For as Long as Forever Lasts ...

Gary Wayne Cole                     Margarita H. Cole

by Margarita H. Cole

Vietnam veteran, Gary Wayne Cole, Navy Radioman, RM3, came home, discharged with an OTH and broken inside, beyond repair, to a homeland that had decided to hate the Vietnam vet.

He had many dreams that crashed, one right after another.

God chose him and he resisted.

God stayed put.

In those dark days of 1966 and 1967, the Vietnam veteran was far from imagining that God had already hand-picked someone with the capacity and the heart to love him for as long as forever lasts.

In a distant country, a little girl was born. A descendant of immigrants and stern, tough people, she also had dreams that would one day crash, one after another.

God chose her, but He had a plan.  First she would need to find the Vietnam vet.

God stayed put.

Gary and Margarita Cole

In 2000, after nearly 40 years had passed, God decided it was time to align the paths of the Vietnam veteran and the little girl, who was now a woman.

Within that one miracle, He gave each of them the unique gift of finding the love of their life.

It would not just be a life together. It was to be an adventure, where through each other, they would learn and grow and love.  

I am Margarita H. Cole, Gary's fourth wife. I was there with him through decaying health, sober, dying, and lost in the whole PTSD nightmare.

We truly considered each other to be the love of our life. 

I stood by him during the last fourteen years of his life. I embraced his cause, and I was proud to be his advocate.  

I think of myself as a "widowed wife" for life, and I will always miss him.

“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.

Vietnam War 1963: by Joe D. Parker

T-28

CJ: These are a few memories of my time in Vietnam during 1963. 

I was a pilot in the USAF. I flew the T-28 and in the other two assignments, I flew the F-4. I did not fly in what was called The Packs in North Vietnam.

In my first assignment, we were told we were there to give South Vietnam an opportunity to build up their military.

Due to poor reporting and leadership, they (Vietnam) were continually degraded, and portrayed as not being willing to fight.

The young Vietnamese pilots I met, some of whom were from Hanoi, were excellent pilots and eager to fight. In fact, one of them continually stated that he wanted to win the war, so he could go chase the stewardess who were flying for the Vietnamese Air Line. [That sounds typical for any young man, regardless of where he is from].

It is disheartening to find out that very few people today understand why we were there in Vietnam. We were there because of SEATO, of which we were a signature to.

The worst part of my service was due to Time Magazine's 1963 report about what they thought I was doing and the stupid control that the unqualified and uninformed politicians placed on us at that time.

F-4

I felt that we were there to do a job. If I had obeyed all of their rules, I would never have expended an ordinance on a mission. It was devastating to me to have to do a mission I was assigned to do within these stupid rules. 

I know that nothing I did compares to the struggles that the ground troops went through and I, in no way, want my service to compete with what they did.

My wish is that we could have, (and could have had), strong leadership from the Federal Government and the Generals in all of the chains of command in the military, do what they are suppose to do -- get out in front and LEAD.

Thanks for the opportunity to share. Take care.

Joe D. Parker
USAF - 1963
T-28 and F-4 Pilot



“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.

Obama's State of the Union Address

President Obama

At the State of the Union Address next Tuesday, January 20, 2015, President Obama will be telling the country about his agenda for the year.

With just two years left in his presidency, this speech will be one of his last major opportunities to make a strong commitment to protecting and strengthening Social Security and Medicare.

You probably haven't forgotten that not too long ago, he considered making cuts to Social Security to fix the national debt – I know I haven't forgotten.  Those proposals were defeated, but new threats could come in the year ahead.

This is Obama's opportunity to stand up for the benefits we've earned. I am hoping he takes that stand.

That's why I sent him a message and urged him to use the State of the Union Address to honor his prior commitment to protect and strengthen Social Security and Medicare.  This isn't just for us, but also for our children and grandchildren.

We need for him to hear from 50,000 people – please take the next step.  Send him a message and ask your friends and family to send a message, too.  It only takes a minute. 

The form already has a canned message in it, but I found that you can easily change the message.  Put it in your own words and write what your thoughts are about protecting Social Security and Medicare. 

It's time "We The People" speak out about how we want things in this country ...

Send a Message to President Obama

Thank you!
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.

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

My First Detachment: by Jon Sampson

Fleet Air Reconnaissance Squadron One

CJ, I love to read your blog. The first time I visited, I was deeply moved by your story and have been reading Memoirs From Nam ever since. 

My First Detachment

“Dad, I got my orders today.” I had joined the Navy just eight months before and was about to complete my Aviation Electronics ‘A’ school at NAS Memphis at Millington, Tennessee.

“I’m going to aircrew duty with VQ-1 out of NAS Atsugi, Japan.” There was a moment of silence.

“You’re aware that they have a detachment in Da Nang, Vietnam, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir!” I replied.

Dad knew about the squadron, because he was stationed at Da Nang for a year, himself, in 1968.

“I’ll let your mother know.”

I finished ‘A’ school and went to San Diego for another two months of training, before departing for Japan on November 22, 1970.

My first trip to Da Nang was March 1971, at the tender age of nineteen. Over the next two years, I made many more excursions to our "time-share in that seaside resort" with my flight crew, as well as for one ground-pounder det.

I don’t recall which night it was—only that the night sky was clear and the temperature tolerable, as I lay in my rack, trying to get some sleep, before our mission the next day. 

Sound asleep, I was suddenly jolted awake by explosions and sirens wailing. As I thrust my now wide awake body out of the rack, I heard someone yelling, “Rockets!”

In the dim red light, I quickly grabbed my utility trousers and tried to put them on while running to the bunker just outside the center hatch of the barracks. [Running is an inaccurate description of what we were doing.]  

What we were actually doing was more like an ordered panic—run, crawl, trip-and-fall, roll, jump—we got out to the bunker by any means and all of it without trampling anyone, either. If anyone had been watching from the sidelines, we might have appeared to be a company of Keystone Cops.

After that, I either slept in my trousers, or left them hanging on the rack -- they were just not that important.

Experience truly is the best teacher ...

Jon Sampson

VQ-1
Fleet Air Reconnaissance Squadron One (FAIRECONRON-1)

AT-3 (Aviation Electronics Technician Third Class)
Vietnam 1970-1973


“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.

Like a Ton of Bricks ...

Painful Memories

By CJ Heck

The other day, I posted an invitation for you to write something for Memoirs from Nam -- maybe you remember it, maybe not.

A wise man once told me that trying to do what we consider to be an impossible task is like "trying to touch the sun from a step-ladder".

I know all of you left something behind in Vietnam. You have carried -- and still carry -- a heavy load of things you never want to remember.  And those things you have chosen to keep alive in your memory will always be with you.

I understand all too well that for some, what happened in their lives, in whatever capacity in Vietnam, is so varied that it is impossible to quantify, let alone write about. There is no one who can ever duplicate the experiences that one person has gone through.
 
I know, I understand, and I care -- and I hope this open letter to you will help to better explain my invitation to write something for the blog:

"I appreciate what you went through and experienced in country and I know you saw things you choose to forget and you never want to remember.

Most have carried it around silently for nearly half a century, like a ton of bricks, weighing heavy on the heart. 

Others have found that carrying it around isn't working for them any longer and they're ready to face it, brick by invisible brick. 

The vets that are writing for Memoirs From Nam are writing to heal, and to educate the rest of the world about who and what a Vietnam vet is, the importance of brotherhood, loss, and to tell the truth about our war.

They write about what they are comfortable with, and what they are able to talk about, whether it's a funny story about the mess hall, how they spent Christmas Eve, how much a Dear John Letter hurt, or what it meant to them to see Bob Hope on one of his tours.

What the contributing vets choose to write about isn't what's important. What is important is, they are choosing to write about something.   Please send whatever you would like to write about.

Thank you most sincerely for your service and Welcome Home. 

With my warmest regard 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.

What's Wrong with Being Wrong?

Lance Pinamonte

by Lance Pinamonte

I left the USA in 1968, full of pride and looking forward (although scared) to serving my country..

My mind was full of flag waving, red, white, and blue, apple pie, and patriotic fever. Little did I know about the emotions and reality I was to face in the next twenty months: everything from birth to death, love, hate, fear, and so many other truths of life.

After landing in Vietnam, I was waiting for transportation, along with about a hundred other guys. I had to go to the bathroom, so I left my duffle on the tarmac and headed for what looked like an outhouse.

As I stepped into what smelled like a combination of diesel and a dead animal, my father's words hit me, "You didn't eat that. It crawled up inside you and died!"

It was very dark as I went inside. I could make out holes, so I moved to one end, where I could see light coming through the slats. I had just started to empty my full bladder, when I noticed something, or somebody, over on the far end of the outhouse.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw a mama san squatting above a hole, pants around her ankles, and she was smiling at me.  I was quickly zipping up when she started calling me "Dinky Dau, Number Ten GI!".

Then, as I left the outhouse, I heard a chorus of laughter from over a hundred men. So I took a bow, and laughed at myself with them. I was wrong ...

Shortly afterwards, I developed a mistrust of the Vietnamese people, when one of our hooch maids was fired for stealing. These were big time jobs for them, so I was suspicious about why she would want these small items she had stolen.

Hootch Maid

 I found out from talking to the other hooch maids that she didn't steal them, She had only moved them, so she could clean the First Sargent's room. He had caught her putting stuff in the hallway of his hooch and went off the deep end.

So this little girl of 16, who was supporting her whole family with this job, was back to begging in the streets.  I was wrong ...

As things heated up, we started to lose men.  Many of us wanted revenge, and nothing less than a hatred for our enemy emerged.

There was a POW camp near one of our VIP landing pads. The guards routinely prodded the prisoners across and around the pad to pick up trash, cigarette butts, and garbage.  One of the young prisoners smiled at me and gave me a peace sign, only to get the butt of a guard's weapon across his back for the action. I didn't respond to his smile, or his peace sign.

A week later, we were sitting on that same pad, when the guards led three POW's to the edge of the pad and sat them down. The young man who had smiled at me was in that group. He didn't holler, but I heard him say, "Hey, could you spare a cigarette?" in perfect English.

At first, I didn't know how to respond. Finally, I reached under the gun seat and retrieved one of my sample packs of Parliments from the C-rat box and carried it over to him.

The guard started to raise hell, but he quickly stopped, when the young man said something to him in Vietnamese. He then said, "Thank you."

I replied "You're welcome."

I saw him one more time standing near the fence around the compound and I went over. We talked for a few minutes and I found out he had gone to school in the states.  His father came back to North Vietnam when he was fourteen and he enlisted. He was eighteen, the same age as I was, and I was wrong again ...

I had thought we were there to protect the people of South Vietnam. Once, we landed near a small village that was slated to be relocated. The people had a few rice paddies, a few goats, and a couple of water buffaloes.

Vietnamese Village

They were living in grass shacks, but the children were happy.  The old people were not. You see, that's all that were in this village, old people and children.  Anyone old enough to pick up a gun had been either drafted (by gunpoint) by the ARVN's, or by the VC. This left very few who were able to farm.

We gave out C-rations and candy bars, loaded them onto trucks, and left the village on fire.  I was wrong ...

I also thought we were helping the people of Vietnam.  Then I saw the beggars in the streets, little girls of twelve, or thirteen, selling themselves.  The old people were shoved off to the side in a country that, in good times, revered their aged. I was wrong ...

I soon found that there was more wrong with this war than was right.

Nowadays, nobody wants to admit being wrong.  They all have fancy excuses for their mistakes. They hold to methods, politics, financial fallacies, and ideologies that are known to be wrong. They cling to ignorance and refuse to open their minds to better ideals and methods. They refuse to be wrong, even when proven wrong.

So, what is so wrong with being wrong, when admitting you are wrong is the first step to being right?

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30 Crewchief/Doorgunner Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

Crew Chief's Memory of Thanksgiving '68
Enough
A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“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.