A Stupid Kid

As I look back at my early years I realize that I was a stupid kid. (I guess uneducated, shy and backward also come to mind.) I was horribly shy and really didn't have what one would call true friends. I barely made it through a Catholic Grade School. (We acutally have a first ever reunion of the school coming up.) I was made fun of, was a lousy student, terrible at baseball during recess, etc. I now know that I was terrible at baseball was due because of poor vision and not being able to judge distance. High School was even worse. It seemed the only thing that ever was good was working. Somehow that made up for everything else although it really kept me even more from school activities, etc. due to me working almost full time while going to high school. After High School I went to Des Moines and lived with a couple other guys and went to United Electronic Institute for six months. I was horrible at math, studying, etc. so I dropped out after about four months but lived and worked in Des Moines until my parents forced me to return to Omaha. I had made a friend, Steve from Wisconsin, and just starting to feel "normal" but that ended that. (I often think of Steve and where he ended up and wish we had had more time to get to know one another. We both shared some of the same circumstances in our past.)

I was working at a horse racing track and making some friends and started to feel normal when I was drafted and went to Ft. Lewis Washington. I was scared shitless. I was still very shy, not athletic, etc. and ready for failure. But a funny thing happened. I ended up feeling happy and normal. I made friends, laughed, told stories and we all did stupid things that we could laugh about. I guess we were all in the same boat. We were all away from home, out of our element, scared, etc. I never felt like this before and it was overwhelming. We were in the 4th Platoon which was considered the fuck ups. Every time our Company had to sit down the Drill Sargent's would say "Take Seats" to which we would reply:

"Rat Shit, Bat Shit, Suck your mothers tit. Cock suck, Mother Fuck, Eat a Bag of Shit. We're the mighty Penguins, all the other suck. We the might D12, rah, rah  fuck." And once when ROTC was there for training with us we added "ROTC Suck" to the end.

At the beginning of Basic I did what everyone told me not to do. I signed up for an extra year to get a school. Little did I know that I would be offered a duty station right a Ft. Lewis but once they found I signed up for a school I was told to forget that. Shit, I could have stayed there for my full two years. So, after the Basic Training Graduation Ceremony, me and 3 or so other guys grabbed a cab and he drove very fast to get us to the airport for our flight from Washington to Nebraska. We got there in a nick of time and they put us in First Class. We were offered this great meal, etc. but I turned it down even with the push for me to take it from Ed. Why? I was embarrassed. Why? Who the fuck knows. I was just overcome with being shy and embarrassed again. What the hell was wrong with me. Anyway, I had two weeks in Omaha before my tour at Ft. Gordon, GA. It was a strange two weeks. I had a girlfriend and I fucked that up royally and I don't even remember the circumstance other than I was a total ignorant prick. I also had an altercation when while driving my mom's car. Of course I had the buzzed hair down to my scalp. Some guy next to me at a red light started yelling stupid things at me and threw hamburgers all over my windshield and calling me names. I kinda was forcing them over into the wrong lane when the light turned green and the driver yelled "please" so I backed off.

I remember being glad that leave was over. I just didnt' seem to fit in and was ready to go. Scared shitless again, but ready. I flew off to Ft. Gordon GA via Chicago, Atlanta and finally Augusta. When I got there it was time to settle in for a day or so with all the new guys getting stationed there for inprocessing. It was a time also a for meeting up with some guys I had met in Basic and boy was it like old home week. One of the guys talked all the time in Basic about his car "The Judge" and what a car it was. He was more than happy to show it to us all since he drove it down to AIT.

Well, I got to get some ZZZZZs. It has been such a fucked up week so far and I have been so sad. Thinking back to a time, that those who never served would not understand, brings some peace to me tonight.

Goodnight Brothers.

A Strange Night

Last night I received an E-mail from my brother with a link to Youtube regarding the Vietnam Moving Wall coming to Omaha. I played that short video a couple of times with tears in my eyes. I then went up stairs and channel surfed and came accross a program following a pilot in the Air Force coming back to the states to meet the family of a service member that died in Afganistan. The pilot was the last person to speak with him before he was killed. He wanted to meet the family and tell them what a Hero their son was. When the pilot got back in the states he first stopped to Salute and pay his respects at the Airmans grave. He then walked the last mile meeting up with two of the Airmans Friends who were also in the service. He reached the home of the dead soldier and through tears spoke to his parents. He and the parents were crying, and huge tears were falling from the fathers eyes. He then gave them a flag which was hoisted on a flag pole. Later the mother stated just how difficult the last four months had been and just how much it meant to her family that the pilot had come and paid his respects. The show ended with a number of photo's of this 19 year old soldier who loved and gave his live for his Country.

I was crying and felt such sorrow for this young mans family. And it also brought such sadness to me for those who died in Vietnam so many years ago. Those young Vietnam GIs fought and died for their Country, but a Country that didn't really seem to care. And I again, as so many times in my life. apologized to them that I am living and that they had died.

I went to bed shortly after the program and layed in bed praying for our Veterans and those who have died in the war. However, I seemed to fall into a fast and hard sleep. With this sleep came a dream with me being back in the Army surrounded by my fellow GIs. It brought me such peace and comfort to be surrounded by them and speaking with them.  This dream seemed to fill my entire night and as I finally began to wake up I found myself fighting to remain asleep and stay with them. Unfortunately that was not to happen and I was soon awake, lying in bed, trying to remember every detail of that dream and what we spoke about.

It seems that from time to time when things seem so sad and unbearable I have one of these dreams where my brothers are there for me and I'm longing to be with them. As I think about these dreams I wonder if they were a dream or real. I guess all I  know is that I spent time with them and am thankful for that.

Well it's time to hit the sack. Good night my brothers.

Choppers (Medivac & Dustoff)

Since I have been back from Nam I ofter hear people talk about Medivac or Dustoffs when talking about transporting the wounded. I don't think I ever really used that term while at the 24th. They were just referred to as choppers. About the only time I heard the term Medivac is when a chopper would come in during the early morning hours taking wounded from our hospital to the air base for transfer patients to Japan, etc.

Since my tour of duty was nights, most of my time on the helipad was when it was pitch black except for four lights bulbs with red glass covers on the helipad. Many times we'd be standing there watching the chopper with their spot light searching for the hospital and helipad. Often times I'd run over and switch those small red lights off an on hoping that it would help the pilot identify the helipad. It probably didn't help but I had to try something.

I felt many emotions when on the helipad waiting for the chopper or choppers. I was scared of getting hit or walking into the tail rotor or rotor blades. I felt such sorrow when there were dead GI's coming in on the chopper or worried that I wouldn't be able to get the GI into the hospital soon enough. And I think my biggest fear was the fear of the unknown and what to expect when that chopper landed. A chopper may have had two or three wounded on it and they were placed on litters with IV bottles running. Or they could have two, three or more GI's just piled on top of each other and maybe even dead lying among those still alive. And it was so dark, with just a dim light turned on inside of the chopper, but we did everything in our power to get those young men into the ER as quickly as possible.

We encountered many different types of choppers. We had Huey's, small Loach choppers, Jolly Greens, Pedro's, etc. bring in wounded. And of all those the two that really worried me the most was the Loach or Pedro. My worst encounter with the Loach was when it was bringing in a chopper pilot who had crashed and he was burned on the upper body. That thing was all over the place as it came in. I was on the helipad with another GI with a litter and we saw this thing coming and knew we were dead. He hit that helipad hard and was actually skidding towards. They are short and we were really at risk in getting out head hit by the rotor blades or tail rotor. I think we actually had to jump into a drainage ditch to avoid contact. And out came the pilot with his arms in the air literally screaming in pain as he ran towards us and we just ran with him into the Hospital. I think this was the only time I had a patient not going in on a litter.

The other chopper was the Pedro. The were short and had two intersecting rotors. I dreaded each time they landed. The pilot would light up the front flood light and talk to us on a speaker. He would tell us which way to move, Left or Right, etc. as he guided us into the chopper. Once we made it through those two intersecting rotor blades the Crew Chief would walk us to the back to get the wounded. One time it was a blond stewardess from a jet bringing in the new guy in-county. The plane hit turbulence and she was injured. Once we got the wounded on the gurney, the Crew Chief would then walk us out.

It may sound strange but I can detect when a chopper is near. Many times when out at a recreation area or in town I'll say here comes a chopper and my family or the people around me will just look at me like I'm crazy. But then here it comes and they will see it and say "Oh there it it is. How did you know it was coming?" But I don't respond as my memory is flooded with memories of Vietnam.

Last summer I was driving past a mall that had fire equipment, police vehicles, etc. for the public to tour. I then saw what appeared to be a Pedro and I had to turn around and go back to the mall. I got out of my care and as I got closer to it I saw that although it resembled a Pedro it only had one main rotor. I was overwhelmed with memories and tried to speak with the pilots. Something didn't click and he didn't seem to respond to a couple of my questions as I had hoped. I guess in looking back in time and he not being there but in the present probably wondered who is this guy. I left after a couple minutes with my emotions all over the map. I guess I expected too much from someone in the current day and place and me zooming back in time.

I just want to end this with a "Salute" to all those pilots, crew chiefs, door gunners, medics, etc. for their valiant service who saved so many of our brothers. You are always in my thoughts and prayers.

Thump, Thump, Thump

For some crazy reason I have been thinking about an incident for the last couple of weeks and actually found the letter I wrote home about it on 4 Oct 71. It had been a pretty quiet night at the 24th but sometime during my tour a GI came in, pulled me aside. He told me he had a guy in his jeep with a bunk adapter and was going to bash in peoples heads. I asked him why he brought him to the 24th rather than the MP's. I don't remember his answer but did call the MPs. After I hung up the phone I heard this thump, thump, thump against the bunker walls. The GI went outside looking around another building for the guy and I followed him and was watching him and when I turned around here, right before me, was the GI with the bunk adapter. I seem to remember it raised up over my head. Anyway, I backed into the A&D as he followed me in. I had let the ER know what was going on and luckily the MPs showed up right then. Come to find out he had been seen at the 24th a week earlier as he purposely shot himself in the foot and I think I was on-duty that night as well. I guess we figured he was trying to get himself back home. I never did hear about him again or the outcome of this incident. You know, I think this was maybe only one two or three instances I knew of where a GI was trying to get himself sent home so this was definitely not the norm for GIs in-country from my experience.

After all was said and done all I knew was that I was really pretty stupid going out looking for him and that it really shook me up  I do feel lucky tough as I don't think his intent was to really hurt anyone. If it was, he had the opportunity to bash my head in before I had even seen him standing next to me with the bunk adapter. All I can think of is that God must have been watching out for me that night.

I can't handle it tonight.

It was always and endless stream of wounded and dead GI's coming through the 24th. And there were times it became unbearable and you thought you could not handle any more. My Sergeant had one of those nights. We received just received a call from a chopper regarding a patient with multiple gun shot wounds to the face. My Sergeant told me he just could not handle it and said he'd get the guy off the chopper if I'd go into the ER and get the GI's information, get the wrist band on him, get his clothes, valuables and do whatever the ER may require me to do.

 I was in the A&D side of the ER as the litter was being brought in . All I remember seeing was this guy trying to sit up with no face and blood spraying everywhere. I followed the litter into ER. The worked feverishly to try to save this GI. It was horrific seeing this soldier with no face and fighting the Doc's and Corpsmen as they tried to work on him and got him into surgery. I believe one of the major issues was his attempting to breath.

It seemed like only minutes before he was in surgery. That is when we found out that he apparently attempted suicide and, if I remember correctly, he put an M-16 under his chin and pulled the trigger with a full clip in it. That night one of the surgeon's was a Major and she was fairly new in country. I think she may have had a plastic surgery background or was a plastic surgeon. I believe he was in surgery for many hours (I'm thinking 12.). The Major and staff were able to save his life and I was there when he was airlifted to Japan some weeks later. I remember being in the area between the ER and Pre-Op where patients waited to be airlifted by helicopter to the airbase to be flown out. I was with the Major who did the surgery who was now wearing a khaki's. I looked down at this GI and saw somewhat of a face and was so amazed at how well he looked compared to when he came in. It was from from a normal face but a face no less. I asked her about him and how he was doing. She said that he did not remember what happened but knew where he was. She said that his eyes were saved but that he would probably have double vision and that he had many, many more surgeries coming his way. Soon the chopper arrived and I and another GI took him out to the Huey and got him loaded for the trip to the airbase. I helped the Major get in the chopper and it was the only time I helped someone with a skirt on and it was really awkward trying to get her up into the chopper. I then left the helipad and watched as the chopper lifted off.

You know, I relive and remember so much of what I saw and did in Vietnam and my memories of my life outside of Vietnam is miniscule compared to Vietnam and being in the service. And this may sound strange but I'm afraid I'll forget those memories even though I know they burned in my memory. My only wish is that I'd like to be able to know how this young men's life turned out as well as the others who crossed my path. I know this is impossible but I often wonder about them. I can only say that hey are in my thoughts and prayers and that I have not forgotten them.

Identifying the Dead Soldier

For some reason my thoughts have been on this all day and I'm a mess. I don't know why these things come up and I start thinking about them and I can't get them out of my mind.

I came on duty and was told that we had a soldier in the Morgue and that someone from his Unit would be in to identify the remains. I was told to take them in to identify the body. I was afraid and worried. It may sound strange, but I had been in the Morgue many times and bagged numerous bodies, but had never opened a bag I didn't know what to expect and afraid of what I'd see. I'm so embarrassed now about feeling that way and feel so sorry about my feelings being so self-centered.

Eventually two individuals came in from his Unit. One NCO and one Officer I believe. I took them to the Morgue that was basically a wooden structure outside the ER area. I unlocked the padlocked door and took them in. I took them to the bag located on a rack on a stretcher and pointed to it. I was told to "open it". Again, being afraid of what I'd see and it being something I could not be prepared for, I unzipped the bag and opened it in a way so that they could see this young man and identify him without me looking into the bag. I heard comments regarding his injuries and became very angry. They seemed to be more impressed about what they saw rather than really looking at a young GI who died and identifying him. My anger took over and I asked "is it him" and they said yes. I immediately closed the bag and got them out of the Morgue. As we were walking into the ER and A&D area I heard them talk about the wounds and how some of their comrades were coming over and they would take them to look at this young soldier wounds. There was no doubt this was just to look and ooh and aah about what they saw and could brag about to others.

My E-7 came in that night which was somewhat rare as he was days. I told him what had happened and I was so upset and angry and that I didn't want to do this again and how wrong it was. I told him they just wanted to see the wounds and that is all they cared about. I guess I was pretty crazy but he understood and I am so thankful he did. When the other men came in and joined the other two they said they wanted to go back to the Morgue to see this young man. My Sergeant said "No", you have already identified him and no one was going back in. I was so relieved. Not because I would have to go in again but that my Sergeant understood and respected this young man who died.

I am so sorry and pray to God for forgiveness for being so selfish and I pray for this young man and his family.

Sergeant of the Guard, the Claymore Mine and Me

I was watching a program involving Prison's and, of course, it brought back an awful memory.

It was 7:00 a.m. and I was just getting off duty at the 24th when a member of the Army staff who investigates crimes came to get me. I was told nothing except that I was to go with him, which I did. We reached their site on base. Once inside I was told the following: That an attempt to frag the Sergeant of the Guard occurred. Apparently he saw the tripwire when opening the door to his hooch. He saw it before opening the door all the way. The tripwire was connected to a Claymore Mine. The people doing the investigation believed that the Claymore Mine was taken from the Arms Room located just outside the ER. (Part of our jobs was to secure all weapons from the incoming patients and secure it in that small Arms Room that was padlocked.)

I barely knew the Sergeant other than knowing he was new and I believe new In Country as well. I had guard duty only once with him as the Sergeant of the Guard. What little I knew was that he was hardcore and pushed to make sure everyone followed the rules - no leeway. If memory serves correctly, that didn't sit very well with those who had been In Country. Just a new guy who thought he knew everything and fuck the rest.

At this point in time I was scared. I was on duty every night for a minimum 12 shift and had access. I didn't know if they just picked me up or had they interrogated any others. All I could think of is that I was going to LBJ (Long Binh Jail - the stockade/prison for military personnel). I didn't know what to do. My mind was racing. What if they dont' believe me? Can they take fingerprints? My fingerprints were are lots of weapons in the Arms Room. There was no mention of my rights, an attorney, nothing except lots of questions coming my way. There was nothing I could do except answer those questions as they were asked. I could only hope that they would believe me and that I was truthful. After some time I was taken back to the 24th. I dont' remember if I was told I was cleared or what. I was just happy to be free. And what happened to the Sergeant of the Guard? I don't ever remember seeing him again and suspect that he was moved to another duty station for fear it could happen again.

That's it as I remember and it gets my mind and heart racing every time I think of it. Did I attempt to frag him? No way. I saw GI's who had been fragged and it was horrific. I was constantly surrounded by wounded and dead and no way would I ever think of doing that. And I am just so thankful that the truth prevailed.