Their Selfless Gift

This article comes from the teenage son of a very good friend. When his mother told him about this blog and who it was for, this memory was offered freely. No one had to coax him. I'm proud to introduce Ryan Streck:

Their Selfless Gift
by Ryan Streck
Colorado

When I was in the eighth grade, I was fortunate enough to be able to go on a school trip to Washington D.C. during my spring break. Several of my classmates and I were on our way to tour the various monuments and historical sites of D.C. Many parts of this trip were uneventful, and there was a lot of standing in line, but there was one memorial that I will remember for the rest of my life.

On the third day of our trip, we had the privilege of visiting the Constitution Gardens. A memorial located there, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall, was without a doubt, the highlight of my whole trip. The Wall was some 246 feet wide, and around 10 feet tall, and something that I will never forget.

For those of you who don’t know, and have never been there, the wall is covered with the names of 58,000 soldiers killed in Vietnam. Never before had I witnessed such a monument of pure selflessness. These men and women gave their lives to protect our natural freedoms, and those who were lucky enough to make it home still had a long war left to fight. They were not given the respect that they deserved. People often treated them like criminals and low-lifes. People were ignorant of the horrors that these men and women had witnessed at war.

Many of the veterans who experienced these awful things still cannot talk about their experiences. The things they had seen were unspeakable and already buried deep within themselves. Then as they returned home, they were treated as if it were all for naught, leaving an even greater scar than from anything they saw in South East Asia.

Here I was, a 14-year-old young man, brought to D.C. to witness such a monument of pure self-giving. These were all soldiers who never survived to know that someone, someday, years later would say, “I’m proud of those men and women”.

Gazing upon the wall, I realized standing there, that of all the horrors in this world, humanity can perhaps be the worst. How can we treat someone so giving in such a horrible way? I had a sudden impulse to reach out and touch all of the names, as if I could shake the hand of every soldier whose name was etched before me, engraved into the black marble.

It was at that moment that I knew I could never undo the wrongdoings and treachery of the past. But I also knew that there would now be a future to look forward to because of them, and that future is now much brighter for our present soldiers and veterans. Right then, I knew I wanted to devote my life to educating young adults someday about America’s past and why this mistreatment should never and will never happen again.

Ryan Streck

Thank you, Ryan, for sharing your story.
Hugs to 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

Richard Schwartz: Thoughts and Memories

"Per correr migliori acque alza le vele ormai la navicella del mio ingegno che lascia dietro a sé mar sì crudele."  [Opening lines of Dante's Il Purgatorio]

"For better waters that are heading with the wind, my ship of genius now shakes out her sail, and leaves the ocean of despair behind."  [Dorothy L. Sayers Translation]

Richard Schwartz

Thoughts and Memories
by Richard Schwartz
formerly:
Co D, 2/327 Battalion
2nd Bde
101st Airborne Division
Phu Bai, RVN

On 10 July 1970, I was a legal clerk in an office at the headquarters of the 101st Airborne Division in Phu Bai, RVN. I had been in combat for 6 months and then the Army discovered I could type.

I was helicoptered out of the jungle and transitioned from being a dirt covered grunt to a legal clerk in a brigade HQ office where I got a clean uniform to wear every day and, best of all, I could take a shower every day. The water for the showers was unheated but after 6 months hiking around in the jungle and getting shot at occasionally this was a huge improvement.

Part of our job at that office was forwarding notices of those who were killed in action. I remember that July date as the day that we received the notice that Daniel Hively had been killed. He was in my platoon while I was in combat. It struck me as I read the notice, there was a family in Danville, Ohio, that didn't know that their son was coming home in a box. But I knew... and the sorrow of what they were going to experience overwhelmed me. I didn't let my emotions show when I was in combat, but I could afford that luxury now because I was in a secure area.

Daniel Richard Hivley was a tall gangly guy with an infectious smile. He was liked by everyone in our platoon. When a new guy arrived, Dan was the first guy out to enthusiastically meet him and introduce him around. We even had a standing joke about him. We said that the first thing he would tell anyone is, “Hello – I'm Dan Hivley... and I know everything!”.

As I was a science kind of guy who also loved politics, Dan and I spent many a jungle hike debating those topics. I gave the name Daniel as the middle name to one of my boys so that Dan's name and memory would carry on for at least one more generation in my family. I've tried to find his family in Ohio to let them know that I gave Dan's name to one of my sons but couldn't find anyone. I know he has a sister who's name is Shirli Anne Rickert, but I can't seem to locate her.

Our platoon had been hiking around the humid jungle in 100 degree+ heat for a number of weeks and we really hadn't had a chance to wash during this time. I mentioned to our lieutenant that we should find a place to wash up as we were smelling so bad even the mosquitoes weren't landing on us. We found a 20 foot wide stream that was about a foot deep. After posting sentries I decided to just lay down fully clothed in a small pool of the stream.

As I luxuriated in the cool water I noticed that the clear water cascading over my left sleeve was actually turning grey as it headed downstream. Thats how dirty I had become. I remember digging a bar of soap out of my pack and soaping up my entire uniform while I was still wearing it as I thought that would be the best way to clean it. I rinsed the clothing and put it on some rocks to dry. I remember that I had to wash my (short!!) hair a number of times to get all the sand and dirt off my scalp. A few hours later we were back to hiking and I thought that I must have gotten clean as the #%&! mosquitoes were landing on me again.

During my 2nd week in Vietnam, we were taking a break from our seemingly never ending hikes near a bridge over the Troi river. An old Vietnamese lady slowly walked past us. One of the Vietnamese children (who followed us everywhere when we were were near towns) told me she was “more than 90.” She had a thoroughly wrinkled face. Her shoulders were bent forward and her spine was curved as if she had spent many years carrying heavy loads on her back.

She held a walking stick in gnarled arthritic hands and walked with a slow gait as if each step was painful. I walked next to her for a few steps and asked her if she thought the Americans would make things better for the Vietnamese. Her gaze shifted from straight in front of her to glance up at me. Without slowing her measured gait she smiled briefly at me and told me, “A young Frenchman asked me the same thing 20 years ago.“

We had been hacking our way through some heavy jungle growth. We cut a trail up to the top of a small rise and set up for the night. I was pulling guard duty on the trail in the middle of the night. I sat with my legs folded and my M16 across my lap. There was lots of moonlight so I didn't think anyone could come up the trail we had cut without me being able to easily spot them.

Half way through my one hour shift I heard a noise coming from a few feet in front of me. “Oh, God”, I thought, “Someone got in front of me.” I immediately rolled onto my side, expecting to see the flashes of my enemy's rifle firing at me, and fired a burst from my M16 at the foe.

The moonlight then revealed the terrified and now screaming face of a small monkey who noisily tore his way into the jungle. I didn't hit the monkey, but my platoon mates teased me mercilessly the next few days as the “Mighty Monkey Shooter”.

I didn't fear being killed as much as the thought of being captured and tortured to death. My fear of being killed really had more to do with what my family would go through if I was killed.

We had been ferried from our usual jungle area of operations to the highlands for a mission. We were in large grassy open areas and had stopped for a break. Suddenly we had some elephants coming into view. They were some distance away but would occasionally look in our direction and raise their trunks high into the air as if checking the air for our scent. I remember a guy from Kentucky, who loved hunting, whispering to the rest of us, “Don't shoot at 'em. These little M16 rounds will probably just piss 'em off!”

One of my platoon mates received a wound that opened up the top of his thigh like a plow opens a furrow of dirt. I had run out of thread to close wounds so I gathered safety pins - a trick I learned from reading a book about infantry soldiers in WWII. I laid across his stomach so he couldn't see what I was doing and closed the wound with the safety pins. He was cursing me mightily from all the pain I was causing him while I closed his wound. He didn't pass out however until I got off his stomach and he saw the row of safety pins holding his thigh together.

During my year in Vietnam my mother watched in horror as a car with Army markings slowly cruised our neighborhood as if looking for an address. That's how relatives were informed that their sons/daughters had been killed. The car drove on and wasn't seen again but my Mom told me she was in such shock that she couldn't get anything done until she had received a letter from me dated after the date that the Army car had come by our home.

I had a brief correspondence with a girl from New Jersey. After exchanging a few letters with her she wrote how she spent a day decorating a gym for an upcoming dance. It wasn't fair of me but I felt angry that she had spent an entire day making and placing decorations while my friends were still being shot at. I didn't write to her again.

During the 1st Iraq war my Dad called me to proudly let me know that, “Your buddies from the 101st did one hell of a job over there.” I realized then that the 101st would always be a part of me. As I was talking to some friends at a Tea Party Rally last month it came out that I was a 101st vet. One of the younger people in the crowd immediately held out his hand and thanked me for my service to the country. Wow! That was really appreciated.

When ever I see someone in uniform or wearing some item that lets me know they were in the military I always take the time to shake their hand and thank them for serving. I don't want anyone to feel that their service is not appreciated as many of the Vietnam era vets were made to feel when they came home.

My Uncle Mike and I had never been close until I came home from Vietnam. He was also a combat vet of the 101st and was at Bastogne (“Battle of the Bulge”) among other WWII actions. One entire evening he and I swapped war stories. It turns out I was the only person in the family that he had talked to about his WWII experiences. He thought I was the only one who would understand the mental and physical challenges an infantryman goes through.

My father in law died before I met and married his daughter. Although we never met, we would have been close because he was a fellow combat soldier and there was and is a brotherhood of those that have been in combat.

The good Lord watched over me that year in Vietnam and I came home healthy both mentally and physically -- unlike many of my fellow Vietnam Vets who suffer to this day.

Many thanks to CJ for putting this website together.

Richard A. Schwartz
Digital Anvil Technology
27708 246th Ave SE
Maple Valley, Wa. 98038
408-569-9224]


Thank you, Richard, for sharing. "Welcome Home".
~CJ

A Few More Years

“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


A Few More Years ...

A group of 40-year-old war buddies discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally, it was agreed upon that they would meet at the Ocean View Restaurant, because the waitresses all had low-cut blouses, were sexy and voluptuous, and they were also very young.

Ten years later, at 50 years of age, the group of vets once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally, it was agreed upon that they would meet at the Ocean View Restaurant, because the food there was excellent and the wine selection was very good, too.

Ten years later, at 60 years of age, the group of vets once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally, it was agreed upon that they would meet at the Ocean View Restaurant, because they could eat there in peace and quiet and the restaurant had a beautiful view of the ocean through its huge picture windows.

Ten years later, at 70 years of age, the group of veterans once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally, it was agreed upon that they would meet at the Ocean View Restaurant, because the restaurant was wheelchair-accessible, had room for battery-powered scooters at the tables, and they even had an elevator.

Ten years later, at 80 years of age, the group of friends once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally it was agreed upon that they would meet at the Ocean View Restaurant, because they had never been there before ...

[Anonymous]

Welcome Home. God Bless America

Craig Latham: Men Do Cry

“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

Men Do Cry

August 28, 1970

Forty years ago today, I left the United States for Vietnam. Hopefully, only a year and I'd be back home. But this trip started a couple of days before.

I was home from AIT (Advanced Individual Training) for two weeks. Most of the days were spent sleeping in and partying all night. But the last day at home was spent with my family. We went to dinner at the "French Village" the night before I left. I had a steak, potato and salad. This was my Dad's favorite restaurant. It was right across the street from where he worked at Shaw-Barton (which is long gone now). My whole family worked there at one time or another. My girlfriend, Mom and Dad, sisters Murph and Bonnie, Aunts and Uncles were there. It was a quiet dinner. Had to get up early the next morning and make the trip to Columbus for my flight to Seattle.

Aunt, Uncle, Mom, Dad, girlfriend and sisters went to the airport. I always liked going to Columbus Airport because you could stand outside on the roof over the passenger gates and watch the planes load, land and take-off. My gate was the very last one. You had to walk outside and up the roll-away stairs to board planes at that time.

We all walked down to the gate. No security checks, as there are now. The entire family could go with you to the gate. About a hour before my plane left, we all were standing at my departure gate chatting. There were a couple of other soldiers there with their families getting ready to leave also.

When it was time to board, Dad asked everyone to go up on top and he would be up in a few minutes. Everyone hugged me good-bye, and wished me good luck. Jeanne, Mom and Murph cried, but I knew they would. I smiled and said not to worry, "I'll be home before you know it."

They left and went upstairs, leaving me and Dad to say our good-byes. My Dad was the strong one in the family. He and I were so much alike, and we didn't get along a lot of the time. I was the teenager who thought he knew everything, and my Dad, he did know everything. We talked for a few minutes and that's when it happened. I looked and saw tears forming in the corners of his eyes. I had never seen my Dad cry. I had seen my Mom, sisters, and fiancee cry before, but never my Dad. I think it embarrassed him a little, but I told him it was ok. I made him a promise. I'd meet him there one year later. We shook hands, he saluted me and then he went to join the rest of the family up top. I made it to my seat on the plane before my tears started.

Every day I was gone, Dad would go to work early or stay late and write me a little about what he did that day and send it to me once a week. He always called me 'Sir' when he started my letters. He is part of the reason I enlisted in the Army. He was in WW2. It was the least I could do for him.

The year went by, and I got back to Columbus exactly 1 year later on Aug. 28, 1971. He picked me up at Columbus Airport and, out of all the passenger gates, I got off the plane at the same gate I got on a plane a year earlier. Dad saluted, as I knew he would, and there was another tear in his eye, but this time it had a different meaning.

'Men Do Cry'

Craig Latham
101st Airborne Division (Ambl)
Combat writer and combat photographer
Phu Bai, S. Vietnam
1970-1971

Tanya Rachel Sigman: JERRY HESKETT

A few days ago, I posted something here about a soldier from my hometown of Coshocton, Ohio, Jerry Heskett. A friend read the blog and sent me a note in Facebook about Jerry. She thanked me "for listening". What follows first is our exchange of messages. Please welcome Tanya Rachel Sigman:

Hello Tanya,
Thanks for listening? Hey, my friend, all I can say is, you wrote this about Jerry with so much feeling and a passion for life through your eyes. I would like your permission to put what you wrote on the Memoirs From Nam blog for the memory of Jerry. Would you please allow me the honor?
A hug to you,
Cathy

Cathy,
That would be fine. Better check my spelling.
Tanya

Hello Cathy,

While we were in high school, I knew Jerry through Linda Olinger, Mary Zink, Diane Hougendobler, and Connie Totsch, just to name a few. They had classes with him and, maybe, belonged to some of the same school clubs or the yearbook staff even.

Back then, I used to sit on Main Street in the early hours and watch the young men get on those busses heading to Columbus from what I guess was the draft board office and the recruiters. When he died in Vietnam, I remember feeling so guilty that he gave his life for me.

I didn't know Jerry's family, but I imagined that he had a life that was quiet, peaceful and loving like he was. My life was more rugged and upheaved, my parents' divorce scandel didn't help -- I felt I would have been a better selection to 'go fight a battle'.

Jerry enjoyed talking to the girls named above. He opened up with them and always smiled. That's how I remember him -- smiling and laughing with the girls, and putting his shyness away momentarily.

Thanks for listening.
Tanya


“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 Creation of Vietnam Vets

When the Lord was creating Vietnam veterans, He was into His sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared.

"You're certainly doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And God replied, "Have you seen the specs on this order? A Nam vet has to be able to run five miles through the bush with a full pack on, endure with barely any sleep for days, enter tunnels his higher ups wouldn't consider doing, and keep his weapons clean and operable. He has to be able to sit in his hole all night during an attack, hold his buddies as they die, walk point in unfamiliar territory known to be VC infested, and somehow keep his senses alert for danger. He has to be in top physical condition existing on c-rats and very little rest. And he has to have six pairs of hands."

The angel shook his head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands ... no way."

The Lord says, "It's not the hands that are causing me problems. It's the three pair of eyes a Nam vet has to have."

"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.

The Lord nodded. "One pair has to see through elephant grass, another pair here in the side of his head for his buddies, and another pair here in front that can look reassuringly at his bleeding, fellow soldier and tell him, 'You'll make it' ... when he knows he won't."

"Lord, rest. Work on this tomorrow."

"I can't," said the Lord. "I already have a model that can carry a wounded soldier 1,000 yards during a firefight, calm the fears of the latest FNG, and feed a family of four on a grunt's paycheck."

"The angel walked around the model and said, "Can it think?"

"You bet," said the Lord. "It can quote much of the UCMJ, recite all his general orders, and engage in a search and destroy mission in less time than it takes his fellow Americans back home to discuss the morality of the War, and still keep his sense of humor. This Nam vet also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with ambushes from hell, comfort a fallen soldier's family, and then read in his hometown paper how Nam vets are baby killers, psychos, addicts, and killers of innocent civilians."

The Lord gazed sadly into the future, and paused. Quietly, He added, "He will also endure being vilified and spit on when he returns home, rejected, and then crucified by the very ones he fought for over there."

Finally, the angel slowly ran his finger across the vet's cheek, and said, "I see a problem, Lord. It's developed a leak ... I told you, you are trying to put too much into this model."

"That's not a leak", said the Lord. "That's a tear."

"What's the tear for?" asked the angel.

"It's for bottled up emotions, for holding fallen soldiers as they die, for commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the American Flag, for the terror of living with PTSD for decades after the war, alone with it's demons, with no one to care or help."

"You're a genius," said the angel, casting another gaze at the tear.

The Lord looked very somber, as if seeing down eternity's distant shores.

"I didn't put it there," God said, "he did"

[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