams to testify against Loan, but Adams instead testified in his favor and Loan was allowed to stay.   When Loan died of cancer in 1998, Adams stated, “The guy was a hero. America should be crying. I just hate to see him go this way, without people knowing anything about him.”

Additional Facts:

A few months after the execution picture was taken, Loan was seriously wounded by machine gun fire that led to the amputation of his leg. Following the war, he was reviled where ever he went. After an Australian hospital refused to treat him, he was transferred to the United States, where he was met with a massive (though unsuccessful) campaign to deport him.  In 1975, the former General, Nguyen Loan, opened a pizza parlor, which he ran until 1991, when his identity was discovered and he was forced to retire after receiving many threats.

Loan and his wife at the pizza restaurant they opened in the D.C. suburb of Burke, Virginia at Rolling Valley Mall called “Les Trois Continents.”

Widow Nguyen Thi Lop holding mementos of VC husband identified in picture

Nguyen Van Lem’s secret Viet Cong name, Captain Bay Lop, came from his wife, whose first name was Lop.  Nguyen Thi Lop knew her husband, Van Lem, was a Viet Cong officer. But until she picked up a newspaper in February 1968, she didn’t know he had been arrested—or that he was dead, until she saw Eddie Adams’ photo of her 36-year-old husband being executed three days before by Saigon’s police chief, Gen. Nguyen Ngoc Loan.

Newly pregnant and fearful of the South Vietnamese authorities, Lop took her two daughters, then 13 and 3, from their house near Saigon’s airport and moved in with relatives nearby. She struggled, working a multitude of odd jobs, until the war ended. After the war she was given a monthly pension, a “gratitude house” and a scholarship for her son who was born eight months after his father’s death.

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This story was initially published on March 19, 2013 by Lauren Corona on the website:  http://www.todayifoundout.com/

Thank you for taking the time to view this article!  Don’t miss out on the many other articles, pictures and videos available to you on this website (see below).

If you enjoyed this article and want to learn more about the Vietnam War – subscribe to this blog and get each new post delivered to your email or feed reader.   A directory, to the right of each article, lists all my published posts in chronological order – links are live – just click and read.  If you’d rather sample every post by scrolling through the many pages, then click on the Cherries title at the top of this page to land on the blog’s main page…most recent posts are first – a navigation bar at the bottom of every page aids readers in moving between pages.

I’ve created a poll to help identify my website audience – before leaving, can you please click HERE and choose the one item best describing you.  Thank you in advance!

Another iconic picture from the Vietnam War.

You might not know her name, but you’ve probably seen a photo of Kim Phuc – She is well-known as the terrified young girl in an iconic photo from the Vietnam War.

The terrified girl had ripped off her burning clothes while fleeing. The children from left to right are: Phan Thanh Tam, younger brother of Kim Phuc, who lost an eye, Phan Thanh Phouc, youngest brother of Kim Phuc, Kim Phuc, and Kim’s cousins Ho Van Bon, and Ho Thi Ting. Behind them are soldiers of the ARVN 25th Division. (AP Photo/Nick Ut)

By chance, you might have read a report or a story on American main stream media over the years that asserted that Kim Phuc, the little nine year old Vietnamese girl running naked from the napalm strike near Trang Bang on 8 June 1972, was burned by Americans bombing Trang Bang.  The picture communicated the horrors of the Vietnam War in a way words never could, helping to end one of the most divisive wars in American history and later becoming a symbol of the cruelty of all wars for children and civilian victims.  This picture was one of the reasons the US lost as the whole world sees it.

And so the perception continued…

Unfortunately the public never realized that no American had involvement in this incident near Trang Bang that burned Phan Thi Kim Phuc. The planes doing the bombing near the village were VNAF ( South Vietnam Air Force) and were being flown by Vietnamese pilots in support of ARVN troops on the ground.

The Vietnamese pilot who dropped the napalm in error is currently living in the United States. Even the AP photographer, Nick Ut, who took the picture was Vietnamese.  Most American soldiers had already left the country by then, the Paris Peace Accords were signed several months later.

AP photographer, Nick Ut

Here are the front pages of some newspapers when the picture and story published the following day:

This event was witnessed and reported by UPI television correspondent Christopher Wain, and also reported at the time, by noted correspondent Peter Arnett. Other journalists who were not there, through assumption, sloppy work, or malice, have since reported that the attack was by US aircraft, and have further embellished the story with time.

The facts behind the picture:

The incident in the photo took place on the second day of a three day battle between the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) who occupied the village of Trang Bang and the ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) who were trying to force the NVA out of the village.

Thumbnails of the film footage showing the events just before and after the iconic photograph was taken.

Less publicized is film shot by British television cameraman Alan Downes for the British ITN news service and his Vietnamese counterpart Le Phuc Dinh who was working for the American station NBC, which shows the events just before and after the photograph was taken. In the top-left frame, a man (possibly Nick Út) stands and appears to take photographs as a passing airplane drops bombs. A group of children, Kim Phúc among them, run away in fear. After a few seconds, she encounters the reporters dressed in military fatigues, including Christopher Wain who gave her water (top-right frame) and poured some over her burns.  As she turns sideways, the severity of the burns on her arm and back can be seen (bottom-left frame). A crying woman runs in the opposite direction holding her badly burned child (bottom-right frame). Sections of the film shot were included in Hearts and Minds, the 1974 Academy Award-winning documentary about the Vietnam War directed by Peter Davis.

Journalists pour water over the burns of 9 year old Pham Thi Kim Phuc (center) 

After snapping the photograph, Ut took Kim Phúc and the other injured children to Barsky Hospital in Saigon, where it was determined that her burns were so severe that she probably would not survive.  Kim remained hospitalized for 14 months, and underwent 17 surgical procedures, including skin transplantation, before she recovered from the burns.  Grateful for the care she had received she later decided to study medicine but struggled to come to terms with her deep physical and psychological scars.

 Kim Phúc and mother at the hospital

Ut continued to visit Kim Phúc until he was evacuated during the fall of Saigon.  

Life afterwards…

As a young adult, while studying medicine, Phúc was removed from her university and used as a propaganda symbol by the communist government of Vietnam. In 1986, however, she was granted permission to continue her studies in Cuba. She had converted from her family’s Cao Đài religion to Christianity four years earlier. Phạm Văn Đồng, the then-Prime Minister of Vietnam, became her friend and patron. After arriving in Cuba, she met Bui Huy Toan, another Vietnamese student and her future fiancé. In 1992, Phúc and Toan married and went on their honeymoon in Moscow. During a refueling stop in Gander, Newfoundland, they left the plane and asked for political asylum in Canada, which was granted. The couple now live in Ajax, Ontario near Toronto, and have two children.  In 1996, Phúc met the surgeons who had saved her life. The following year, she passed the Canadian Citizenship Test with a perfect score and became a Canadian citizen.

• The first was that, despite suffering extensive third degree burns to her left arm, back and side, the soles of her feet were not burnt and she could run.
•  The second was that after she collapsed and lost consciousness the photographer, Nick Ut, took her to Barsky Hospital in Saigon.
• The third was that her own mother found her there later that day whilst searching for her children.

 

Goodwill Ambassador for Peace.

On November 10, 1994, Kim Phúc was named a UNESCO Goodwill Ambassador.  In 1997 she established the first Kim Phúc Foundation in the US, with the aim of providing medical and psychological assistance to child victims of war. Later, other foundations were set up, with the same name, under an umbrella organization, Kim Phúc Foundation International.

She has dedicated her life to promoting peace and providing medical and psychological support to help children who are victims of war in Uganda, East Timor, Romania, Tajikistan, Kenya, Ghana and Afghanistan.

Kim Phuc, now 52, lives near Toronto, Canada, with her husband and two children, Thomas and Stephen.

http://www.cnn.com/2015/06/22/world/kim-phuc-where-is-she-now/ – CNN special June 25, 2015

http://www.kimfoundation.com/modules/contentpage/index.php?file=story.htm – more info about Kim’s foundation

http://www.warbirdforum.com/vphoto.htm  –  responding to the myth.

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Thank you for taking the time to view this article!  Don’t miss out on the many other articles, pictures and videos available to you on this website (see below).

If you enjoyed this article and want to learn more about the Vietnam War – subscribe to this blog and get each new post delivered to your email or feed reader.   A directory, to the right of each article, lists all my published posts in chronological order – links are live – just click and read.  If you’d rather sample every post by scrolling through the many pages, then click on the Cherries title at the top of this page to land on the blog’s main page…most recent posts are first – a navigation bar at the bottom of every page aids readers in moving between pages.

I’ve created a poll to help identify my website audience – before leaving, can you please click HERE and choose the one item best describing you.  Thank you in advance!

This account is one of a kind.  A powerful one that touches your heart.  Tough duty back then – as it is now.  These are remembrances of a Casualty Notification Officer.

BURIAL AT SEA…..

by Lt Col George Goodson, USMC (Ret)

In my 76th year, the events of my life appear to me, from time to time, as a series of vignettes. Some were significant; most were trivial. War is the seminal event in the life of everyone that has endured it. Though I fought in Korea and the Dominican Republic and was wounded there, Vietnam was my war.

Lt. Col. George Goodson (Ret) and family

Now 42 years have passed, and thankfully, I rarely think of those days in Cambodia , Laos, and the panhandle of North Vietnam where small teams of Americans and Montagnards fought much larger elements of the North Vietnamese Army.

Instead I see vignettes: some exotic, some mundane:

*The smell of Nuc Mam

*The heat, dust, and humidity

*The blue exhaust of cycles clogging the streets

*Elephants moving silently through the tall grass

*Hard eyes behind the servile smiles of the villagers

*Standing on a mountain in Laos and hearing a tiger roar

*A young girl squeezing my hand as my medic delivered her baby

*The flowing Ao Dais of the young women biking down Tran Hung Dao

AND……..

*My two years as Casualty Notification Officer in North Carolina, Virginia and Maryland

It was late 1967. I had just returned after 18 months in Vietnam.  Casualties were increasing. I moved my family from Indianapolis to Norfolk, rented a house, enrolled my children in their fifth or sixth new school, and bought a second car. A week later, I put on my uniform and drove 10 miles to Little Creek, Virginia. I hesitated before entering my new office. Appearance is important to career Marines. I was no longer, if ever, a poster Marine. I had returned from my third tour in Vietnam only 30 days before. At 5’9″, I now weighed 128 pounds, 37 pounds below my normal weight. My uniforms fit ludicrously, my skin was yellow from malaria medication, and I think I had a twitch or two.

I straightened my shoulders, walked into the office, looked at the nameplate on a Staff Sergeant’s desk and said, “Sergeant Jolly, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Goodson. Here are my orders and my Qualification Jacket.” Sergeant Jolly stood, looked carefully at me, took my orders, stuck out his hand; we shook and he asked, “How long were you there, Colonel?” I replied “18 months this time.”

Jolly breathed, “You must be a slow learner Colonel.” I smiled. Jolly said, “Colonel, I’ll  show you to your office and bring in the Sergeant Major. I said, “No, let’s just go straight to his office.” Jolly nodded, hesitated, and lowered his voice, “Colonel, the Sergeant Major. He’s been in this job two years. He’s packed pretty tight. I’m worried about him.” I nodded.

Jolly escorted me into the Sergeant Major’s office. “Sergeant Major, this is Colonel Goodson, the new Commanding Office. The Sergeant Major stood, extended his hand and said, “Good to see you again, Colonel.” I responded, “Hello Walt, how are you?”

Jolly looked at me, raised an eyebrow, walked out, and closed the door. I sat down with the Sergeant Major. We had the obligatory cup of coffee and talked about mutual acquaintances. Walt’s stress was palpable. Finally, I said, “Walt, what the h-ll’s wrong?” He turned his chair, looked out the window and said, “George, you’re going to wish you were back in Nam before you leave here. I’ve been in the Marine Corps since 1939. I was in the Pacific 36 months, Korea for 14 months, and Vietnam for 12 months. Now I come here to bury these kids. I’m putting my letter in. I can’t take it anymore.”

I said, “Okay Walt. If that’s what you want, I’ll endorse your request for retirement and do what I can to push it through Headquarters Marine Corps.” Sergeant Major Walt Xxxxx retired 12 weeks later. He had been a good Marine for 28 years, but he had seen too much death and too much suffering. He was used up.

Over the next 16 months, I made 28 death notifications, conducted 28 military funerals, and made 30 notifications to the families of Marines that were severely wounded or missing in action. Most of the details of those casualty notifications have now, thankfully, faded from memory.

Four, however, remain.

MY FIRST NOTIFICATION…………

My third or fourth day in Norfolk, I was notified of the death of a 19 year old Marine. This notification came by telephone from Headquarters Marine Corps. The information detailed:

*Name, rank, and serial number.

*Name, address, and phone number of next of kin.

*Date of and limited details about the Marine’s death.

*Approximate date the body would arrive at the Norfolk Naval Air  Station.

*A strong recommendation on whether the casket should be opened or closed.

The boy’s family lived over the border in North Carolina, about 60 miles away. I drove there in a Marine Corps staff car. Crossing the state line into North Carolina , I stopped at a small country store / service station / Post Office. I went in to ask directions.

Three people were in the store. A man and woman approached the small Post Office window. The man held a package. The Store owner walked up and addressed them by name, “Hello John. Good morning Mrs. Cooper.”

I was stunned. My casualty’s next-of-kin’s name was John Cooper!

I hesitated, then stepped forward and said, “I beg your pardon. Are you Mr. and Mrs. John Cooper of (address.)

The father looked at me – I was in uniform – and then, shaking, bent at the waist, he vomited. His wife looked horrified at him and then at me. Understanding came into her eyes and she collapsed in slow motion.

I think I caught her before she hit the floor.

The owner took a bottle of whiskey out of a drawer and handed it to Mr. Cooper who drank. I answered their questions for a few minutes. Then I drove them home in my staff car. The store owner locked the store and followed in their truck. We stayed an hour or so until the family began arriving.

I returned the store owner to his business. He thanked me and said, “Mister, I wouldn’t have your job for a million dollars.” I shook his hand and said; “Neither would I.”

I vaguely remember the drive back to Norfolk. Violating about five Marine Corps regulations, I drove the staff car straight to my house.  I sat with my family while they ate dinner, went into the den, closed the door, and sat there all night, alone.

My Marines steered clear of me for days. I had made my first death notification

THE FUNERALS……….

Weeks passed with more notifications and more funerals. I borrowed Marines from the local Marine Corps Reserve and taught them to conduct a military funeral: how to carry a casket, how to fire the volleys and how to fold the flag.

When I presented the flag to the mother, wife, or father, I always said, “All Marines share in your grief.” I had been instructed to say, “On behalf of a grateful nation….” I didn’t think the nation was grateful, so I didn’t say that.

Sometimes, my emotions got the best of me and I couldn’t speak. When that happened, I just handed them the flag and touched a shoulder.

They would look at me and nod. Once a mother said to me, “I’m so sorry you have this terrible job.” My eyes filled with tears and I leaned over and kissed her.

ANOTHER NOTIFICATION……….

Six weeks after my first notification, I had another. This was a young PFC. I drove to his mother’s house. As always, I was in uniform and driving a Marine Corps staff car. I parked in front of the house, took a deep breath, and walked towards the house. Suddenly the door flew open, a middle-aged woman rushed out. She looked at me and ran across the yard, screaming “No! No! No! No!! I hesitated. Neighbors came out.

I ran to her, grabbed her, and whispered stupid things to reassure her. She collapsed. I picked her up and carried her into the house.  Eight or nine neighbors followed. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the father came in followed by ambulance personnel. I have no recollection of leaving.

The funeral took place about two weeks later. We went through the drill. The mother never looked at me. The father looked at me once and shook his head sadly.

ANOTHER NOTIFICATION……….

One morning as I walked into the office, the phone was ringing.  Sergeant Jolly held the phone up and said, “You’ve got another one, Colonel.” I nodded, walked into my office, picked up the phone, took notes, thanked the officer making the call and hung up. Jolly, who had listened, came in with a special telephone directory that translates telephone numbers into the person’s address and place of employment.

The father of this casualty was a longshoreman. He lived a mile from my office. I called the Longshoreman’s Union Office and asked for the business manager. He answered the phone, I told him who I was, and asked for the father’s schedule. The business manager asked, “Is it his son?” I said nothing. After a moment, he said, in a low voice, “Tom is at home today.” I said, “Don’t call him. I’ll take care of that.” The business manager said, “Aye, Aye Sir,” and then explained, “Tom and I were Marines in WWII.”

I got in my staff car and drove to the house. I was in uniform. I knocked and a woman in her early forties answered the door. I saw instantly that she was clueless. I asked, “Is Mr. Smith home?” She smiled pleasantly and responded, “Yes, but he’s eating breakfast now.  Can you come back later?” I said, “I’m sorry. It’s important. I need to see him now.” She nodded, stepped back into the beach house and said, “Tom, it’s for you.” A moment later, a ruddy man in his late forties, appeared at the door. He looked at me, turned absolutely pale, steadied himself, and said, “Jesus Christ man, he’s only been there three weeks!”

Months passed. More notifications and more funerals. Then one day while I was running, Sergeant Jolly stepped outside the building and gave a loud whistle, two fingers in his mouth and held an imaginary phone to his ear.

Another call from Headquarters Marine Corps. I took notes, said, “Got it.” and hung up. I had stopped saying “Thank You” long ago.

Jolly, “Where?”

Me, “Eastern Shore of Maryland . The father is a retired Chief Petty Officer. His brother will accompany the body back from Vietnam.” Jolly shook his head slowly, straightened, and then said, “This time of day, it’ll take three hours to get there and back. I’ll call the Naval Air Station and borrow a helicopter. And I’ll have Captain Tolliver get one of his men to meet you and drive you to the Chief’s home.”

He did, and 40 minutes later, I was knocking on the father’s door. He opened the door, looked at me, then looked at the Marine standing at parade rest beside the car, and asked, “Which one of my boys was it, Colonel?” I stayed a couple of hours, gave him all the information, my office and home phone number and told him to call me, anytime. He called me that evening about 2300 (11:00 PM). “I’ve gone through my boy’s papers and found his will. He asked to be buried at sea. Can you make that happen?” I said, “Yes I can, Chief. I can and I will.”

My wife who had been listening said, “Can you do that?” I told her, “I have no idea. But I’m going to die trying.” I called Lieutenant General Alpha Bowser, Commanding General, Fleet Marine Force Atlantic, at home about 2330, explained the situation, and asked, “General, can you get me a quick appointment with the Admiral at Atlantic Fleet Headquarters?” General Bowser said,” George, you be there tomorrow at 0900. He will see you. I was and the Admiral did. He said coldly, “How can the Navy help the Marine Corps, Colonel.” I told him the story. He turned to his Chief of Staff and said, “Which is the sharpest destroyer in port?” The Chief of Staff responded with a name.

The Admiral called the ship, “Captain, you’re going to do a burial at sea. You’ll report to a Marine Lieutenant Colonel Goodson until this mission is completed.” He hung up, looked at me, and said, “The next time you need a ship, Colonel, call me. You don’t have to sic Al Bowser on me.” I responded, “Aye Aye, Sir” and got out of his office in a hurry.

I went to the ship and met with the Captain, Executive Officer, and the Senior Chief. Sergeant Jolly and I trained the ship’s crew for four days. Then Jolly raised a question none of us had thought of. He said, “These government caskets are air tight. How do we keep it from floating?” All the high priced help including me sat there looking dumb. Then the Senior Chief stood and said, “Come on Jolly. I know a bar where the retired guys from World War II hang out.” They returned a couple of hours later, slightly the worse for wear, and said, “It’s simple; we cut four 12″ holes in the outer shell of the casket on each side and insert 300 lbs. of lead in the foot end of the casket. We can handle that, no sweat.”

The day arrived. The ship and the sailors looked razor sharp. General Bowser, the Admiral, a US Senator, and a Navy Band were on board. The sealed casket was brought aboard and taken below for modification. The ship got underway to the 12-fathom depth.

The sun was hot. The ocean flat. The casket was brought aft and placed on a catafalque. The chaplain spoke. The volleys were fired. The flag was removed, folded, and I gave it to the father. The band played “Eternal Father Strong to Save.” The casket was raised slightly at the head and it slid into the sea. The heavy casket plunged straight down about six feet. The incoming water collided with the air pockets in the outer shell. The casket stopped abruptly, rose straight out of the water about three feet, stopped, and slowly slipped back into the sea.  The air bubbles rising from the sinking casket sparkled in the in the sunlight as the casket disappeared from sight forever.

The next morning I called a personal friend, Lieutenant General Oscar Peatross, at Headquarters Marine Corps and said, “General, get me out of here. I can’t take this anymore.” I was transferred two weeks later. I was a good Marine but, after 17 years, I had seen too much death and too much suffering. I was used up.

Vacating the house, my family and I drove to the office in a two-car convoy. I said my goodbyes. Sergeant Jolly walked out with me. He waved at my family, looked at me with tears in his eyes, came to attention, saluted, and said, “Well done, Colonel. Well done.”

I felt as if I had received the Medal of Honor!

A veteran is someone who, at one point, wrote a blank check made payable to ‘The United States of America’ for an amount of up to and including his or her life.

THAT IS HONOR, AND THERE ARE TOO MANY PEOPLE IN THIS COUNTRY WHO NO LONGER UNDERSTAND IT.

This article originally published in The Marine Corps Gazette, Sept. 2007 and was re-posted on several other blogs and forums since then.  All pictures are taken from the internet and added for emphasis.

Read More: http://www.marinecorpsgazette-digital.com/marineco…

Click the link below for an interview with Retired Lt. Col George Goodson – posted December 22nd, 2009 Posted in The SandGram v1.0 

 http://www.thesandgram.com/2009/12/22/internet-legend-ltcol-george-goodson-usmc-ret/

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You may have visited a cemetery before and may have seen a headstone with coins on it.  Do you know why?  This article descrives the meaning of placing a coin on the grave marker of a soldier that has made the ultimate sacrifice in the line of duty.

Of course, for some cultures it has different meanings.  The ancients would place coins with the deceased with a belief that it would cover the fee to have them cross the river Styx.  The tradition of leaving coins with members of the military, especially men or women that may have died in combat, dates back to the Roman Empire.

For the United States, the practice became popular during the Vietnam War.  With all of the political turmoil in the 60’s and 70’s surrounding the war, it was a way for friends and comrades to visit a fallen friend and leave a coin as a marker to the family that they had been there to pay respect, without having to contact the family directly, and possibly make a bad situation worse.

As for meanings of different denominations of coins, a friend, or an acquaintance that visits may only leave a penny.  A nickel would be left by someone that may have been through boot camp or trained with them, while someone that served in another platoon in the same company may leave a dime.  A quarter would be left by someone that served in the same outfit or was with the soldier when they died.

Some Vietnam veterans would simply leave coins as a “down payment” to buy their fallen comrades a beer or to play a hand of cards when they would finally be reunited.

Pennies are left on graves, most of all, in remembrance of the deceased. Leaving a coin from your pocket is a way to leave a part of yourself at the burial site. The coin is a visual reminder that, even in death, the memory of the deceased lives on. It is also a sign of respect to the dead, as it shows that their memory has value to you and is something you want to commemorate.

This is a tradition that has been held onto by members of the United States Military.  The money left at graves in national cemeteries and state veterans cemeteries is left in place for a time, but is eventually collected, and the funds are put toward maintaining the cemetery or paying burial costs for indigent veterans.

The Air Force fighter pilots throw nickels into the grass at grave sites.  This tradition began in the early 50’s when phone calls on public phones were only a nickel.  Prior to leaving on a dangerous mission, pilots would toss a nickel into the grass so his team mates could notify the next of kin if he didn’t make it back.

Jewish people leave stones on headstones – there are many variations to this practice, but most popular is that cemetery visitors leave a pebble or stone as a token to commemorate their visit.  The amount of pebbles gathered over time, unofficially, represent the level of mourners who had visited the grave site.

No matter what the original intention of the coin or pebble may be, it seems clear that when left on a headstone it’s a symbol of remembrance and respect. A way of telling all who pass by that the person buried there was loved and visited often.

The information used in this article was obtained from Snopes.com (http://www.snopes.com/military/coins.asp).  Variations of this information is also posted on multiple blogs and websites by various authors throughout the internet.  

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Tagged: book sites, books war, cherry soldier, coins on headstones, combat, Combat Infantry, digital books, firefights, Grunts, Historical fiction, jungle warfare, Military, novels, protests, The vietnam war, The Vietnam war story

USMC Platoon Leader Vietnam

By James Webb

Personal pics of James Webb in Vietnam

The rapidly disappearing cohort of Americans that endured the Great Depression and then fought World War II is receiving quite a send-off from the leading lights of the so-called 60’s generation. Tom Brokaw has published two oral histories of “The Greatest Generation” that feature ordinary people doing their duty and suggest that such conduct was historically unique.

Chris Matthews of “Hardball” is fond of writing columns praising the Navy service of his father while castigating his own baby boomer generation for its alleged softness and lack of struggle. William Bennett gave a startling condescending speech at the Naval Academy a few years ago comparing the heroism of the “D-Day Generation” to the drugs-and-sex nihilism of the “Woodstock Generation.” And Steven Spielberg, in promoting his film “Saving Private Ryan,” was careful to justify his portrayals of soldiers in action based on the supposedly unique nature of World War II.

An irony is at work here. Lest we forget, the World War II generation now being lionized also brought us the Vietnam War, a conflict which today’s most conspicuous voices by and large opposed, and in which few of them served. The “best and brightest” of the Vietnam age group once made headlines by castigating their parents for bringing about the war in which they would not fight, which has become the war they refuse to remember.
Pundits back then invented a term for this animus: the “generation gap.” Long, plaintive articles and even books were written examining its manifestations. Campus leaders, who claimed precocious wisdom through the magical process of reading a few controversial books, urged fellow baby boomers not to trust anyone over 30. Their elders who had survived the Depression and fought the largest war in history were looked down upon as shallow, materialistic, and out of touch.

Article in Life Magazine, 1967

Those of us who grew up, on the other side of the picket line from that era’s counter-culture can’t help but feel a little leery of this sudden gush of appreciation for our elders from the leading lights of the old counter-culture. Then and now, the national conversation has proceeded from the dubious assumption that those who came of age during Vietnam are a unified generation in the same sense as their parents were, and thus are capable of being spoken for through these fickle elites.

In truth, the ” Vietnam generation” is a misnomer. Those who came of age during that war are permanently divided by different reactions to a whole range of counter-cultural agendas, and nothing divides them more deeply than the personal ramifications of the war itself. The sizable portion of the Vietnam age group who declined to support the counter-cultural agenda, and especially the men and women who opted to serve in the military during the Vietnam War, are quite different from their peers who for decades have claimed to speak for them. In fact, they are much like the World War II generation itself. For them, Woodstock was a side show, college protestors were spoiled brats who would have benefited from having to work a few jobs in order to pay their tuition, and Vietnam represented not an intellectual exercise in draft avoidance, or protest marches but a battlefield that was just as brutal as those their fathers faced in World War II and Korea.

WW II vet Herman Clemenson (center), with his grandson Eric (Operation Iraqi Freedom) and son Jim (Vietnam)

Few who served during Vietnam ever complained of a generation gap. The men who fought World War II were their heroes and role models. They honored their father’s service by emulating it, and largely agreed with their father’s wisdom in attempting to stop Communism’s reach in Southeast Asia .

The most accurate poll of their attitudes (Harris, 1980) showed that 91 percent were glad they’d served their country, 74 percent enjoyed their time in the service, and 89 percent agreed with the statement that “our troops were asked to fight in a war which our political leaders in Washington would not let them win.” And most importantly, the castigation they received upon returning home was not from the World War II generation, but from the very elites in their age group who supposedly spoke for them.

Nine million men served in the military during Vietnam War, three million of whom went to the Vietnam Theater. Contrary to popular mythology, two-thirds of these were volunteers, and 73 percent of those who died were volunteers. While some attention has been paid recently to the plight of our prisoners of war, most of whom were pilots; there has been little recognition of how brutal the war was for those who fought it on the ground.

Dropped onto the enemy’s terrain 12,000 miles away from home, America ‘s citizen-soldiers performed with a tenacity and quality that may never be truly understood. Those who believe the war was fought incompletely on a tactical level should consider Hanoi’s recent admission that 1.4 million of its soldiers died on the battlefield, compared to 58,000 total U.S. dead.

*** Those who believe that it was a “dirty little war” where the bombs did all the work might contemplate that is was the most costly war the U.S. Marine Corps has ever fought–five times as many dead as World War I, three times as many dead as in Korea, and more total killed and wounded than in all of World War II. ***

Significantly, these sacrifices were being made at a time the United States was deeply divided over our effort in Vietnam . The baby-boom generation had cracked apart along class lines as America ‘s young men were making difficult, life-or-death choices about serving. The better academic institutions became focal points for vitriolic protest against the war, with few of their graduates going into the military. Harvard College , which had lost 691 alumni in World War II, lost a total of 12 men in Vietnam from the classes of 1962 through 1972 combined. Those classes at Princeton lost six, at MIT two. The media turned ever more hostile. And frequently the reward for a young man’s having gone through the trauma of combat was to be greeted by his peers with studied indifference of outright hostility.

What is a hero? My heroes are the young men who faced the issues of war and possible death, and then weighed those concerns against obligations to their country. Citizen-soldiers who interrupted their personal and professional lives at their most formative stage, in the timeless phrase of the Confederate Memorial in Arlington National Cemetery , “not for fame of reward, not for place or for rank, but in simple obedience to duty, as they understood it.” Who suffered loneliness, disease, and wounds with an often-contagious elan. And who deserve a far better place in history than that now offered them by the so-called spokesman of our so-called generation.

Mr. Brokaw, Mr. Matthews, Mr. Bennett, Mr. Spielberg, meet my Marines.

Personal picture of James Webb

1969 was an odd year to be in Vietnam. Second only to 1968 in terms of American casualties, it was the year made famous by Hamburger Hill, as well as the gut-wrenching Lifecover story showing pictures of 242 Americans who had been killed in one average week of fighting. Back home, it was the year of Woodstock, and of numerous anti-war rallies that culminated in the Moratorium March on Washington. The My Lai massacre hit the papers and was seized upon by the anti-war movement as the emblematic moment of the war. Lyndon Johnson left Washington in utter humiliation.

Richard Nixon entered the scene, destined for an even worse fate. In the An Hoa Basin southwest of Danang, the Fifth Marine Regiment was in its third year of continuous combat operations. Combat is an unpredictable and inexact environment, but we were well led. As a rifle platoon and company commander, I served under a succession of three regimental commanders who had cut their teeth in World War II, and four different battalion commanders, three of whom had seen combat in Korea. The company commanders were typically captains on their second combat tour in Vietnam , or young first lieutenants like myself who were given companies after many months of “bush time” as platoon commanders in the Basin’s tough and unforgiving environs.

The Basin was one of the most heavily contested areas in Vietnam , its torn, cratered earth offering every sort of wartime possibility. In the mountains just to the west, not far from the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the North Vietnamese Army operated an infantry division from an area called Base Area 112. In the valleys of the Basin, main-force Viet Cong battalions whose ranks were 80 percent North Vietnamese Army regulars moved against the Americans every day. Local Viet Cong units sniped and harassed. Ridgelines and paddy dikes were laced with sophisticated booby traps of every size, from a hand grenade to a 250-pound bomb.

The villages sat in the rice paddies and tree lines like individual fortresses, crisscrossed with the trenches and spider holes, their homes sporting bunkers capable of surviving direct hits from large-caliber artillery shells. The Viet Cong infrastructure was intricate and permeating. Except for the old and the very young, villagers who did not side with the Communists had either been killed or driven out to the government controlled enclaves near Danang.

In the rifle companies, we spent the endless months patrolling ridgelines and villages and mountains, far away from any notion of tents, barbed wire, hot food, or electricity. Luxuries were limited to what would fit inside one’s pack, which after a few “humps” usually boiled down to letter-writing material, towel, soap, toothbrush, poncho liner, and a small transistor radio.

We moved through the boiling heat with 60 pounds of weapons and gear, causing a typical Marine to drop 20 percent of his body weight while in the bush. When we stopped we dug chest-deep fighting holes and slit trenches for toilets. We slept on the ground under makeshift poncho hootches, and when it rained we usually took our hootches down because wet ponchos shined under illumination flares, making great targets. Sleep itself was fitful, never more than an hour or two at a stretch for months at a time as we mixed daytime patrolling with night-time ambushes, listening posts, foxhole duty, and radio watches. Ringworm, hookworm, malaria, and dysentery were common, as was trench foot when the monsoons came. Respite was rotating back to the mud-filled regimental combat base at An Hoa for four or five days, where rocket and mortar attacks were frequent and our troops manned defensive bunkers at night. Which makes it kind of hard to get excited about tales of Woodstock , or camping at the Vineyard during summer break.

We had been told while training that Marine officers in the rifle companies had an 85 percent probability of being killed or wounded, and the experience of “Dying Delta,” as our company was known, bore that out. Of the officers in the bush when I arrived, our company commander was wounded, the weapons platoon commander wounded, the first platoon commander was killed, the second platoon commander was wounded twice, and I, commanding the third platoons fared no better. Two of my original three-squad leaders were killed, and the third shot in the stomach. My platoon sergeant was severely wounded, as was my right guide. By the time I left, my platoon I had gone through six radio operators, five of them casualties.

These figures were hardly unique; in fact, they were typical. Many other units; for instance, those who fought the hill battles around Khe Sanh, or were with the famed Walking Dead of the Ninth Marine Regiment, or were in the battle of Hue City or at Dai Do, had it far worse.

When I remember those days and the very young men who spent them with me, I am continually amazed, for these were mostly recent civilians barely out of high school, called up from the cities and the farms to do their year in hell and then return. Visions haunt me every day, not of the nightmares of war but of the steady consistency with which my Marines faced their responsibilities, and of how uncomplaining most of them were in the face of constant danger. The salty, battle-hardened 20-year-olds teaching green 19-year-olds the intricate lessons of the hostile battlefield. The unerring skill of the young squad leaders as we moved through unfamiliar villages and weed-choked trails in the black of night. The quick certainty when a fellow Marine was wounded and needed help. Their willingness to risk their lives to save other Marines in peril. To this day it stuns me that their own countrymen have so completely missed the story of their service, lost in the bitter confusion of the war itself.

16 Feb 1968, Hue, South Vietnam — A U.S Marine keeps his head low as he drags a wounded buddy from the ruins of the Citadel’s outer wall during fighting. — Image by © Bettmann/CORBIS

Like every military unit throughout history we had occasional laggards, cowards, and complainers. But in the aggregate, these Marines were the finest people I have ever been around. It has been my privilege to keep up with many of them over the years since we all came home. One finds in them very little bitterness about the war in which they fought. The most common regret, almost to a man, is that they were not able to do more for each other and for the people they came to help.

It would be redundant to say that I would trust my life to these men. Because I already have, in more ways than I can ever recount. I am alive today because of their quiet, unaffected heroism. Such valor epitomizes the conduct of Americans at war from the first days of our existence. That the boomer elites can canonize this sort of conduct in our fathers’ generation while ignoring it in our own is more than simple oversight. It is a conscious, continuing travesty.

Former Secretary of the Navy James Webb was awarded the Navy Cross, Silver Star, and Bronze Star medals for heroism as a Marine in Vietnam.  He went on to become a US Senator from Virginia.  While at Annapolis, varsity boxer Webb once got into the ring with Oliver North.

Wikipedia notes that “Webb’s father, a career officer in the U.S. Air Force, flew B-17s and B-29s during World War II, dropped cargo during the Berlin Airlift, and was later involved in missile programs.”

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This article was originally published on:  Black Hills Veterans Writing Group – http://www.battlestory.org/

Additional pictures added by John Podlaski and obtained from the internet. 

Mr. Webb – Thank you for your service, sir!  Welcome Home!  God Bless!

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It would not be easy, for the enemy had chosen the site of their base camp well. The terrain in the A Shau Valley was as inhospitable and formidable as any in Vietnam.Because of its experience operating in the rugged mountains and thick jungle canopy of western Quang Tri province, the U.S. 9th Marine Regiment was selected to conduct Operation Dewey Canyon. The men of the regiment were mentally and physically prepared for the rigors of Dewey Canyon’s terrain. They brought to the operation experience in jungle survival and landing zone construction, as well as skills in the conduct of mountain warfare, including heliborne operations and the fire support base concept.During the five-day planning period allowed for the operation, an XM-3 Airborne Personnel Detector picked up evidence of enemy troop concentrations atop a 2,100-foot-long ridgeline 4 1/2 miles from the Laotian border which would be developed into Fire Support Base Cunningham, the eventual command center for the operation.

Phase One of the operation, including all pre-D-day activities dealing with getting the artillery support established in the area, began with the opening of three fire support bases (Henderson, Tun Tavern and Shiloh) on January 19.

After the area had been mostly cleared by aviation ordnance, Company I, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines (I/3/9), and Company M, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines (M/3/9), conducted heliborne assaults into landing zones (LZs) India and Mike 1700 meters apart on Co Ca Va Ridge. This is a boomerang-shaped ridge approximately a half-mile long, running linearly east to west, with its southern flank an almost sheer cliff to the valley below. Meeting no resistance, the way was clear for Company K, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines, and engineers to sweep in and begin construction of the fire support base.

DEFENSE DEPT PHOTO (MARINE CORPS) A192845

There was no secrecy involved in the creation of a fire support base. It was an anthill of activity, a major engineering feat and the scene of massive organized confusion as chain saws bit into the huge jungle hardwoods. Numerous explosions sent rocks, splinters, tree limbs, even whole trees, raining down through clouds of choking, rising dust.

The rapid buildup of support facilities at FSB Cunningham was impressive, essentially turning the fire support base into a mini–combat base. When placed atop a dominant terrain feature, the fire support bases were defensible but, as “fixed” forward positions established in the enemy’s territory by forceable entry, they were beacons and targets quickly placed under constant observation by the enemy.

From the moment the Marines landed on Co Ca Va Ridge and began their construction efforts they were under constant enemy surveillance. It was soon obvious to the NVA observers that this was the operational command center for all Marine operations in the area. Accordingly, an NVA sapper unit was ordered to do a feasibility study upon which to formulate assault plans against the fire support base.

DEFENSE DEPT PHOTO (MARINE CORPS) A192682

The Marines knew the enemy’s tactics well. Accordingly, the infantry dug their fighting holes, usually two-man positions, no more than 50 feet apart. As much barbed wire as could be obtained was strung in several different configurations all around the outpost, with additional barriers, such as flares, trip-wire booby traps and anti-personnel mines, placed at what were perceived to be the most likely avenues of enemy approach.

Interlocking fields of fire for individual and crew-served weapons were established so that the defenders achieved a 360-degree integrated pattern of defensive fire. Outposts with good vantage points were established. Listening posts were also established that would intercept attacks or attempts at infiltration before allowing enemy forces to approach close to the defensive lines. Because of their forward and exposed natures, the location of those outposts was continually changing. Additional protection for the fire support base was provided by constant patrols around the position.

The fire support base in no way resembled a secure area with all the trappings of a permanent installation. As operations proceeded, empty ammunition crates were broken down and utilized as footpaths. Garbage disposal, although a problem, was never a high priority. Plastic and cardboard wrappings, expended artillery shells and empty C-ration cans quickly stacked up. Due to the proximity of large stores of ammunition, engineering explosives and powder charges, trash fires were not allowed. The trash pits and bunkers were almost immediately infested with legions of mice and rats.

DEFENSE DEPT PHOTO (MARINE CORPS) A800573

The bunkers were dark and musty. Beds were made of whatever could be scrounged or improvised. There were no windows. Available electricity was reserved for communications and equipment. New men soon learned that peanut butter, when burned, made a dim candle. Inside the bunkers the men attracted hordes of voracious gnats and mosquitoes. Insect bites became ulcerated wounds constantly irritated by salty sweat. Every sore turned into jungle rot.

 Mail was infrequently delivered. Hot meals were a thing of the past. Supplies were low and, for several days at a time, nonexistent. The men found themselves eating cold C-ration spaghetti for breakfast and being thankful to have it. There was little water for cooking or shaving and not much more for drinking.

Then there was the constant enemy fire. There was nothing routine about being on the receiving end of an artillery barrage, even when the attacks came daily or hourly and there were no casualties. Nerves were constantly frayed. Marines in underground positions held their breath and cast nervous eyes to straining timbers as loose dirt sifted through their accumulation of timbers, runway matting, sandbags and logs overhead. Equipment was damaged and efficiency impaired. The effect was cumulatively debilitating.

DEFENSE DEPT PHOTO (MARINE CORPS) A192685

Finally, there was the danger of ground attack. A sapper unit of the NVA 812th Regiment had been assigned the mission of attacking FSB Cunningham. Its primary objective was to penetrate the Marine defenses and inflict maximum casualties, destroy equipment, ordnance and installations, and then withdraw. A sapper attack was not designed to seize and hold or occupy a prominent terrain feature.

The sappers took the time to professionally and skillfully plan their attack. A week was devoted to executing a detailed reconnaissance of the fire support base. The terrain was minutely analyzed, defensive patrol patterns studied, crew-served weapons’ positions plotted, obstacles sketched and estimates made of the time that would be required to breach defensive barriers.

DEFENSE DEPT PHOTO (MARINE CORPS) A800583

By February 16, 1969, the NVA sappers were ready to commence their attacks on FSB Cunningham. The period between their final reconnaissance and the commencement of their attack was allocated to briefings and rehearsals. Sand tables had been prepared from detailed sketches made of all the Marine installations. All possible approach routes had been carefully reviewed and the concept of terrain appreciation utilized in developing the plan of attack. The natural and man-made obstacles had been plotted. The Marines’ flares and detonation devices had been located. Each sapper was given precise instructions on his mission. Supporting fire concentrations had been planned, checked and rechecked. The attack signals, passwords, and withdrawal and rally point signals were memorized by all hands. The sappers used a flare system as a source of communications: red — area hard to get into; white — withdrawal; green — victory; green followed by white — reinforcements requested. Personnel, ammunition and weapons were carefully checked.

The sappers were organized into five groups. Group 1, led by Comrade An, consisted of 16 men divided into four-man teams. The first team was assigned to attack the command operations center and mortar positions. The second team was to attack to the right and link up with Comrade Bong’s Group 2 at the helicopter landing zone. The third team was to attack to the left, assault through the landing zone and link up with Group 3, led by Comrade Tan. The fourth team was to attack to the front toward the landing zone.

Group 2 consisted of 15 men divided into four teams led by Comrade Bong. His first four-man team was assigned to attack and destroy the artillery fire direction control center and other battery facilities on the east end of the fire support base. The second team was to attack artillery positions to the right while the third four-man team attacked artillery positions to the left. The remaining three-man team was designated the group’s reserve force.

Comrade Tam’s Group 3 consisted of 12 men divided into four three-man teams concentrating on the west end of the fire support base. The first team was assigned to attack artillery positions to the left. The second team was to attack to the right, advancing and exploiting contact with the Group 1 leader, Comrade An. The third team was to attack directly forward and then link up with a fourth group, led by Comrade Pha, for the mop-up operations. The fourth team would be held in reserve.

Pha’s group was organized to function as the extraction force to assist in the withdrawal of the groups assaulting specific objectives. A fifth group of over 100 men would provide the assaulting forces with a base of fire utilizing RPGs, mortars, automatic weapons and small-arms fire.

The attack forces moved out from their various base camps at 7:30 a.m. Using previously reconned routes, they executed a covered approach to their final assembly areas. Movement as initiated many hours prior to the assault phase as the sappers had deliberately chosen the most difficult avenues of approach to the target in order to avoid observation.

By 6 p.m. all the NVA sapper groups were only 100 meters outside the concertina-wire obstacles surrounding FSB Cunningham. The NVA sappers slowly crept to assault positions just outside the defensive wire, aided by reduced visibility. There was little moonlight and a thick blanket of fog enveloped not only the fire support base but all routes of entry to it. Although the approach was slow and cautious, the assault itself would be made with utmost speed. The sappers assumed that the majority of the defenders would be driven into their bunkers by the mortar attack that would precede their assault. The sappers knew that once the defensive obstacles were breached under this covering fire, the bunkers would become death traps for the Marines.

In anticipation of the Lunar New Year (or Tet) cease-fire, the roaring of the big artillery pieces on FSB Cunningham fell silent at midnight, although the allied countrywide 24-hour truce went into effect at 6 p.m. on February 16.

At precisely 2 a.m., the NVA mortar sections commenced placing accurate supporting fire on previously plotted primary targets, mortar positions, the command bunker, artillery positions and communications bunkers. The Marines could hear the mortar rounds as they were tubed. The devastatingly accurate mortar fire forced the Marines into their bunkers where they felt safe due to a minimum overhead cover of at least four layers of sandbags.

n the midst of the noise, damage and confusion, it was immediately obvious that key installations were the target of the intense barrage. The Marines in fighting holes on the perimeter kept their heads down.

The Marine defensive positions were manned on the northern slope by the men of Lima Company, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment (L/3/9). Defensive positions on the flanks and along the southern edge of the ridge were manned by a combination of Marines from the artillery units and Colonel Barrow’s headquarters group. In addition, a reaction force of 50 Marines from the communications, engineer and staff sections of the headquarters group were on standby as a reserve defensive force.

The mortar barrage reached a crescendo at 2:15 a.m. as the NVA assault groups began their efforts to breach the defensive obstacles. The initial assault wave came from the northeast. The sappers made liberal use of bangalore torpedoes fashioned from half-pound blocks of TNT lashed together between bamboo sticks. The ingenious attack route lay through one of the many trash dumps with well-worn paths leading to every major battery facility.

Mats, brush and other local materials were thrown across the barbed wire obstacles. As the mortar fire was lifted, rocket-propelled Chicom grenades, satchel charges and the bangalore torpedoes created the impression that the mortars were still firing, serving to keep the defenders on the perimeter positions inside their bunkers. The Marines were suffering from too many head-ringing explosions to notice the difference. For hours before the cease-fire began, the artillery batteries at the fire support bases had been hammering away in direct support of other defensive positions. The cacophony of noise was deafening. The NVA sappers who broke through the defensive wire barriers tossed concussion grenades and satchel charges into every open hole they could find. The RPGs and automatic weapons fire of the NVA base group was concentrated on the firing slits and ports of the bunkers. Although the situation was confusing, the Marines quickly realized that they were under ground attack and responded ferociously, organizing an effort to clear the base in the face of heavy enemy mortar and recoilless rifle fire.

The sapper attack was an unforgettable experience for navy Lt. Cmdr. (chaplain) David Brock, who later told the division chaplain: “During the early moments of the attack, an NVA soldier stuck his head into the tent where I and two others were rising, but fortunately, did not throw a grenade inside. A grenade was thrown into a small bunker a few feet away, killing two men.”

Chaplain Brock remembers: “The firefight lasted until almost 7:45 a.m. and during this time I stayed with the doctor in the Aid Station in order to administer last rites and to help with the wounded. For two hours it looked as if the Aid Station would be made a last stand. During the firefight various thoughts went through my mind, such as: Would we live through this? Will the men be able to hold out? How were the young men on the lines doing? I must admit that I was scared but the feeling soon passed because we were too busy. The others were afraid too but not one of them showed his fear. As a matter of fact, it warmed one’s heart to see just how well these young men did in the face of death.”

Lieutenant Commander Brock was one of the regiment’s rather unique lot of chaplains, who almost seemed as if they were handpicked to serve with this particular group of hardnosed Marines. Brock had seen action in the European Theatre of Operations as a U.S. Army sergeant in World War II. He earned a Navy Commendation Medal with combat “V” and a Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry with a Silver Star in Vietnam.

The officer in charge of the fire support base was partially buried in a caved-in bunker during the mortar attack. As he crawled out, he came face to face with one of the sappers. The Marine had a grenade in his hand but was too close to the enemy soldier to use it. He leaped on the surprised enemy soldier and bludgeoned him to death with the heavy base of the grenade.

Using his personal knife as his primary weapon, the company gunnery sergeant killed several of the sappers in hand-to-hand combat. Marines from the 106mm battery, who had manned a machine gun in the southeast portion of the fire support base, assaulted and killed six NVA soldiers who were attempting to organize a strong point inside the perimeter. The cooks from India Battery accounted for 13 enemy killed when they manned a .50-caliber machine gun.

NVA sappers toss satchel charges into bunkers; by combat artist LtCol Michael Leahy

The defensive perimeter had been penetrated by several dozen sappers wearing only olive green shorts and skullcaps. They all carried packs full of explosives and were armed with shoulder-fired RPGs, satchel charges, bamboo mines, small arms and grenades.

The artillery battalion’s fire direction control center was put out of action, as was one howitzer. During the period from 4:10 a.m. to daylight only one of the Marines’ mortars remained in action. The mortar team stayed with their weapon throughout the assault, re-establishing communications with the commander in the fire direction control center and firing a total of 380 rounds.

Corporal Jim Best recalls the attack as a blur of indistinct memories. “There were red and green tracers flashing overhead, men screaming and explosions everywhere. I lay there hugging the ground thinking I may not get out, wondering if we’d been overrun.” Although penetrated, the Marine lines held and at times only a scant five feet separated the combating forces. Men not actively engaged in direct confrontations with the enemy forces were busy coordinating HEAT (high-explosive anti-tank) and illumination artillery fire or providing other support services. Artillery officers were coordinating fire missions while at the same time an air officer was on the radio requesting helicopter gunship support.

Lieutenant Raymond C. Benfatti, commanding officer of Company L, was severely wounded by an impacting rocket-propelled grenade during the initial moments of the attack. Ignoring his painful injuries, Benfatti steadfastly refused medical evacuation and boldly shouted words of encouragement to his men. He directed their fire against the infiltrating sappers and two supporting infantry companies until the hostile sapper unit was ejected from the perimeter.

Despite the enemy rounds impacting all around him, Lieutenant Benfatti quickly organized a reaction force and supervised his Marines in evacuating the casualties and replacing wounded Marines in defensive emplacements. As the enemy support units pressed their attack upon the perimeter, Benfatti continued his determined efforts, repeatedly exposing himself to intense hostile fire as he directed the efforts of his men in repulsing the enemy attack.

A flare ship was called on station to provide illumination outside the perimeter wire. It would remain on station throughout the night as the battle raged until dawn. With flares lighting up the night, a group of clerks, radio operators and engineers began a systematic drive to eliminate the enemy forces within the perimeter. Throughout the battle, Benfatti called for artillery fires from the batteries located on the mutually supporting firebases to surround FSB Cunningham in a curtain of hot steel. This supporting fire prevented enemy reinforcements and exploitation of breaches in the wire and also rendered impossible the retreat of the sappers already inside the compound.

At about 5:30 a.m. the Marines completed the reorganization of their positions and began slowly but methodically to break up the sapper attack. As Dawn broke, the spirited defenders were mopping up the remnants of the enemy assault force. Contact, however, was not broken until 7 a.m.

Jim Best described the end of the battle: “The fighting slowed and it was a few moments before I realized that the fire support base was dead silent. There were no sounds, only the fear of not knowing the exact situation.”

As the sun rose, the light and warmth it brought created a calming sense of temporary peace at FSB Cunningham. When it became apparent that the NVA had withdrawn for good, the counting began. Lieutenant Benfatti, who would win the Silver Star Medal for his actions during the attack, supervised the medical evacuation of casualties and ascertained the welfare of his Marines, resolutely refusing medical attention for his own wounds until all the other wounded men had been cared for.

The Marines found a total of 25 NVA bodies inside their defensive wires. One of those bodies was that of a sapper officer. Documents found on his body were examined, translated and analyzed by the 15th Interrogator/Translator Team, revealing the detailed planning of the attack described above.

Searching the enemy bodies, the Marines captured 26 RPG rounds, 25 Chicom grenades, 253 bamboo explosive devices, seven rifle grenades, 12 packs, two radios, 11 AK-47 rifles and numerous signal flares. The packs contained large quantities of marijuana and other drugs.

“The use of narcotics,” platoon leader Milton J. Teixeira said, “mad them a lot harder to kill. Not one of the gooks we had inside the perimeter had less than three or four holes in him. Usually it took a grenade or something to stop him completely.”

A final tally of the battle damage revealed four Marines killed in action, 46 Marines wounded in action and 37 NVA killed in action. In “E” Battery, 2nd Battalion, 12 Marines, had taken heavy battle damage. Surveying the smoke-shrouded fire support base, Colonel Barrow said: “They’ll probably think twice from here on out before taking on another Marine headquarters group. These lads did a fantastic job in what could have been a nasty situation. They were 100 percent professional fighting men; good Marines all the way.”

This article was written by Michael R. Conroy and originally titled, “Sapper Attack in the A Shau”, and published in the August 1991 issue of VietnamMagazine. 

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		Ghost Warriors
		by: TJ McGinley Tiger Force Recon 1/327/101st Abn. Div. Vietnam 1968-1969© Copyright 2009

This article originally appeared on the following website:  http://www.war-stories.com/ and is printed here with the permission of the author.

In November of 1968, I was walking slack for 1/327/101st Airborne Divisions recon team  “Tiger Force,” in the jungle covered mountains of the Central Highlands, about 50 miles west of Hue, South Vietnam.  John Gertsch was walking point that day when we came across a well-used trail.  Gertsch stopped and put his left fist up, which meant that everyone stop and be perfectly quiet.  Then he spread his hand out in an open gesture, which meant, quietly, get down and pay attention.  We did.  Gertsch and I checked the trail for tracks and any another other signs of enemy activity.  We found fresh prints and reported back to the lieutenant, who told us to set up an ambush.

Within 15 minutes, a small patrol of six NVA appeared on the trail.  We waited until they were in the right spot, made sure there were no more NVA behind them and then opened fire.  Afterward, we cleared the trail, cleaned up any evidence that we were there and left the area.  One of the NVA soldiers was an officer and was carrying maps and paperwork.  We walked to a suitable site and requested a helicopter to pick-up and take the NVA paperwork to the rear to be analyzed.

We hiked for another hour and set up a night defensive position.  Early in the evening, Gertsch, Zeke, Campos and I, quietly discussed the day’s events before taking our defensive positions.  As I sat in silence, just listening to the jungle, I reflected back on just how I got to be in this elite unit of sky soldiers.

When the United States first started sending significant numbers of troops to Vietnam, we were using WWII tactics., which didn’t work against the North Vietnamese, who were waging guerrilla warfare, and it soon became apparent that superior firepower and company-sized units were ineffective.  A group of 180 men moving through the jungle are loud, the noise carrying for miles and allowing the enemy time to react to our presence.

Late in 1965, a young and highly decorated Lt. Col. in the 101st Airborne Division, David Hackworth convinced his superiors we would have a greater success using smaller, well-armed, camouflaged units that could move quietly through the jungle. The first of these groups comprised from hand-picked, experienced volunteers from the First Brigade of the 101st.  They became known as Tiger Force.

I was the second of nine children, four of which were the draft age in 1967.  The oldest was in the Marines already; one was in military school, and another was about to graduate from high school.  I’d just graduated and had no plans for college.  Besides, I felt if I went to Vietnam the chances of my brothers going would be slim.  It worked, I went, and everybody else stayed home.

I arrived in Bien Hoa, Vietnam, on April 4, 1968, and spent a month or so in additional training in the 90th replacement.  Afterward, we flew north to Camp Eagle where I spent a single night before I took the first of countless helicopter rides along with a few other new guys and me, we were “Cherries” going to the firebase, Veghel.

The replacements and I spent one-hour there then walked out through the jungle to meet my company on a hilltop overlooking the mountains and valleys of the Central Highlands.   Little did I know that walking through some of the most difficult and remote terrains in South Vietnam would be what I did for the next fourteen months.

Vietnam was divided into three zones. The northern zone was I Corps which consisted of battle grounds like the DMZ, The Rock Pile, Khe Sanh and the closest supply routes from North Vietnam into the south, the A-Shau Valley. I Corps was manned by conventional large scale, well armed, well trained and well resupplied NVA Regular Army Divisions. Farther south, II and III Corps were dominated by enemy units called the Viet Cong that used more of a guerrilla warfare tactic.

2 Squad, 2 Platoon, C Co. 1/327/101 1968

Because I was unmarried, I was assigned the job of walking point for Charlie Company, 1st/327, 101st Airborne Division, a line company with roughly 120 men.  During the month of May 1968, we operated in an area fifty miles west of Hue know as the Ruong-Ruong Valley.  During a daily patrol, we discovered something that illustrated how determined our enemy was.  We walked into a natural cathedral fashioned by an eighty-foot canopy, covering a 300-yard diameter clearing, and surrounded on three sides by a river.  The overhead foliage is camouflaging it from the air.

In its center, we found one of the largest caches of enemy weapons ever found during the Vietnam War.  The inventory included five Chinese 85mm Howitzers, several crew-served anti-aircraft guns, hundreds of rifles, mortars, anti-tank weapons and in the surrounding jungle, 58 Russian trucks filled with misc. equipment.  When the officers reviewed a topographical map, they could trace the enemy’s route to transport the weapons from Laos, through the A-Shau Valley and into the Ruong-Ruong where we found them.

Above Photo: 85 Howitzers in the Roung-Roung Valley 1968

Under normal circumstances, we never stayed in one location longer than one night but with all this enemy weaponry to protect we were told to do something I had never done before — dig in.  I wasn’t much of a believer in foxholes. I preferred the idea of silence and camouflage over digging a hole. However, this time, my excavation was six feet long, four feet wide, and two feet deep.

I felt that they knew exactly where I was in this hole, and regardless of how deep I could dig it, it wouldn’t do me any good.

Humpin the trail

On our second day at this site, we heard that a friendly unit would penetrate the perimeter at our sector.  From out of the jungle came the most impressive group of soldiers I had seen to date, Tiger Force, clad in French camouflage fatigues, and carrying sawed-off shotguns and AK47s.  None of them wore a helmet; these men had a look of people who meant business.  I had walked point long enough and knew that a helmet was a detriment in the ability to hear, so I never wore one.

Tiger Force camped with us that night, and their quiet confidence and field expertise drew me in like a magnet.  I knew at that moment, that if I were going to spend the next several months in the jungle, I wanted to be with people who knew what they were doing and this unit of about thirty men had that effect on me.  In the morning, I discovered that the Tigers had vanished, slipping silently into the jungle while we slept.

Charlie Company stayed at the site until all the weapons had been either removed or destroyed. Afterward, we continued our mission and headed west toward Laos. When we reached the border, we turned north. The NVA used The A-Shua Valley as an important supply route to funnel weapons and supplies, such as what we found in the Ruong-Ruong Valley.  At certain times of the year, the rains prevented Americans from moving into this valley because aircraft wouldn’t be able to support them.  The enemy used this time and weather to their advantage.  Our objective was to protect a corps of engineers who were planting a minefield across the western entrance to the valley off the Ho Chi Min trail from Laos.

Ashau Valley

On The first of June 1968, we were on a mountain overlooking Laos to our west and the A Shau to the east. That afternoon we witnessed the single most spectacular display of firepower I had ever seen. We watched a B-52 strike along the center of the valley.

B-52 Arc Light Mission

We could not hear the planes or the bombs as they fell, but the explosions were incredible to watch.  We were about 10 miles away, and felt the percussion, and then heard shrapnel flying through the trees above us. Those who were not lying on the ground – suddenly became a part of it.  The barrage threw trees and debris hundreds of feet into the air, the blasts, continuous without any time elapsing between detonations.

Our commander was Tom Kinane, who had an uncanny ability to look at a topographical map and knew where the enemy was.  He also informed us that getting past the fortifications around the Valley would be the most dangerous part of our mission.  He was right!   There were semi-permanent NVA complexes both above and below ground on several of the high ridges.  It was between two of these fortifications that my squad walked into an ambush while on patrol.  Within two minutes, nine of the eleven men were wounded.  Only the man at the rear of the column and myself were not wounded.

All the enemy had to do to stop the advance of the Americans was to wound a few of us, and everything would grind to a halt.   They knew that we would cut a hole in the jungle to accommodate medevac helicopters.  This gave the NVA time to regroup and better prepare for the advancing Americans.

By the morning of June 3rd, we had worked our way to a point high on a ridge facing north.  To the west was the Laotian border, to the east, open terrain of the valley floor and just ahead of us to the north on the other side of the entrance to the valley was a large mountain.  The U.S. military identified it was Hill 937; the Vietnamese called it Dong Ap Bai, and a year later Senator Ted Kennedy called it “Hamburger Hill”.

We descended from the south down the mountain to the floor of the AShua Valley.  Once there, our objective changed from exploring jungle covered mountains – most of which were virgin – never seeing humans prior to our visit, to protecting a unit of engineers on one of the most heavily used NVA infiltration routes into the south. The engineers needed somebody to watch over them as they laid a minefield across the northern entrance to the valley.  The valley floor comprised of 8-foot high Elephant grass but no dense jungle or cover, so it was imperative that this operation wrap up as quickly as possible.

Elephant Grass – each strand has razor sharp edges

Orders soon came around requiring the 1/327 to find out if there was any enemy activity on Hill 937.  Delta Company led the way followed by Charlie Company in support.  Once on the valley floor, our personal security evaporated.  For the first time in months, large groups of men have totally exposed themselves with without a canopy, jungle, and no place to hide in this enemy stronghold.

Finally, we reached the other side of the valley and started our ascent up Hill 937.  Soon Delta Company began receiving fire from somewhere to our front.  It wasn’t long before we encountered reinforced bunkers, heavy machine gun fire, and mortar rounds from what seemed like every direction, way more fire power than we’d experienced to date.  Our orders were to find out if there was enemy activity up there, not to take the hill.  As soon as we confirmed that the hill was occupied, we pulled back and returned to our sanctuary on the other side of the valley floor where we called the Air Force to deal with the mountain stronghold.  By the time we returned to our overlook position, the entire battalion was on the valley floor protecting the engineers.

For the next three hours, jets dropped napalm, 250-pound bombs, and what seemed like everything except nukes on this hill – green tracers from NVA anti-aircraft guns chased the aircraft across the sky.  Never have I seen such bold action taken by the enemy as I did that day.  This hill was different from all the mountains we had explored so far because of its strategic location, guarding the Laotian border and the entrance to the valley.  To our north and southwest, massive mountains bordered the valley, the Laotian border was to our west – we finally realized that we were standing in the middle of the Ho-Chi-Minh Trail.

Hill 937 before the major battle and assault

Time was crucial, and we knew we were being watched from the surrounding mountains.  The engineers finished their job just before nightfall, and now it was time to leave.   As we prepared to move out incoming mortar rounds began falling on us from the surrounding mountains, and then artillery fire landed from somewhere in Laos. We had to move, and the only direction open to us was south, straight down the center of the valley.

Ashau Valley 

It was my turn to walk point,  and without a moment’s delay, we took off at a rather fast pace. It was getting dark fast, and we moved quickly through the elephant grass, suffering and getting cut to ribbons by the razor-sharp blades.  However, it was much quicker than trying to cut our way through the dense jungle.  We slowed down after an hour when coming across crumpled barbed wire and rotting sand bags.  I knew we had found the abandoned Green Beret camp that was overrun by the NVA in 1966.  The discovery put me in my place, and I realized what I was doing and where I was – walking point through one of the most dangerous locations on the planet in 1968, the A-Shau Valley in the middle of the night.

TJ McGinley.

I encountered two separate groups of NVA soldiers during our march. Americans seldom moved at night, so our adversaries didn’t know just what to do when I appeared out of the vegetation.  They ran! Not wanting to broadcast our location, we didn’t give chase or expel many rounds at the fleeing enemy.  I didn’t know the size of the force we had encountered, and they didn’t know how many of us there were. It was an instantaneous mutual understanding among adversaries in this very odd situation, to leave well enough alone.  Firefights raged all through the valley as the NVA probed encamped units of Americans in the dark of night.

We slowed our pace now that we were out of range of the artillery that pursued us. After what seemed like weeks the most beautiful dawn that I can remember unfolded. We had radioed ahead to an American unit to be expecting our approach from the north. What they saw must have resembled a scene from a Steven King novel. From out of the early morning mist came a unit of ghost soldiers.

Ashau Valley shrouded in fog during early morning recon.

The elephant grass, which we mostly ignored, had cut us to shreds. We were completely out of food, low on ammo, water, and strength. We had been up for 48 hours straight and the last eight we had walked, at night, through ten miles of one of the most enemy infested locations in all of South Vietnam.

Later that day the First Brigade of the 101st was extracted from the AShau Valley after being in the jungle of the Central Highland for more than three months.

During their five-day stand-down at Camp Eagle, several members of Charlie Company including myself decided to join Tiger Force.  It was in this elite group of paratroopers that I first met men who could “out-Indian” the Indians.  This recon team consisted of about 30 well-seasoned, handpicked volunteers.

Left Photo: Zeke Blevins, John Toberman, Dave Fields and TJ McGinley.
Right Photo: Sparks, Rader Rick, Zeke Blevins, and Stan Parker

Under the command of Lt. Fred Raymond, John Gertsch, Dave Fields, and others, Tiger Force worked with a smoothness and efficiency that even surprised the enemy.

Tigers ran recon for the First Brigade and would be the unit called on if one of the line companies was in trouble or needed help. But our specialty was ambush and recon.

Gertsch, as he was known, was a master in the field, teaching all who were near the ways of the jungle and how to use it to our advantage.  In his words, “how to be there, but not be there.”  When there was any fighting going on, you could find John diving into it doing what had to be done to get his fellow paratroopers out of danger with no thought for his safety.

One day we were hit and pinned down by a well-planned NVA ambush. Gertsch was on point.  Instead of pulling back, John crawled forward alone. The NVA didn’t see him until he came up in the middle of their perimeter. Before we knew what happened, Gertsch had killed most of them and returned with three prisoners.

Tiger Force 1968

Another time John led the Tigers on a two-day hunt through the AShau Valley chasing a PT-76 NVA tank. Nobody stopped us to ask what we’d do if we caught up with it. The tank made it back across the Laos border before we caught it. Gertsch stomped where angels and devils feared to tread.

Tiger Force had seen more action than any other unit in the Division. And John was the best of the best.  Anyone who’d been wounded twice by claymores, and still walked point, had more nerve than any one man deserved.

John was ending his third consecutive tour with Tigers when he was chosen as “Soldier of the Year” and asked to represent the 101st Airborne Division at an annual reunion in Fort Campbell, KY.  John knew Tiger Force was heading back into the notorious AShau Valley and knew that they needed his experience for this dangerous mission. He made a decision to stay in-country and help his unit on this mission. As it turned out, that decision became costly for all of us.

Tiger Force was choppered into the AShau Valley on July 17, 1969, and ambushed two days later. The platoon leader was hit and wounded severely, Gertsch moved forward and then dragged him to a sheltered position. John assumed command of the heavily engaged platoon and led his men in a fierce counterattack that forced the enemy to withdraw and managed to recover two wounded comrades.  A short time later, Tigers were attacked again. John charged forward firing as he advanced. Together, John and the other Tigers forced the enemy to withdraw a second time.

Some time later his platoon came under attack for the third time, this time by a company sized NVA element.  John suffered a severe wound during the onslaught, he continued to fight and noticed a medic treating a wounded officer.  Realizing that both men were in imminent danger of being killed, John rushed forward and positioned himself between them and the enemy.  He continued to provide cover fire while others moved the wounded officer to safety.  John, however, was mortally wounded.

John Gertsch, July 1968.

By the end of the Vietnam conflict, Tiger Force had seen more combat than any other unit in the 1st Brigade of the 101st ABD becoming one of the highest decorated units of its size in the military at that time.  Sixty percent of its members earned the Bronze Star with “V” device for valor, thirty percent received Silver Stars, and two Tigers received The Congressional Medal of Honor.

Lt. James Gardner, C.O. of Tiger Force KIA Feb. 7, 1966, was awarded a Purple Heart,  three Bronze Stars, two Silver Stars and The Congressional Medal of Honor.

My mentor and good friend John Gertsch was KIA in the AShau on June 19, 1969. In all, John was awarded three Purple Hearts, three Bronze Stars with “V” device, five Silver Stars, and for his actions on July 19, John was awarded The Congressional Medal of Honor.

David Hackworth briefs Gen. Julian Ewell (right)

Our commander and founder, Col. David Hackworth died at his home on May 14, 2007.  David participated in every conflict the U.S. fought WWII through Vietnam.  David earned eight Purple Hearts, eight Bronze Stars, ten Silver Stars, and two Distinguished Service Crosses and was nominated for The Congressional Medal of Honor three times.

Fred Raymond is still in the military. He works for the Department of Veterans Affairs and holds the rank of Major General. Fred still has the respect of all who had the honor of serving under him. Being a member of this elite unit of Ghost Warriors was the pinnacle of my brief time in the military. TJ McGinley Tiger Force Recon 1/327 – 101st Abn. Div. Vietnam ’68-’69

Author TJ McGinely is an active member of War-Stories

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I’d like to introduce my guest writer, Jim Cain, who wrote this narrative some years ago and finding it quite cathartic.  He was drafted in 1969 and served in Vietnam from 1/70 through 12/70 in the central highlands – assigned to the 4th Div. 1/14th Battalion Echo Company – recon platoon and carried an M60 for most of his tour. After leaving the army in 1971, Jim utilized the G.I. Bill and finished school. He recently retired from the University Medical Center in California and is enjoying retirement: playing guitar, reading as much as possible, riding his road bike and writing poetry.

This article was originally published in the Air Cavalry Squadron Field Manual – 1969; “Dazed and Confused-Vietnam: January 5th through December 8th 1970” by Jim Cain; National Archives – some of the pictures shown are from Jim’s private collection while others were pulled from the internet by me.

The imagination is a wonderful paintbrush when allowed to stroke the canvas of the past unhindered. Unlike a photograph it uses hues of emotional reality to create an image of personal reality. For this reason I decided to allow my imagination to use the emotional hues of my memory to paint this story.

My tour in Vietnam was full of segmented stories, some crazy and hard to imagine, but most were mundane, uneventful, and hard to remember. I have difficulty remembering the names of guys I lived side by side with for months. Humping through leech infested triple canopy jungle, sliding down monsoon-drenched mountainsides together for months, and I can’t remember their names. I suspect this is a coping mechanism, a cleansing of stressful memories of a stressful time. I do periodically have vivid flashes of faces and smells and images of mountains, streams, trees, and sounds of helicopters, artillery and those quiet dark nights lying under a poncho tied to branches with shoestrings. I can’t even remember walking out into the jungle alone to relieve myself. I know that I did and I did it often, I just can’t remember. I vaguely remember setting up our campsites for the night; setting up the trip flares and claymores. I have vague memories of night watch, fighting to stay awake and often falling asleep. So many memories lost to redundancy and the vagueness of passing time. Yet I have a sense of being there, a collage of the past, interpreted from so much vagueness. I did take a lot of photographs while in Vietnam. I had hundreds; photographs of the guys, the jungle, the Vietnamese, the Montagnards, even the first pair of jungle boots that I wore out, everything! I lost them, all gone. Now I have to rely on my memory. A collage of the past, painted with vague translucent images.  The stories were prophetic

My first memory of Vietnam was the warm humid air; it engulfed my body as I stepped off the airplane in Cam Rahn Bay. It seemed so alien to me, I had never felt that depth of penetrating humidity before. At that moment I knew the world had changed, I could literally feel it.

I was taken with the other FNG’s (f**king new guys) to a holding area where soldiers who were on their way home, or “back to the world” were staying.  I stayed there for a few nights and heard many stories from the old timers; some scared me, others made me laugh. One of the stories that scared me was told by a sergeant from Texas, I think San Antonio. He was a big guy, with thick wavy dark hair that seemed to stand up as he told his story, I know mine did.  His squad was out on patrol one night when they made contact with an unknown number of North Vietnamese Army Regulars, NVA.  After a firefight broke out, he called for artillery support.  Not knowing the number of enemy or their exact location, he called in coordinates within 100 meters of his position. The first few rounds landed outside of the intended target, so he adjusted his coordinates. The next thing he remembered was the sound of incoming, and then he felt the outward movement of air, and heard the sound wave from the explosion. Immediately following the sound wave, he heard pieces of shrapnel tumble and fly through the air. He said, “These are sounds I will never forget.” His squad suffered casualties, and a number of wounded soldiers. He survived with minor injuries. I heard other stories of death, survival and mishap and wondered how I would possibly survive in this hostile world.

I did hear one funny story that stands out in my memory.  It was told by a guy who was very jovial and had an infectious laugh, he talked about all kinds of funny things. He talked about the people of Vietnam and the military, and about his R&R in Bangkok, but his funniest story was about the Central Highlands. It was a funny story of survival, immersed in satirical irony. He said the Central Highlands was a nightmare during the monsoon season. The ticks and leeches were everywhere, and the rain was relentless.  He said they would fight all day climbing and cutting the jungle from the mountainside with machetes only to slide back down in the leech-infested mud.  After a few times of sliding down and crawling back up the muddy mountainside, he would stick the barrel of his weapon into the mud, using it as a grappling hook to pull himself up to the top of the mountain. He said the fight was no longer with the NVA or the VC, it was with the mountain and the rain, the jungle, the leeches and ticks, they were the enemy.  The way he told the story made me laugh, but after a few months in country, the laughs turned to tears. The stories were prophetic; we all shared the same war! And I was so happy for those guys, I could feel the sheer joy of their happiness; it was palpable, they were going home, “back to the world.”

Camp Enari near Pleiku

The next day I was called into a large room where they read off my unit assignment. I was assigned to the 4th Infantry Division, which at that time, was headquartered at CampEnari near Pleiku in the Central Highlands, in the military area called II Corps. I loaded onto a C-130 cargo plane and flew to an American Air Force Base located just outside of Pleiku. Pleiku was inhabited primarily by Montagnards the indigenous people of the Central Highlands.  The term Montagnard means “mountain people” in French and is a carry over from the French colonial period in Vietnam. I remember getting into a military bus that looked like an armored car. I can’t see an image of the bus, but somewhere in the collage, I remember thinking it was like an armored car.  As we drove through Pleiku City, the driver told us to keep our heads down because of sniper fire. I was getting deep into the action and felt a little concerned because I still had no weapon.

After a short ride in the armored car, I was dropped off somewhere in Camp Enari.  Camp Enari was a large base camp, devoid of trees, and the land looked much like what you find in South Georgia, lots of red clay and plenty of dust, which kicked up every time a helicopter came in. I found my way to the in-processing facility, and was assigned to a transit barrack (Quonset hut) that was located near by. I spent about five days in the transit area attending classes and orientation to Vietnam.

At this point, I believe I started to become a little paranoid.  One night inside my Quonset hut, I began to think that this was all a dream, and I would soon wake up, and that everyone there was playing a trick on me. I realized it was no trick when a mortar dropped near the Quonset hut where I was staying, killing one soldier and wounded another.

Shrouded in a dingy green meshed mosquito net inside a dark and smoky room listening to rumbling voices echo into the darkness, I float on a dream of fear, filled with false images of a far away place anticipating the sudden awakening from the nightmare, when death awakened the truth from its slumber, and I rose into the light of day.

During this in-processing period, an officer and sergeant came around looking for volunteers for a two-week recondo training course for the 75th Infantry ranger unit. I figured two more weeks in base camp and a little more training would give me more time away from the jungle. I wasn’t ready to hit the kill zone. I wasn’t gung ho! by any means. I didn’t enlist in this crazy war, I was drafted! My only goal was to get out alive. I have to admit that I was very naïve for twenty. I had just turned twenty-years old three months earlier, while training at Fort Lewis. I knew how to survive on my own back in the world, but in Vietnam, I had no clue as to why we were even there. I had some vague image of fighting communism, but I didn’t even understand what communism was about. I was scared on the inside and trying to hide it on the outside. And there I was on the other side of the world, just doing what I was told, just like every other eighteen, nineteen, and twenty-year old naïve kid.

Throughout my entire tour in Vietnam I only remember kids like me, enlisted or drafted, they all were young and naïve! Some were so blinded by patriotism, they didn’t care why they were there, they were American and they would die for their country. I mean, come on! Even I, a naïve country boy could see that this third world country had nothing to do with our freedom. Did fighting communism mean killing thousands of innocent people? I didn’t know the answer, but what I did know was that I wanted to get my ass out of there and back to that little country town where at least some things made sense.

Recondo Training course

After classes and orientation to Vietnam, I signed up for the recondo training course. I was issued my gear including an M-16 with ammunition. Finally, I was assigned a weapon!  I felt a little more secure, but still scared as hell! I passed the recondo course, which required learning advanced skills in escape, evasion, and survival. At one point, I had to call an artillery strike within fifty yards of my own position. This was a tactic used in the event that your position had been over run by the enemy. I remember the day that I was assigned to the artillery range, I was very apprehensive, and thought about quitting the course, until I found out that the 105 howitzers had been used many times and even if you gave them the wrong coordinates, they would always use the correct ones. I did complete the artillery course, and it was unbelievable! It felt as if the rounds were falling right on top of me. I remember thinking about what the sergeant from Texas had said back at Cam Rahn Bay. Fortunately, I never had to use this tactic during my tour in country.

Technically, my first mission in Vietnam was during my recondo training course. One night the sergeant took me and three other soldiers outside of Camp Enari. We traveled light and headed for a wooded area about a kilometer out. The sergeant explained that we were on a reconnaissance patrol and that stealth was priority one. What made the patrol interesting was that the sergeant appeared to become a little nervous. I figured it was because he was out there with four FNGs, so I kept my eyes and ears open. That night we made camp in a small depression under some thick brush. Just after nightfall, I spotted some movement on a trail about 100 meters away. I saw the silhouette of two men walking quickly toward the Base Camp. I became very excited and informed the sergeant. He didn’t seem too interested so I figured it was okay and continued my watch for the night.

What really stands out in my memory from the recondo training course is the running. For two weeks, I could not walk anywhere. I had to run, even if it were only two or three steps, I had to run. If you were caught walking, you had to do fifty push-ups. I must say, “I got pretty good at doing push-ups”. The final test was again, running! This time it was a five-mile run to be completed in less than an hour. What made it tough was that you wore complete jungle fatigues with weapon, ammunition, water and a thirty-pound sand bag in your rucksack during the hottest part of the day.

I made the run and passed the course only to be told that I did not pass the security screening because of an arrest for possession of marijuana. I was eighteen and fresh out of high school and was busted for thirteen roaches in 1968.  Then, there in Vietnam, I was told that I was a security risk, when everywhere that I went up until that point in time, marijuana was smoked as casually as smoking tobacco. I remember being disappointed. Looking back on it now, I think I was fortunate. I mean spending a year in the jungle as a 75th Infantry ranger; seems a little crazy in retrospection. Just shows how naïve I was!

Camp Radcliff

After my rejection from the 75^th Rangers, I was assigned to a recon platoon out of the Divisional Base at Camp Radcliff.  I rode on a convoy to Camp Radcliff from Pleiku on highway 19 passing through a narrow slit in the mountains known as the Mang Yang Pass.

The pass is infamous for the 1954 ambush of the French. It’s said that over 2000 French soldiers died that day and were buried standing up, facing the west. That defeat and the defeat at Dien Bien Phu ultimately forced them to sign a peace agreement with the Viet Minh a month later.  It was very intimidating passing through that narrow stretch of highway with its history of so many ambushes. I felt like a sitting duck in the back of that deuce and a half.  We passed without incident and continued on to Camp Radcliff.

When I arrived at Camp Radcliff I was assigned to Echo Company, recon platoon 1st Battalion, 14^th Infantry; “The Golden Dragons.”  The 14^th Infantry was named Golden Dragons during the Boxer Rebellion of 1900. The Chinese dubbed the American unit, “Golden Dragons,” because of their fierce fighting spirit. The Golden dragons also fought in the Iraqi war; a war of similar consequences of Vietnam. Iraq like Vietnam was a war of so many contradictions…

“a war with no boundaries or indications of friend or foe. So many smiles of, “you number one GI,” and beyond the looking glass; the need to survive, “you number 10 you die.” In Vietnam, you humped with Kit Carson scouts former Viet Cong acting as guides and you humped the mama-san prostitutes who surrendered their pride. You felt compassion for the people, next to your primordial need to survive, often you killed indiscriminately, and later you cried.”

Echo Company was out on a mission when I arrived at Camp Radcliff. Camp Radcliff was a very big place. It was originally built as the base camp for the 1st Cavalry Division in 1965. It became home for the 4th Infantry Division, and thus 1st Battalion, 14th Infantry in early 1970.  Its strategic location allowed for the defense and control of the Central Highlands.

Hon Cong Mountain was a prominent landmark right in the middle of the base camp. From the top, you could see for miles. There was an observation post on top with a communication tower and a very large searchlight. It was common to have mortar attacks during the day and night. At night, the searchlight would light up the area where the mortar shells hit. Because the base was so big, you became accustomed to the sound of the mortar shells after a few nights. I can still hear the sound…

“a piercing shrill in the darkness of  night, as I try to gauge its intent. I welcomed the thud at the end of its cry, for I knew I would not die.  I’ve heard it said, with no cry you die, but I’ll never know, as the shells they slow, and the night becomes permanent for those who know.”

 Sin City

It was difficult getting use to the relentless firing of artillery. The 105mm and 8-inch howitzers and the 175mm guns fired all day and night, mostly at night, harassment and interdiction (H&I) fire. The sound and shock waves were unbelievable!  I would lie on my cot at night thinking about what it must be like on the receiving end of those guns. I knew what it was like with VC or NVA mortars and rockets. It was very frightening to say the least. I just could not imagine being on the receiving end of the magnitude of firepower that was unleashed on the Vietcong and NVA every day and night from Camp Radcliff. It must have been like Dante’s Inferno, a “Living Hell!”

There was a huge commissary, “Wal-Mart like” in the middle of the camp; it had everything except a ticket back to the world! It had electronics of all kinds, jewelry and clothing, and the biggest seller, cigarettes! With cigarettes, you could trade to the Vietnamese for just about anything. With enough cigarettes, I probably could have gotten a ticket back to the world. Camp Radcliff was like a small city back in California. It was located near An Khe. An Khe was a small Vietnamese city that looked similar to Tijuana Mexico in the 60’s. One section of An Khe was often referred to as, “Sin City.” Most Vietnamese cities near a military base had their own Sin City.

Sin Cities were whorehouses sanctioned by the army. The military police would be stationed outside during the day, and they made sure that you were gone before nightfall. GI’s would go there to have a little fun and blow off some stream with the mama-sans. You could buy a beer for around 50 piasters and sex for 300 piasters. The mama-san would say “you number 1 GI” which meant great, number 10 meant you suck, and sex was “boom boom” and that usually happened in a small room behind the bar.

Everything in An Khe looked old and dirty; buildings were made from cardboard and odd pieces of tin. Like Tijuana, with enough American dollars, the key to the city was yours. Drugs and prostitution were big among the troops; go figure! Get high, find sexual gratification with a mama-san, and pretend it’s your girl and hope you don’t get the Clap!

Di Di Mau

If you were lucky when on stand-down, (time away from the jungle, usually three or four days at base camp), you would draw patrol duty on the An Khe side of Camp Radcliff. I got lucky one stand-down around my third month in country, and was assigned patrol duty on the An Khe side. We set up in the area around “Sin City” for the night. There were five of us in our patrol. We set-up an observation post so that we could detect enemy movement around the base camp and give them advance warning. Before we left the base camp, the old timers filled us in on the mama-san situation. They said it sounds crazy but when the mama-sans are there you knew the Viet Cong, wasn’t!

Well the mama-sans did come out to our campsite and they partied with us all night for twenty dollars each.  When I say partied all night, I mean they stayed all night. I was a little hesitant about having these girls stay all night, but nature’s call intervened, I gave a pretty mama-san twenty dollars, and we both climbed on my air mattress. The party lasted about an hour or so and I wanted to sleep, but I had a problem. The air mattress was not big enough for both of us.  I pushed her off hoping that she would find her way home so I could get some sleep, but she didn’t go home, she said something in Vietnamese and climbed back on the mattress. I finally gave up on that tactic after a few tries and rolled over onto the ground wrapped in a blanket and went to asleep. I woke up just before light and she was still there on my mattress, so nature and I crawled back on that mattress until the sun peaked above the horizon and she “di di mau” (go quickly) back home.

 Firebase Abbey

119TH AVIATION COMPANY (ASLT HEL) Logged on 16 Feb. 1970

The Gators and Crocs initiated the insertion of the 4th Inf Div troops 1st Battalion, into firebase Abbey. Firebase Abbey is located 7.5 KM northwest of firebase, LZ Lewis. The next day the company supported firebase Abbey by inserting dog teams and recon patrols 10KM west of Abbey. This operation was to detect enemy movement from the north to the AN KHE area.

I flew out to firebase Abbey a week or so after arriving at Camp Radcliff, my first helicopter ride. It was somewhat intimidating, that big green Huey, with its M60 machine guns, rocket launchers and most of all those two big open doors. I climbed on board and moved to the middle of the Huey. Two old timers sat in the open doorway. I knew they were old timers because they were sitting with their feet hanging out. It looked like fun, but I wasn’t ready for that yet.  The Huey made steep left and right banks; it looked like the old timers sitting in the doorway would be thrown out at any moment, not to mention the target they made. The view was unbelievable! The jungle was so vast, green, and thick and the mountains were rugged and gnarly! Beautiful water falls and clouds swirled below the helicopter, how unreal it all seemed; so much beauty hidden behind the veil of war!

As we flew over firebase Abbey, it looked very dry and dusty. A river flowed lazily along the valley floor, creating a beautiful view from the helicopter. As the huey set down, red dust began to fly everywhere. I was amazed that the pilot could maneuver the helicopter down onto the landing tarmac. The firebase was built on a mountaintop that had been denuded. The trees and bushes had been replaced with artillery and bunkers. Barbed wire had been positioned all around the perimeter. Bunkers lined the inner edge of the perimeter and the artillery was located near the center. As I stood there looking at all of this, a CH-47 Chinook transport helicopter began hovering over the tarmac. I had never been this close to a Chinook so I stood there just watching. Big mistake, red dust was flying everywhere and so was I.  The force of the wind created by the Chinook tossed me into some barbed wire about twenty feet away. Trip flares began to go off, which totally freaked me out. I was pulled from the barbed wire unscathed and very embarrassed.

I was ushered into a dark bunker where I was introduced to members of my new platoon, Fox Force. Fox Force was part of Echo Company, which was comprised of two platoons; Four-Deuce mortar and Fox Force recon platoon. Our lieutenant’s name was Norton. He was very young. I would guess around 23 years old. I immediately liked him because he seemed so self-assured; I needed that at that time. He asked me if I had ever fired a machine gun. I said “only during training.” At that point, he introduced me to Dan, who was the current machine gunner. Dan had been in country for quite some time and decided to relocate to the rear. The platoon needed a machine gunner and I was picked for the job.

The platoon also had a couple of “Kit Carson Scouts”. Their names were Ten and Who. Kit Carson Scouts were VC soldiers who surrendered themselves to an American unit, this was called Chu Hoi. They received indoctrination and some training, and then were assigned to American units. The theory was they could assist American units because they were familiar with the terrain and the tactics of the VC. Many of us thought that, at least some were actually still VC. I was never certain how these guys were controlled, because they seemed to come and go as they pleased. After a few missions with the scouts, I accepted Ten as one of the guys, but Who, he always seemed lazy to me.

First Combat Mission

The following day after meeting the platoon, we were assigned a combat mission, which would be my first! That morning I noticed that everyone was wearing a red scarf. I thought this was crazy, but I didn’t say a thing. I found out later that it was a tradition carried on from a past group of Fox Force members. I think it was supposed to show the enemy that we were a little crazy as well as courageous. I know that I did wear the scarf, and I still have mine, but on hindsight, I think it was more crazy than courageous.

Lieutenant Norton gave me the machine gun and asked me to shoot at a tree about 100 yards away. I fired about 100 rounds and hit the tree only once, Lieutenant Norton said, “Good shot, saddle-up.” We all loaded into three or four helicopters and headed out for my first combat assault! Dan was sitting next to me telling me what to expect. As the helicopter got closer to the ground, everyone started to jump off. Everything was a blur; guns and rockets were firing and I was a little confused. What I remember next was Dan pushing me to the ground as he fired at a VC, who appeared to be just behind me. Dan saved my life that day. I think that’s what binds soldiers together; strangers from all parts of the country; from different cultural back grounds and differing political and religious affiliations. They’re all bound by the need to survive. You watch my back, I’ll watch yours! The soldier’s bond is a very special one, its family.

Whoops!

As I ran down the ridge from our Landing Zone (LZ), me and a few other guys, I can’t remember who they were, began to chase a couple of VC into the jungle.  We ran quite some distance until we came to an open area where the trail began to drop off into a valley. I still remember the view from there it was post card perfect. Only problem was, we lost the VC, so we turned and headed back toward the LZ. As we turned and headed back through a small clearing, a Cobra helicopter spotted us. Cobra helicopters were armed with a side-mounted six-barrel “minigun” and a seven-tube 2.75-inch rocket launcher,which could rain down terror from the sky. Because we wore camouflage jungle fatigues and bush hats instead of the normal jungle fatigues and steel pots, the pilot thought we were VC and opened up on us with his minigun. I dove under an old tree limb and didn’t move a muscle. The other guys did the same. I will never forget that sound, it sounded like a sewing machine on steroids, and then the whole jungle began to rip apart.

It seemed ironic that my first combat assault would end with me being killed by friendly fire. We didn’t have a radio, so we had no means of contacting the Cobra. One of the guys said, because I have very blonde hair that I should take my hat off and run out into the open waving my hands. I thought man this is crazy just about the same time the Cobra passed over again and sprayed the area with his steroid sewing machine. I had no choice, so I ran out like a mad man, waving my arms and jumping up and down to get his attention. It worked! He flew by and waved from his cockpit. I could just hear him thinking, whoops!

Ambush and Moans

We made it back to the unit all in one piece, albeit scared as hell! We joined the platoon, and as we moved down the hill into a small flat area, one of the guys, Peaches, a very young likeable guy from Georgia, spotted four VC walking along the ridge top. Lt Norton called for a hasty ambush. So we scurried up the ridge and hid in the vegetation. Lt Norton told me to point my gun in the general direction of the VC and start shooting when he gave the signal. The next thing I remember was a lot of gunfire. I remember just holding that trigger. After a short time, the firing stopped and I could hear someone moaning.  I had never seen or heard death before. One of the guy’s, a sergeant, walked over to the VC that was moaning, he was just out of my sight, and then I heard a short burst of gun fire and no more moaning. I cried so hard that night that I vomited. Peaches came over to me that night; he must have heard me crying. He sat there not saying much, but his presence and reassurance I remember. He showed me compassion that night. He understood what I was feeling and that’s what I needed.

The next morning someone spotted a VC walking nonchalantly across an open area just below the ridge where we were. I remember for some reason, we had a sniper with us on this mission. He carried an M-14 with a scope. He took aim on the VC, who was about two or three hundred yards away. He pulled the trigger, I heard the shot, and about a half second later, the VC fell. We watched for a moment, and then he moved. He was trying to crawl behind a big boulder that stood near by. The sniper fired a few more shots and it was over.

The transitional line where life ends and death begins, is the moment of truth known and simultaneously forgot – where a soft flickering shadow licks a silent caress on the moment between the end and the beginning – the moment where life is but a silent caress!

Because we had found a cache of rice in the area, which meant that there could be more, Lieutenant Norton called in for artillery to work the area around the clearing. One of the guys took a punji stick in the kneecap while searching the tall bush for weapon or rice caches. The punji sticks, made of bamboo, were mounted vertically in the ground with sharpened tips around the rice cache. The punji sticks were frequently smeared with feces, adding insult to injury. The injury may heal quickly but the insult of bacteria may cause longtime disabilities.

The lieutenant was told that the artillery on Fire Base Abbey was being used in support of another company. He finally was granted support from naval guns located offshore in the China Sea. I remember the lieutenant saying, “it’s on its way.” It seemed like an eternity before I heard the squealing sound of incoming. The first round hit within yards of the dead VC. They worked the area for about ten minutes and we moved off the ridge toward the jungle.

We stayed out on that assignment for a week or so looking for food and weapon caches, and during that time, I learned a lot about myself. I made the transition from boy to man. We eventually ended up back at firebase Abbey. Before we climbed up to the firebase, we all jumped in that lazy river for a swim. What a treat that was!  This account of my first combat assault is comprised of many vague thoughts and feelings. I’m sure the reality for each guy was different, but for me, this is how I remember my first combat assault.

 Fire in the hole

We never stayed in one place too long. We often did rescue missions. I remember one where a Chinook had dropped a load of ammunition in dense triple canopy jungle. The army didn’t want to recover it, so they sent an explosive team to blow it up. Our job was to march through the jungle as fast as possible, securing the area for the explosive team. We humped all day through very dense terrain and finally reached the dropped munitions. We set-up our perimeter and waited for the explosive team to wire the ammo for detonation. The next day we were ready for action. We moved away, far away from the site and some one yelled,” fire in the hole”   Well let me tell you, that was some explosion! The area looked like a B52 bomber had dropped a couple of bombs on it. I often wonder how much money was lost, and why they chose to destroy and not recover. Oh well! There is a lot I will never understand about Nam.

Firebase Nutmeg

119TH AVIATION COMPANY (ASLT HEL) Logged on 22 Jun. 1970

“Gator 362” was about the finest aircraft in the first flight. Today the ship was destroyed by enemy mortar fire sitting in LZ Nutmeg. It was piloted by 1LT Mchugh. The only serious injury was WO1 Spivey who broke his leg while flying as first pilot. Later in the day, the Gator and Croc pulled a final extraction of LZ Nutmeg and moved the people to LZ Mark Twain 20 miles to the south.

A few days later, we flew into firebase Nutmeg, south of the Mang Yang pass. We landed on the firebase and immediately set-up our positions on the perimeter. We were pretty close to the landing pad and it was cool watching the helicopters. They would fly in as fast as possible, and fly out just as fast. I soon realized why. I remember the first mortar hitting about one hundred yards beyond the landing pad. The next few rounds walked right down to the pad where a huey helicopter was dropping off some troops. Just as the last soldier jumped off the huey, it took a round right in the nose and rolled forward onto its blades. It spun around a few times and stopped. The first pilot suffered only a broken leg, and the co-pilot and door gunners were thrown clear, receiving minor injuries.

Fox Force was sent out to locate the VC and eliminate the threat. We left the firebase and headed down the mountainside into very dense terrain. We knew the VC was very mobile and they could be anywhere, so we just kept our heads down and moved very quietly through the dense jungle. We stayed out there for days playing a cat and mouse game, the mortar attacks continued, we were always where they weren’t.  We did find an abandoned Montagnard village that had been abandoned just minutes before we arrived. There were chickens and pigs running about as we searched the hootches and the bush along its perimeter. I remember looking in an area just out side of the perimeter of the village where I saw some straw laid in an unusual position. Thinking that it may have been a cache of food or weapons, I slowly stuck my hand inside the straw feeling for any objects that may have been hidden there. To my surprise it felt like mud, so I with drew my hand and realized that I had just stuck my hand into feces!  It probably was their composting pit, because human and animal waste was an extremely valuable commodity to the Montagnards.  What little crops they grew they would need fertilizer. So I suspect they composted human and animal waste for that purpose.  My hand smelled for days, no matter how often I washed it; time was the only cleanser of that smell.  I remember one of the guys chased down one of the pigs, it wasn’t very big, he hit it across the back of it’s neck a few times with his machete until it bleed to death. He them skinned the pig and skewered it over a fire pit.   Some of the guys ate it, I couldn’t because it smelled to bad. We returned to the firebase and after a few more days, and it was decided that the firebase would be shut down. We returned to the jungle and continued our reconnaissance until the firebase was abandoned. The downed huey was stripped of all usable parts and the shell was left behind as bait for scavenging VC.

We moved in on the perimeter of the abandoned firebase, and positioned ourselves on a small hill that gave us a clear view of the firebase, and the downed helicopter. The firebase looked eerie, just days before there was so much life;

Soldiers moved across the landscape of bunkers and foxholes, as helicopters floated down from the blue sheath of sky, stretched from tree line to tree line. Laughter and music waxed and waned between mortar and artillery fire, and the smell of diesel thick, wafted above human waste pits, overflowed with stench. So much blood, sweat and tears shed for this empty firebase, in the middle of a jungle, half way around the world. Insane!

We sat there quietly, watching and waiting for any movement. Just about sunset a group of people came out of the jungle and began to rummage through the abandoned firebase.  I didn’t get a good look at them, I was covering the rear. As the group approached the downed helicopter, the guys up front opened fire. My curiosity caused me to move to the front so I could see what was happening. I remember seeing dead bodies lying near the helicopter. A couple of the guys went down to check them out. They returned with some weapons and we made it out of there in a hurry.

As we entered the jungle, the sun had gone down and it was pitch dark. It began to rain so hard it was difficult to walk. Because of the rain and the darkness, the point man couldn’t find his way through the bush, so word came back from the front to drop in place, we were going to stay there for the night. I fell right there were I stood and pulled my poncho out of my rucksack and pulled it over me and fell asleep. When I awoke in the morning, the rain had stopped and I was almost dry. We never looked back; we just saddled-up and moved on.

 Resupply Helicopter

A few days later, we cut an LZ for our resupply helicopter. We were resupplied about two times a week. If we were in a hot zone, the supplies were dropped from the helicopter to the ground. The helicopter crew didn’t like to hang around very long. They wanted to get in and out as fast as possible.  Our supplies usually consisted of clean fatigues and underwear, food and water, ammo and mail. There were times when we got beer from the rear. We would all chip in some money and one of the guys in the rear would payoff a helicopter crew to bring it out with some ice. We cooled down the beer by rolling it on small pieces of ice for a few minutes. It never got that cold but hey, it was beer.  Each C-ration meal contained cheese, crackers, a can of something edible, toilet paper, and a small box of cigarettes. Once in awhile we would get a Supplementary Ration Pack. It was a cardboard box about three feet by two feet by eight inches in size with 10 cartons of cigarettes, some chewing tobacco, some candy, several tablets of writing paper and ball point pens, and some replacement boot laces. Once, a helicopter flew in with ice cream. It was a reward for having the highest number of kills for the week. Now that was crazy!

 Pith Helmet

The next mission that I remember was around the time of the Lieutenant’s or someone’s birthday, not sure who’s. We celebrated that night with fireworks on the mountainside. Each night before setting up camp the lieutenant would call in our coordinates and have smoke markers fired to mark our position. On this night, I remember live artillery and white phosphorus rounds lighting up the hillside. I think I was listening to The Beatles song “A long and winding road,” it was the first time I heard the song and thought that it was perfect for how I felt at the time.  There were a lot of times lying out there in the jungle late at night, curled up on my air mattress, or on the ground if my mattress had a hole, which it often did, that my mind would try to escape the reality of the jungle. I would just lie there staring off into the darkness.

The dark walls of jungle push from all sides, pushing from all directions at the same time; the color of its darkness so heavy with despair, smothered in depression, I gasp for fresh air. Tomorrow seems a distant thought, shaded in fear and uncertainty, the moonless night it wrought. I roll from side to side in search of a glimmering light, until slumber claims the darkness of the moonless night…

The next morning came with a bang. We were saddled-up and ready to head out when a couple of VC walked right into our campsite. The point man saw them and fired a few rounds. They turned and ran back down the hillside. We chased them; I think there was a blood trail but we never found a body. I did fine a pith helmet lying in the bush. I still have it. It’s one of the few things I brought back, other than myself. I kept it because of the inscription inside the hat. The inscription was the name of the soldier and the date he enlisted. The curious thing is that the date was the exact date that I entered Vietnam, Jan. 05, 1970.

It put a human face on Charlie, which I had forgotten. The military tries to dehumanize the enemy with names that take away his humanity. I’m sure this was done on both sides of the battlefield; names like, gook, dink and Charlie. I don’t know what names were used for GI’s by the enemy, but I suspect there were a few.

 Cambodia

119TH AVIATION COMPANY (ASLT HEL) Logged on 4 May 1970

Once again, the Gators were over the Cambodian border inserting recon patrols and companies from the 1st and 2nd Battalion of the 4th Inf Div. This time the enemy was a little obnoxious as he continued to put massive ground fire up at the C and C ships. There were negative injuries but operations were delayed until the enemy strongholds were equalized by heavy artillery and continuous air strikes.

Around the first of May, we got word that something big was coming down. A few days later, the sky was full of hueys. It reminded me of the scene in The Wizard of Oz where the flying monkeys filled the sky in search of Dorothy; It was very ominous. The helicopters swooped down and gathered up all the line companies, as well as Echo Company. We were flown back to Camp Radcliff, re-supplied and trucked by convoy to an airstrip near Plei Djereng. Plei Djereng was located on the border of Vietnam and Cambodia.  The airstrip at Plei Djereng was bustling with aircraft coming and going; Hueys, Cobras and Chinooks carrying troops and supplies, moved with an urgency of surprising the NVA and the Viet Cong.

While sitting there on the dusty airstrip waiting for our transport chopper, a reporter from Time Magazine took a few snapshots of the platoon. I saw the pictures a few weeks later when one of the guys got a letter from home. His mom had seen the pictures in the magazine and sent them to him. I couldn’t see my face in the picture because I had my back turned to the camera, but you could see my M60, and the other guys pretty well. Their red scarves stood out!

We eventually were loaded onto a Chinook and dropped off somewhere in Cambodian or around May 5th.  I had never flown a combat mission in a Chinook before. I remember the rear ramp dropped and we ran off like marines landing on Guadalcanal. Fortunately, the landing zone was very quiet; we made no contact with the VC or the NVA. We were all very anxious and had expected heavy resistance. The terrain was heavily scarred with large bomb craters filled with red muddy water from the – all too frequent – monsoon rains. It was spooky! The jungle surrounded the craters with a dark and quiet eerie anticipation.  The air was thick and humid, and the sky was covered with a gray misty blanket of clouds that hung just above the treetops. The faint light of the morning sun created patches of glowing light around the craters as silent dark shadows bleed into the darkness of the jungle. We moved off into that quiet eerie darkness of the jungle, like voyagers from another world in search of the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

In the early days of the war, it took six months to travel from North Vietnam to Saigon on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. By 1970, as many as 20,000 soldiers a month came from Hanoi using the trail. From the air, the Ho Chi Minh Trail was impossible to identify because of the triple canopy jungle, and although the Air Force had been trying to destroy it with heavy bombing, they were unable to stop the constant flow of men and supplies.

On April 30^th, President Richard Nixon announced to a national television audience that US troops were invading Cambodia. In fact, the US had been conducting bombing raids in Cambodia for over a year. I guess bombing was not considered an invasion!  A few weeks later, I heard about the rioting back in the world. I was shocked when I heard aboutKent State. Innocent people were being killed here; and now back in America, for what? I think I can now understand both sides of the war, having been in Vietnam I truly believe the war was wrong, not that stopping the spread of misguided communism was wrong; I think the way in which we were trying to stop it was wrong. Vietnam needed help moving into the twentieth century not bombed back into the dark ages.

Three Stupid GI’s

We had traveled about two kilometers when word came down to take a ten-minute break. Me and three other guys dropped our rucksacks in a slight depression and sat down. While sitting there I noticed the ground began to move. I pushed back some decaying leaves and hundreds of leeches began crawling up my legs. I pulled my legs back and pulled up my pant legs to check for leeches. There was a battalion of these slimy bloodsuckers marching up my legs. They were big, fat, and juicy blood engorged suckers, working hard to suck all the blood from my body. I whipped out my Zippo and began the firefight. One after the other they fell, and just as the last sucker fell, I noticed that me and the other two guys had been left behind. I didn’t want to panic but I felt very vulnerable.

I remember thinking that the VC could have been waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and this would be the perfect moment to take out three stupid GI’s. We couldn’t yell because that would give our position away. Fortunately, one of the guys was the RTO, (radio telephone operator) and had a radio. He got on the horn and told the lieutenant that we had lost contact with the platoon. It was decided a yellow smoke canister would be popped and that we should walk toward the smoke. When we saw the smoke, about four hundred meters away we wanted to run toward it, but we didn’t, because we didn’t want to be mistaken for VC and shot by a trigger happy soldier. We slowly advanced toward the smoke and made contact with our unit. We were very happy and embarrassed at the same time, to be back with the unit.  Some of the guys made a few wise cracks; but we knew we deserved them.

We made camp there for the night. The jungle was very thick and because total darkness comes quickly in the jungle, we hurried to set out our trip flares and claymores on the perimeter of our campsite. Just before darkness, we heard someone yelling off in the distance. He was yelling in English that he was lost and from Bravo Company. We didn’t want to give away our position by yelling back, because it could have been a trap. A couple of our guys went out to check it out. They returned with a very frightened American soldier.  He had been separated from his unit for a couple of days. I remember thinking how frightened I was for the hour or so that I was separated from my unit and understood his fear.

Maggots

The next day one of the line units spotted a hootch, (hut). Lieutenant Norton was a little upset that the recon platoon didn’t spot the hootch first. I figured who gives a crap it was spotted. The hootch was part of an abandoned campsite for the NVA. It looked as if they had left in a hurry. The bomb craters near by were clues as to why they left lickety-split. Someone found a wounded NVA soldier in a small bunker. His entire body had been burnt with napalm and was full of maggots. I was amazed that he was still alive. The medics refused to treat him because he smelled so badly. They were ordered to make him comfortable until he could be evacuated by helicopter.

We destroyed the hootches and bunkers and moved to higher ground for the night. That night I heard gunfire and mortars from all directions.  It began to rain hard and I was wet, cold, and laying in the mud. It was miserable. I couldn’t make a hammock from my poncho to get off the ground because of the gunfire, so I just wrapped myself in the poncho and waited for the sun to come up.

When I woke up I was dry and still pissed off but happy that it had stopped raining. My body heat inside that poncho had dried everything. The next day we found the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The trail was very wide and you could tell that it was well used. The earth was very hard, the exposed roots of trees were worn down, and the jungle was thick. We leftCambodia with out having to fire our weapons. I felt very fortunate, knowing that others didn’t fare as well.

 The bird twittered & The lizard would croak

We flew back to Camp Radcliff for a three-day stand-down. A stand-down was a period of rest and refitting in which all operational activity except security stopped. I was very happy to be back at Radcliff. Those artillery sounds were music to my ears. While on stand-down, we were assigned guard duty on top of Hon Gong Mountain. We rode in a deuce and a half truck to the top of the mountain. The view from the top was spectacular. You could see for miles and miles, and down below was Camp Radcliff with the airstrip, sometimes called “The Golf Course” lined with helicopters. Our job was to guard the communication tower.

That night felt like a party. Everyone was in a great mood. I remember it was the first time I heard the Re-up Bird. I couldn’t believe it at first. I thought the guys were kidding me. Well after listening very closely, I could hear it! Re-up, it would say, in a twittering kind of way. That was funny, but the F**k You Lizard was even funnier when it answered the Re-up Bird. That night I was entertained by the Re-up Bird and the F**k You Lizard. When the bird twittered, “Re-up” the lizard would croak “f**k you.” This was crazy! Sitting on top of a mountain in Vietnam listening to a lizard tell a bird to get f**ked, when just a few days ago I flew on my first combat assault; crazy!

Well things did get crazier! Later that night, sometime after midnight, we could see some explosions on the airstrip; one after the other, right down the line, explosion after explosion. I thought it was incoming from outside the camp. The word came up that Sappers had infiltrated the perimeter and had attacked the airstrip. Sappers were North Vietnamese Army or Vietcong demolition commandos that would snick through the perimeter of the base camp and place their satchels of explosive in bunkers or aircraft, usually in the middle of the night.  This attack resulted in 17 aircraft destroyed or damaged. There were no American casualties’ and the sappers evaded capture. We were very vigilant the rest of the night “to say the least.”

LZ Hard Times

After our stand down ended we headed by convoy to LZ Hard Times. Hard Times was located in the Vinh Thanh Valley 20 km northeast of An Khe on highway 19. Hard Times was surrounded by high mountains, so incoming was as often as mealtime. You would just get settled outside of your bunker and a mortar or rocket attack would drive you back inside. Some guys would just sit there reading, eating or whatever during the attack. I didn’t want to stay there long enough to get that comfortable.

I believe our next mission was in conjunction with two other line companies. We were positioned along the base of a mountain near LZ Hard Times. All the companies were lined up in single file and swept across the mountainside flushing out the enemies’ position.  I remember this as being one of the stupidest things I had ever seen. We had hundreds of soldiers, single file, cutting through brush and boulders up the side of a mountain with f-105 jets firing 20 caliber exploding rounds on the mountainside. This was well and dandy, until one of the f-105’s left its guns on a split second too long, dusting the area where we were with 20 caliber exploding rounds. Fortunately, no one was injured. This was up there with my Cobra experience a few weeks earlier. It looked as if friendly fire was becoming my nemesis.

Firebase Stump

119TH AVIATION COMPANY (ASLT HEL) Logged on 13 May 1970

With the combined efforts of Gators and 57th Gladiators, the 1st BDE, 4th INF. DIV. was pulled out of Cambodia. Parts of this element were inserted 4 kilometers east of the Se San (hot) Pass.

We set-up shop on firebase Stump located on the Vietnamese side of the border. We worked hard to complete our bunker before nightfall. firebase Stump was appropriately named because stumps were everywhere. It must have been cleared with chainsaws.  It was built on flat ground surrounded by dense jungle. The tree line was maybe 200 meters away from the perimeter and our bunker! That night around midnight sappers penetrated the wire on the other side of the firebase and tossed explosives into a couple of bunkers. I heard the explosion and thought it was incoming.

The lieutenant asked for a couple of us to go help defend the other perimeter. I grabbed someone’s M16 and headed over to the other side of the base. It was dark as hell; I could barely see but a few feet in front of me. I knew that I could have easily been seen as a sapper, so I made my presence known as I approached each bunker. I eventually made it to the other side and found the damaged bunkers. The perimeter was secure so I returned to my bunker. The next morning a body count revealed two dead GI’s.  By mid afternoon, the bodies still laid in a metal container that looked like a small storage shed. Some of the soldiers on the firebase were upset that the bodies were still there, because the heat inside that metal container must have been extreme. They felt that the unit commanders were being disrespectful in leaving the dead soldiers in the hot shed.  I believe the bodies were flown out the next morning.

I think that its human nature that we look for someone or something to blame for our pain.  Once we find the source of our pain, we then can channel our anger and frustration toward its center.  In this case, the soldiers felt the pain of losing two fellow soldiers, and the emptiness of not being able to inflict revenge on their killers, so the unit commanders become, “the center focus”.

Accidents Happen

Having survived the invasion into Cambodia, I returned to Plei Djereng on May 13, 1970. My company was headed for a much-needed stand-down back at Camp Radcliff. While we were waiting on the airstrip at Plei Djereng I witnessed a Chinook crash into a deuce and a half truck loaded with troops. The accident happened some distance from my location but I could see the Chinook. It was drifting to the right and because of the dust; the pilot couldn’t see the truck. The wheel of the Chinook caught the truck causing it to flip over. The rotor blade hit the truck and the Chinook settled on top of it. I found out later that four soldiers had been killed and twenty-five injured. I remember thinking that death comes at any moment, and just being in Vietnam pushes those moments a little closer together.

Hippie Parties

The stand down at Camp Radcliff was a much-needed rest. We slept in military barracks on cots with blankets, had hot meals and showers, we had all the conveniences of home. Well maybe not all the conveniences, but it felt like it after being in the jungle so long. Often there were movies outside using what looked like giant bed sheets for screens. I remember watching only one, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”  I liked the movie, but not the ending; they were killed far away from home!

There were a lot of tribute bands that played little venues scattered around the camp. The best one I saw was a Beatles tribute band. The band was Vietnamese and they sounded just like the Beatles. The most popular bands were the female bands. The officers always made their presences known when the ladies performed.

The big parties happened in the late night hours. GI’s gathered in the middle of the camp forming giant bong circles some with bonfires in the middle to signify the connection of the circle. Bongs were water pipes made from all sorts of things; beer cans, bamboo, anything that could hold water. Actually, the Bong was a cheap water pipe invented in Vietnam during the war.

The circles often had a hundred or more GI’s passing their bongs or pipes around. I remember sitting in one of these circles with a bonfire fit for a Celtic king for hours and never saw the same bong or pipe pass by, this includes my own. Guys would sit there listening to Rock’n Roll and talk about home, their dreams, about everything. It was a time to forget the war and relax. It never got out of control that is until the MP’s came to break up the party.  I never saw anyone arrested. I think if they had, a riot would have broken out.  I know the parties where alcohol was used often became violent. Fights would break out and someone would be shot or killed.