Poem: "Waves", by John Puzzo

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Waves

by John Puzzo

They are like the waves washing on shore,

58,237 of them. 

They just keep coming from way out there, 

until they wash up over your feet

and gently remind you of who they are

and who they were.

Sometimes the storms come 

and the waves are not so gentle.

That’s when they’re grabbing us, and shaking us,

to make us remember.

Then they slide back into the ocean.

But they’ll be back.

They never really left.

Sometimes they leave something behind

and it takes your breath away.

“Here comes mine. There he is.”

And just as quickly he comes to 

Fill your heart again, reaching you there 

on the shore.

Then he recedes once again. Back into the sea. 

58,237 others are making their way back to the shore

to meet theirs.

It takes a long time for 58,237 waves 

to come against the shores of our memory, 

where we wait to greet them.

But that’s alright. They’ll be back.

They don’t ever really leave us.

It would be like the sea itself suddenly evaporating.

They are the sea.

Those who only knew them on these shores,

the ones who sent them off –

“Be Safe. I will miss you. Write to me? 

Let me know if you need anything.”

And you never forget that face. 

Out there in the sea, with others of his kind 

he looks back at you,

still there, on the shore, with your feet in the sand.

You are the last thing he sees, too.

They share something very precious 

in the sea of sacrifice where they live now.

The ocean will never die. 

It will keep sending them back to us

to remember.

Waves.

Add caption

John J. Puzzo

K Company (Ranger)

75th Infantry (Airborne)

United States Army 1968 - 1971

John is the published author of two books about Vietnam.  He is a brilliant public speaker, and an all-around good guy from Connecticut.  

"The Highlanders In the Viet Nam War"

"Vietnam and Hollywood"

Other Articles by John Puzzo:

Humor in Vietnam

The Lantern

“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.

"Tank"

They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people were really friendly. I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone even waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing and as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, I thought a dog couldn't hurt. It would give me someone to talk to. I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after it aired, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab" people, whatever that meant. They must've thought I did.

At first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Or maybe, it was because we were just too much alike.

Then I saw the sealed envelope among his things. I had completely forgotten about it. "Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice."

The letter:

To Whomever Gets My Dog:

Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this. It's a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy about writing it. If you're reading it, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab, after dropping him off with the shelter -- he knew something was different. I've packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this was different ... it's like he knew something was wrong, and something is wrong ... which is why I have to go try and make it right.  

So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after them, so be careful. Don't do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.

Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again.  He knows the obvious ones ---"sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signals, too: "back" to turn around and go back with the hand straight up.  "Over" if you put your hand out, right or left.  He knows "down" when he feels like laying down -- I bet you could work on that some more with him. He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, once at seven in the morning, and again at about six in the evening, the regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand. 

He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street.  They will update my info with yours and they'll make sure to send reminders when he's due.  Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time. I've never been married.  It's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides, if you can. He sits well in the back seat, and he doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be around people and me most especially. 

Which means this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new.  And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you...

His name's not Reggie. 

I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie.  He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. It just seemed so final, and by handing him over to the shelter, it was almost like admitting I would never see him again.  But if someone is reading this ... well it means that his new owner should know his real name. 

His real name is "Tank." Because, that is what I drive.

I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with ... And it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter ... In the "event" ... To tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally. And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.

Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.

That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as my inspiration to do something selfless to protect innocent people from those who do terrible things.  If I have to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth. Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you,
Paul Mallory

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags have been at half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog. “Hey, Tank," I said quietly. The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright. "C'mere boy." He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months. "Tank," I whispered. His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him. "It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me." Tank reached up and licked my cheek. "So whatdaya say we play some ball?" His ears perked again. "Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?" Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

If you can read this without getting a lump in your throat or a tear in your eye, you just ain't right. A veteran is someone who, at one point, wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America' for an amount of 'up to and including their life.' That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.

The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.

(Author Unknown)

“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

Bill McCullough: Vietnam Vet Shares Story

CJ - 

My name is Bill McCullough. I read the story about Doug in the Coshocton Tribune. I've lived in Coshocton County most of my life. I don't think I ever met Doug, but he has been a part of my life for a long time.

After marrying Shiela Miller in May of 1967, I went in the army. By July of 1967, I was in Vietnam. By January 1, of 1968, I was with the 196th light infantry brigade d 4/31. I returned to the states on December 25, 1968. By September of 1969, I was back in Coshocton working at GE (General Electric) full time, Buckeye Mart part time, selling Amway, and building a home.

I'm sorry I don't remember Doug's funeral. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was probably trying to foget my time in Vietnam and trying to make my life normal. For years, I tried everything, good or bad, to help forget Vietnam. Shiela was always there for me, although not knowing what, if anything, she could do to help. We have one beautiful daughter who has turned out wonderful. I regret that I wasn't in the right state of mind and I couldn't be fully there for her as she grew up. Julie married her high school sweetheart, Chris Yaw. I understand Chris's dad, Paul Yaw, was a friend of Doug's and he escorted Doug home from Vietnam.

In the '80's, I was part of the group of Vietnam vets that started the VVA Chapter 159 in Coshocton. As a group, we tried to do things that would help Vietnam vets work through something we didn't understand. After becoming president of the Chapter, we decided we should erect a monument on the courthouse lawn to honor our brothers lost in Vietnam. We had a lot of help from the community to accomplish this. Marlene Shroyer Griffith and Robin Coffman also helped organize a welcome home parade for the Vietnam vets and then recognize and honor our lost Vietnam vet brothers.

I worked at GE until I retired in 2000, working most of the time on the night shift. Lots of overtime gave me an excuse to go through life in a blur. By 2008, life was catching up with me. By chance, I met up with Jessie Maple on County Road 10. I first met Jessie in Vietnam, after I got to d 4/31 196th lib. Jessie, like Doug and me, was also from Coshocton County.

Jessie had three months to go in country when I arrived. He taught me how to walk point, watch for booby traps, and how to stay alive. I owe him my life -- again, I owe him my life. In 2008, he took me to the Veterans Service Office in New Philadelphia which got me into a PTSD group.

Now we know what we know about PTSD and head trauma. We can't let today's veterans go forty years before they get help.

Bill McCullough 
saharaforme@yahoo.com
740-502-4590

“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 Included in Book

COSHOCTON OHIO
Coshocton Tribune - October 29, 2012

Coshocton native, Doug Kempf, is remembered for his commitment to his country in a new book profiling those who lost their lives in the Vietnam War.

Kempf, 22, died Sept. 5, 1969, while serving as a U.S. Army medic in the Long Khanh province of South Vietnam. While tending to injured men in the field, Kempf was fatally wounded by a sniper’s bullet.

His name is one of thousands forever enshrined on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C. The memorial is celebrating its 30th anniversary. In recognition of the milestone, All They Left Behind" by Lisa Lark will be released Nov. 1, 2012.

The book features profiles on more than 60 soldiers and photos featuring about 300 men and women involved in the conflict. This includes Kempf, who has a section of the book a little more than two pages long.  Lark said Kempf’s story represents the type of courage and commitment you just don’t see anymore.

“The piece of the story that really struck me is how he wouldn’t take help from anyone else,” she said. “He could have stayed in college, people would have given him money to stay in college, but he wanted to do everything himself. He believed (serving) was his responsibility and he was going to do his duty.”

His profile includes photos of him in uniform and on his wedding day with his widow, CJ Heck. Doug’s brother, Dennis Kempf, and his cousin, Ron June, were interviewed for the book. Doug’s oldest brother, Terry Kempf, still lives in the Coshocton area, as do many nieces and nephews.

Heck, an author, lives in Florida now. She maintains a blog in Doug’s memory [Memoirs From Nam] that allows Vietnam veterans and family members to share their stories and memories of lost loved ones. Lark said Doug has one of the longer chapters in the book, because Heck lives to tell Doug’s story.

“As far as Doug is concerned, I think it’s important to know there was more than just a medic there. As a lieutenant told me, ‘Doug Kempf was our mama. He heard all our problems,’” Heck said. “In his time off, he would go into town and nurse children who were there. Maybe they had lice, or had fallen or had gotten shrapnel. He was always helping someone.”

Heck said she’s never been to the real memorial in Washington, D.C., but she has visited the traveling memorial wall and has seen Doug’s name inscribed there.

“It’s very haunting, but very cleansing as well,” she said. “As you reach out to that marble wall, it’s like a hand reaching back at you. It’s a mirror image. It’s almost like you’re reaching out to touch a name, but they’re reaching out to touch you.”

Lark is a high school teacher in Dearborn, Mich. She said the city lost 23 soldiers in the Vietnam War and every year a Memorial Day ceremony is conducted to honor them. After the ceremony in 2010, she said a student asked to write a letter to the family of one of the men. She managed to find a few of the families that still live in the area.

After contacting the families, Lark said recording their stories seemed like a natural progression and the book project grew from there. She said she used the war memorial’s website to locate family members who left messages in remembrance of loved ones.

“I was just very struck by these young men,” Lark said. “Once you see their pictures, it’s hard not to want to know who they were.”

A portion of proceeds from book sales will go to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund for the Education Center at the Wall targeted for groundbreaking in November. Lark said the center will feature profiles, photos and memorabilia collected by the park service left at the wall by visitors.

“As time passes, we’re beginning to lose those first person connections. The people that knew the men and women on the wall. Their friends, spouses and children. We have a responsibility to future generations to teach them that these are not just names on a wall, these are people,” she said.

llhayhur@coshocton
tribune.com; 740-295-3417
Twitter: @llhayhurst


“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

The Red Jeep

by C David Ramsey

 Late one afternoon, several of us were sitting in the shade of our hanger at DaNang. It was between pay periods and we were broke. If any of us had any money, we all would have been down in the city sipping some half cold beer, but broke we were, so we just sat around and talked.

I remember someone saying, “If I was home, I know what I would be doing; I'd be driving around in my uncle's red 1957 Chevy picking up girls.”

We were all silent, thinking about the beautiful life we had left back in the states. Then all of sudden, John Olinic said, “I got an idea; let’s paint the Colonel’s jeep red.” We all agreed Olinic had lost his mind.

I told John we would all be busted and locked up for life if we did that. John said, “No, we can get another jeep, paint it red, and give it to the Col.”  John Olinic was like Corporal Klinger on M.A.S.H.  He knew where to get anything anyone needed -- for a small price, or a cold beer. Soon we all jumped on board, sharing ideas for Col. Curtis' new red jeep. General Motors would have been proud of our design effort.

The next day, we went to the ARVN motor transport section on the other side of DaNang. We made up some story about a four star Vietnamese General from Saigon coming up and we were sent to get a good running jeep from their compound. I can’t describe how suspicious they looked, but as soon as we mentioned General Westmoreland, they were all too happy to help.

 We also told them it would be sent back to Saigon, so don’t expect to get it back. Again we were given that look. We then told the Vietnamese officer to write down his name because we would give it to the General so he would be sure to get a commendation. Soon he was all too happy in selecting a nice American Jeep for the Four Star General from Saigon. That nice man even filled the gas tank for us.

When we arrived back at the hanger, we had to hide the jeep in a secure work area. Every night about ten of us would gather and start sanding. Soon the jeep was ready to paint -- and paint we did.  We found some red vinyl somewhere down in DaNang, so we took out the seats to be upholstered. We then glued a nice white CO HMM-162 to proudly tell everyone this Red Jeep belonged to Col. Curtis. We broke down the wheels and tires and painted the rims a nice silver. The green canvas was also replaced with a nice red cover.

 

Downtown, we found some chrome air horns. It didn’t take us long to remove them from the owner's truck. We placed a tank in the back of the jeep with an air line up to the horns and a pull string so the Col. could blow his horn anytime he wanted. There it was, we had defiled everything the Marine Corp had established with that red jeep, and it was beautiful.

The following Saturday, we asked Col. Curtis to meet the squadron down on the tarmac after breakfast. I don’t think any of our officers knew about our adventure.  If they had, they would have blown a fuse -- plus our heads off.

Then Saturday came.  Col. Curtis had just finished his morning talk as John Olinic started a slow drive up the tarmac.  Heads turned everywhere and I heard several say, “What in the Hell Is That?”

John parked the jeep beside the Col. and said, “Sir, on behalf of all the men in 162 we would like to present you with this gift.  Drive it proudly, Sir.”

  

The first thing the Col. said was, “You're kidding.” As he walked around the jeep, we could almost read his mind:  Should I admire all this work, or put everyone in front of a firing squad?

 John pointed out the horn and showed him how to blow it. The air tank and horn worked great.  When the Col. pulled the string, a beautiful two-note melody could be heard all over DaNang Airport.  John insisted on a test drive.  At first, the Col. was a little reluctant to get in, but he did, and as he started the red jeep, he turned and started laughing. We then knew our Colonel would be proud driving his red jeep around Danang.

I don’t know what happened to that jeep after we left Vietnam, but I'm pretty sure everywhere it went, it got the same response, “What In The Hell Is That?”

“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

Doug Karr: Mesothelioma and Veterans

Many thanks to Doug Karr for the following article on Mesothelioma, an extremely deadly disease that unfortunately affects many of our nation's veterans and heroes. Sadly, People do not find out that they have mesothelioma until long after exposure to asbestos, sometimes over 20 years, and early detection is key.

Doug is a former Petty Officer Second Class for the United States Navy. He currently writes about veteran health for the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance.

Mesothelioma and Veterans - What mesothelioma needs to grow 

Mesothelioma risks among the 23 million vets currently living in the United States are high. Veterans serving in the navy who work in shipyards and facilities where asbestos is used face even higher risks of being diagnosed with one of the deadliest forms of cancer. New promising mesothelioma research could be critical in improving the survival rate.

Mesothelioma and the role of HMGB1

Mesothelioma doesn’t have to be a death sentence if it is detected in its earliest stages. Mesothelioma cells require HMGB1 to grow, researchers concluded. Under the direction of the University of Hawaii Cancer Center, researchers learned more about the role a protein critical to the development of mesothelioma played in the progression of the disease. The role of the protein, HMGB1 (high-mobility group box 1), in the progression of mesothelioma is better understood as a result of the research.

Now scientists are one step closer to being able to detect the mesothelioma in its earlier stages. The highly resistant form of cancer is usually detected in its later stages and responds poorly to current treatments available. According to Cancer Research, the protein affects the progression and survival of mesothelioma cells. Using laboratory mice, antibodies were used to inhibit HMGB1, slowing the growth of mesothelioma cells in mice. This extended the survival rate of mice infected with the cancer. This could have an impact on the survival rate of mesothelioma patients, especially among high-risk populations like veterans.

What does this mean to vets?

Like all mesothelioma patients, veterans diagnosed with cancer have a survival rate of less than one year after diagnosis. One in four mesothelioma patients have served in the navy or in shipyards. This means that most who have served in this environment have reason to be screened for mesothelioma. Retired veterans who have been exposed to asbestos are more likely to notice mesothelioma symptoms decades after being initially exposed. Many veterans experience flu-like symptoms and never seek medical attention when they manifest. This means that retired veterans must be particularly vigilant in seeking medical treatment when minor, basic flu-like symptoms occur.

Since most veterans are diagnosed with mesothelioma in advanced stages, the research is promising. It is still important, however, to be proactive in taking notice of any flu-like symptoms to improve chances of early detection.


“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