My stint in Vietnam part 2

[irishman]

The protest riots at Kent State in Ohio took place during my time in Vietnam. Whenever I listened to the news, all I heard was how the young people, many of my age, were tearing our country apart while some of my friends were dying to protect the freedom we enjoy. I remember breaking down and crying over the state of affairs in the United States (when no one was around, of course). I was not the most patriotic person you have ever seen, in fact, I really did not want to be there at the time, but when I thought of friends who had died on foreign soil, and the loved ones who wept for them, it was heart breaking to think that there may not be much of a country to come back to when it was all over, and if we were fortunate enough to make it back! Most of the friends were newly found, and were not old time acquaintances, but there was one fellow that I grew up with and played baseball with in the old neighborhood, and had even been over to his house many times as a kid, that was shot down and killed in a chopper. He lived across the street from me and up several houses, but we all played together and knew each other quite well. I still get misty eyed at times when I think of the heart break that his family went through, you see, he was their only child, (not that that would have made a difference, but it just seemed to add to the irony of it all). He was a few years older than I was, and had joined the army before I did. I remember him showing me a model of the helicopter (a ?cobra? I believe) that he was the rear gunner in, and pointing out proudly the position he had on the chopper. ?Dave? was the crew chief, (the rear gunner) and was proud to serve in the Army, which also added to the irony. It seems that the ?good guys? are the ones? that don?t come back sometimes, the men who are ?gung-ho? about the military life. (?gung-ho? was a term for those who seemed to adapt well, and even enjoy the military. They seemed to be all for it, no matter what befell them, and talked favorably about it all the time. I was not of this mold, by the way.) The simple jerk like me, who never seemed to really adapt, and were even somewhat rebellious in nature, seemed to get all the breaks, but I was glad that it wasn?t me that was killed nonetheless. Anyway, the turmoil in America did not do much for our morale at the time.

Adapting to life in Viet Nam was not easy. Everything seemed so different. The
people looked different; the customs were different; the weather was different; (hot all time; monsoon type rain that poured suddenly at about 4 o?clock in the afternoon, and quit just as abruptly in an hour or so, and this seemed to be every day.) I spent most of my time there with a sweaty shirt, and took at least two showers a day.

There was not much to do in our ?off time? and many men just sit around reading, or went to the ?club? for drinking and entertainment. The ?entertainment? was ?man-oriented? and consisted of groups that came to sing, and women that came to ?show?. Most of it though was a time of getting together with fellow G. I.?s and talking about home, or just sitting around, drinking, and ?talking trash? as it is referred to today. This did not mean filthy talk, although there was enough of that going around, but it was boastful talk of men feeding their egos, and hiding their fears and insecurities. Anyway, that was the highlight of most evenings. There were, however, a few other things to do. We had a PX where we could do some ?shopping? and buy things we wanted for ourselves, or to send home to family and friends. There were all sorts of things available, cigarettes, being the best sellers though, they were much cheaper over seas without all the taxes on them. Some men who did not smoke, bought them anyway for ?trading? purposes, but I will spare you that explanation. Most of our ?free time? was occupied with cleaning our weapons, or straightening up the area around us, and simple things like that. Sometimes we even caught a little extra sleep.
One thing that I thought was strange was that the sergeants had a different place in the club all to themselves. There was a ?caste system? in the army, and the officers never ate with the NCO?s (non-commissioned officers), and the NCO?s never had much to do with the privates, or anyone of a lesser rank than sergeant (called simply ?enlisted men?). They had their own area, all sectioned off by a railing, and we were not allowed to step foot in it; I guess we were too low-classed for them. The ironic thing is that the officers did not even use the same latrine (bathrooms) that we did, as if they would get some sort of disease or something. Incidentally, I saw the sort of thing in the factory after I came home and began working for a living. The foreman had a different cafeteria, and even different ?lounges? (bathrooms; we could all work together, but could not even use the same facilities) than us peons, and I guess I related that to the corporate thinking of the military mind. I guess I will never quite understand why we cannot all pee together in the same pot! There were many things this young, ?greenhorn? soldier did not understand.


The American public did not seem to understand the soldier?s heart. When soldiers died and the news broadcast the numbers, they seemed to be only numbers; they were unknown by most, and missed by few, and it seemed that the attitude was, ?Well, life must go on?, and it did. For a soldier, when one of his comrades died, it was much more personal. He may not have known every soldier that lost his life in combat, but he could relate to what that man had gone through and how earnestly he would have liked to return home unharmed. It just had a lot more meaning for us, I think. It is hard to understand the feelings of men who jeopardize their lives every day and then heard of a fellow soldier falling in combat, and so much the more if it was someone he served with. No one understands another?s dilemma until he has walked a mile in the others? shoes. We sympathize, many times with the ?hurt? of others, and maybe even feel a portion of their pain, but it is never to the extent that the family of the fallen one feels, and never quite like the feeling of a fellow soldier who has ?been there? himself, and walked in the shadow of death. Men can make life-long bonds with others with whom they served, even though they may not have known them long at all. I often wonder what became of some of the men I served with, but have yet to locate any of them. I am a little afraid to pursue it too far, lest I discover something I really don?t want to know. In my mind they can still be alive.

There were several isolated incidents that might be necessary to comment upon. You see, in Vietnam, there was not much to do for the lonely and fearful G. I., except to ?get high?. This consisted of doing drugs, or drinking to the extent that one could feel that he was somewhere else, and the trepidation of the daily threats seemed to disappear. Many drugs ran rampant among the soldiers, and many of us did not even know for sure what we were taking. We had nicknames for them, of course, but they were different than the names we had heard in the U. S., and seemingly much more potent. Drugs were easy to get; it seemed that they were everywhere, since they were legal in Vietnam anyway. There were opium dens strewn throughout the city of Saigon, and a one day pass usually led us to at least one of them. Opium seemed to be the drug of choice, although a form of liquid speed was also very popular with us. These often caused hallucinations, and a certain euphoria that we often sought after in lieu of the circumstances that we faced. There were actual packs of marijuana cigarettes that were ?laced? with opium for an extra ?kick?, and they could be purchased any time, almost any where through the ?black market? dealers in Saigon. Doing drugs in a war zone is the stupidest thing a man could ever do, but then, we were not too bright at that time in our lives. Many of us were still teenagers that had been drafted into Uncle Sam?s army, and felt that our life had been disrupted and our freedom taken away the day we received our draft notices. Working nightshift on the docks added to the ease of getting high and not getting caught.

The ?docks? were warehouses where the supply was stored that came in on ships. There were goods for the PX mostly (a sort of general store for the soldiers) and items for protection and specific to ?soldiering?. Each night someone (usually me, so it seemed) had to pull guard duty on the ships, watching for a swimmer who might attach explosives to the bottom of the ship while it sat at dock. We had one man on the fore (front) and one on the aft (rear) of the ship, both equipped with their personal weapons and radios to call for help if needed. I found it odd that they said ?if needed? because, as far as I was concerned, it would be needed at the moment I saw anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. My mother didn?t raise any fools! Anyway, we often, out of boredom more than anything, pulled our stint of duty while we were high on drugs of some sort.

The military invents their own language it seems, for example: I could not fathom why the cafeteria was called the ?mess hall? until after I ate there a few times! Can you imagine 120 men eating all at the same time and in the same place? And all the cooks, and cook helpers were men who were not experienced cooks until ?Uncle Sam? assigned them to the mess hall. All the cleaning of pots and pans, and the clean up, were all done by men who really didn?t want to do it. No wonder they called it a ?mess? hall!

This brings us to KP (Kitchen police) these were the washers of pots and pans and trays and silverware, and all that stuff. Where they got the term ?police? from, I?ll never know, but it was used in another way too which I will get to on a minute, but KP was the terror of the soldier, as bad as guard duty, and the Brass used it to punish men that goofed off when they weren?t supposed to. (We had a certain time for ?goofing off!). In my case, KP seemed to mean ?kitchen please?, at least it seemed that way to me. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen.

?Police? or ?policing? seemed to be ?cleaning up? too. When a soldier was assigned to ?police the area?, it meant that he had to go around and pick up trash that may have been strewn around on the grounds. We were to take a small ?detail? (another choice word) of men, and ?police? the area, and they didn?t care how long it took. A handful of men could be called a ?work detail? and might have been assigned to literally anything you can think of! Usually the highest ranking man was in charge, which meant that he got chewed out if things didn?t go right, or someone refused to work. I felt like a wad of bubble gum many times, as the only ?striped? private in the group?
And our rifles were not called rifles unless we were comparing them to another weapon, they were called ?weapons?. If we called our weapon a gun, the wrath of God fell on us complete with thunder and lightning.

The bathrooms? They were called ?latrines?. Where they got that word from, I?ll never know, but we never, ever called it the ?john? or the ?toilet?; not even ?rest room?, commode, or anything else, except the latrine. I guess they not only had to tell us how to dress; when to eat, and what to eat; when to go to bed, and when to get up, but they also had to teach us how to talk!

Then there was the PX. The initials stood for ?Post Exchange?, but many of us thought it meant ?pay extra?. It was the local store. Though the prices really were not all that bad, we didn?t like it because it was military! We had to gripe about something! I think I already mentioned this, but had to get it off my chest once and for all.



To be honest, I have to admit that Vietnam may have been a key factor in my life. I had grown up immensely, and when I returned, it seemed that the world had stopped for my friends at home, and they were right where they were when I left. I could not believe the change in me! I think of Vietnam all the time, and it seems to be almost a daily reminder of the grace of God upon a poor, lonely soldier boy who easily could have been killed many times. The memories never leave you completely, but one learns to cope with them, again, by the grace of God. There is, of course, much that is left untold here in this account, but I thought it expedient to leave out some of the less profitable and less honorable things that are of little significance any way. I thank God, and Him only, that I did return from Vietnam unharmed and a changed man. It took me awhile to realize His grace, even after returning, but reflection upon my military stint led me to a greater life, that of a Christian, it led me to Jesus. I believe Vietnam influenced that decision more than anything else in my life, aside from the testimony of my wife, and I praise the wonderful name of the Lord for this grace. The memories of the past can be haunting and debilitating, or they can be fruitful in glorifying the Lord, it is up to us which way they go. Blessed be the name of the Lord forever and ever, amen.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy for the Vietnam veteran was not the war itself; it was not going over seas to a strange land and a strange people; it was, I believe, in most vets opinions, the fact that we forsook the cause that we once thought was worthy of fighting and dieing for. The men that lost their loves believed in what they were doing, at least enough to stay and not desert; they fought for a cause, if not freedom, then some other, but all was lost when we abandoned the war, and all those men who died, died in vain. Comrades, friends, special friends who were loved and respected by fellow G. I?s died, and for what? There is no shame in losing when one is overpowered, if he tried to fight with all his might, but there is shame in running, especially when the war could have been won. The tragedy was two-fold; it was in a government that let its soldiers down, and in a society that had nothing but disdain for the returning vet, who already hung his head as he returned home in defeat. I, for one, lost a good friend there; we had grown up together and played ball together, and had been to one another?s houses, and I feel that he died for nothing?wasted his life because of politics. To this day, I hate politics, and consider many of the politicians the ruin of our country and freedom. This tragedy still haunts many of us, and we feel cheated out of a warm welcome and a lack of appreciation for the service to our country. If it were up to the many vets that I have talked with, they would have preferred that we stay, and win the war. The world may have been a much different place if we had. The audacity of the citizens of America is overwhelming; to think that they could spurn the sacrifices made by our soldiers, and go on living their comfortable lives of protest and ?peace?, and yet they did just that, and every Vietnam and Korean veteran must live with the memories of a society that turned against them. It is no wonder that so many of us had post war syndrome, and had a hard time fitting into the society that rejected us. Shame on America! That is all history now, past, and cannot be undone, but the memories linger in our minds, and wounds of those betrayals will never heal completely in this lifetime, at least not for some.

[HappyChristian]

Wow. Just wow, Irishman. Thank you for your service in Nam. It was a horrible time for our soldiers over there, and then to come home to what they did....

[Pastor Matt]

Thank you for sharing that with us.

Thank you also for serving, we all owe our freedom to folks who served like you.

[JerryNumbers]

In the Air Force we had BX's instead of PX's. The main thing about them was they usually only carried name brand items that were quite expensive, I suppose that was aright for the upper enlisted men and or officers, for us who were of lower ranks most stuff they had was beyond our reach.

Most lower ranking enlisted men if they had transportation bought most of their stuff off base, including replacing uniforms and such, for it was cheaper.

As I mentioned earlier I served in the Air Force which gave me a completely different experience, most of my time was spent at Blytheville working on the engines of the B-52's & KC-135's except for a 120 TIDY to Guam that was suppose to be 90 days. On Guam it was quite amazing at all the bombs that left there never returning. I served fron Janurary 66 to May 69.

I've asked several of my fellow Airmen, both enlisted and officers about their thoughts that we abandoned South Vietnam and how many people died because we did so. I received a mixed thoughts on this, but most seem to think we should have stayed and finished the job. I must say one of them who said we should have finished it was a fellow Airmen who was POW at the end of the war.

Those who saw we should have stayed all blame the outcome on our dear politicians. Plus most of them agree with me that we should have used our B-52's earlier and ended the war. No, the politicians would not let that happen and because of it we had many soldiers who died. That blood be on their hands as well as all those millions who died when we turned our back on those we promised to help. America will never be the same.

I hope we don't have no major war in the future, that no one like Hitler rises up, I fear if that come about that our modern day America would not have the resolve to prevail.

I had friends die in Vietnam to, had friend who died form the exposure to Agent Orange. I had one Airmen I worked with who was sent PCS, he went home for 15 day leave flew over there and as he was walking out the door of the air plane a sniper shot and killed him. I also have a few friends struggling with the effect it had one them.

Glad you wrote that out, I feel it needed to be said. I've talked with several who served as you did, I've read what many have wrote about it. It being told maybe it will help some better understand of it.

[irishman]

Thank you for the reply, and thank you for serving. It would have been easy to run to Cananda as some did, but you stayed with it. Thanks

[candlelight]

WOW! In knew we had something in common - Irishman. Here - all along it is Kent State University. I am a proud alumni!! One of my older - many cousins was there when the shooting happened. And, unless this story did not get embellished thoughout the years? :lol

His "puppy love" lived down the street from me growing up. Kathleen was/is gorgeous. My cousin was right in front of Prentiss Hall when that all took place. When I was there? I roomed in the Tri-towers, Verder Hall, and lastly an apartment off of Main Street. I transferred out of Baldwin-Wallace College in Berea, OH - b/c it was a small party school. KSU actually helped me to grow up - you know, sort of.

Anyway - my cousin Danny took Kathleen and sheltered her from the storm. He grabbed her and took cover right in front of Prentiss. So - when I transferred there? I had everyone convinced that everything was bulletproof!! J/k of course.

Actually - KSU (at that time) had lock-downs in the dorms. The co-ed dooms were patrolled. In fact - I think the whole front of Main St. (The Dorms) were that way. If I remember correctly. The north side of the campus (by the Stadium) was more quiet. It think it went that way. The first time you were caught you got a pink slip? Then a blue slip? The last resort - I think was the white slip. This was ALL just for conduct court. My counselor was looking out for me. I vaguely remember my parents making a visit. I wanted to FLY the friendly skies with "People's Ariport" - that folded - shortly thereafter. My family still jokes about that. Anyway, I end up in a meeting with my counselor and my parents in White Hall. That was the Education dorm. I don't even remember how that all happened. KSU?! Academically, at that time - you needed a 2.75 % overall to graduate - and you needed a 3.50% (at least, in education - to get out of there. I think that was it.) I would have to check my "Transcripts." By God's grace I got out of there. I commuted my last year to Bedford, Hts., OH. to do my student teaching. I was on the 5 year plan - all in all. After the transfer from Baldwin-Wallace. I had so many extra credit hours that I didn't know what to do with.

Thanks - for how your served the USA with honor and dignity, Irishman. People always seem to forget about Vietnam. WOW!

This was a "Stroll Down Memory Lane."

God bless,

Molly

[JerryNumbers]

Thank you for the reply' date=' and thank you for serving. It would have been easy to run to Cananda as some did, but you stayed with it. Thanks[/quote']

No doubt, many did run, many of my classmates from 65 did anything and everything to get out of serving.

In the summer of 65 a bus load of us went to Little Rock for our physicals, one fellow on our bus did everything he could to fail this physical. But he passed and a few weeks later he got a draft notice. He went out to their wood chopping stump, laid down his right hand and chopped off his small finger. Yes, he got out of it. he died a drunk in his late 40's. I saw him just a few times thru the years, he never seemed happy unless he had several drinks in him.

Several joined the reserves, 6 months them back home and became weekend warriors. Wow, that has changed, these people get called to active duty nowadays, big change from yesterday year

I know of a few who seemed to make a profession out of going to college, anything to keep from serving our country. One of my best friend who graduated a year before I did took this path.

At least today our soldiers are greeted home better than they were in the late 60's and early 70's, but still so sad what they did to our fine soldiers returning home, it sure did not help them adjust back to civilian life, in fact it helped some of them go off the deep end.