The Veteran: WWII, Korea, Vietnam

Rick Turton - Vietnam 1970-1971

by Rick Turton

The other day, I was sitting in a Costco waiting for my family to arrive. 

I saw an older gentleman come in, wearing a black baseball cap that had “World War II, Korea and Vietnam Veteran” embroidered on it.

An Impressive Hat ...

Being a Vietnam Vet myself, I struck up a conversation with him. “Wow!” I said, “That’s a pretty impressive hat!”

He replied, (with no small amount of pride), “I signed on in Oakland, California, in 1943, as a Marine.  I was at Guadalcanal, the Philippines, and finally, I was in Occupied Japan. 

I spent eighteen months in Korea and I did two tours in Vietnam. I was a Drill Sergeant at Perris Island. I finally got out after thirty years!"

We played the “where were you stationed” game for a while and then he said, “You know, the Marines are a close-knit group. You’ll run across your friends several times during your time in. I made some life-long friends in World War II that I met in Korea, too. I buried most of them during Vietnam, though. 

I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why I survived. I finally got the answer when I found out that my wife of thirty years had cancer. My job was to take care of her. She died last spring.” 

With that thousand yard stare, he paused, eyes welling up a bit, remembering. ”Like everything else,” he said, “I saw it through to the end.”



“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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Life Prepared Me for Vietnam

Michael Lansford

by Michael Lansford

Things I learned during my whole life as I grew up are what I told you amazingly trained me for Vietnam, even before the war existed.

When I was a child my Dad was a Pipeliner. We followed the lines wherever they went, living in a small trailer until I was ten. We moved all over from Texas, to New Mexico, to Colorado, and Arizona. The hard part about all that was, I never stayed in one school long enough to have friends, as I knew we wouldn't be there long.  One year I went to six different schools. The only home I knew was our trailer, so to speak.

Now this part is not meant to disrespect my parents, but they drank constantly. Naturally, alcohol brought out the mean side of it all and I was the only outlet. I spent many a night in a booth in a bar, the back seat of car, on the floor, and at times home alone. I was too young to know anything else. In all fairness to my parents, I was angry at all they did, for many years later in life. Then my Aunt explained why, that it was an illness.

Then I learned from my grandmother after dad died, and it became very clear, what all he faced in the Pacific in the war. Drinking probably was his only outlet for all that happened to him and no one ever knew about it. After seeing documentaries about the Pacific, I understood it all. I had been wrong to judge.

Anyway, we moved to a ranch up in the left corner of New Mexico for about 4-5 years. I was left there while my family followed the pipelines farther away. I was in second grade. The people who owned it came out there in 1917 and fenced off 6000 acres. Their name was Schmidt, I think.

Everything was like in the cowboy days, no creature comforts. Every day you worked to survive, planting crops, raising cattle and horses, always prepared for winter and anything that may happen. 

The school I went to was so far in the mountains that the only way to get there was by horse. There were two rooms at the school. Each room had six rows and each row was a grade.  For me it was the great cowboy adventure. 

We lived by the Navajo Reservation and the native Americans there took a liking to me. They taught me how to track, hunt, survive, and how to live off the land.  I even got to stay with them lots of times. They taught me so much, which paid dividends when I grew up and went off to war. I became one of them, even knowing I was part Cherokee. They taught me how to shoot with one shot.  If you missed, you didn't eat.  Ammo wasn't very handy out there. 

The place I lived was officially called Ohito, (or Ojito), New Mexico.  The closest neighbor was 17 miles away. If we went anywhere, it was on horseback or we hitched up the wagon. If you got hurt, you had to be able to fix yourself -- stop the bleeding, stitch up wounds, and there was no anesthetic around. 

I remember one time coming home from school on the paint I rode and a bad storm was coming in, and I mean bad.  Up in the mountains, you just didn't get caught out in bad weather.  I used all I was taught to survive, and I was only seven years old at the time. 

I found an overhang in a mountain pass and built a little shelter for me and my horse to keep the snow out. We were there for three days and nights. I had to dig out of the snow.

The best thing was the horse I had. As the old rancher always told me, if I ever got lost or something happened, just let the reigns hang down and he would find his way home -- just don't let go of the reigns, because he won't stop for you. It worked. As hard as it all was, it prepared me for my life later on. 

Well, as I grew older, my parents took me down to the beach where my Aunt lived and they left me there, so I could have some stability in my life, instead of always being on the move.  I was ten by then. I felt resentment for a long time, thinking I was left behind and unloved.

But I learned many years later that my Aunt adopted me, so just in case something happened to me, I could be taken care of. Knowing that made a difference as all I ever knew growing up was rejection and being left alone and left behind.

At the beach, the principal crop was rice. There were rice fields everywhere. I walked most of them, worked some, hunted in them all for our winter food, ducks and geese. We trapped around all the ponds for the pelts: muskrat, nutria and even a few mink.  I started working when I was ten. Whatever it took to live, we did. 

So my best guess is, when the military found out I lived in rice fields and how I grew up, I was the perfect draftee for where I ended up. I remember one of my guys commenting that when he got home he never ever wanted to see a rice field again.

I told him where I was from and that going home wouldn't be much different for me, pertaining to rice fields. The only things missing were the yellow crop dusters. Mainly, it taught me more about how to get through the rice fields and survive, all just things that as I look back, prepared me for what was to come. 

In regards to my Father, he was a great man and well respected by his peers. There was nothing he wouldn't do for people that worked under him. Their needs came first. Even after I moved to where I ended up, we kept in touch mainly during the summer. 

I worked for him on pipelines whenever they were in Texas. He put me at the bottom of everything and I still remember his words were, "Whenever you move up to a better job, you will remember where you came from and appreciate what you have."  I still live that to this day. 

Knowing now how hard his life had been in the Pacific, he knew in order for me to survive, he needed to make things tougher on me.  He knew I would learn to deal with all that would be coming down the road. 

Growing up, no matter what I did, someone always reminded me I would never succeed, or be successful, never amount to anything, you name it, I got it.  But it all made me stronger and more determined not to fail at anything I did.  Failure was not an option. 

In my life, all I wanted was to be equal to everyone, not better. I guess that's why most of my life I gave off the impression I was standoffish, aloof, self centered, reserved, not always friendly, just quiet. People just didn't know where I had come from and I wouldn't explain, mainly because my life was and is not a 'poor me' story. The harder it was, the stronger I became. It was the feeling of being bulletproof, if you will. 

Somehow through it all, when I got to Vietnam, I found things there weren't much different from how I grew up, except being shot at constantly, but that too made me stronger, colder, and more numb to everything that happened. There was no time to mourn, reflect, or anything. If you let your guard down, for me it was a sign of weakness and it would probably get you hurt, or worse -- get everyone else hurt. I wouldn't allow that to happen. These were lessons I learned long ago.

Over the years, some still saw me as withdrawn, reserved, and aloof.  I was even called a snob. If they only knew where I came from, it may have helped, but I couldn't explain to anyone for fear of more rejection, or being called names. Back then, if you were from a broken home, you were pretty low class.

So, growing up, I had already been trained to be alone, live alone, survive, deal with hardship and it served me well in Vietnam, because we lived all of that 24/7. I adapted easier than most, due to the fact that I lived it my whole life. It was the same lifestyle, I was just older and in another part of the world. Lots of my people were always amazed at how calm and direct I became under fire.  Hell, I'd been there already, long ago.  

You can see I had a pretty busy life growing up.  I am truly blessed to have had Guardian Angels watching over me since I was born -- another debt I can never repay. Now you have a basic idea as to how I was prepared for war long ago. Through it all, I am very proud and blessed to have had my real parents and my adoptive ones. Most have less that that.  

In his own way, my Dad somehow knew some day I may have to go off to war, so he prepared me as best he could. He  made me earn everything I had and became. He was hard core through and through, but it also helped save my life years later. Hopefully you have a better knowledge of the world I came from as a child and a Vet.

Other Articles by Michael Lansford:

In My Own Words: Part 1
In My Own Words: Part 2

Part 3: The KIA

Hill 937: Part 4
Coming Home

Remembering The Wall
"Leavings at The Wall"

FNG Initiation and Humor

Life in the Jungle

“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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Some Thoughts: by Todd Dierdorff

Todd Dierdorff

CJ,
Wow, did you ever stir up emotions and memories. Reading the posts that have come through lately has been very evocative for me.

Back in the day, with the draft, we either went to college, or Canada, or war. I tried the college route, but I had no idea why I was there, or what I was supposed to be doing. So, I got really good at playing bridge and pool. 

Needless to say, my choices were reduced to two - Canada, or war. Bailing out on my country had no appeal to me, so, I went to war.

My best friend and I both enlisted in the Air Force. He went in about three weeks before I did.

Though we selected the same general field for specialty - munitions, rockets, bombs, etc. - we were sent down different paths and, ultimately, different war scenes. 

He went to Bien Hoa AB, VN. Half of my class in tech school went to Bien Hoa, as well. As it turned out, the alphabetical back half went there. 

The front half went to U-Tapao Royal Thai AFB, in Thailand. I spent a year loading bombs for B-52s, which did what were then called Arc Light strikes.

Though I did what the AF told me to do and went where they sent me, I've always had a certain level of guilt about not having been in country, literally.

Given the way my life turned out, I wouldn't go back and change any of it, as everything after that would change, as well. I have wonderful children and grandchildren and I wouldn't give them up, for anything.

Anyway, pardon my rambling. I have really appreciated the responses to your initial inquiry post. Sounds to me like you've initiated something that has helped an array of folks
.
Clearly, with the loss you suffered, you belong.

Thanks.
Blessings,
Todd

Todd A. Dierdorff
Colorado Springs
USAF
U-Tapao Royal Thai AFB, Thailand

“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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Coming Home: by Michael Lansford

Michael "Surfer" Lansford

Now each day I'm remembering more and more details of our world.  CJ, you have my humble permission to post anything I write.

I have been thinking about all this all night -- I don't sleep much at nights anyway, so I am going to try and carry this story all the way home, if possible. Mainly, I just hope not to offend anyone with my writings, but it was, and is, the world I live in.

I have been reading the other stories other Vets are writing. Very moving. Bravery most in this world will never know and probably will never have to do. Each of us had our own part we dealt with over there.

Even by writing about it, nothing can come close to the horrors of war we lived every day and most of us were just teens. It's hard to suddenly have to grow up, or else.

Courage was measured in so many ways. My stories are just a small part. Others did so much more. I am very humbled to have been a part of them all. Even now days, at times little things bring it all back. Something on TV, a noise, music from our time, the sound of choppers flying by. Memories we will have forevermore.

Then just as suddenly as we went to Vietnam, poof! We were back home again and to the world it seemed like we didn't exist -- except for the protesters to remind them. They never understood and will never know what really changed our lives from the kid next door, to someone they knew nothing about.  

I was always told that you can leave The Nam but The Nam will never leave you. Now 45 years later, I know they were right.

As we took off on that plane for home, I remember it all seemed like some kind of dream. It was something we all hoped for, for so long and we were finally headed back to the world for real.

Everyone yelled out as we lifted off, but no one said a word going home. We were all in shock. What do we do now? How has life changed at home? Have I been missed? Will anyone even remember me? What will I say and do when I land? We all had tons of questions, but no answers.

The protesters answered most of those questions for us when we landed. I'll get to that story later and with a few in country excerpts to go with it. Some things I forgot, but my memory of everything is slowly coming back.

I remember back then, it was, "Hide all your Vet stuff and never, ever tell anyone you were a Vietnam Vet." That was a real No-No.

There was no one to talk to, listen to us, or for the most part, no one who even cared who we were, or what we endured. We Vets didn't talk about anything, in case some outsider was listening and the fear of all the name calling starting all over again. 

Many a time over the years, others have fallen back on the old Evil Vietnam Vet Syndrome, but it was just an excuse to put us down, so we withdrew even more. 

In my little town, when I came home, most hated me -- and I grew up there. My Mom showed me one letter from one of the townspeople who wrote her letters. They said they hoped I never came home and that I deserved to die there, as I was all the bad things they heard about and not a good example for the community.

She was smart enough to never tell me who sent it though. I guess that hurt the most. I probably will get a little flak about how things were back home. What they should think about is, my family made sure I did not know who all sent the bad letters and said all the bad things -- and probably for good reason.

To this day, if given the choice, I still wouldn't want to know. I changed so much during that time as I'm sure they did too. No regrets, no grudges, no hate.

It's like the protesters, as I see it. They at least stood up for something, but they still should have backed us. Yet they had no clue about war as it is so vividly shown on TV now days. Maybe if they had, they would have seen us in a different light. 

Again, I sincerely hope I haven't upset or offended anyone with talking about my world, but I know in my heart, it is helping me as I journey down the rest of my road of life. If I have upset anyone, I ask for forgiveness and your understanding of the world we lived in that no one ever knew existed.

There are far worse and much braver stories from us all. We each had our own hills, and valleys, and jungles, to fight. Some were worse and some are probably best forgotten. We each deal with it in our own way. The roads of life we all are set upon, but how we travel them is up to us.

We travel and live in a different world than most of the people. It's kind of like a saying, "Time stopped for those of us that went off to our war."

Unlike today's war, in The Nam there was no way to communicate with the outside world, except letters for most of us. So now, as for me, my life has been and may always be two years behind the rest of the world. We can never catch up to the lost time. It's gone forever. All we have is right now, today.

Choices. That's what our world was and is about. We all have to make choices. You have to pick the best one for you and always know you made the right choice for that time. You never second guess yourself about life. You don't get to start over, or hit reset and begin again.

What I am most proud of is my daughter, who understands more about me and loves me more than I can ever repay. She is my life, as is my granddaughter. They are doing something with their lives to help others. That's something to be proud of. We all want our children to have better lives than we did. Mine are in the medical field, in what we Vets from our era called Combat Medics -- bravery I could never achieve.

Guess I'm doing okay for a nobody from a small town no one ever heard of whose only aspirations were to play football, nothing more. Then to leave home and endure a world unthinkable that most could never fathom, much less survive.

No matter what, we all served our country with Honor, Dignity, and Respect. I remember the Oath we took -- its forever. Right, or wrong, we defended America with our lives and NO ONE can ever take that away.

Michael "SURFER" Lansford
101st Airborne
VietNam '68-'69

Other Articles by Michael Lansford:

In My Own Words: Part 1
In My Own Words: Part 2

Michael Lansford: Part 3: The KIA

Michael Lansford: Hill 937: Part 4

Remembering The Wall: by Michael Lansford

"Leavings at The Wall"

Life Prepared me for Vietnam

FNG Initiation and Humor

Life in the Jungle

“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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"Facing The Wall": Phil Ferranzano

Booklocker.com Inc.
Paperback: 256 Pages

About the Book:

PFC Phil Ferrazano's heartbreaking tale of courage and redemption happened, not in the jungles of Vietnam, but in the States twenty years after the war ended.

In 1988, Phil Ferrazano's visit to the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial to honor his comrades of the 9th Infantry Division triggered a flood of repressed emotions and PTSD with devastating results.

He would spend the next ten years confronting his own anger, guilt, and grief, while battling the VA for the compensation and recognition he deserved.

During his journey, he would endure uncaring doctors, inscrutable rules, haphazard medical treatment, and share the despair that drove many of his fellow veterans to suicide.

Phil Ferrazano's story is a testimony to the dauntless spirit and perseverance of all of America's veterans.

Buy at Amazon

Reviews:

"The book is well-written and telling. I can imagine the author sitting in my living room telling me the story in his own words and voice." ~Linda Rae Williams

"The story told here is one of adventure, heroism and inspiration. One does not need to be a Vet to enjoy every page of this story. Phil has a real talent and I am looking forward to his next book. I haven't enjoyed a non-fiction in quite some time; this book touches on feelings everyone can relate to. I recommend this book to anyone interested in the Vietnam war and the true story of what our men had to endure both on the battlefield and the battle they had to fight once back home with the Veterans Administration. This book will open your eyes to a lot of events most of us never knew anything about." ~fmauro6

"More than anything, Phil tells a story of truth. Very honestly and straight forward, he details the horror of war and the sadness of returning home to a world he loves but somehow, in so many ways, has betrayed him and many 'Nam vets like him. The story must be told for the future. Many veterans are going to be returning home from Iraq and will deserve a more humane homecoming than what Phil and his comrades experienced. Phil has done his best to pave the way for these soldiers. Hopefully, the country will listen and learn from this one soldier's tragic truth." ~Buster W. Newton

"Phil's book is an inspiration for anyone who has ever fought the 'system'. As it details his fight for recognition and for services, it shows how buried in red tape our government has become. 'Numbers' have become more important than the Veteran themselves.

I am proud to have been with Phil when he received his Bronze Star. It was so refreshing to see the young men and women of that National Guard unit come up and congratulate him, and salute him, on something done 30 years prior." ~Walter E. Patt Jr.


About the Author:

Author, Phil Ferranzano (signing books)

Author, singer, and songwriter, Phil Ferrazano served in Vietnam with the 9th Infantry Division and was involved in the Cambodian offensive of 1970.

He was awarded the Purple Heart as well as the Bronze Star for valor, thirty years after he returned from Tan An Vietnam.

His greatest accomplishment, he says, is his daughter, Michelle, who is a teacher.

Phil also recently was blessed with a beautiful granddaughter, Sophie.

Phil enjoys entertaining and spending time with his girlfriend, Evelyn, a woman who has brought song and music back into his heart. Together, they share a house and a condo on the Gulf of Mexico.

For a personally autographed book, please contact Phil directly, through his website, or Facebook.

Phil's Website
Phil'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

Mile High Jump

Lee Bishop

Here are a few reminiscences about my experiences in Vietnam, where I was a linguist and cryptographer. Here is one of the tamer stories:

Mile High Jump 

I'd just rejoined Detachment 3 of the 3rd Radio Research Unit at Tuy Hoa after coming back from an assignment with a Special Forces unit. Someone got the bright idea that I should go right back out to do some work with a radio relay station (1st Brigade, 101st Airborne Division).

I got my gear together, hopped a Huey that was assigned to transport me, got to the site, and was told to jump because the ground was too rocky to land. We were a mile up in the air, all five thousand two hundred eighty feet of it.  I was loaded down with equipment, no parachute, but what the heck... I jumped.

Fortunately there was five thousand two hundred and sixty-five feet of mountain underneath me and I actually only fell twelve feet.  It was still quite a jolt when I landed, and I did lose two toenails (today I have arthritis behind those two toes).

The assignment was interesting. This mountain just jutted up out of the rice fields to the north and west of North Field. You had a tremendous view of the city of Tuy Hoa, North Air Field, the ocean, the river flowing into the ocean, and, of course, the rice fields.

One night, to our northeast, I watched an attack on one of our ammo dumps. It ignited and there were fireworks galore. It was pretty, but it ripped you up thinking about the seven kinds of hell the guys on the ground were going through.

Contributed by Lee Bishop
Columbus, Ohio

**Thank you, Lee, and Welcome Home. ~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

1971: Craig Latham

Today, I'm sharing a story, using Mr. Peabody's "Wayback Machine" (remember the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show?).  It's a newspaper article from 1971, featuring an interview The Coshocton Tribune (Coshocton, Ohio) did with U.S. Army News Correspondent, Craig Latham.  Craig, as you know, is a regular contributor here at Memoirs.

Craig Latham

Coshocton Tribune, Sunday, September 5, 1971:

Craig Latham, son of Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Latham of Hay Avenue, has just returned from a year's duty in Vietnam. While there, he was stationed at Phu Bai, where he served as an Army news correspondent in the public information division.

In an exclusive interview with The Tribune, Craig noted that much of his writing in Vietnam was done from the human interest angle.  "Giving the guys something to laugh about," Craig stated. "And, contrary to popular belief," he added, "there are funny things happening over there."

He recalled an incident he wrote about concerning the men getting soft drinks and beer as often as possible. "The drinks are brought by helicopter and they try to keep them as cold as possible." Craig volunteered. "One of the fellows could never find a can opener and, by the time he did, the drink was usually warm. 

 So, he wrote to two of the top breweries and asked them for a can opener. One of them sent 10,000, and the other one, 7,000. He wrote and thanked each of them and mentioned to the one that sent 7,000, that the other brewery had outdone them. They promptly sent 10,000 more. Then the guy had 27,000 can openers, which of course he didn't really need. 

 He put up a sign telling the other fellows to "help themselves". As it turned out, the next time the soft drinks and beer were delivered, the fellow had forgotten to keep one of the openers for himself and he still didn't have one."

Craig's articles appeared in The Stars and Stripes as well as his Division's newspaper, which was put out every two weeks and consisted of six pages.  "Naturally, the material is censored before it is published," Craig pointed out.

He feels the men in the field at Vietnam have a good morale and they laugh at the students back here who are always demonstrating against the war. They don't really let it bother them.  "Drugs are probably the worst problem over there. Marijuana grows right along the road. Thefts are another problem. The youngsters steal from the soldiers something awful, then, of course, the guys can buy the same things back from the black market for a lot more than it's worth." Craig said.

The temperature was about 95 degrees the evening he left and he didn't seem to mind the heat as much as the rain, noting it had rained for five straight months while he was there. The rain didn't last all day, but during those five months there there were one or two showers daily, which caused flooding.

Bob Hope in Vietnam

He was privileged to sit on the stage during Bob Hope's performance in Vietnam and he did a story on actress Mamie Van Doren. Shortly before his departure for home, he mentioned that Miss America and six other young women were visiting the various bases. 

When asked if the boys became involved with the civilians, Craig said, "Yes." He particularly emphasized the fact that the guys aid the orphanages and contribute to them. They also asked their folks to send them things for the children.

Craig is a 1968 graduate of Coshocton High School and attended Kent State University for one year, before volunteering for the military. In February, 1970, he was inducted and took his basic training at Fort Bragg in North Carolina, followed by a course in journalism and photography at Indianapolis, Indiana.

Following his discharge, which is due in February of 1972, he feels he would like to stay in newspaper work, especially now that he has the training for it and enjoys it.   His actual start with newspapers came about some years ago when he was a Tribune carrier boy.

His family was elated to have him home and actually rolled out the red carpet and had signs decorating their home to let him know just how glad they were.  Craig has two sisters, Bonnie and Mary, who live at home. His mother and dad are both employed by Shaw-Barton. And, of course, there is a girl in his life, Jeanne Zolar, who is a student at Kent State with three more terms between her and gradation.



“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 1970: Chuck Kinler

Combat Medic

Chuck Kinler

Medic

3rd Platoon B Co 2/12 cav  1970-71

I landed in Vietnam in November of 1970, and now it seems so long ago. I came from Ft. Polk with a one-week leave and then I was off to Oakland to board a Seaboard World Seaboard World Jet for Nam.

I had orders for the 1st Calvary Division. I was a 91A, PFC medic. I stood in line processing in and they asked if anyone there could type. I raised my hand, and I ended up spending the next five weeks sitting behind a typewriter processing people in and out. But the inevitable finally came and I was on my way in an aircraft (I believe the called it a Hurkey Bird) to Camp Gorvad, just outside of a town called Phouc Vinh in Vietnam.

I was soon assigned to Headquarters Company 2/12. After checking in to the orderly room, I went to the Aid Station and met the Doctor and Platoon Sergeant, both names I do not remember. That night I saw a movie while sitting on a bunker and we all got pretty loaded that night. I remember, the beer was Schlitz.

Two days later, it was Christmas. I helped out on a couple of sick calls and did some hands-on training with field medicine and IV’s.

New Years Eve day 1970-71 will forever be etched in my brain. It was my first day in the bush. I hooked up with my new Platoon and I was to spend one day with their current medic, and then he was going to be the CP medic.

It was an operation based on information that American prisoners were being held at a camp near Dau Tieng. Everyone was anxious to go. We flew by Chinook to Dau Tieng, where we loaded onto Hueys and combat assaulted into a green LZ. Then we got hit real hard by God only knows what, maybe NVA, maybe just Charlie, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. It was especially bad to a young 19 year-old FNG who had to crawl forward and help sort out the wounded.

I remember that day went by so fast. Spotter planes shot Willy Peter rockets to mark the target. Jets and choppers came and bombed and strafed, and then they bombed some more. Bullets and RPG’s were flying everywhere. That day, I also realized you could see a B-40 when it flies. Dust offs came and went more than could be counted. The shooting stopped and then it started again, until the whole day had gone by. 

 I went through five packs of cigarettes and tagged at least ten grunts who weren’t even in my platoon, but I didn’t know, because it was still only my first day and I didn’t know anyone. I wasn’t really scared -- I didn’t have time to be scared, and the wounded just kept coming. I remember a LT. Walker. Though I knew him not, his body passed through my arms on his way to the evac chopper. I remember he was the worst with a severe head wound.

Then they said there was to be a cease fire that night because of New Years. Waves of helicopters came in to take us out. There were piles of rucksacks on the ground that they set on fire. I guess you might say we got our asses kicked, but I don’t really know. I do know, I had the blood of ten or maybe fifteen different men on me.

I was on the last wave out. My cherry was broken. That morning, I got on a chopper and I was 19 years young. That evening, as we flew away from Tay Ninh Province, I was 19 years old ...

Chuck Kinler



** Thank you for sharing, Chuck Kinler.  You are among friends who care. Welcome Home.  Your friend,
~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