"Sharing can be a way of healing. Grief and loss can isolate,
anger even alienate. Shared with others, emotions unite
as we see we aren't alone. We realize others weep with us."
~Susan Wittig Albert

Through our writing, we walk out of the darkness into the light
together, one small step at a time, recording history, educating
America, and we are healing.
~CJ/Todd Dierdorff



Tuesday, December 30, 2014

New Year's Day Battle of 1968

Nui Ba Den, Black Virgin Mountain, Nov. '67
In late 1967, Pope Paul VI declared January 1 a day of peace and persuaded the South Vietnamese and the Americans to observe a truce.

In a released statement, the Vietcong also agreed to observe a 36-hour ceasefire.

The American military had been patrolling the Vietnamese-Cambodian border in an effort to make contact with either North Vietnamese Army units, or supply runs, to the Vietcong coming down the Ho Chi Minh trail. 

The 25th Infantry Division had set up a two-company perimeter, with artillery 7 miles from the Cambodian border in Tay Ninh Province. The position was located near the junction of Highways 244 and 246, close to Black Virgin Mountain. 

Troops had that day recently set up a landing zone (LZ) for supply helicopters. Once the helicopter pad had been constructed, supplies could be flown in and on January 1, the 25th Infantry Division's Christmas mail arrived. Soldiers spent the day opening packages from their families

On the night of January 1, six hours before the truce ended, a 2,500-man force made up of a North Vietnamese Army (NVA) regiment and soldiers from the Viet Cong 9th Division attacked the American position. 

The Vietnamese attacked in three waves and were able to infiltrate the perimeter. The NVA first wave was launched after a heavy mortar attack at 11:30 p.m. A little after midnight, another attack was launched and then a third human wave attack at around 1:00 a.m. 

Spooky AC-47
The Americans were finally able to repel the attacks by using air and artillery support. Air support was provided by attack helicopters and AC-47's. In total, 28 air sorties were launched against the NVA. 

The Americans said that they counted 348 enemy soldiers killed in the action. By comparison, American forces suffered 176 casualties, of which 23 were killed in action. 

Last contact with enemy units occurred at 5:15 a.m. when they fled the battleground. The remnants of the NVA regiment were pursued to the south and southeast.

Thirty days later, on January 31, 1968, NVA and Vietcong forces launched the Tet Offensive throughout South Vietnam. 

Among the soldiers serving in the American units during the battle were future writer, Larry Heinemann, and future film director, Oliver Stone. 

When Oliver Stone returned to the U.S., he was puzzled that the New Year's attack had received no media coverage.

For some time, he even thought he might have imagined the events of January 1 until, at a reunion of the men of the 25th Infantry Division, other Vietnam vets who were there that night confirmed that the battle did indeed take place.

Larry Heinemann later wrote a book about his Vietnam experiences titled Black Virgin Mountain: A Return to Vietnam.  

Oliver Stone would direct a dramatization of the battle in the 1986 film, Platoon.

The final battle scene of Platoon is a dramatization of the real battle Stone experienced. Survivors of the battle often relate just how close to actual events the fighting was to what is seen on the screen, thanks to Oliver Stone.

[From Wikipedia]


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.




Monday, December 29, 2014

Vietnam Vet Recipes: Southwest Chicken

Frank Fox's Southwest Chicken

by Frank Fox


I know many vets are great cooks. They knock the socks off of family and friends who are graced with their efforts.

The sheer diversity of veterans from all areas of the U.S. tells me they have to be producing some tasty meals, or desserts.

Many have specialties like Chili (Yankee or Southern), fried fish (catfish is my specialty), any kind of beans (I prefer Navy or Pinto), and chicken that's roasted, baked, grilled, in soups, and wings ... the possibilities are endless.  I also like to do ribs.

Then there's Mexican food.  I could win blue ribbons for my enchiladas, or Spanish Chicken and Rice, otherwise known as Aros con Pollo.

I find cookouts with family and friends is good for the soul -- you get to impress them, and they smile when they see you.  I will give you a sample recipe:

Frank’s Southwest Chicken:

Tip:  Take it from an old Corpsman, always take chicken very seriously.  Keep everything clean.  If you use a kitchen towel, only use it for the chicken and then throw it into the wash.  And do wash your hands frequently. 
**First, I like to make a pea salad ahead of time and let it chill.

What You Will Need:

Boneless, skinless chicken breasts. (buy as many as you want to serve)
1 gallon Zip Loc bags
Olive Oil
Coarse pepper
Worcestershire sauce (a dash or two)
Chili powder (a dash or two)
Tip:  I always use Gebhardts Chili Powder for Chili, Enchiladas, and well, any Mexican food. It is not as salty as other brands, and you'll have less of a problem with indigestion. 
Your favorite Chicken Rub.  (I use a rub made by Fiesta, 6 oz. bottle)
Cheddar cheese, cut into strips
Avocado, cut into wedges

Preparation:

Using a gallon zip lock bag, insert one breast at a time into the bag.  Then find a firm spot on your counter, and with a meat hammer, (or other suitable type mallet), pound the breast to an even thickness all over. (It will cook uniformly and it all gets done the same that way). 

In a shallow dish add the olive oil, coarse pepper, Worcestershire sauce, and chili powder.  Mix well.

Dip the breasts in the mixture and get each of them good and wet.

After dipping, sprinkle your favorite Chicken Rub liberally on both sides. 

When you have dipped and sprinkled each of the breasts, put them in clean zip lock bag and into the fridge until you're ready to cook them.  They will marinate well that way.

Cooking Directions:

I use a gas grill for convenience, but I have also cooked the chicken over charcoal, and in the house oven.  Personally, I prefer the grill.

Make sure to coat the grates with oil.  This will prevent any sticking and it helps to put the grill marks on. 

The grill should be fairly hot and you should stay there with it, until you get used to how it cooks. Breasts can cook fast.  Be sure to move, or flip, them often to cut down the scorching. 

When they are firm and less flexible, they are most likely done.  If you have any doubt, cut into one to look for done-ness. 

Before you remove the breasts from the grill, lay a few cheddar cheese strips across the tops of the breasts, close lid for a minute to melt the cheese, and Voila!

Put them on a platter. 

To finish, just add a couple of avocado wedges and pour some iced tea, or your favorite beverage. 

Give it a go -- it really is easy!

If this works well for you and you like it, I have a roasted chicken recipe that you can do in your sleep.  It takes 2-1/2 hours at low temp and you never touch it. I just leave it alone and go mow the yard, or take a walk.




Frank Fox


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.




Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Christmas Past, Loc Ninh '69

Nurse on C-141 Med-Evac Flight

by Lt. David Avery


AUTHOR'S NOTE: In late '69 I was wounded in the chest, arm, and back when a kid with an AK-47 rifle popped out of a spider hole I had overlooked while clearing a bunker complex near Loc Ninh. 

Christmas eve found me strapped to a stretcher and wearing an oxygen mask on a C-141 starlifter bound for Walter Reed.  

If I just breathe slowly and don't panic, I can do this. It's only a few hours, just concentrate on breathing. The oxygen mask makes my face itch and the oxygen feels cold and tastes metallic. Breath IN slowly: 1, 2, 3; Let it out. 

The plane is full, with stretchers stacked four high in four long rows down the length of the aircraft; two inboard and two outboard, like four sticks of jumpers. 

There are maybe a dozen flight nurses -- it's hard to tell, since I can't turn my head. Breath IN 1, 2, 3; Out 1, 2, 3 -- Just keep breathing slowly. If you let yourself get short of breath you'll never catch up. 

It would be silly to die here on the evac plane after surviving medivac from the field and surgery at the 96th. The sun sure seemed bright when they carried me onto the plane at BOA. And hot after days in an air conditioned ward at the evac hospital. 

Even on the taxi way, the green smell of the jungle cuts through the odor of burned jet fuel. It must have been a hundred degrees lying on the tarmac while the load master and the nurses shuffled slot assignments for the stretchers on the flight. Then dark as a cave in the cargo bay of the plane. 

I half expected guys to cheer when the wheels came off the ground in Vietnam, but no one did. Wonder how long the flight to Andrews will take? Let's see, it's twelve thousand miles and a C-141 cruises at what 450 mph? Hard to do the division - my mind is fuzzy. Wonder if I can stay calm that long? 

Just breath slowwwly and stay awake. One breath at a time. At least the nurses are all clustered around the stretcher two spaces aft -- kid there doesn't sound too good. As long as no one is fussing with me I must be OK. Breathe. Breathe. 

Plane seems warm. I wonder if they have the cabin heater set higher for these evac flights. I don't remember ever being warm in a C-141 when we jumped from them at Benning. Breathe slowllly.

Nurse in a flight suit touches my good arm. "How you doing LT?" I nod, having no breath to speak. She probably couldn't hear me over the engine noise anyway. I point at my mouth, asking for water. She shakes her head and moves on to the next stretcher above me. Same singsong tone, "How you doing sergeant?" 

Despite my intent to concentrate and stay awake, I find myself dozing off. Must be the morphine. Just breathe! I come fully awake when I hear the change in flight noise as the flaps come down. Are we are Andrews -- how long was I asleep? 

"This is your pilot speaking. We will be landing at Anchorage for refueling. Flight nurses take your arrival stations." Anchorage. I always wanted to visit Alaska. Hope he puts this thing down smoothly; I'm not up to a crash. 

We land and taxi for what seems like a long time. The engines are shutdown and the plane is very warm and quiet. Then I hear the hydraulics of the rear ramp and a gust of Alaskan winter blows through the cargo bay. 

Turning my head, I can just see the terminal building through the snow, and a big lighted Christmas wreath. It is 3 AM local time. 

Up the ramp walk a half dozen middle-aged women in civilian clothing with cardboard trays of coffee in Styrofoam cups, chattering and greeting the guys on the stretchers near the ramp. They sound like my mom and her sisters. Finally, one gets to me, smiles and says "Merry Christmas, Lieutenant! Welcome Home." 

It is Christmas 1969, and I'm going to live ...

Lt. David Avery

[Written especially for my wife, Hebe Quinton].  


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.



Friday, December 19, 2014

Celebrating Christmas In Country ...

Decorating a Christmas tree in Tan Son Nhut, - 1965
Holidays were always difficult for
homesick and war-weary U.S. soldiers in Vietnam, during the war.

Christmas was always the hardest, being so far from home and loved ones.

Everyone tried to bring at least a little traditional Christmas spirit to their bases, tents, hooches, and outposts.

Christmas cheer often arrived in the mail, with "tube trees", a bottle of scotch, Christmas cards and letters, tins of Christmas cookies, or a welcomed pair of dry socks.

The lucky ones were able to attend the USO Christmas shows with Bob Hope and his troupe at nearby bases.  A true humanitarian, Mr. Hope always brought a feeling of "home" with him.

Some of the troops were treated to a full-on Christmas dinner with turkey and all the fixings:  mashed potatoes, vegetables, rolls, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie.  Many others (way too many) just ate their normal C-rations.

Soldiers quietly celebrated Christmas wherever they were, in whatever ways they could, but always, their thoughts and hearts were centered at "home" ...  

The following photos document some of the different ways troops celebrated Christmas during the Vietnam War:

Christmas dinner from the mess hall - 1967


Reading a Christmas card, - 1968


1st Battalion, 4th Marines - 1967


Christmas Chow Line - Vietnam



Christmas at Tay Ninh with a "Tube Tree"


Wrapping Presents for the Lae Quang Orphanage, 1969


Opening Christmas Gifts from Home - 1965


Vietnam 1967 - Decorating a Christmas Bush


To all of my friends ...


Thank You and Welcome "Home".

With love and respect,
CJ


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history for generations to come.




Wednesday, December 17, 2014

The White House Christmas Card

1968 Chevy Camaro

by Frank Fox


1968 was a good year for the Chevrolet Camaro, but that’s about all it was good for ...

When Chevrolet brought out the Camaro in 1967, most young men thought that was THE car to have when they got out.

I still have a price book for the 1968 Camaro in my attic somewhere.

For the Vietnam War, 1968 established a record for American KIA’s and WIA’s (as if we were trying to achieve a record).  I do apologize for my choice of the word ‘record’, as it is most commonly attached to some noteworthy, positive event.

To start the year in January, the Tet Offensive was one of the largest military campaigns of the Vietnam War.  It launched on January 30, 1968, by forces of the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army against the forces of South Vietnam, the United Sates, and their allies.

It was a campaign of surprise attacks against military and civilian commands and control centers throughout South Vietnam. The offensive was the largest military operation conducted by either side, up to that point in the war. 

Many lives were lost at Hue on all sides: US, NVA, ARVN, and civilians.

The Battle at Khe Sanh started Jan 21 and lasted until 9 July 1968. The fighting near Khe Sanh started in 1967 and escalated after the first of the year, but for Americans in uniform, anywhere in country was brutal.

America lost over 16,000 in 1968. If you do the horrible math, that is averaging 44 young American warriors every day for a year.

Admittedly, I have to stop for a moment ... I have a knot in my throat and my fingers won’t type -- and I am not ashamed to say it either.  (I wasn’t trying to bring you all down with me, just share a bit of terrible perspective).

We can even go back a few years to remember the assassination of Kennedy, the Civil Rights unrest, Charles Whitman on the tower at the University of Texas on August 1, 1967, and of course the ongoing Vietnam War escalation during 1967.

The 1968 Timeline was chock full of black eyes for America:

Jan. Tet Offensive Hue, Khe Sanh.

Jan. 10,000th airplane lost over Vietnam.

Feb. MLK assassinated.

Mar. LBJ says he will not run again.

Apr. 541,000 military in Vietnam.

Jun. RFK assassinated.

Aug. Protesters abused and beat up by policeman in Chicago.

Sept. At the Democratic convention in Chicago, cameras covered police beating up quiet protesters in the streets.

I might also add that in May of 1970, National Guard troops opened fire on unarmed students, killing four at Ohio's Kent State.

We were fighting in Vietnam  We were fighting at home. All Americans, (except the ones who wage war), were war-weary.  We sorely needed a break to rebuild America.

Tricky Dick didn’t help. He promised to end the war during his first term, but didn’t even try until his second term, and you know the rest of the story ... except the part he played in my birthday in 1974.  He resigned on my birthday in 1974 -- the best present I could have gotten.

Now to the Christmas card ...

LBJ's Christmas Card
In December of 1967, I was stationed with the Marines at Kaneohe, Hawaii -- hey, someone had to be there.

With all that was going on, I thought, what better way to 'thank' LBJ than an insincere Christmas card?  So, I sent one off into the abyss of mail that goes to the White House.

At the time, I was working nights in the emergency room, because it gave me a chance to do college studies when it was quiet.

I usually got up midday, as I was berthed in the clinic with my position.

One afternoon, I decided I would head to the mail room.  The closer I got, the more people that followed me.

I picked up my mail and there was this envelop from the White House. I opened it and it was a Christmas card from LBJ and Lady Bird (after all these years, you DO see they had the same initials) a.k.a. Claudia Alta Taylor Johnson.

I guess they thought I had sent a sincere Christmas card, but remember, it’s the thought that counts ...



Frank Fox
Combat Medic
Sea/Air Rescue
US Navy with USMC
August 1964 – August 1970 (6 years 1 month)






More Articles by Frank Fox:

War: Some Are Better Prepared
Our Generation
The Marine and the Cure
More Thoughts on War and Youth
Opinions, Thoughts and Feelings
A Different PerspectiveA Worthy Rebuttal to Mr. Garrison


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.


Tuesday, December 16, 2014

A Soldier's Christmas: by Michael Marks

A Soldier's Christmas


A Soldier's Christmas

By Michael Marks

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight;
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight;
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
In perfect contentment or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear;
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near;
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold;
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light,
Then he sighed and he said "It's really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night.

"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line
That separates you from the darkest of times;
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

"My Gramps died at 'Pearl' on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram' always remembers;
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

"I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile;"
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue ... an American flag.

"I can live through the cold and the being alone
Away from my family, my house and my home;
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.

"I can carry the weight of killing another
Or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To insure for all time that this flag will not fall.

"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."

"But isn't there something I can do, at the least
Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

"For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

Michael Marks
December 7th, 2000





In loving appreciation of the countless Americans who have and continue to serve in the Armed Forces and those who gave their lives for their country. Your sacrifices will never be forgotten.

We look forward to the day you come home. God bless and keep you always, and God Bless America.

Michael






“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.




Monday, December 15, 2014

Christmas in Khe Sanh

Christmas in Khe Sanh

by Bill Cowan


When Christmas Day finally arrived, the division headquarters sent cases of hardboiled eggs and eggnog to our battalion.

Our glee at these unexpected delicacies was almost childlike.  Even so far away from home, Christmas again seemed quite real. A few of us were even prepared to successfully debate the existence of Santa Claus.

As the day went on, some of us sang along with the Christmas carols beaming over AFVN. Others broke out pictures of their families or loved ones and talked about home. Nearly all of us ate eggs and drank eggnog until we were sick.

As was customary, a holiday truce had been called between warring factions. Although neither side was known to be meticulous about honoring such truces, each of us shared a slight sense of relief in believing that we weren’t at risk for at least one special day.

Amidst our joy, however, and unbeknownst to us, the enemy was amassing thousands of troops for an attack on our base and the small company outposts on the outlying hills. 

Even as we sang, talked, and drank eggnog, North Vietnamese scouts were peering down at us from the looming hills to the north and planning their strategy for attack. Within less than a month, the biggest battle of the Vietnam war commenced — the siege of Khe Sanh, our small mountain base.

For many servicemen at Khe Sanh, that Christmas was their last. It was also the last for thousands of North Vietnamese troops who, like us, were away from home serving their country.

Today, 46 years after that Christmas and as if it happened only yesterday, I can still see the smiling faces of my Marine friends, hear the holiday music of AFVN, and taste the eggnog.

This small story of mine can be echoed a thousand times over by other veterans who have served through World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Beirut, Iraq, Afghanistan, and a hundred other places where men and women stood in harm’s way in service of their country. The particular place, time, faces, and events may be different, but the memories and feelings down inside won’t be.

If you know a veteran, you might want to ask about one of his or her Christmases past. There’s probably a story waiting to be told.


[Bill Cowan is a retired USMC Lieutenant Colonel. He is also a contributor for the Fox News Channel.]


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.




Friday, December 12, 2014

"Merry Christmas, My Friend"

Marine Christmas Santa

Merry Christmas, My Friend

By Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give,
And to see just who in this home did live.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
A sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen,
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.

I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more,
So I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.

He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I'd just read,
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan,
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
Owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.

Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
Because of Marines like this one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.

He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice.
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
My life is my God, my country, my Corps."

With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still,
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
And covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
With eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.

Although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
And for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.
I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night,
This guardian of honor so willing to fight.

But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
Said "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day, all's secure."
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
"Merry Christmas, my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight."


About the Author:
James M. Schmidt wrote this poem back in 1986 while a Lance Corporal stationed in Washington, D.C., serving as Battalion Counter Sniper at the Marine Barracks 8th & I under Commandant P.X. Kelly and Battalion Commander D.J. Myers [in 1986]. 
Schmidt hung this poem on the door of the Gym in the BEQ. When Colonel Myers came upon it, he read it and immediately had copies sent to each department at the Barracks and promptly dismissed the entire Battalion early for Christmas leave. 
The poem was placed that day in the Marine Corps Gazette, distributed worldwide, and later submitted to Leatherneck Magazine. 
Schmidt's original version, entitled Merry Christmas, My Friend, was published in Leatherneck (Magazine of the Marines) in December 1991, "Gyrene Gyngles," Page 79. 
As Leatherneck wrote of the poem's author in 2003: 
"Merry Christmas, My Friend has been a holiday favorite among 'leatherneckphiles' for nearly the time it takes to complete a Marine Corps career." 
After leaving the Corps, Schmidt earned a law degree and now serves as an entertainment attorney in Los Angeles and is director of operations for a security consulting firm.


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.



Thursday, December 11, 2014

Bob Hope: Christmas 1970, Camp Eagle

Camp Eagle Christmas Show

by Byron Edgington


Here's another vet’s recollection of Christmas in Vietnam, and the Bob Hope USO Show.

Bob Hope and his troupe came to Camp Eagle/Hue’ Phu-Bai at Christmastime in 1970. (I forget the exact date but it was pretty close to Christmas Day). 

Hope brought with him:

The Gold Diggers, a Hollywood manufactured gathering of singers, Lola Falana, Ursula Andress, Les Brown and his Band of Renown, of course, and a 22 year-old ballplayer my colleagues may remember, the 1970 National League MVP, a fellow by the name of Johnny Bench.

Johnny Bench with Bob Hope
 I remember Hope and Bench did a funny routine:
Bench: “I’m surprised you asked me to come with you on the tour, Bob.” 
Hope:  “Why are you surprised, Johnny?” 
Bench:  “’Cause I’m not a girl.”
Hope continued bantering with Bench for awhile, and then he introduced Lola Falana, a sexy, movie star and Las Vegas performer who had also done a Playboy spread.

The Gold Diggers sang and danced next as I recall, and then Hope did more of his schtick.  As I remember, the show lasted about an hour.

Lola Falana and Bob Hope
It concluded with all of us singing Silent Night, which made a bunch of tough, hard as nails military men get all sloppy and tear up, or maybe it was just the humidity?  (At least this guy teared up, I admit).

Being 12,000 miles from home at Christmas and hearing that familiar tune wash over me, sent me back over all those miles and made the war go away, if only for a few minutes.

The balm of its message was the opposite of what we all experienced day after day in Vietnam.

The Hope show gave me another war story, a kind of closure, that some may call coincidence, but I’m not sure it was.

A few years later, I was back home in Ohio and flying a Huey for the Ohio National Guard out of Columbus. 

The Ohio State Fair takes place in August, just north of downtown Columbus.  That particular fair, the director had requested a Huey and crew to be posted at the fairgrounds, out in the infield, to be used for medical evacuation -- if that became necessary. 

I was assigned the mission one day, so I flew the bird to the fairgrounds, shut it down in the grass directly opposite the grandstand and stood by.

The Gold Diggers
An hour or so after I landed, a group of young women wandered over to the aircraft and introduced themselves. There were four of them, and they were to be the day’s entertainment at the fair ...

They called themselves The Gold Diggers ... 

Yes, they had been at Camp Eagle in December 1970. 

Yes they did remember the show at which I was in attendance. 

Yes, they said, they would like to take a ride in my Huey. So, I took them for a quick helicopter tour of Columbus, and thanked them for their efforts. 

I can still see their smiles, as we cruised around above the Ohio State Fair, and I was finally able to return a gift those young women gave me one Christmas a long time ago, so far from home, at least in part.

Happy Holidays to my fellow vets, and to CJ for putting this blog together. Thank you.


Byron Edgington




Byron Edgington
The SkyWriter

Website
Blog
Byron's Book








“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.


Wednesday, December 10, 2014

The Christmas War: by James M. Hopkins

Our Side of the Christmas War 


The Christmas War

by James M. Hopkins

On Christmas Eve in '69
I watched our tracer bullets fly;

And in their flight
Their bright red light
Lit up the earth and sky.

Then from the dark,
From guns unseen,
Their shots flew back at us
Bright green!

And back and forth,
Throughout the night,
We fought the Christmas-colored fight...

(...back home, the happy children
Unwrapped gifts of toys...
Barbie dolls and little toy cars...)

...while we killed our brothers
In The Christmas War.


Copyright © 1995 James M. Hopkins



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.


Monday, December 8, 2014

War: Some are Better Prepared: by Frank Fox

Frank Fox
After reading Keith Brown's post, [Christmas Time: The Heavy Heart of War], I just want to say, "Keith, thank you for your service for your country and the many brothers you had in uniform.

Thank you for your excellent obligation to follow orders. You know, if we all had been able to be individualist, we would have had no band of brothers throughout time. You have upheld your oath: 'follow the orders of those appointed over me' and persevered to make it home."

There is no glamour in War, only brutality and loss. Young American soldiers don't see it every day of their existence, but the people in the countries we visit lately do -- they have been fighting for generations. It's all they know and they prefer death over the sub-existence lives they live. 

For young Americans, we hold onto the hope of a future without war. I don't think there is any red blooded American who would not lay down his life for a justifiable reason. It is the American fighting man who has been exploited. 

Did we really lose all those young men just so we could put the crap from China and Vietnam on the shelves of retail outlets? It seems so. 

We have to do something different. There have been too many men wasted because of inflated egos and big business. LBJ and Bush will answer to a higher authority ...

Good men should never blame themselves for following orders. It was what they trained us to do, and we all had to think as one, whether we were friends, or not. When the chips were down, we were one purpose. We fought to live -- our enemies fought to die.

As Keith said in his post, he and many others don't sleep well because the brutality of war carves such deep images. We want to look at life as a valuable journey filled with hope and peace, and we owe it to those we lost to prevent the loss from continuing.

It's different for many young American warriors going to war, or just being in the military. Many young men led privileged lives. They were spoiled, never had chores, their clothes were always clean and hanging in the closet of their own bedroom, homes were always neat and clean, Mom and Dad bought them a car when they got a license, and someone else mowed the yard, etc.

For me, going into the military was like a vacation. I had a bed of my own; I ate better; I had a better wardrobe, and I was already used to elders fighting and cussing. We didn't always have warm water at home and I had to do my own laundry, while Uncle Sam helped me after boot camp.

During boot camp, we washed our clothes by hand on a concrete table, like I had done at home -- but now I got paid for it. Life was better for me in the service than it was at home. Coming from my family's niche in the community, my station in life meant always having to prove myself .

Children can be crueler than adults with one another, and push always comes to shove for those of lesser status. Then when it's necessary to fight with peers, because you still have pride, you're called a hoodlum, or a thug.

Many different kinds of men and women end up in uniform to be re-programmed. To many, following rules and conformity is a stark reality. To others, it is like Bible school. While it makes everyone equal, some are just better prepared to cope with it. Those who are used to adversity on the streets at home, have the advantage. They are self-trained to always expect things to be difficult, developing almost a sixth sense.

To many advantaged young Americans, war and warring can be very traumatic, compared to those who came from strife all through their adolescent lives. 

Me, my brother, and sisters had to sleep in our family car many times, often on school nights, because the man my mother married (not my Dad) was drunk, violent, and in the house. Now days, police are only too happy to remove a drunk from a home. It wasn't that way in the late 50' or 60's.

I was the only one of four children to finish high school. My sisters got married before they finished school, just so they could leave home. I joined the Navy in 1964. When I left for the military, that just left my brother, and I am sorry for that, as he took the path of least resistance and dropped out of school. One thing led to another, and my brother and I stepped up to a better life by joining the military and not being drafted.

I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm only saying that some young American men are better prepared mentally for what happens than others. I would rather all children have better formative years, although our nation's leaders seem to be committed to making sure that doesn't happen.

I am better now for what my life was like, but would rather it had been different in many ways. I'll never know for sure. 

Hardship does make one a better teacher of the pitfalls of life, but students of life don't always listen to the voice of experience ...

Frank Fox
Combat Medic
Sea/Air Rescue
US Navy with USMC
August 1964 – August 1970 (6 years 1 month)


More Articles by Frank Fox:

Our Generation
The Marine and the Cure
More Thoughts on War and Youth
Opinions, Thoughts and Feelings
A Different Perspective



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.


Saturday, December 6, 2014

One Christmas in Vietnam 1969

Lee "Bad Bascom" Pearson, Jim Schueckler, Dave Lissow

A True Story 

by Jim Schueckler 

It was Christmas Eve, but didn't feel like it in Vietnam.

The mess hall had been unusually quiet. Although Christmas music was playing, nobody was talking. 

Later, in the first platoon pilot's hooch, the mood was the same.

The recent deaths of four pilots and four crewmen seemed to overshadow any chance of holiday spirit. 

Several pilots were sitting together, and one finally piped up, "We have to do something happy to get out of this mood." Another offered that we should sing Christmas Carols, but nobody would start the singing. 

I announced that, after almost a year of flying in Vietnam, I was not going to sit around there on Christmas Day watching twenty long faces; I had to fly tomorrow. 

After more silence, someone blurted out, "Let's take up a collection for the hospital at Dam Pao!" The thought was met with excited approval.

I suggested that I would ask to fly the Da Lat MACV mission tomorrow to take the money that we could collect tonight. Mike volunteered to fly with me.

First stop: the crew chiefs' hooch. I asked Bascom if he would like to fly the Da Lat MACV mission. He and Dave quickly agreed, to also escape the prevailing sad mood.

The company commander was in the operations bunker. I explained our plan but he answered: "We don't have the Da Lat MACV mission.  In fact, we don't have any missions tomorrow. There is a cease-fire on."

I decided to beg: "Please, Sir, could you call battalion and see if some other company has Da Lat MACV?"

The CO picked up the phone and then started writing on a mission sheet form. He handed it to me and said, "Da Lat MACV helipad, oh seven thirty. We took the mission from the 92nd." He took out his wallet, and handed me some money. "Here's something for your collection."

When we reached the gunship platoon hooch, three pilots looked on sadly as one man raked a pile of money from the center of a table towards himself. We made our sales pitch about the hospital. The generous gambler pushed the pile toward me and said: "I would just end up losing it all back to these guys anyway."

In one hooch, we were given a gift package of cheeses.

We decided to make another pass through the company area, asking for cookies, candy, and other foods.

As we left one hooch, the men inside started singing "Deck the Halls," and soon those in other buildings were competing. It wasn't clear whether the competition was for the best, worst, or just loudest singing; but it was easy to see that the mood of the company had changed for the better.

We next went to the mess hall. The mess sergeant and cooks were still there, preparing for Christmas Day. The sergeant replied: "Do you have a truck with you? We have too much food right now because of all the guys who went home early. And we have some canned foods about to expire." One pilot went to get the maintenance truck while the rest of us checked dates on cans and cartons of food.

An infantry unit mess hall was not far away, so we went there next. We accepted several cases of freeze-dried foods.

At the dispensary the medic gave us bandages and dressings. We tied down the pile of goods in the Huey.

After dropping off the truck the four pilots walked back to our hooch. One pilot looked at his watch and said, "Hey guys! It's midnight, Merry Christmas!"

My alarm clock startled me out of a deep sleep. A check with my wristwatch verified the time, but something was wrong. Mornings were usually bustling with the sounds of aircraft, trucks, and men preparing for the daily business of war. Today there were no such sounds. Is this what peace sounds like?

In the shower building, Mike and I talked about what our families would be doing today, half a world away. I reminded Mike that my wife promised me another Christmas celebration, with decorated tree and wrapped presents, in just two weeks. I would be meeting another Mike, my four-month-old son. 

After breakfast, the others went to the flight line while I called for a weather briefing.

When I got to the helicopter, Mike was doing the preflight inspection and had just climbed up to the top of the Huey. Together, we checked the main rotor hub and the "Jesus nut," named because, if it came off, "only Jesus could help you." Everything was fine; we were ready to fly.

We took off and headed for the mountains. It felt good to fly with this crew; we were a finely-tuned team. Lee, who preferred the nickname "Bad Bascom," was the crew chief of this Huey; he did all the daily maintenance on it and flew every mission. With Mike as co-pilot and Dave as door gunner, we had taken that helicopter into and out of a lot of difficult situations.

Our company radio call sign was Polecat; we were Polecat three five six. I decided to climb higher than usual in the smooth morning air. As we left the jungle plains along the coast, the green mountains of the Central Highlands rose up to meet us. Fog on the plateau spilled over between the peaks, looking like slow, misty, waterfalls. In the rising sunlight the mountain peaks cast long shadows on the fog. The beauty and serenity of the scene was dazzling.

The mess hall had been quiet. The airfield was quiet. The radios were quiet. We weren't even chattering on the intercom as we usually did. Our minds were all with different families, somewhere back home, half a world away. Everything was quiet and peaceful; it felt very, very, strange.

We landed at Da Lat, shut down the Huey, and walked into the bunker. The new MACV senior advisor, a lieutenant colonel, agreed that we could stop at the hospital at Dam Pao after we finished his planned route of stopping at every one of his outposts. But we first had to meet a truck at Phan Rang Air Base.

Donut Dollies - Polecat 356
When we got close to Phan Rang, the whole crew listened as the colonel talked by radio with his contact on the ground.

Not only was there food and mail to pick up, but the colonel was asked if we also wanted to fly some Donut Dollies around! The helicopter was filled with young men eagerly nodding their heads and flight helmets, "YES."

Donut Dollies were American Red Cross volunteers, college graduates in their early twenties.

Although no longer distributing donuts like their namesakes of World War I, they were still in the service of helping the morale of the troops. At large bases, they managed recreation centers; but they also traveled to the smaller units in the field for short visits. For millions of GIs, they represented the girlfriend, sister, or wife back home.

Soon we were heading back to the mountains with a Huey full of mail, fuel, food, Christmas cargo, and two American young women.

We had sliced hot turkey and pumpkin pies for the men who had been living off Vietnamese food and canned Army-issue rations at the outposts.

When we got near the first outpost, the colonel, by radio, told the men on the ground that we were going to make it snow. The Donut Dollies sprinkled laundry soap flakes out of the Huey as we flew directly over a small group of American and Vietnamese soldiers who must have thought we were crazy. Several of them were rubbing their eyes as we came back to land. I'll never be sure if it was emotion or if they just got soap flakes in their eyes.

The three Americans came over to the Huey as the rotor was slowing down. One Donut Dolly gave each of them a package from the Red Cross and the other called out names to distribute the mail. 

After about 15 minutes of small talk between the Donut Dollies, the five MACV soldiers, and the crew of 356, the colonel said, "We have a lot more stops to make" and got back into the Huey. The soldiers stood there motionless, staring at us as we started up, hovered, and then flew away.

At the next outpost, the colonel left us to talk privately with the local officials. The crew and I didn't mind having the task of escorting the Donut Dollies. It was easy to see how happy the soldiers were to talk with them. I wondered how they were feeling. Their job was to cheer up other people on what may have been their own first Christmas away from home; if they were lonely or sad, they never let it show.

Throughout the day, the same scene was repeated at a number of other small outposts. Finally, when the official MACV work was done, we were above the hospital at Dam Pao. Mike landed us a few hundred feet from the main building.

Several American-looking men and women came out, carrying folding stretchers. They first showed surprise that we were not bringing an injured new patient, and then joy as we showed them the food, money, and medical supplies.

One woman began to cry when she saw the price tag on a cheese gift pack. She explained that twenty dollars could provide a Montagnard family with nutritious food for more than a month.

One of the doctors asked if we would like to see the hospital. He talked as we carried the goods from the Huey to the single-floor, tin-roof hospital building. "Project Concern now has volunteer doctors and nurses from England, Australia, and the USA. We provide health services to civilians and train medical assistants to do the same in their own villages. In order to stay here we have to remain neutral. Both sides respect our work, and leave us alone."

One of the women described a recent event. Two nurses and a medical assistant student were returning from a remote clinic in the jungle when their jeep became mired in mud. Many miles from even the smallest village, they knew that they would not be able to walk to civilization before dark. A Viet Cong foot patrol came upon them, pulled the jeep out of the mud, and sent them on their way.  

There were homemade Christmas decorations everywhere; most had been made on the spot by patients or their families. Inside, the hospital reminded me of pictures of Civil War hospitals. There were only a few pieces of modern equipment but the hospital was very clean. The staff's living quarters were very meager.

 As we moved into one ward, a nurse gently lifted a very small baby from its bed; and before I could stop her, she placed him in my arms. He was born that morning. Although complications had been expected, the mother and baby were perfectly healthy! As I held the tiny infant, I couldn't help but wonder how I would feel in just two weeks, when I would hold my own four-month-old son for the first time.

The staff invited us to stay for supper with them, and I could tell the invitation was sincere. But the sun was getting low, and I didn't want to fly us home over one hundred miles of mountainous jungle in the dark. I also would have felt guilty to take any of their food, no matter how graciously offered. 

As we started the Huey the colonel was still about fifty feet away talking to the doctors and nurses. He took something out of his wallet and pressed it into the hand of one of the doctors with a double-hand handshake, then quietly climbed on board.

There was no chatter on the intercom as we flew back to Da Lat. Mike set the Huey down softly. The colonel extended his hand towards me to shake hands. "Thanks for taking us to that hospital, and Merry Christmas."

"Yes, sir, thank you, Merry Christmas."

The flights to Phan Rang and then back to Phan Thiet were also marked with silence. I thought of my family that I would be with in just twelve days, good friends I would soon be leaving behind, and good friends who would never go home. I realized the unusual nature of that day.

In the midst of trouble and strife, I would remember that one Christmas Day in Vietnam as a time of sharing, happiness, love -- and peace.

EPILOG:

At the 1993 dedication of the Vietnam Women's Memorial, I had forgotten the Donut Dollies' names. Showing around a picture of them next to Polecat 356, I found Ann and talked with Sue by telephone a few days later. That Christmas Day was also special to them.


Project Concern International, 3550 Afton Road San Diego, CA 92123 is still doing similar humanitarian work in Asia and several US cities.

Copyright 1993, by Jim Schueckler



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.




Friday, December 5, 2014

Christmas Time: The Heavy Heart of War

The Heavy Heart of War...


by Keith Brown


'Tis the season to be jolly ... or at least that's what the song says ... I, for one, have a difficult time with the Christmas season.  

My "mood" usually starts around Veterans Day and continues through the rest of the year.  It has taken me a long time to try and figure out why ... and to be honest, I still haven't. 

I guess it's because during that time there was a lot of sadness for me:  
Leaving home and being shipped to a hostile environment. 
Seeing the body bags coming into Bien Hoa (69) and Pleiku (70). 
Reports of other rotten stuff happening.   
The almost race riot at Bien Hoa on Christmas Eve.   
A couple of suicides that I can recall.   
Bob Hope flying into Bien Hoa and then leaving in disgust.  (It seems there was a dumpster under his 'Welcome Bob' sign).   
The feeling of being by yourself, even with your 'friends' being around you.   
The letters from home with pictures to show how happy they were.   
Writing back home, "Yes, WE had a great time, too...." 
Anyways, I guess the point of all this rambling is ... no matter what you are feeling, you're not alone.  Take care and be safe during this holiday season. 

Christmas at The Wall

In memory of over 58,044 brothers and sisters who never returned -- Republic of Vietnam 62-75.

Keith Brown


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.



Thursday, December 4, 2014

1967 Bob Hope Christmas Show: by Robert L. Bellville

Robert L. Bellville

Well CJ, the Bob Hope Show I saw was held on the 24th of December 1967 in Lai Khe, Vietnam.
 
It was a real treat for us to see Bob Hope along with all the other entertainers he brought with him.

I remember one of the first things that came to my mind was memories of watching this great American on television as a kid, as he put on Christmas shows for our troops all around the world.

Now here I was, a part of one of those shows.

Bob Hope - Raquel Welch
Some of the guests he had with him were:

Raquel Welch
Miss World
Phil Crosby
Les Brown with his Band of Renown

I know there were many more, (especially a lot of good looking girls), but I don't remember who else now. I do know that myself and all the troops just loved them.

As always, Bob made many jokes, one of them being: 

“I hope Charlie knows there is a cease fire on and he doesn't send any rockets our way.”

I sat there remembering all the Christmases past and thinking, “Now here I am, 12,000 miles from home.” It was different, but Bob brought part of the world with him that day for the 1st Infantry and the show was great.

To me Bob Hope was and will always be one of the greatest Americans ever.







Robert L. Bellville
U.S. Army - ’66 - ‘67
Vietnam












“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share with other vets.  Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history ...



Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Tree in a Tube: by J. Thomas Sykes

Christmas Tree from a Tube

Best as I can recollect, a handler by the name of Pfau (silent "p") from Kalamazoo, Michigan, received a four-foot long by three-inch in diameter cardboard mailing tube from his wife a week or so before Christmas of 1968.

Now most packages were of the "regular" size and shape. You know, rectangle, square, etc., so the size and shape of this thing was a bit mystifying.

Pfau opened the package with a crowd of people watching. Out of the end of the tube came this "thing" sealed in a plastic pouch matching the approximate length and width of the tube. It appeared to be a tree of some kind. 

Opening the pouch there was indeed a tree inside.  It was a small, almost four-foot balsam pine. It was "squeezed" into the pouch and then into the tube -- not unlike how Christmas trees today are squeezed into fine netting for transport. 

Pulling away the plastic, the tree limbs started to fall away from the main stem, and the tree took on a more natural shape. But what was most striking about the tree was its intense aroma. Pine. Real honest-to-goodness pine scent. Not something out of a bottle or spray, not one of those dangly little scent thingies you get at the car wash. Real woods aroma. 

It sounds a little silly, sending some green, plant-like material to Vietnam. Kinda like sending coals to Newcastle. But it wasn't so much the appearance of the tree as it was that wonderfully intoxicating smell of north-woods pine. Talk about nostalgic. 

I think there was also another small package that accompanied the tree -- it either arrived on the same day, or shortly after. It contained Christmas ornaments and a small tree stand. 

That tree stood in Pfau's hooch. (He shared his hooch with the Vet Tech, Dowdy.) That hooch became the most popular hooch for miles. Not only did guys from the unit hang out there -- guys from other line units heard about it and would stop in for a whiff. 

Whenever we could, many of us would gather around that tiny keepsake from "the world," reflecting on Christmases past, talking about what it would be like at home this time of year. We talked of snow and cold, and Christmas songs... 

As I recall, Pfau said a letter from his wife explained that some tree grower in the Kalamazoo area had made trees available, pre-wrapped and packaged, for families in the area to send to their loved ones in Vietnam. All they had to do was pay the postage. The trees were watered down, wrapped and then squeezed into the tubes. What a great idea! 

Whenever I smell pine, I can still remember that little tree and what it meant to all who experienced it.

J. Thomas Sykes



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.




Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Our Generation: by Frank Fox

Misplaced Trust ...

Is it just me who thinks we have aged faster than our fathers who were in WW2 and Korea? Somehow, it seems like it took those veterans longer to reach our age.

This has all gone by too fast. Even some of the film footage on file seems like it was done with WW2 vintage photo equipment.
 
We (our generation) should be able to speak the loudest about getting sucked into a useless, uncalled for conflict, but with as many of us as there are, we didn't prevent losing all of the precious young American lives.

If there is one positive, it is that now is the longest we have been in combat overseas, and we haven't managed the numbers that was Vietnam, thank the Lord. 

My heart is broken for all the parents and loved ones of men and women who have obeyed orders in good faith from leaders who have lied and misled the American people, starting with GW, Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Halliburton. 

Vietnam it was LBJ, Robert McNamara, and Gen. Westmoreland, Brown & Root, and the US Tire manufacturers. 

I visualize these parents looking at video's of the children they have lost with heavy hearts, especially at this time of year. 

Before I would waste that many young lives, if I were President, we would only go to war when we absolutely had to, and then it would be short and sweet -- we make bombs that can turn the desert into glass in a twinkling. 

I would give that terrorism group an overdose of radioactivity. We need to be respected again. If I had done what GW and company had done, I couldn't sleep at night for what I caused, and I would have already starved to death, because I couldn't eat after having seen the faces of parents and loved one's when they got the news. How does Bush go to sleep at night? Or Cheney?

God Bless everyone who has skin in the game at this time.  We have a blue star in our window for our son.

Certainly God Bless those in every war who have lost loved ones, or had them come back home disabled. We have to do better than this, I would have thought after the sin of Vietnam we would have done better. It appears that after a time people forget. 

When I was active duty, I was gung-ho, I believed everything they told me -- the leaders of the USA would never lie, or sacrifice men for nothing ... Even for years after discharge I felt that way.

Then as I started to pay attention more and read more, I found enlisted men were taken advantage of and used for profit and egotistical leadership. 

No veteran should feel guilty. They followed orders and had 100% trust and faith in the military's leadership, and the leadership of the nation.

It was our leaders who betrayed that trust of young men and women who were willing to sacrifice their lives for each other and a free USA.

I better stop I hear the national anthem starting to play ...

Frank Fox
Frank Fox
Combat Medic
Sea/Air Rescue
US Navy with USMC
August 1964 – August 1970 (6 years 1 month)


More Articles by Frank Fox:

The Marine and the Cure
More Thoughts on War and Youth
Opinions, Thoughts and Feelings
A Different Perspective



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.