The Smorgasbord Patrol

The Jungle of Vietnam

by Bobby Q

(Bobby Quintana-Sena)

“Older men declare war, but it is the youth that must fight and die." -- Herbert Hoover


The word "tired" didn't do justice to the amount of pain in our bodies, especially our legs, from the constant marching for two days.

We tried to sleep during the day, but the strain of trying to stay awake at night and the constant adrenaline rush awaiting an attack had us on pins and needles.

We had been deep in the jungles, canopied with trees, vines, and other vegetation, making walking an effort in itself. We ran across trails, but did not encounter any VC, however, it was very obvious they had been around. Luckily we weren't engaged and didn't suffer any casualties. That was the only bright spot in the march. 

All we looked forward to was getting back to the base camp in one piece. We knew a shower and fresh food would work wonders in rejuvenating us and making us whole again -- until we had to go out again. It was a vicious circle one could not get used to.

Word came through the line that we were to start walking down the mountainside and find the extraction point a few hours from us. 

As we started off, we were a little upbeat.  Since we were going back to base camp, we could take a break for awhile. One of the guys, Specialist Four Martinez, was talking to a man behind him and he tripped on a vine.  With the slight incline, he almost fell forward, (which would have been a lot less painful), but he tried to use his rifle as a crutch to hold him up. 

Try as he might, he couldn't get his balance and ran smack into a tree with his head. The only reason he didn't get a cracked skull was because he chose to wear a helmet, instead of the boonie hat most of us wore. It was actually quite funny and we all started laughing, which brought the Lieutenant back as the column stopped.  He also laughed, when we told him what happened.

The Lieutenant was just as tired as we were and he said since we had to wait until Martinez got his head cleared, we might as well take some time to eat and relax for the final leg down the hill. 

As Doc was working on Martinez, he found him to be somewhat disorientated, but otherwise in good health. The laughter started again, when Doc showed us the helmet with the dent. 

At this point, Martinez got mad and started cussing.  One of the guys who was eating a pound cake, slung a piece of cake with a bendable spoon at Martinez, hitting him again in the head. Pieces of the dry pound cake were stuck in his hair and the whole gang went wild. 

Before Martinez could get up and retaliate, one of the guys who knew I despised ham and lima beans, hit me square in the chest with a big glob of it. That was the start of one great food fight. 

Beanie weenies, ham and eggs, (you name the food), was slung all over the whole patrol, as we lay on the ground. We had tears in our eyes from the event and all our cares and stress went out the window.

It was like a great wave of relief went through the whole group. We vented our feelings, flushed them out of our system, and enjoyed ourselves without a care in the world. We felt like we could march for another week.

We were all laying around, still laughing occasionally, as we made our preparations to get moving again.  Suddenly, one of the guys jumped up in the air about two feet and commenced to slap himself, making pinching motions all over his body. 

Pretty soon, another guy started and finally, we were all trying to disrobe. It seemed that in our glee of slinging food all over the place, we invited an army of red ants and other creepy-crawly critters to our festival. 

There were some serious ant bites among us and we almost had to undress to get all off them off.  It didn't take us long to gather our belongings and move to a different area so we could clean ourselves us as best we could. The lack of water didn't help the situation and we didn't want to use up all of our drinking water. 

Specialist Martinez's amazing recovery occurred during our hysteria and we were surprised when we noticed he was the first one out of the area.

I couldn't wait to see how this was all fabricated, once we got back to base camp and the drinking started.  I was sure there would be several variations of the tale, none of which anyone would ever believe.

Bobby Q

USAF

Vietnam

Bobby Q

Other Articles by Bobby Q:

Four Months and a Wake Up
That's the Air Force For You ...






“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 feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

DRUGS and The American Soldier in Vietnam

Lawrence "War Hippy" Blouir

by Lawrence "WarHippy" Blouir

I don't imagine this article will help me win any popularity contests with my fellow Vietnam Veterans.

However, since I am a Vietnam Vet, I've never had any aspirations of being popular anyway.  My big struggle was just simply feeling accepted. 

I've noticed that the history of the Nam Vet doesn't say much about drug use.  I have to think it's because we're not proud that some of us used drugs to cope with the insanity of that war.

I'm sure some of my Brothers will say drugs were not tolerated -- they just got guys killed.  I have to think those that said it must have rotated out of the Nam before I arrived, or they are simply in denial of the problem, or maybe they used alcohol to cope instead.  

Whatever their story is, this isn't about THEM.  This is about ME and the Brothers all around me, from Saigon up to the DMZ;  from 1969 until December 1971, when the military forced me to leave Vietnam on a Medevac Bird with the label, "Drug Returnee From Vietnam" attached. 

The Army had a policy that was never publicized, for obvious reasons. If you had a dirty drug test, and they had started surprise drug tests, you were sent to detox, then returned to your unit. 

If you were on an extension, (which I was), you were first sent to detox.  Then you were immediately shipped back to the states.  You had no chance to get your personal effects, and even worse, no chance to say goodbye to the guys you were closer to than family, the guys you knew you'd step in front of an AK round to save. You almost have to be a war vet to understand the bad psychological effects that caused in a person.

The Army Rule:  If you were caught on a drug test and on an extended tour, you must have extended because you were addicted to drugs.  You were immediately sent home. (This was not publicized, because you know how many guys would have used it to their advantage).

My reason for being on an extended tour:  

My first extension leave, I REALLY loved flying and I extended for a spot as a door gunner on a slick. During my leave, I decided that I was gonna keep extending, and I was NEVER gonna come back to this country full of hateful, ungrateful, asswipes -- this country I used to call "home". 

At that time, I hadn't even been introduced to what was called "coke".  Not all of us were there for drugs. I had discovered that you can get used to HELL, if you're forced to stay there long enough. 

I got back to the Nam, and the Battalion Surgeon at 1/9 Cavalry told me I was crazy and he turned down my extension transfer.

Some time after that, one of the guys I smoked pot with, asked if I wanted to do some "coke".  I heard what a good buzz cocaine gave you even before I went to Vietnam, so I said, "Sure, let's do it". It took all my bad feelings away, temporarily, so I kept doing it. 

By the time I found out it wasn't cocaine, I was already feeling the need for it, if I went too long without it. Yeah, this dumb kid started his heroin addiction without even knowing what it was. By then, I didn't care what it was called. I only knew it helped me deal with the Nam, and that's all I cared about.

At this point, I'm sure some self righteous grunts will jump in and say, "We never allowed any drug use out in the bush -- that shit got brothers killed!"  Right on, good for you.  You must have been in-country before me. 

The thing about engineers is, we went out into the bush when the line companies needed to have us there, so I partied with a lot of grunts. I carried a gram vial of "coke".  I can't even count how many line company grunts I partied with that carried a prescription bottle full of "coke", because resupply was less frequent.

By now, you're probably wondering if I spent the rest of my life as a heroin addict.. Well, I spent my first nine months home, a heroin addict on the streets of Cleveland, Ohio. 

We never used heroin intravenously in Vietnam.  There, it was pure and cheap and we smoked, or snorted, it. Back home, it was cut so bad and so expensive, you had to shoot it. 

I got so sick of that lifestyle and after nine months I knew I had to do something.  So, I picked up and moved all the way to LA California, where I'd been raised. Away from the suppliers, I was able to pick myself up, and continue trying to fit back into a society that I had to hide my past from.

This is my story.  It in no way reflects on the honor of my Brothers, who may or may not have chosen drugs as a way to remain sane in an insane environment. Unless you humped a click in our boots, you have no right to judge us anyway. 

Enjoy your Freedom.

Lawrence "WarHippy" Blouir
MOS 63B20 Wheeled Vehicle Mechanic
1st Cavalry Division (AIRMOBILE)
8th Engineer Battalion
1st Air Cavalry Division
24th Duster Battalion
24th Corp Artillery
23rd MP Co.
23rd Infantry Division
Vietnam ’69, ’70, ‘71
The First Team

Bronze Star Medal
Air Medal
Army Commendation Medal

Other Articles by Lawrence (WarHippy) Blouir:

A Worthy Rebuttal on REMFs

The Ultimate Cost of "Freedom"

Memorial Day: The Changes Through Life

A Vietnam Veteran Speaks Out

“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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A Shau Ripcord: by Gary Jacobson

A Shau Valley at Daybreak

A Shau Valley is what comes to mind when you think of dark, imposing jungle. 

The beautiful A Shau Valley with leech infested streams, jungle cliffs, meager animal trails covered with rotted tree roots, 60-degree slopes, 140 varieties of poisonous snakes, the most unusual insects in the world, and jungle so dense at the bottom of the ridge lines that you could not see more than a few feet in front of you.

Perhaps because it was so inaccessible, this was "key terrain" for the North Vietnamese Army (NVA), and one of the North's major supply lines into the South for much of the war. Nicknamed “Ah Shit Valley,” this was the setting for some of the war's bloodiest operations.

Ripcord was a Firebase that the 101st Airborne attempted to establish near the end of the war, in a bold offensive planned to destroy NVA supply bases in the mountains overlooking the A Shau Valley.

Fought during the American withdrawal from Vietnam, the Battle for Ripcord turned out to be the last multi-battalion, high-casualty engagement between infantry units of the U.S. Army and North Vietnamese Army.

Ripcord was the biggest single battle of 1970, and an engagement even more costly to the division than the infamous Hamburger Hill action of 1969.

The NVA, by taking the fight to Ripcord before the 101st could launch its offensive, were able not only to disrupt the planned offensive, but to inflict heavy casualties on the rifle companies operating around Ripcord.

NVA mortarmen inflicted heavy casualties among the artillery batteries positioned atop the firebase, and enemy anti-aircraft crews played havoc with medevac and resupply helicopters.

The 101st finally withdrew, and B-52’s bombed Ripcord into oblivion.

Creek in A Shau Valley

A Shau Valley

Death walks this shadowed alley
Where the rain never stops
Fierce
In rustic tangled wood
Inaccessible
Nigh impenetrable
Wall-to-wall
Dense obstructive green
Concealing well the malignant
Virulent rebel
Malevolent NVA
Warriors in the jungled screen
Sprayed with toxins obscene
Leach infested streams
101st Airborne
Enveloped by the valley
Searching
For hostiles...

Hostile
Men look to kill men
Enmeshed in hate
Murderously filled with it
Boys from both sides secreting furies
To poisonously harm
Boys on the other side
Conducting half-blind
Clashes contending for the right
To life
Snarled by evil
Fierce nose to nose
So quickly lost
In the darkning wild lair
Setting the knotty jungle snare
Initiating each other into hell.
Battling for the A Shau throne

Ripcord
Twisted forest whipcord
Is the rain never going to stop?
Obsessed generals,
In pitched battle for control
Vying for one last victory
One last gasp
Last chance for glory in this war
To hone their skills
In the Nam’s last dance
Before the war is through
To themselves console
Before withdrawal
Before Vietnamization.

Obsessed generals,
Playing God, by God!
Pumping technology
Into gnarled greenwood
Seeking an edge they thought
They’d win
A grunt’s life catapult
Flung into the fray
In the midst of infantry foes
With Charley
Slugging it out toe to toe...
Filling the road
On the pathway to hell...
“Whatcha gonna do,
Send me to Nam?”
If we only knew
Life there in Hell
Known as the A Shau
Was dependant on the gun
Under a blistering sun...
Blistering our innocence...

Look to skies supernal
For rescue by the eternal...
But find no relief infernal
As in multifaceted battalions
Sneakin' and peekin',
The latest in a series
Of Long
Hot
miserable
Days...
In verdant jungle dark
Many men lay slaughtered
Thrown at each other
Torn from sacred life
Unto sanctified death
Down in the valley
Mid matted corkscrew
With a considerable body of troops...
Not ours
Where life could vanish
In a twinkling...

Is the rain ever going to stop?
Patrolling the dark A Shau
Slip and slide up one hill
Skim down the other side
In fevered breath
Awaiting
Fated death
Ah shit...
Fresh prints in the muddy track
Everyone on edge
Sniff the air for waiting ambush
Could this be the day we die?
Is the rain ever going to stop?

Is the rain ever going to stop?
Running in rivulets red
Flowing
Everywhere endless
Pop, pop, pop,
Pesky VietCong
Fire a couple rounds and di di
Harassment maddening
Frustrated
Taut jawed
Barbed wire lips...
Clash and dash
Get adrenalin roaring
Then bring it back down
No one around
Charley
Blends with the shadows
Until the next turn in the trail
Frustrated...
Waiting for “show time...”

Secure another LZ
On the highground
Nestled in rocks on the ridgeline
Before fast closing dark
Just another wet miserable day
As a grunt
A groundpounder
My God...a shortimer...
Listening to cricket rhythms
Hearing something small
Moving in underbrush
Harsh alarm of a monkey
Nightbirds singing low
Trembling rage still eats at me
Protected
Under the surface below...

I hate the quiet time
Too much time
For thinking
For fearing
Rivulets of sweat merging
With tears from my eyes
Trying to discern
The deadly sounds....
Again adrenalin pumping...
Be absolutely quiet
In this life or death moment...
Can anyone hear
My primal scream?
Is the rain never going to stop?
Napalm blossom
Good morning Vietnam!
Another routine morning
Check for leeches
Dislodge other crawlies
Tend your jungle rot
No such thing as dry
Clear booby traps
And trips
Check claymores
See if they've been turned
By those practical jokers
Tricky VietCong

Try to calm
Stark fear stifling
Set jangled nerves
To survive another day
Saddle up that heavy pack
Loaded with lots of things
That go boom...
Clean the mud off your rifle
Y’wanta make it home?
It’s going to be a long
Long day
Expecting the enemy to open up
On every rise
At every bend in the trail
To bring on the hurt
Make boiling blood pump...
Another adrenalin dump...

Still we make the turn
Take each forsaken step
Past trembling bush
Over muddied ground
Past silent sound
God only knows why...
Or how...
Each minute dragging by
Seems like a year...
Playing hide and seek with the Cong
The stakes in this game
So high....

Heroic grunts
Negotiating hell and shadow.
Good men
Brave men
Beloved men
Brothers...
Lost in obsidian thoughts
Slowly dying as former companions
Omnipresent jungle closing in
Chilling hot
Sweet and sour
Surrounded within...
Napalm
In this bamboo wood
You can't find the Vietcong
Unless he wants to find us.
Napalm will ferret him out...
I’d rather be in Hell
Can’t be any hotter than this
But perhaps we’re already there
Knocking at the southern gates...
Look at the FNG
How long is this one gonna last?
Oh how fragile
These men of war...

As NVA assaulted
Sloping mountaintop
Left no choice but to bail
Out of the fiasco
Now as we left
That blood soaked ground
Picked up by the Huey’s
Wearied unto death...

Turn out the lights
The parties over...
Look out your six
Charley hates to see you go...
Wave goodbye
It’s closing time...
As gunships blast surrounding hills
Watch Uncle Sam’s parting gift
Given by high-flying B52’s
Leaving nothing for the enemy
Bombing Ripcord into extinction
Napalming it
Like it never was...

Gary Jacobson

Gary Jacobson
Combat Infantryman
1st platoon
B Co 2nd/7th 1st Air Cavalry
Vietnam '66 - '67







“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 Last Fire Base: by Michael Lansford

Michael Lansford

I remember it was late November, cold and raining. The monsoon season had really set in. Everyone was miserable. Nothing was dry, except our weapons and ammo -- priorities one must have.

I was getting close to my DEROS date of 13 December 1969, when the "new" captain came up with this grand plan to make a raid into the Ashau Valley to stop Charlie's resupply to the south via the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

Suddenly, through a break in the rain, along came the flying cranes and Chinooks to extract us to some remote tip of a mountain on the edge of the Valley.

We barely had time to grab our weapons. We had no food, rain gear, nothing, as it was a one-day raid designed to catch the enemy off guard -- they said. This was on 1 December 1969.

Well, as things usually went with the new captain, he sat three 155 split trails down on this pinpoint mountaintop that was so small that all three guns were butted up to each other. There was zero room to do anything.

When we started firing the trails, we tried to dig in, but the other guns were blocking the recoil, so we had to improvise. That made for a fun day. Nothing we tried worked and if the firing continued, the recoil would shove the other guns down the cliffs. We had no way to secure them, plus it was raining in sheets by then. It's hard, if not impossible, to dig in to a muddy, rain-soaked cliff side.

The only blessing came from the monsoon, as it suddenly became too severe to even walk, plus we were on top of a mountain with no cover, no food, rain gear, dry clothing, nothing. We had no back up, or air support. We were on our own.

The bad thing about being on a mountain top in a monsoon storm, you suddenly become the target of all that Mother Nature has and can throw at you in the way of torrential rain and lightning -- and we were cold, soaked, hungry, and alone.

I remember it was so cold, and raining so hard, that the only way we kept reasonably warm was by sitting down in the muddy water-filled trench we had dug to protect ourselves in case of attack. That was a hard way to stay warm -- not dry -- just warmer, but those weapons stayed dry, no matter what. Priorities.

About the FNG's, you could always tell who they were during monsoon season. They were the only ones walking around with weapons exposed to the elements and all barrels were facing straight up into the rain. Not a good idea. We always slung weapons barrel-down in bad weather, for many reasons, all self-explanatory. They were little things that could become big things in a firefight.

Lightning was the worst. There was no place to hide or defend from, just pray. It hit so close, it made the hair on your arms stand straight out. You could feel the static in the air. It was a helpless feeling.

As time went on, we waited for a break in the weather just to find a way out of there, as the longer we stayed, the closer the enemy came and we were easy pickings up there. One mortar in the right place and Boom -- we were gone. Our other choice was to get the mission done and really get out fast.

The monsoon had other ideas. We were stranded there until 12 December, when the weather finally broke. In between time, we dodged sniper fire and some mortar fire, which luckily for us the rain helped with. They missed their targets, except for this one lucky shooter who was walking mortars up the side of the mountain removing pieces of the cliffs as he fired.

Our firing positions were dug into the side of the mountain and as the lucky shooter walked the rounds up the side of the mountain, the ground became more and more unstable. All of a sudden, I heard this whishing sound coming in right on top of us. All I could do was close my eyes and pray. I heard the round hit with a loud thud.

When I opened my eyes, a dud round was sitting right there between my legs. There it was, that being in the right place at the right time thing again.

Here I was short and shouldn't even be out there and I was dealing with this nightmare. They had us zeroed, cut off, and they knew it. Easy pickings. Our only advantage was, it was almost straight up the mountain to reach us, which gave us a slight edge. It's hard to fight uphill.

Combat Tactics 101: Always have high ground, no matter how small, or slight. Just have that edge.

Finally, after our one-day raid had turned into a twelve-day and night survival trip, we were getting off that mountaintop. The downside was, the enemy knew our situation as well as we did. We took rounds, it seemed like, from everywhere. Luckily for us, it was hard for them to shoot straight up and the next mountain over was just far enough away to give us even more edge -- plus they didn't shoot well either.

The most dangerous part was the extraction. Naturally, the guns got out first. They couldn't afford to waste taxpayers' money on good weapons. We, on the other hand, were a little more expendable. So what if we lose a few grunts and arty men. No big deal. We'll get some more. There are lots more where they came from anyway.

Finally, we managed to keep Charlie busy long enough for the last of us to get our ride out. We took rounds in the choppers, but no one got hit. I'm still amazed how we got out alive.

We landed back at the fire base we started from, Zon, if my memory serves me, and I had just enough time to grab what little I had, say a hasty goodbye, and I was out as fast as I had come in.

C-130 Vietnam Transport

I turned in my weapons, clothes, and whatever else they thought I didn't need -- no time to eat or clean up. I just caught that C-130 south to Cam Rahn Bay to start processing out. Then I took my freedom bird home ...well, home as I remembered it.

Later, I was told, but can't confirm, that my last fire base, Zon, was overrun right after I left. There were lots of casualties, almost everyone KIA. It gave me an empty feeling, thinking If I were still there, maybe, just maybe, I could have helped. I never heard anything else about it -- that's some more of that ole right time, right place thing again.

Man was I mistaken about home. As we all learned, the war didn't end when we left. Suddenly we had (and still have) new enemies to fight, just with different weapons. It was a fight harder to win than Vietnam ever was, yet I don't think there were many plans to win. It was just business, you know.

Sin Loi, as I said, "Sorry About That" ...

It feels good to be writing about all this and maybe by writing, help someone else deal with our war better. Kind of like the old days, watching out for each other. That part I miss, not being there for my comrades.

Thanks, Mrs. Heck.  We've all carried a lot of stuff around these long many years with no one, or no way, to tell our stories. The public should know the real us. We paid for it.



“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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Holidays in The Nam: by Michael Lansford

Michael Lansford

I thought today I would write about how we celebrated holidays in The Nam -- our way of celebrating the 'real world' and the people we missed.

All vets probably had similar experiences.

The holiday, Memorial Day, was very hard as we had just finished the "Hill" (Hill 937, Hamburger Hill, May '69), so we were all pretty numb to everything.

On the 4th of July, someone accidentally fired a tracer into the ammo dump. The first thing it did was set fire to the fuel which, in turn, spilled into the rocket and ammo pit setting them off.

The rockets were for the Cobras. Man that stuff was flying everywhere! No place was safe, because the ammo and rockets had no direction, but what a show! Best Fourth of July ever.

Hanoi Hanna got wind of it and all we heard on our radio was how the People’s Republic of Vietnam had overrun and destroyed the American camp with all personnel. Now that made our day. Hell we blew up our own stuff!

I still wonder who put the tracer round out that way. No one was supposed to fire tracers anyway, but with that light show, it must have been seen and heard all the way into space.

Thanksgiving Dinner - water everywhere

Thanksgiving Day was during monsoon season, of course, and we had only C-Rats -- or so they thought.

I found some officers’ quarters and 'borrowed' some turkey with all the trimmings.

This is a picture of us sitting under a 155 pallet with the rain pouring down and us enjoying our Thanksgiving dinner.

Every time we took a bite of something, the water went everywhere. It was cold and wet, but I told the guys we were having a real Thanksgiving, no matter what. Cold, wet, sloppy turkey and dressing isn't too bad when you are starved for it.

The things we did to observe what we cherished. On Christmas, we found some kind of little tree and Voila! It became our Christmas tree. We even made gadgets to hang on it, like grenade pins, and claymores underneath. Someone made an angel for the top out of a C-Rat box. We had fake presents, using ammo boxes, but sometimes we would put in one round just for effect.

Plastic bags were a luxury, as we used them to keep what valuables we had dry – well, sort of dry. Everything there got wet. If it wasn't the heat, it was the monsoon. But we made the best of it.

I remember someone sent me a hamburger bag just to (in their minds) help me remember the burger stands we used to hang out at. Man it still smelled like burgers and fries. The thing is, when I was alone it made me sad, knowing what I had back in the world and I didn't even know it. That bag meant the world to me. Anything from home was revered.

My family sent me care packages once a month, but there were times it took a long time to get mail, depending on where we were. Then later on, the new Captain I had stopped all my mail, etc. That was the only way to really hurt a troop, withhold his mail. Mail was our lifeline.

Michael Lansford (center) with the guys

Labor Day weekend somehow really fit our world. We labored all right. We took rockets and mortars all weekend from Laos.

We couldn't technically shoot back as they were a "NEUTRAL" country.  Right.

We got around that rule real fast. We just slid around behind them and herded them like cattle until we knew they were officially 'off sides'.

"OOPS Penalty! No time out this time. Sorry about that,” we said. Or, if my Vietnamese spelling is close, we called it Sinh Loi, or “Sorry about that.”

Whenever they had their TET of Lunar holidays we were supposed to have time out and let them observe their religion, etc. Hell all they did was use the time out to move closer, resupply, and get ready for time in. Strange war, when you call time out for their holidays, but not ours.

But aren't all wars like this? Some things don't ever change ...

Michael "Surfer" Lansford
2nd Batallion
"Bravo" Battery
11th Artillery,
155 split trails
101st Airborne
Viet Nam 68-69
Hamburger Hill 10 May-21 May 69

“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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Going Forward: by Tony Lobello

I spent February to December of 1966 with the 25th Infantry Division at Cu Chi.

From December 1965 to February of 1966 I was at Dong Ba Thin (near Cam Rahn Bay), as part of an advanced element of the 25th Division.

I'm still in touch with some of the guys I served with in Nam. We have learned to take pride in our service, although there was much adversity, and negative attitudes, from many members of our society when I returned on December 21, 1966, just in time for Christmas. 

They needed to learn how to separate the soldier, who was doing his/her job, from all of the feelings and negativity the media generated against the Vietnam War.  

Among the things that have stayed with me is the way we simply went about doing our jobs. Perhaps that was the easiest way to cope.

From Cu Chi, there were several ops into Cambodia aimed at staging areas, troop encampments, or to disrupt activity on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Then we discovered some tunnels.

God Bless all who, although they may have been drafted, or harbored feelings against the war, were of enough character to serve in the military and do the best that they could. That is what a big part of being an American is, and what has helped make us to be successful, from the Revolutionary War on. 

I love the USA and I have deep respect for our military. We are all humans and, consequently, we will all (including our leaders) make mistakes. We have to learn from our mistakes, then forget them and go forward.

Do not allow lingering memories keep you from moving on.

Tony Lobello
Adjutant/JVC  

VFW Post 2059

“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

Vietnam Vet/Author: Edward F. Palm

Ed Palm

About the Author

A native of New Castle, Delaware, Edward F. Palm served in Vietnam as an enlisted man with the Marine Corps’ Combined Action Program. He earned his Ph.D. at the University of Pennsylvania with a dissertation on the moral vision of selected Vietnam novels and has since published and presented on various aspects of American culture as well as imaginative representations of the American experience in Vietnam.

Returning to the Marine Corps in later life, Palm became an officer and taught military affairs at the University of California, Berkeley, and English at the United States Naval Academy before retiring as a major in 1993.

He went on to serve as a tenured professor and division chair at Glenville State College (in West Virginia) and has held dean appointments at Maryville University of St. Louis and Olympic College, in Bremerton, Washington. He has also taught full-time online for Strayer University.

Now retired, Palm devotes his time to photography and writing, including a regular opinion column for his local newspaper, the Kitsap Sun. Palm’s full CV is available at www.EdwardFPalm.com.

Through no fault of his own, Palm now makes his home about as far from Delaware as one can get and still be in the contiguous United States—in Bremerton, Washington.

Edward's Books:

Lucky Eddie the Second: Or My Great Expectations 

About the Book:

"The best thing my father ever did for me, I now realize, was to disappear from my life when I was only two." 

Thus I begin my account of the complicated desultory relationship I had with my father, a career Air Force officer and pilot. --EFP

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An "American Pie": Lansdale, Lederer, Dooley, and Modern Memory 

About the Book:

In the wake of the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu in 1954, three Americans came together in a clandestine alliance that would play a major role in establishing Vietnam as an important arena in the Cold-War contest for hearts and minds. The three were Edward Lansdale, the legendary CIA officer who had engineered the defeat of the Communist Huk rebellion in the Philippines; William Lederer, a Navy captain who, along with Eugene Burdick, would go on to coauthor "The Ugly American"; and Thomas Dooley, a Navy doctor who first rose to prominence with a book titled "Deliver Us from Evil" and who would later found Medico. Drawing on primary source material, this article establishes the extent of their alliance and their shared commitment to a non-military solution in Vietnam.

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The Annals of the Rod and God Club

About the Book:

This is the mostly true story of my experiences as a 7th and 8th grader in a Catholic school in the early sixties, when nuns were still drill instructors of the divine.

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The Fiction Behind the Fiction: Lederer, Burdick, and the Composition of "The Ugly American"

About the Book:

The story of the phenomenal success of "The Ugly American" is well known. Lederer and Burdick's novelistic indictment of American ineptitude, indifference, and self-indulgence abroad inspired President Eisenhower to form a commission charged with investigating our Foreign Service. It influenced then-Senator John F. Kennedy’s later decisions to found the Peace Corps and the Green Berets. What has not been appreciated until now is the extent to which Lederer and Burdick’s success rested on a carefully contrived myth surrounding the novel’s genesis and composition.

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“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

Book: "We Never Wanted A Parade"

By Donald Tackett

Publisher: BookLogix

Autobiography/Memoir

300 pages

$19.95

Paperback

About the Book:

Imagine growing up in a small town, leading a normal life and hoping to become a journalist. Then one day you make a decision that changes your whole life -- to become more than a man -- to become a US Marine.

"We Never Wanted a Parade" is a coming-of-age memoir by Don "Tack" Tackett. He discovered loss, respect, and became a man in the steam-filled jungles of Vietnam.

With his unit all but gone, Tack was re-assigned and began the process of making friends and earning respect all over again with sound judgment and good leadership.

"I thought every day in the bush would be my last. I just knew that day was the day I would get hit. When I turned every corner, I could visualize confronting the little bastard that would end my life. It was a very scary thought.

As if that wasn't enough, we had to deal with the booby traps. Then the night would come. It was so dark we couldn't see the guy next to us, let alone see out into the bush where we just knew a sapper was going to sneak up and cut our throats.

Then daybreak would come. Thank God for daybreak. We'd lived another day, and it was another day closer to going home."

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Reviews:

“This book was a great read from start to finish. Really goes in depth from basic training to combat patrols in Vietnam. As a combat veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, You really make a connection with the author and the friends he had and some he lost while in country. Even if you’re not in the Military this is a 'lessons of life' book and should not be passed up.” ~Sniper762m

“Sgt Tackett served in the same unit as myself Kilo 3/7, the only difference is he arrived, in country, a couple of months after I was wounded and returned back home. He has written a true and honest account of what life was like in Vietnam, especially Kilo 3/7.” ~joesasnit

“Very easy to read, hard to put down. Don tells HIS story without getting into the politics of the war. Just his experiences. The good, the bad and the sometimes humorous. GREAT BOOK.” ~Rob

“Very well written, true account of a young soldier's life at war. I would recommend this one for anyone who loves a VietNam vet-it will help you to understand what they endured and how they were treated upon returning home.” ~battchief53

“A must read! I couldn't put it down, as a matter of fact I loved it so much I bought copies for my friends and family. You did an amazing job not only writing this book but in life and war!”~Sgravitt

“This is a very good read. I've read many books about Viet Nam from former service members but this is by far the best. I read it from start to finish the day that I received it.

I felt like Don was sitting at the kitchen table and we were just having our own private conversation. It's just one of those books that grab you in the first few pages. I wish everyone could read this book and think it should be required reading in English and History classes. If you get the chance to read this book please do not pass it up,because you will be passing up a very good read and a great writer.” ~Roberta Myers

“I served in the U. S. Army in Vietnam Nam at the same time as the author. This story brought to my memory many of the events I had forget. I have known Don for several years, we have talked many hours about our service, but "We Never Wanted a Parade" hit it out of the park. The only thing missing was the sounds and smell of actual combat.” ~Warren Pennington


"Vietnam was the unspoken war of my youth. I had friends who went to Vietnam right out of high school and didn't come back. The ones who did return did not talk about their experiences, at least not to me. This book caught me from the first page and I couldn't stop reading until I finished it. Don wrote in a manner that was like he was talking just to me. It brought tears and smiles as I read it. I also felt sadness for all those who were in Vietnam because they deserved our love, support and our thanks for serving our country. I cannot imagine the horror they lived and to come home to people who didn't even recognize their service -- we certainly need to at least say thank you and support them as they are still fighting to let go of those memories. Thank you Don for sharing your story and for serving our country." ~Gaynell Dillon

About the Author:

Donald “Tack” Tackett was born on July 13, 1949 in North Bend, OR, but grew up in Zanesville OH from the age of three.  He graduated high school in 1967 and joined the Marine Corps immediately after.

After boot camp at MCRD San Diego, he was sent to Vietnam (December ’67-December ’68), where he was assigned to Kilo Co., 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Div.  He was wounded once.

In ’72, he joined the Army and, like the Marines, he spent his time as an infantryman.  He retired in May of ’98 as a Sergeant Major.

“I served in every leadership position available to an enlisted soldier.  In the end, I was a much better soldier than I was ever a Marine.” ~Donald Tackett

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“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