Military Life - Service or Career: by John McClarren

Published: Createspace Publishing

Paperback and Kindle

224 Pages

About the Book

Military Life - Service or Career is a book for young people who are interested in the military as a service, or a career.   It should help anyone trying to make such a decision

It is also for older readers who have had military service and would like a good read to reminisce about the old times and remember their own experiences.

It is also a good read for those who enjoy reading about military affairs or engagements. I include many of my personal experiences as examples of my major points in the book.

The book is informative, exciting, sad, and at times, very humorous, all in one volume. It is full of stories that are entertaining, as well as educational and emotional. It emphasizes the good, as well as the less than good elements and what to expect. 

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Reviews:

"John and Debbie McClarren are friends from my hometown in Oscoda, Michigan. John felt that joining service, or considering joining service should be no surprise, shock, or blind experience. He clearly shares his experiences in boot camp and in peaceful and wartime action. No holds barred. 

He offers many sides to the decision about whether to join or not join in the first place. He emphasizes PERSONAL ORGANIZATION and ACCEPTING STRESS and making it work for you. I believe even if a young man or woman chooses NOT to join one of the services he/she understands more about the importance of these two assets in any career. 

I am gifting this book to my own grandsons and highly recommend it as a GOOD READ and ESSENTIAL MANUAL in making a choice that could lead to a temporary term of service or a lifetime career. I bought this first in Kindle and then 2 copies in paperback to share with family and friends." --L. Bartus


"Good read! In "Military Life – Service or Career", John McClarren writes an interesting perspective on reasons why a career in the military can be a very wise choice for some people. It also acknowledges that it is not the life all may desire. 

McClarren shares many of his personal experiences from his military career, including tours to Vietnam. He writes with vivid descriptions, family experiences in their military service, and a sense of humor. 

Although today’s military life may be slightly different than the days of Vietnam with its more ‘strict’ military atmosphere, it should give a young person who is considering this as a career, or just a few years of service, an idea of what military life is like. Interesting and informative!" --D. Chase

John McClarren - US Army (Retired)

About the Author

John McClarren was born at the end of World War II in San Diego, California.  He grew up in southern California, developing into a "beach rat" early in life. 

Body surfing was one of his primary activities, and he developed his publishing logo because of that very strong interest. 

Some major influences caused him to gravitate toward the military for a lifelong career, although circumstances also oriented him toward education. 

He ended up majoring in German and minoring in English at the University of Arizona after having been active in the US Army and serving a tour of duty in the Republic of South Vietnam. Including reserve components, he served a total of thirty years with the Army, as well as being a high school teacher for twenty of those years. 

His first published book is currently available in print and e-book formats, titled Military Life - Service or Career, A Soldier's Perspective. He has a memoir coming out shortly, titled Taking Risks, Defining Life

John and his wife, Debbie, raised three boys together, two of whom have been on active duty with the US Army and one is a geologist. Of the two who have been in the Army, one became a heavy equipment operator, the other a forester with the US Forestry Department. 

John is currently living in northern Michigan. He is retired from everything but writing and substitute teaching, and Debbie is still an active special education teacher.

Besides his first two books, John is working on a humor book that most likely will be titled Hey, it Wasn't My Fault, and he is also working on a novel, but that may take a while before completion, and it is already looking like it may well become a lengthy series. The reason for that is because it is going off into a realm of no time and no space; at least not with any dimensions or limitations. It is a spiritual realm, but one with physical beings as well.

John's Website
John's Facebook Page


“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.

The Right Seat is the Wrong Seat

Byron Edgington

by Byron Edgington

The SkyWriter

CJ:  It's been a while since I sent you a war story for the blog.  This is from Chapter 10 of The Sky Behind Me, a Memoir of Flying and Life, my aviation memoir.

It's a tale from my time as a brand new aviator in the unit. I'd been with the Comancheros one month, and was still learning the ropes. This particular story shows me learning what can happen, unless I paid strict attention while flying over dark, moonless Vietnam.

Tom Kearsley was two weeks away from going home. Tom Mattingly had received a Dear John from his wife the day before he was killed. Here's the story:

May 4th 1970. I’d been a Comanchero for just over a month. I’d flown all day—in the right seat once again. At five p.m. I was tired, hot, and hungry. My logbook showed 140 hours of combat time. I needed 300 hours to qualify for Aircraft Commander orders. 

After putting the helicopter to bed, I checked the Mission Board for the next day’s activity. Then I went to my hootch, tossed my helmet and chicken plate on the bed, and slipped into the club where there was a lot of buzz about four dead college kids back in Ohio.

 
At seven o’clock, I wandered back to my hootch, lit a few candles—the generator was out again—and picked up a paperback. 

At eight-thirty, and just fully dark, a Huey cranked up on the flight line. The helicopter soon blasted into the moonless night. “Kearsley,” I said. “Flareship mission. Glad it’s not my night for flares. It’s dark as perdition’s back yard in those mountains.” 

At nine o’clock I closed my book, blew out the candles and dropped onto my cot. I don’t remember hitting the pillow.

At ten o’clock I woke to muffled shouts and scuffling feet in the company compound. They weren’t the usual voices and grunts of inebriated pilots staggering to their bunks, laughing, playing grab ass, throwing up; these were sober, incredulous voices. Something was wrong.

It was Tom Kearsley. He was dead. Two weeks to the day before his return home to Utah he’d been killed, along with six other crewmen, in a midair collision with a Cobra gunship. 

The investigation was inconclusive. Troops on the ground saw two aircraft pass overhead, then a bone-chilling whump. Flaming aircraft parts rained from the sky, then two fires lit up the jungle, then only silence.

 
The loss of Kearsley’s crew marked the first company fatalities during my tour in Vietnam. That accident was a chilling reminder to me that the enemy was not the only peril. Indeed, the enemy was a minor factor in the number of casualties. 

While I was with the Comancheros, the company lost more troops from friendly fire, aircraft accidents, mission errors, and pure stupidity, than from enemy activity. A man was crushed in our hangar one night when a helicopter he was working under slid off its jack; another man broke his neck diving into shallow water and died; a captain on a night perimeter patrol was shot by his own troops. 

Kearsley’s midair killed seven men. If I had any doubt about the vagaries of war before that night, I didn’t the next morning. But I learned how war turns things around as well.

 
One outcome of Kearsley’s death was the creation of two AC slots in the company roster -- and Tom Kearsley was no longer there to reject my orders. 

UH-1H Huey

By the end of May 1970, I’d logged 180 hours in combat. Due to the pressing need for pilots at that time, and because I was earning high marks from the veterans, I was issued Aircraft Commander orders. The company CO, the very same Major Snider, assigned me—despite my fresh mustache—to UH-1H Huey tail number 69-16252. 

In June of 1970, I flew #252 a total of 180 hours, spending six hours a day on average in the cockpit. There were even a few ten and twelve-hour days in the saddle. I didn’t shut down the engine. There was a war on. I’d land at the refuel point, keep the blades turning and fuel hot. June 1970 was a very long month.

[Excerpt from From Chapter 10 of "The Sky Behind Me, A Memoir of Flying and Life" ©2012 by Byron Edgington]

Read Other Stories by Byron:

Jim, Frank, and The Snake
Smokey, The Alcoholic Pup 

Byron's Website

Byron's Blog

“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

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Paths Less Travelled: by Hon K. Lee

Paths Less Travelled of a Scholar Warrior (Spy) Teacher Healer

Paperback
304 Pages
Published by CreateSpace Independent Publishing

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About the Book:

Hon K. Lee, a scrawny kid in an immigrant family, gets bullied so often he yearns to be like the Kung Fu heroes he sees in the movies. 

He becomes a Marine to prove himself, but the futility of war makes him wonder what it would take to achieve peace. 

He joins the CIA, only to see his career threatened in an ordeal that makes him reevaluate his life purpose, leading him to chase his dream to study Chinese medicine. Along the way, he apprentices with top martial arts masters, and helps open a school to pass on what he’s learned. 

In this straightforward, often humorous memoir, Lee narrates his adventures from the streets of Chinatown to the battlefields of Vietnam, and from the corridors of CIA headquarters to the acupuncture clinics of Shanghai. 

While his journey seems to take divergent paths, those familiar with stories about the knights of ancient China will recognize he’s travelling a singular path – a four-fold one of Scholar Warrior Teacher Healer ... with Spy thrown in.

***All proceeds from the sale of my book will go to charities that benefit wounded warriors and their families.

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Reviews:

“Hon Lee takes us on a journey that is both fascinating and inspiring. A good
read!” – Lieutenant General Ron Christmas, USMC (Retired) 

“An authentic and fascinating memoir from the melting pot, affirming that
anything is possible in America for those with the courage to take the paths less
travelled.” – Jack Downing, former CIA Deputy Director for Operations 

“I strongly urge anyone whose dreams feel under threat or whose confidence is
weakened by the challenges of life and happiness, to consume his story and drink
some of the warrior spirit that we all need.”  – Stephan Berwick, Founder, True Tai Chi™ 

"This is contemporary American history at its finest ...Well written. Enlightening.” – Ernest Spencer, former commander of D company, 1st Battalion, 26th Marine Regiment; author of Welcome to Vietnam Macho Man: Reflections of a Khe Sanh Vet 

"Fast-paced 

and gripping, Hon’s memoir will keep you on the edge of your seat.” 

– Bill Reddy, L.Ac, Dipl.Ac, Director of the Integrative Healthcare Policy Consortium, President Emeritus of the Acupuncture Society of Virginia

Hon K. Lee, Author

About the Author:

Hon K. Lee, a retired Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Marine Corps Reserves, was an artillery forward observer and platoon commander in Vietnam. 

After leaving active duty, he became a CIA clandestine operations officer, serving undercover in seven field assignments and in three of the Agency’s four directorates. 

Studying Chinese medicine after a 30 year CIA career, he is now a nationally certified and Virginia Medical Board licensed acupuncturist. 

When not practicing medicine, Lee practices martial arts, having co-founded a school that teaches kung fu, taijiquan and qigong. He’s married, has two daughters, and enjoys living and working in Northern Virginia.

Visit Hon's Website

“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

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"The Second Tour": by Terry P. Rizzuti

Spinetinglers Publishing
221 Pages
Paper back and Kindle

About the Book:

The Second Tour is a literary novel written in the Modernist tradition that explores the full range of the human condition, from the ultimate altruism (guys charging machine gun nests to save their buddies), to the ultimate evil, (guys killing innocents because they enjoy it).

It's a story about a two or three-year-old Vietnamese girl whose murder haunts the narrator. 

It is also a story about that narrator, a low-level Marine, his descent into spiritual darkness, and his life-long struggle to regain some semblance of a meaningful life.

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Author's Personally Selected Excerpts:

"Hill 602 took three lives the first time. Took Tommy Baker’s lower jaw too. I couldn’t look him in the eyes that saw so clearly through all of us to the horror we saw in his mangled face. No teeth bestowed upon him the look of a man made wizened with age."

********
"It was a round between the eyes, I think, because as I yelled in his face, it disappeared, replaced with a blood geyser and the sound of a .41 millimeter. His legs slid apart slowly at first, then crumbled in the true Cartesian split."

********
"Rootie! Rootie! Come closer Rootie."

"I’m here, Benjie, I’m here," I said, clasping his hand on my arm.

"Help me Rootie, my legs won’t move."

"Aw Benjie, it’ll be okay Benj, I’ll give you mine."

********
"Our voices turned to whispers and our countenances to shame. We left as murderers, our tails between our legs, but it would happen again, inevitably, and each will take his memories to the grave. Life’s a bitch — and then you die."

********
"It was December, and I was thinking about how miserable Christmas was going to be. The air was cold, my teeth were chattering, the chow sucked. Chow? C-ration leftovers from World War II. The issue date on my box was 1944. This was 1966. We were smoking twenty-year-old cigarettes. Eatin’ meals older than we were."

********
"She was stomping her foot, prancing like a white mare. Her mouth was moving. She was saying something urgent, lots of something urgents. I could sense that much. But nothing seemed urgent anymore. You wanna know what it was like? I thought. Huh? I’ll tell you what it was like. Nam wasn’t real. Not when I was there. Now it’s real. Now I can think about things like why we were there, what we were trying to prove to ourselves, why we did some of the things we did. I have time now to sort back through it all: the dead, the dying, the barbarism, the atrocity, through everything I can remember to help make sense of it."

********
"His name was John Blue and he had a chip on his shoulder — in fact, he once told me he’d rather fight than fuck. I believed him, yet there he was looking as though someone had stomped his ass bad. I couldn’t imagine that ever happening. Blue was a twenty-five-year-old full-blood reservation-raised Blackfoot who hated people, but for some reason liked me. All he said, practically without even stopping to say hello, was If you’re ever driving so drunk you see three bridges up ahead, don’t take the one in the middle."
********
"Nine men’s not enough, said Wiskey, never looking up from cleaning the big gun. I looked at him curiously, wondering what motivated him to say that. C-More looked at him funny, too, and sensed he was losing control of the squad. Square away, he said. You dudes call yourselves Marines or Swabbies? We owe ‘em. We owe all the others, like JB and Bursar and Seldom and Benjie and Lugar. Remember Lugar, Rootie, remember man? They blew the back of his goddamn head off. Stuffed his balls in his mouth and then sewed it shut. Remember man? Them muthers hung him by the thumbs from a fuckin’ tree."

********
"C-More screamed CHARGE suddenly and the whole squad moved out quickly, zigging and zagging and diving in holes and behind trees, spraying the area like fire fighters, chunks of lead and M-79 rounds exploding on impact. I leapt up too, then fell back down, jerked by Benjie’s tight hand on my arm. I looked at his swollen face, watched it turn ashen and then bluish purple as he held his breath fighting the pain and the inevitable, his whole head bloating out, then caving in quickly as his breath rushed out loud. Tears shot out my eyes I remember, rocking back on my heels looking straight up. Arrrrrrrr…… I clenched and screamed, but the wind swept the sounds to the mere decibels of silence."

********
"Charles Stricklyn is dead. With him are Watson, Wiskey, and Murphy. Everyone asks “Why Rizzuti? Someone upstairs must like him. But why him?” I don’t know why but I’ve got to know. Something’s got to tell me. I say something cause nothing human can tell me. The guys all think I lead some kind of charmed life. They hang around me like I’m a lucky piece, a Saint Christopher medal or something. Can you believe that? People are dying all around me, and these dudes think I’m lucky. It’s raining outside this leaky tent; artillery is firing and enemy mortar rounds are splashing in the mud. Why don’t I take cover? Cause I don’t give a damn. I don’t give a damn about anything. It just don’t mean nothin’ no more."

********
"I moved toward the front, one step at a time, slowly past staring eyes as frightened as my own, then froze solid again as Baker’s and mine locked in instantaneous telepathy. I looked away quickly, but not before registering one life-lasting color photo of his mutilated face, torn off from the nose down, shredded flesh oozing blood and saliva, dripping like melting cherry icicles, splattering off his flak jacket and boots, his eyes wild and glossy like someone speaking in tongues, his arms and shoulders limp, his hands wringing frantically at rosary beads, his sunken life’s essence hurling toward total completion — He knew it — I knew it — God knew it — everyone and everything abandoning him on this, the afternoon of his supreme and inevitable day."

********
"McKlusky, plastered, was funnier than shit as usual. Six foot seven, about 240 pounds, he looked like a genetic throwback to more primitive times, the kind of guy who’d wipe his ass on a tree trunk if he didn’t have no toilet paper, just back right up to it and rub up and down on the bark."

Reviews:

"This is truth masquerading as fiction. Viet Nam is the scene. The players are members of Second Battalion of the 26th Marine Regiment. "The Second Tour" is that period time between two realities, the then and the now. The secret is to find a way to accept one reality and live with another. Mr. Rizzuti has described his time in Viet Nam very accurately. It's one hell of a story. I hope he has worked over his First Tour and has it behind him. It is a heavy burden to carry alone. Welcome home!" --Midwest Book Review, Richard Larson, Reviewer

"This book is an essential primer for anyone working therapeutically with veterans and PTSD. This remarkable book raises serious questions, while providing critical catharsis and even more importantly, cogent answers that have given me a new understanding of the plight my patients face." --Darryl Zitzow, [PhD. Clinical Psychologist]

"Rizzuti has unleashed a maelstrom of raw emotions that will haunt you long after you finish The Second Tour. This is vivid blood, guts and scenarios reminiscent of the hell Dante showed us. Real people leap off the pages and their names echo with grief." --Jae

"I did not want to put this book down until completed and then wanted more. Though the picture Terry gives at times can be gruesome, he delivers it with rare sensitivity." --Paula J Fardulis

"...This is a book by a man of courage who understood at last that each and every one of us can break under the scourge of extreme fire, and that forgiveness, both given and received, is our only hope of redemption." --rockymtnbluebird

"This may well be the most harrowing account of modern combat experience written. An engrossing weaving of memoir and fiction, this novel tells a story almost too powerful to be registered by consciousness. I invited three Vietnam combats vets to a graduate English class I taught on this novel. Working through this narrative was a moving, informative, and memorable experience for all of us." --Marshall

"...Rizzuti's story is not an easy read, but it's a damn good one. I hope this book receives the recognition it deserves." --George J. Bryjak

"I enjoyed the story and recommend The Second Tour to anyone who wants to know what these young soldiers had to endure to survive early in the Vietnam War and return home. However, the mental damage had already been done and unlike putting a book down and forgetting about it, this story will continue to play out over and over again in the heads of those men that had experienced it." --John Podlaski [Author of Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel]

"Terry Rizutti pulls no punches in this devastating novel. If you're brave enough to look war dead in the eyes, this book's for you." --Charlene Rubush, [Author]

Other Books by Terry P. Rizzuti:

Heads or Tales

Crap Shoot

Suffering Seacil: For Better or For Worse

About the Author:

Terry P. Rizzuti was born in Oklahoma and spent his early youth in upstate New York. In 1965, he graduated high school, started college that same year at the University of Oklahoma (OU), then dropped out and joined the Marine Corps in early 1966. 

He served a tour in Vietnam as a “grunt” from October 1966 to November 1967, assigned to Golf Company of the 26th Marine Regiment and was wounded in May 1967, which earned him a Purple Heart. 

In December 1969, Terry got out of the Marine Corps and immediately re-enrolled at OU where he graduated with an English Literature degree in 1977. After that, he completed two years of graduate-level literature studies, then went to work at OU until 1996.

Terry's Website

Terry's Blog

“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