Edited by Bernard Edelman
Foreward by William Broyles
1985
 
 
 

Wednesday
25 February 1970

Dear Pete-

After you hung up last night I felt very bad because I could tell from your voice that you were way down. And it made me feel bad that there was nothing I could do to help but offer advice-and advice is something you can do without.

But please, Pete, don't do anything foolish. You are like me and have a very bad habit of doing foolish things to help ease the hurt. Do as her mother says. Ignore her, hard as it seems--one thing a girl can't stand is being ignored. Maybe she just doesn't want to tie herself down while you're over there.

And, too, God forbid anything should happen to you. Maybe she feels she'll be less hurt this way. Give it time. Things will work out; they always do. What is the old saying, "Time heals all wounds"?

Enough advice and lecture. Seriously, though, Pete, please take care of, yourself and don't be a hero. I don't need a Medal of Honor winner. I need a son. Take care and write often.

 Love,
Mom

Peter Mahoney, a first lieutenant with Mobile Advisory Team 1-44 from March 1970 to February 1971, trained and advised Vietnamese popular and regional forces in Thua Thien province, I Corps. He has been active in veterans' affairs since his discharge. He lives and works in New York City.

December 5, 1966
Dear Folks,

Arrived at Oakland, California, in good shape. Took regular Army bus to base. Mom: the chow we ate, gulped, is oily, tasteless and mean to me stomach. Went through some processing till Friday and then abruptly left for the trip over.

Stopped at Anchorage, Alaska, for a cool hour, and then,a long hop to Tokyo before landing at Saigon's airport: Tan Son Nhut.

The first thing you notice going down the ramp is a heavy, lousy, sweet smell that floods your nose, along with a somewhat dirty feeling all around. Inside the makeshift customs building, the heat you didn't notice before begins to flush your head as sweat starts to flow. Answer a few questions, surrender any guns, knives and drugs, and be quiet, we are told. Ants -scramble up the dirty white pillars as we wait.

We then left by bus for Long Binh, 22 miles northeast of Saigon, for more processing A cruddy place, typical of an Army camp put up in a hurry. Passed through sections of a town that are something like our Coney Island, "honky tonk" with dirt everywhere. Sanitation seems non-existent. Hope better awaits.

                    Regards, Rick

Sp/4 Richard Loffler spent November 1966 to October 1967 as a draftsman and supply clerk with the 36th Signal Battalion, 2nd Signal Group, in Long Binh and Bear Cat. He lives in Little Neck, New York, and* works as an architectural draftsman.

0945 hrs.
 Saturday
 22 Feb. '69

Dear Mom, Dad & Tom
 

I'm now sitting on a bench in the 90th Replacement Battalion compound, waiting for transportation to take me to my unit. I've been assigned to the 20th Engineer Brigade, and may be on my way there by the time I finish this letter.
I arrived at Bien Hoa airbase about noon (Vietnam time) yesterday. The flight over was long, 19 hours air time with stops at Honolulu, Wake Island, and Okinawa. At each stop we were told the correct local time, and were continually setting back our watches....
I'm now waiting at a BOQ [Bachelor Officer Quarters] near Brigade Headquarters, just a short ride away from the replacement center. A Vietnamese women is ironing fatigues. In about 10 or 15 minutes I'll go to eat chow, after which further transportation is supposed to come to take, me down to my smaller unit. It could be anywhere in the III and IV Corps areas of South Vietnam, roughly the area just north of Saigon and extending southward to the Mekong Delta. I won't know till I get there.

1230 hrs.
I've just finished eating, and I'm waiting for transportation. Waiting again-there's plenty of that in the Army every time you report to a new station. Waiting to cash our currency. Waiting to draw equipment. Waiting to be assigned to a unit. Waiting-for transportation. And waiting for further transportation, which is what I'm doing now...
The most immediate evidence of a war going [on] is the presence everywhere of barbed wire and sand bags, the artillery. rounds which you can hear in the distance, the ever-present helicopters flying overhead.

You see many Vietnamese on their motorcycles, Lambretta scooter-carts, and bicycles. While riding here on a truck, we passed another army truck which was loaded with small children who smiled and waved to us. The kids were accompanied by a GI-I have no idea where they were going....
This morning I brushed my teeth with a special flouride tooth paste which is supposed to retard tooth decay for six months. Last night I took my first weekly anti-malaria pill, and was warned of possible side effects, which haven't materialized.
Well, in 360 days I'll be home.... As I've said already, I'm fine. Try not to worry too much about me. I know that will, be difficult, -but it doesn't do anyone any good. I'll write more often once I know my address

Love,
Bobby

Il.t. Robert Salerni, from Astoria, New York, was a platoon commander assigned to the 554th Engineer Battalion, 79th Engineer Group, 20th Engineer Brigode, based at Cu Chi and Nui Ba Den, from Febru ary 1969 to February 1970. He is.an architect and lawyer in New York City..

7/30/69

Dear Folks,
I'm still here at the 22nd Replacement Center. I'll probably ship out tonight or tomorrow, where to I don't yet know. Things are still quiet-no trouble whatsoever. It's really funny seeing guys going home and I'm just getting here. It's just one big cycle. All the
 

0945 hrs.
Saturday
22 Feb.'69

Dear Mom, Dad & Tom,

I'm now sitting on a bench in the 90th Replacement Battalion compound, waiting for transportation to take me to my unit. I've been assigned to the 20th Engineer Brigade, and may be on my way there by the time I finish this letter.

I arrived at Bien Hoa airbase about noon (Vietnam time) yesterday, The flight over was long, 19 hours air time with stops at Honolulu, Wake Island, and Okinawa. At each stop we were told the correct local time, and were continually. setting back our watches....

I'm now waiting at a BOQ [Bachelor Officer Quarters] near Brigade Headquarters, just a short ride away from the replacement center. A Vietnamese women is ironing fatigues. In about 10 or 15 minutes I'll go to eat chow, after which further transportation is supposed to come to take, me down to my smaller unit. It could be anywhere in the III and IV Corps areas of South Vietnam, roughly the area just north of Saigon and extending southward to the Mekong Delta. I won't know till I get there.

You see many Vietnamese on their motorcycles, Lambretta scooter-carts, and bicycles. While riding here on a truck, we passed another army truck which was loaded with small children who smiled and waved to us. The kids were accompanied by a GI-I have no idea where they were going....

This morning I brushed my teeth with a special flouride tooth paste which is supposed to retard tooth decay for six months. Last night I took my first weekly anti-malaria pill, and was warned of possible side effects, which haven't materialized.

Well, in 360 days I'll be home.... As I've said already, I'm fine. Try not to worry too much about me. I know that will, be difficult, -but it doesn't do anyone any good. I'll write more often once I know my address.
 

Love,

Bobby
 

I Lt. Robert Salerni, from Astoria, New York, was a platoon commander assigned to the 554th Engineer Battalion, 79th Engineer Group, 20th Engineer Brigade, based at Cu Chi and Nui Ba Den, from February 1969 to February 1970. He is an architect and lawyer in New York City.
 

7/30/69

Dear Folks,

I'm. still here at the 22nd Replacement Center. I'll probably ship out tonight or tomorrow, where to I don't yet know. Things are still quiet-no trouble whatsoever. Its' really funny seeing guys going home and I'm just getting here. It's just one big cycle. All the guys I talked to were infantry. They seem very sad even though they are going home. I guess they saw a lot. The clerks on the other hand are completely opposite. They just don't know what the war is really like. As one guy said, "You got to fight it to know it." I hope you are all well. I'll write again when I get a chance.

Billy

Sgt. William Nelson, born and raised in the Bronx, New York, served with Company A, 2nd Battalion,, 502nd Infantry, 101st Airborne Division, operating out of Phu Bai, from July 1969 through September 1970. He is an accountant and lives in Putnam, New York.
 

27 March 1968 Dear Mom and Dad,

Would you believe I am now officially assigned to a unit? It's taken so long that it's quite a relief I have a new address that should be permanent. It is:

Company A, 4th Battalion, 3rd Infantry
11th Light Infantry Brigade, APO San Francisco 96217

I don't know if you've sent me any mail yet, but if so it hasn't gotten to me and I doubt that it ever will. But with this address everything should reach me, so no sweat....

I am told that our AO is quite a good one. There is almost no contact with Charlie, and what little there is Rarely turns into much of a fight because he runs away. The principal danger here is from mines and booby traps.

From the people I've talked to I've come up with some new ideas on the war. For the most part nobody is particularly wild with patriotic feeling. There are, of course, those who just get a real charge out of killing, people. One lieutenant I talked to said what a kick it had been to roll a gook 100 yards down the beach with his machine gun. But most people generate their enthusiasm for two reasons: one is self-preservation-if I don't shoot him, he'll eventually shoot me-and the other is revenge. It's apparently quite something to see a good friend blown apart by a VC booby trap, and you want to retaliate in kind.

While I am able to read Stars and Stripes and listen to AFVN radio newscasts, I still feel very cut off from the world outside of Vietnam. I would love it dearly if you would subscribe to Newsweek for me. Also, what do you think of Bobby [Kennedy] for president? What about [General William] Westmoreland's new job? What does everything mean?

I now have one last editorial comment about the war and then I'll sign off. I am extremely impressed by almost every report I've heard about the enemy I am about to go and fight. He is a master of guerrilla warfare and is holding his own rather nicely with what should be the strongest military power in the world. But it is mostly his perseverance that amazes me. He works so hard and has been doing so for so long. You've heard of his tunnelling capability? A captured VC said that in coming from North Vietnam down to Saigon, he walked over 200 miles completely underground. Anyone who would dig a 200-mile tunnel and who would still do it after being at war for some 30 years must be right!

All love,
Mike

2 lt. Robert C. ("Mike") Ransome, Jr., raised in Bronxville, New York, arrived in Vietnam in March 1968. He was platoon commander with Company A, 4th Battalion, 3rd Infantry, 11th Light Infantry Brigade, Americal Division, operating out of Chu Lai. He died after two months in country. eight days after he was wounded by shrapnel from a mine. H e was 23 years old.
 
 

They were called grunts, and most of them, however grudgingly, were proud of the name. They were the infantrymen, the foot soldiers, of the war. They "humped the booniee in their own special nightmare, hocking their way, as the narration of an official Army slide show described.

through triple-canopy jungle' where the three layers of foliage are so intermeshed that whatever sunlight penetrates is but a diffused glow. After the heaviest downpour, rain doesn't even drip, it's absorbed by the overhead cover. Thi soldier fighting in this terrain is surrounded by the fetid, claustrophobic jungle, so that only the men immediately to his front and rear are visible. The infantryman finds himself slogging through foot-gripping mud with water lopping at his armpits, or enveloped in a cloud of dust, or stumbling across craggy mountains.

In the guerrilla war that was Vietnam there was no 'front.' Pitched bottles were the exception. 'The way we move without contact,' wrote Marine Lieutenant Don Jacques, 'you begin to wonder if the VC are even out there. And all the time you know they are. The great frustration is that they don't come out and fight.' So the grunts humped, sweeping the countryside on search-and-destroy operations, setting up ambushes, seeking to make contact with an elusive enemy, the Viet Cong-the VC, also called Victor, Charlie, Victor Charlie, Chuck, and Mr. Charles-and the NVA-The North Vietnamese Army. Even more pernicious than the enemy were the booby traps he set and the land mines he planted and the mortars and rockets with which he bombarded American positions. In a war that seemed without end, in engagements that seemed without strategic purpose, territory won one day was contested the next, and again the next month, and the next year.

A grunt's best friends were the medics who tended him, the firepower that supported him, the helicopters that rescued him. But he was tightest with other grunts. Theirs was a closeness forged by the dependency of their shared experience. For months on end, they lived in the bush, eating C-rations, bathing rarely, sleeping without comfort, filled with fears of the shadows in the night that only the dawn could dispel. They might return to base camp for a few days or a few weeks to stand down-take a breather from the bush. But the boonies was their home, and they spent the bulk of their tour in the thick of it, humping.
 
 
 

Jan. 14, 69

Hi [Connie],

This is to let you know that I'm OK. I want to tell you about that - 12-day mission so that you can keep Mom from worrying. Don't show her this letter because the following is what I'll be doing for the next 11 months.

First it rained for six days solid, I got muddy and wet. My hands are covered with cuts. The jungles have thousands of leeches and mosquitoes of which I think I have gotten bitten almost all over my body. I personally had to dig up two dead gooks. 'Me smell was terrible. I just about got sick. About three or four guys got hurt through accidents. Only two got shot chasing a gook.

Actually the fighting is not heavy yet, but the rumor is we're moving south on to the A Shau Valley. I walk up and down mountains with a heavy pack on my back. But if everyone else does it, so can I. It's not so hard, actually, but one thing is for certain: you surely learn to appreciate some of the finer things you once had. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining or expecting sympathy. All I want to do is lay the line on what I'm doing.... In return you must tell Mom that I'm probably out in the field doing hardly a damn thing at all.
 

Feb. 19, 69

Hi [Connie],

Mom wrote me in a letter and said you worry-a lot too. Please don't. I'm taking care of myself and every chance I get to get out of danger I do. By the way, you know this is not to be shown to anybody. So don't worry. I still haven't gotten fired at directly. I haven't even fired my weapon.

A week ago five guys went out on LP [listening post]. One got killed and the other got shot and is going home. Two days ago four guys got killed and about wounded from the first platoon. Our platoon was 200 yards away on top of a hill. One guy was from Floral Park. He had five days left to go. He was standing on a 250-lb. bomb that a plane had dropped and didn't explode. So the NVA wired it up., Well, all they found was a piece of his wallet.

By the way, don't worry about [what]. Tia Louisa or anybody else says. Here in Nam a point man (the first man in a line) is bound to at least get wounded. . . . Don't get the wrong idea. It's not battle time all the time. You always hear our artillery wherever you go, Even right now they're firing 81-mm mortars in the background. It becomes a part of your life. I'll tell you, the worst part of it all is that you walk all day with a 70lb. pack on your back, up and down the hill & After a while you don't let it bother you Well, you wanted to hear exactly what I do. Regards.

Love,
Sal
 

Sp/4 Salvador Gonzalez served with Company D, Ist Battalion, 506th Infantry, 101st Airborne Division, which operated in I Corps, from December 1968 through December 1969. An electrical engineer, he is on the board of directors of Queens Chapter 32 of Vietnam Veterans of America. Connie is his sister.
 

5 Nov. 67
 

Hello My Darling,

Here I am setting down to write of my love for you and the horrors of war. Right now I'm pretending that I'm talking to you.

I can picture your face in front of me, and our home and our children. Oh! How much the things we take for granted can mean so much. The smell of cut grass, the wind blowing over the lake and making the trees and grass sway. The smell of autumn, the bareness of the world during winter. All of this means so much, and how little it is appreciated. In the mornings I put on my fighting gear: web belt with ammo pouches, hand grenades, smoke grenades, first-aid pouch and canteen. Then I put two bandoliers of ammo around my neck so that it crosses my chest. X

Then comes my pack containing poncho, poncho liner, five C-ration meals, rain jacket, sweater shirt, extra canteen, extra ammo, gun-cleaning kit, extra smoke grenade, an extra bolt for my rifle, a camera and some cigarettes. 'Men I pick up my weapon and put on my helmet. With that on, I call my squad leaders and explain what my plan for the day is, based on what the captain passed down to me. Mud, I never knew how much mud I could hate. We live in mud and rain. I'm so sick of rain that it is sometimes unbearable. At night the mosquitoes plague me while I'm lying on the ground with my poncho wrapped around me. The rain drips on me until I go to sleep from exhaustion.

This continues day after day until one wonders how much the human body can stand.... And yet it is my job, and I do it willingly, knowing that war is a constant factor in this world and has been since the beginning of man. There is something that keeps us fighting past the time when we feel like quitting.

We go, in tomorrow, for sure. Everyone's morale is high, including mine. I'm looking forward to getting clean and relaxing Most of my men will be drunk as lords by tomorrow night.

There should be some mail for me. I surely hope so. Letters mean a lot.

You know something, honey? I love you lots and lots. Only you know how much.

I'll write when we get in.

With all of my love,
Fred

2Lt. Frederick Downs, Jr., from Kingman, Indiana, was a platoon leader assigned to Company D, Ist Battalion, 14th Infantry, 4th Infantry Division, operating out of Duc Pho, from August 1967 until January 1968, when he was wounded in action. Linda was his wife.
 
 

2 September, 1966 Dear Mom, Dad, Shrub, the Egg and Peach:

Sorry to be so long in writing, but I have just come back from an abortion called Operation Jackson. I spent a three-day "walk in the sun" (and paddies and fields and mountains and impenetrable jungle and saw grass and ants, and screwed-up radios and no word, and deaf radio operators, and no chow, and too many C-rations, and blisters and torn trousers and jungle rot, and wet socks and sprained ankles and no heels, and, and, and) for a battalion that walked on roads and dikes the whole way and a regiment that didn't even know where the battalion was, finished off by a 14,000-meter forced march on a hard road.

My God, the epic poems I could write to that ambrosia of Marine Corps cuisine-peanut butter and/or hot coffee after three days of that! The only person in the whole battalion to see a VC was, of course, me. I was walking along a trail doing a village sweep all alone, and here comes Charlie, rifle in hand, with not a care in the world until he sees me, and then it's a race to see if he can get off the road before I can draw my .45 and get off an accurate shot (he won). Of course, there was an incident when four snipers took on the battalion, which promptly, more to release the weight of all that unexpended ammunition than anything else, threw everything at them but the Missouri; and that would have been there too, except it could not get up the Sang Tra Bong [River]. So goes about $50,000 worth of ammo. They probably played it up as a second Iwo Jima at home, but it wasn't.

Then, two days after we got back, we played Indian Scout, and my platoon splashed its way through a rice paddy at 3 0 30 in the morning in a rainstorm to surround a hamlet, which we managed to do somehow without alerting everyone in the district, which is surprising as we made enough noise to wake up a Marine sentry. it was "very, successful" since we managed to kill a few probably innocent civilians, found a few caves -and burned a few houses, all in a driving rainstorm. There's nothing much more, I'm afraid.

Love,
Sandy

2Lt. Marion Lee ("Sandy") Kempner, born in Galveston, Texas, in 1942, was a platoon leader with Company M, 3rd Battalion, 7th Regiment, 1St Marine Division, operating in I Corps. He arrived in country in July 1966. He was killed by shrapnel from a mine explosion on 11 November 1966.
 
 
 

Nov 17 [19661
Near Cambodia

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hi Ronnie,

How are you doing? Did you ever get that letter I wrote you? How's your daughter doing? Can she walk yet? Say hello to your wife for me, and have a cold beer on me.

Well, things have been pretty hot around here lately November 12th about 306 of us got hit by a regiment of NVA troops and got the worst mortar attack of the war. They also shelled us from Cambodia with 120-mm mortars and artillery It was the first big attack I've been in, and it was something else. The mortar and artillery shells just kept coming in, and it seemed like they'd never end. The Charlies were jumping around in the thick brush around us and shooting and chucking grenades at us a lot.

Every once in a while you'd get a glimpse of one and let him have it. I think I might have got two and maybe three or four others but can't tell since they dragged most of the bodies off. But I'm pretty sure I got those two. We were expecting any minute for a wave of them to jump up from bushes and charge us. But [they] never did. Our Air Force and supporting artillery broke up the moves before they could get to us.

In the morning we swept out to see what we had got in open areas where they couldnÕt. get to them, we found a lot of bodies and weapons. Sweeping a few hundred meters out from the perimeter we found lots of abandoned gear, blood pools, and bloody bandages. We took six dead and 40 wounded ourselves, and one artillery gun in our LZ was knocked out. The ammo, for it kept exploding all night, shells and casings landing all over the place. In the morning we dug a lot of shrapnel out of our bunker. A 105 dud landed right in front of our bunker, [so] I got out, ran around to [the] front, and picked it up and threw it in an old bomb crater. Didn't realize how crazy that was till I got back to bunker. Could easily have got it. Also [had] to leave [the] bunker and go through fire a couple of other times to get ammo. Then went out to set up [a] claymore and grab a rifle some guy left there. That was pretty stupid, too. But if they had charged us, the claymore would have got a lot of them. A lot of guys did asshole things and didn't think nothing of it at the time-later on realized it. those dead Cong didn't seem like people [as] we dragged them into piles and cut their equipment off them. They felt like a pile of rags or something, can't really explain it. We shot all their wounded [the) next day.

The official body count was 79. They've seen around 300 from planes in the area and the estimate is -they might have lost two to three times that many They really got creamed. From the few prisoners [we] found out the 88th Regiment, fresh from Cambodia, had hit US.

Felt real bad though when [I] found out one of the dead was my best friend, a guy I'd known since Basic and always hung around with. Wished the whole thing hadn't happened in a way. Re was married and had three kids-never should have been drafted. Intend to get some Charlies for him. Hope I run into some of those peace demonstrators when I get back. Like to knock their heads in.

Cut a canteen off one Charlie for a souvenir, got an aluminum spoon from a knocked-out mortar position. Would have liked to have got a weapon or knife, but guys who didn't go on sweep grabbed them, all up. When [we] came in (we] had a whole poncho full of gear, but none was worth keeping. Some of the Charlies were just kids, 14 or 15 years old. They must be crazy or something.

Our company is quartering artillery now until we get some replacements to make up our losses. Three choppers got shot down the day before. Some of the guys in them lived, but can't see how since they were just balls of flame when they went down.

Well enough about this lousy place. What have you been doing lately? In a couple of days I'll have a year in the Army and four months over here. Will be great to get back to the States and out of the Army. It's probably starting to get cold out now in [the] States. Has there been any snow yet? When I get out, I guess I'll take it easy for a couple of months and just mess around. Been thinking of buying a car and just riding around the country to see-what there is and forget the Army.

May try to get into choppers, as you get flight pay and don't have to walk, which I don't like at all.

If you get a chance, drop: a few lines. Like to hear how you're doing. Next time I hope to have something more cheerful to write about.

Louie

PFC Louis E. Willett served with Company C, Ist Battalion, 12th Infantry, 4th Infantry Division. He was killed in a fire fight in Kontum province on 15 February 1967. For his actions he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, the nation's highest military award. His citation. reads in part: "PFC Willett covered [his] squad's withdrawal, but his position drew heavy enemy machine gun fire, and he received multiple wounds. [He] struggled to an upright position and, disregarding his painful wounds, he again engaged the enemy with his rifle to allow his squad to continue its movement and to evacuate several of his-comrades who were by now wounded. Moving from position to position, he engaged the enemy at close range until he was mortally wounded." PFC Louis Willett, born in Brooklyn, New York ' and raised in Richmond Hill, was 21 years old when he died. !his letter was written to his friend, Ronald Zimmermann.
 
 
 

8-17-68

Dear Mrs. Carlson,

I received your letter and I'm very sorry about the death of your son Richard. I often wonder if it was ,worth the sorrow and the pain which so many of us fret over now each day. I guess this is a [situation] nobody can explain.

Richard and I were very good friends, as [we] were the two medics attached to Delta Company, During the month of May our company was on a search-anddestroy mission in the South Vietnam National Forest. We had been searching the area from the beginning of May up until the 20th without making any contact with the enemy. On the 21st day of May we met enemy resistance consisting of heavy automatic weapons fire, which caused our company to pull back and call in artillery and air strikes. Our commanding officer received reports that we were up against a regimentalsize force, so for three days we called in artillery and air strikes before moving back into the area of contact.

We advanced without any contact whatsoever when our lead element spotted two enemy soldiers and killed them both. As we continued on farther, Charlie had concealed himself and set up an ambush, which he let us walk right into before he sprung the trap. The enemy opened up, hitting one of our men in both legs. At this time we pulled back, but in the excitement we didn't know that we had a man laying back there wounded until we heard his. shouts. '

At this time we couldn't get to him because the firing was so heavy, so I crawled forward and aided the man but I couldn't pull him back because they had me pinned down. A five-man team was sent forward to provide a base of fire for me while I carried my wounded buddy back. But those five men never made it to my position. They were all shot down and wounded. So I left the other man and began applying aid to the other wounded members of my company. Richard crawled up to my side and began patching up the nearest man to him when he was shot in the leg He was bleeding badly and in great pain. I applied morphine to his wound to ease the pain.

He finally told me the pain had subsided a great deal, so I told him to lay there until I could drag him back. But he saw that an officer had been hit in the head and was losing a lot of blood. Richard rolled over several times until he was by the officer's side. He then began to treat the man as best he. could. In the process he was hit several more times, twice in the chest and once in the arm. He called me, and I went to his side and began treating his wounds. As I applied bandages to his wounds, he looked up at me and said, "Doc, I'm a mess." He then said: "Oh, God, I don't want to die.

Mother, I don't want to die. Oh, God, don't let me die." We called a helicopter to take him and the rest of the wounded to the hospital. Richard died before the ship arrived.

I did everything in my power to save Richard. Every skill known to me was applied. I often wonder if what we're fighting for is worth a human life. If there is anything that I can do please, call on me.

Sincerely,
Charles Dawson
 

Charles Dawson wrote this letter to the mother of Cpl. Richard A. Carlson, a fellow medic with Company D, 2nd Battalion, 8th Cavalry, Ist Cavalry Division (Airmobile). Carlson, from San Francisco, California, had been in Vietnam four months when he was killed on 24 May 1968. He was 20 years old. His last letter home is on page 320.
 
 
 
 

Only the crickets
Are bold enough to speak
Suddenly they stop
The rapid respiration
of frightened men remains
You think of home and wait
Mostly you just wait.
The mortar lands nearby
Ringing in your ears
Leaves you deaf
For the rest of your life
But just how long Will that be?

-George T. Coleman

Khe Sanh, located in the Annamese Cordillera, the mountain range in the northwest corner of South Vietnam, was one 'of the anchors in a series of American defensive strong points positioned along the length of the DMZ. Its remoteness, six-month cloud cover, mist-filled valleys, and triple-canopy jungle offered the North Vietnamese Army an ideal infiltration route into the northern most provinces of South Vietnam. For 77 days in early 1968, Khe Sanh with the focal point of a contest of will and arms between the NVA. and the Marines.

This battle, the longest of the war, became known as the Siege of Khe Sanh. Two NVA divisions and support elements comprising over 20,000 men ringed the combat base and hill outposts, effectively sealing in 6,000 Marines and South Vietnamese Rangers. To many, the situation at Khe Sanh was reminiscent of the infamous battle of Dien Bien Phu, in which French forces suffered the humiliating defeat that resulted in the termination of French involvement in Indochina. Khe Sanh held. Official estimates put the cost to the NVA at 10,000 to 15,000 killed or wounded. Marine casualties were out at 1,800 killed and wounded.

(Biographical notes for the next five letters appear together.) [You donÕt read all of them--ST]
 
 
 

30 Jan. '68

Dear Ellen,

Please forgive me again for not writing sooner, but since I've gotten back from R&R I haven't had much time for such luxuries. We've really been preparing for this all-out offensive by the gooks on [Hill] 881 and Hue. This is the largest troop movement the NVA-has made in the Vietnam conflict to date. They say this battle could be the key to bring Hanoi to the peace table on our conditions.

I guess you might have read about it in the papers. The guys here all have newspaper clippings from home about the mortaring and rocketing of Khe Sanh. That was the worst I've seen since I've been in Vietnam. I lost quite a few buddies that day, and all I hope for now is the chance to get back at them and make them pay for it. I'm sorry for writing like this. I try not to write. home about any action I've been in, but I just can't help feeling bitter and vengeful toward them. There is supposed to be a truce in Vietnam during the Chinese Tet New Year. Khe Sanh is the only area not observing it because of the build-up. . .

I just can't thank you enough, Ellen, for your help and kindness in the past four months. A guy comes to realize that he couldn't have made it through this mess without someone back there pulling for him and keeping him aware that all is not lost and restore his morale and faith in America....

They just dropped six rockets in on us. Another buddy of mine got hit. Jeff Culpepper got his arm gashed. Well that's about all the news for now. I'll try to write again soon.

Love,
Jim
 

29 January 68

Dear Mom and Dad,

I guess by now you are worried sick over my safety. Khe Sanh village was overrun, but not the combat base. The base was hit and hit hard by artillery, mortars and rockets. All my gear and the rest of the company's gear was destroyed. Right now we are living in bunkers just like the Marines at Con Thien did last fall.

I am unhurt and have not been touched. I skinned my knee on the initial assault, but other than that I am OK. My morale is not the best because my best buddy was killed the day before yesterday. I was standing about 20 feet from him and a 60-mm mortar exploded next to him. He caught a piece of shrapnel in the head. I carried him over to the aid station where he died. I cried my eyes out. I have seen death before but nothing as close as this. Junior, my buddy, had 67 days left in country and then he was to return to his wife and daughter. His death really hit me hard. Two days before that four other Marines in my company were killed by a rocket exploding on the floor of their bunker. They were killed instantly, but their bodies were horribly mangled. I think with all the death and destruction I have seen in the past week I have aged greatly I feel like an old man now. I am not as happy-go-lucky as before, and I think more maturely now. Payback for my buddies is not the uppermost thought in my mind. My biggest goal is return to you and Dad and Ann in June or July.

The battle for Khe Sanh is not over yet. Since it began, we (Bravo Company, 3rd Recon Battalion) have lost 14 men KIA and 44 men WIA. Our company is cut down to half strength, and I think we will be going to Okinawa to regroup. I hope so anyway because I have seen enough of war and its destruction. I am scarred by it but not scared enough to quit. I am a Marine and I hope someday to be a good one. Perhaps that way I can be worthy of the friendship Junior and I shared. It bothers me to think of these so-called Americans who shirk their responsibility to our country. If I even get close enough to a peace picket, he will see part of the Vietnam War in my eyes. They cannot compare to the man Junior was. I will miss him greatly. He was with me since June of last year, and we went everywhere together. We have so little over here, but we share it all.

Please pray for us all here at Khe Sanh and also for my buddy Junior Reather. I hope he is happy where he is. Take care and God bless.

Your Son & Marine,
Kevin
 
 

2/18/68

Dear Brother Kyrin,

... Right now I am with the 9th Infantry Division in the Mekong Delta region. We live with the Navy on their ships, but when we go out on an operation we are out in rice paddies and jungles. I have been here for over a month and a half now, and I really wish I was back in my teens again getting on that bus at 69th Street.

It seems that every time we go out on an operation we make contact. And each morning I say a little prayer thanking God for another day on earth. With bullets, artillery, mortars and air strikes going off all around you, it gets quite scary

I don't dare tell my parents or girl about how it is because they are worrying enough. I have been looking at it this way. If the Lord wills it, I will be back on the other side of the world ten months from now. Then I will do what I should have done two years ago-go to college, At least now I can use the GI Bill and won't' have to worry about being drafted. I would like to' thank you for all your kindness in the past when I was a,. "little troublesome," shall we say. I can remember that day as if it happened yesterday, sitting in your office with my mother and father there. I wish I knew then what I know now-two and a half years can do a lot to a person in the way of growing up.

One again, if it is the Lord's will that I come back to the "World," as we say over here, I will make it a must to stop down at the school and see you. So until then, it, is good-by for now. I will drop you a line whenever I get time so as to let you know I am in one piece.

Paul Di Capri

Cpl. Paul J. Di Caprio, from Brooklyn, New York, served with Company A, 3rd Battalion, 47th Infantry (Riverine), 9th Infantry Division, IV Corps, from December 1967 until he was killed in action on 17 may 1968. Brother Kyrin Powers was one of his teachers in high school.
 
 
 

4 September 1966

Dear Mr. Marnmolitti,

I am the Catholic Chaplain with the 1st Brigade. I had first met your son in Hawaii. I remember how pleased he was to have the opportunity to work in civic affairs. He felt that he would be doing something positive to help the Vietnamese. He certainly did not begrudge his time in the service. Quite the contrary he had high ideals and tried to carry them out.

While in Cu Chi, your son attended daily mass and received Holy Communion. While on this operation I -had a daily mass at 6:30- P.m. Whenever his duties permitted it, he would be at mass. On the Friday before his death, two days prior, he went to confession, attended mass and received Holy Communion.

I was very close by when he was shot. I reached his side almost immediately. Although he was not able to talk, I gave him absolution and the Sacrament of Extreme Unction. He died about five minutes later. He was unable to speak any words before passing away.

Perhaps you say "Why?" Because it was the will Of God. Be proud of your son. He died doing something he believed in. And I'm sure his death has not been for naught. We are all trying to help these people live freely. He gave his life for this.

I know all this does not bring back your son. But you have the consolation to know that he did his job and did it very well, that he remained a good Catholic young man, strong in religious conviction, that he received the sacraments regularly and that he had a priest by his side when he died. I am certain that Our Lord received him with open arms.

If I can be of any help, please write to me. I said mass for your son the very night he was killed. God bless you. Please pray for me.

Sincerely in Christ,

Father Armand N. Jalbert
 

Capt. Armand Jalbert served as a chaplain in Vietnam from April 1966 to March 1967. He now lives in Arlington, Virginia, having retired from the Army in 1984 as a colonel. PFC Joseph A. Mammolitti, who grew up in the Bronx, was assigned to Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 25th Infantry Division, based at Cu Chi. He was killed on 28 August 1966, five months after he arrived in country. He was 22 years old.
 
 
 

LZ Hard Core
4:00 Pm., June 23, 1968

Dearest Bev,

Last night we had the VC all around us. [We] had some trapped near the water hole, but I guess they got away. Bev, don't ever tell Mother this, but at times I feel I will never come home. The VC are getting much stronger, so I think this war is going to get worse before it gets better...

The days are fairly peaceful, but the nights are pure hell! I look up at the stars, and it's so hard to believe that the same stars shine over you and such a different world as you live in. I look at this war in the sense that it is an experience that can never be equaled and that someday I can make something [out of it]. I guess if I had it to do over, I would do it again!

I try and take great pride in my unit and the men I work with. A lot of the men have been in a lot of trouble and have no education or money. But I feel honored to have them call me a friend. In my heart I know these are the men that build America, not the rich or the well educated. I hope to spend my life in .their behalf and try to help them all I can. I have been so very lucky to have had the chances I have had, so I -hope I can put these chances to work in a good cause! 'Bev, I hope you decide to join me in my plans for the future, but if you choose not to, there is nothing I can d6! But I promise you this. .1 will complete my plans one way or the other. If something does happen, my family can always say that I died for a good cause and that I did accomplish just a little in my lifetime....

All my love,
Al
 

Sgt. Allen Paul served with Company D, 2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry, Ist Cavalry Division (Airmobile), from April 1968 to April 1969. He wrote this letter to his girlfriend, Bev. They were married 10.1972. He now works as information coordinator for a college in Richmond, Indiana.
 
 
 

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, I've had my baptism by fire, and it's changed me I think. Two days ago my platoon was on a mission to clear three suspected minefields. We were working with a mechanized platoon with four tracks, and our tactic was to put the tracks on line and just roar through the minefields, hoping to blow them. Since the majority of the VC mines are antipersonnel, the tracks could absorb the explosions with no damage done to them or the people inside. My platoon rode along just as security in case we were attacked. We spent the whole day clearing the three fields and came up with a big zero.

The tracks were then returning us to where we would stay overnight. When we reached our spot we jumped off the tracks, and one of my men jumped right onto a .mine. Both his feet were blown off both legs were torn to shreds-his entire groin area was completely blown away. It was the most horrible sight I've ever seen. Fortunately he never knew what hit him. I tried to revive him with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but it was hopeless to begin with.

In addition, the explosion wounded seven other people (four seriously) who were dusted off by medevac, and three others lightly, who were not dusted off. Of the four seriously wounded, one received a piece of shrapnel in -the heart and may not survive. The other three were almost completely riddled with shrapnel, and while they will be completely all right, it will be a slow and painful recovery.

I was one of the slightly wounded. I got three pieces in my left arm, one in my right knee, and about twenty. in both legs. I am completely all right. In fact I thought J had only gotten one in the arm and one in the knee. It was not until last night when I took off my clothes to take a shower that I noticed the other spots where I had been hit.

I came back to Chu Lai; yesterday because my knee .is now quite stiff and swollen, and will probably be .here a couple of days, what with x-rays and what not. Believe it or not, I am extremely anxious to get back to platoon. Having been through this, I am now a bonafide member of the platoon. They have always followed my orders, but I was an outsider. Now I'm a member of the team, and it feels good.

I want to assure you that I am perfectly all right. You will probably get some sort of notification that I was lightly wounded, and I just don't want you to worry about it at all. I will receive a Purple Heart for it. People over here talk about the Million-Dollar Wound. It is one which is serious enough to warrant evacuation to the States but which will heal entirely Therefore, you might call mine a Half-Million-Dollar Wound. My RTO, who was on my track sitting right next to me, caught a piece of shrapnel in his tail, and since he had caught a piece in his arm about two months ago, heÕll get out of the field with wounds about as serious as a couple of mosquito bites.

I said earlier that the incident changed me. I am now filled with both respect and hate for the VC and the Vietnamese. Respect because the enemy knows that he can't stand up to us in a fire fight due to our superior training, equipment and our vast arsenal of weapons. Yet he is able. Via his mines and booby traps, he can whittle our ranks down piecemeal until we cannot muster an effective fighting force.

In the month that I have been with the company, we have lost 4 killed and about 30 wounded. We have not seen a single verified dink the whole time, nor have we even shot a- single round at anything. I've developed hate for the Vietnamese because they come around selling Cokes and beer to us and then run back and tell the VC how many we are, where our positions are, and where the leaders position themselves. In the place where we got hit, we discovered four other mines, all them placed in the spots where I, my platoon sergeant and two squad leaders had been sitting. I talked to mechanized platoon leader who is with us and he said that as he left the area to return to his fire base, the people in the village he went through were laughing at him because they knew we had been hit. I felt like turning my machine guns on the village to kill every man, woman and child in it.

Sorry this has been an unpleasant letter, but I'm in a rather unpleasant -mood.

AD love,
Mike

2Lt. Robert C. (-Mike") Ransom; Jr., raised in Bronxville, New York, a platoon commander with Company A, 4th Battalion, 3rd Infantry, 11 th Light Infantry Brigade, was wounded for the first time, in early April 1968, one month into his tour. Then on 3 May, he was wounded by a mine during a night ambush near Quang Ngai. His death on II May Was officially attributed to peritonitis and pneumonia resulting from his wounds. He was 23 years old.
 

September 16, 1966

Dear Mom and Dad, doting father-to-be, Peach and Fuzzy:

As I suppose you can see by my new stationery, this is not my normal letter. While walking down the road one day, in the merry, merry month of September, my squad got into a heluva fray, and lost (momentarily) one member.

ME!
I am all right, I am all right, I am all right, etc.
A carbine round hit me where it would do the most good right in the butt, the left buttock to be exact, exiting from the upper thigh. It hit no bones, blood vessels, nerves, or anything else of importance except my pride. It was, however, a little bit closer to my pecker than was comfortable. But that is as good as ever, although it is now going through a year's hibernation.

I am writing this letter in the hospital less than one hour after I got hit, so please don't worry-by the time you get this letter and can answer it, I will probably be back on my hill.

Please, now, I am all right. The only thing that bothers me is the "indignity" of it, as Jose would say and Dad would feel, and disappointment that the wound ain't serious enough to warrant taking me out on the Repose where it is air-conditioned and there are nurses.

P.S. I am all right!!
 

September 19, 1966 Dear Mom, Dad, Shrub, Peach, and the Future President:

I was walking along a trail and turned to my left to tell one of my men to get his tocus up to the head of the column when I heard a loud noise below me and felt like some one had kicked me right in the butt. So the mighty oak fell to the ground, [after] having urged his men on to greater heights of glory with the resounding battle cry of "Oh, shit!" I thought I had been hit by a booby trap, and it wasn't until three to five seconds had passed that I realized that people were shooting at us in general and me in particular since I was still lying on the road. This also occurred to my unalert band of cutthroats, and one of them dragged me off the road and down an embankment, which felt oh, so good.

By this time I regained my form and was screaming at my men to return fire and charge the ambush which they did to no avail-while my corpsman was explaining to me that they had never taught him how to bandage up a wounded butt. I explained to him in graphic detail what the consequences to his personage would be if he didn't think up a way, and quickly He invented a way, using my penis as an anchor or something--anyway, as an integral part of the mummifying act. The helicopter finally came, and I was thrown aboard and taken to the hospital in Chu Lai....

So, I am lying in bed here, and it comes time for that most thrilling event: "When the General Gives Out the Purple Hearts." The general in this case is a two-star general, a big, gruff, hearty type whose first words to me were, "Aren't you the one who wrote on that form that supplies weren't getting to the troops? Do you have any specific examples?"

So, what the hell, I gave him a few, and he, predictably enough, cut me off, explaining how the folks back home were having to be forced to make utilities. And in ~a very small voice I pointed out that -a great deal of the problem was right here in River City. He ignored that and never stopped smiling, although it got a little forced after a while and his entourage stood around with little grins etched into their empty faces, which occasionally laughed heartily whenever the general made a funny, which was signaled by his own chuckling All in all, it was a dreadful performance by everyone but, in a way, a classic of stereotype, one of a large number of stereotype characters and situations I have watched acted out, much to my growing concern. They finally left me sicker than I was before and with a medal I never wanted anyway...

Love,
Sandy
 

2Lt. Marion Lee Kempner, platoon leader, Co. M, 3rd Bn.,- 7th Reg., I st Mar. Div., recovered from these wounds. Two months later, he was killed by shrapnel from a mine explosion near Tien Phu. . .
 
 
 

Feb. 23rd [1967] 2:30 Pm

Dear Mom & Dad,

I was just about giving up on mail when I received your letter. It sure did a lot to cheer me up.

To be honest, I'm getting sick and tired of being in a hospital. It seems like yesterday when I was in for malaria.

I'm constantly on my back. The only time that I have been up is when they put me in a wheelchair and wheeled me to the x-ray room. I'm not able to walk as yet, and it will probably be a few months before I'm even able to try. I was on a stretcher when they flew me here.

This morning they took the cast off, and the doctor changed my dressing. I felt brave enough to peek at my wound for the first time, and what I saw didn't make me feel too good. The doctor said the wound is clean and there should be no problem when I got to surgery. What the doctor is most concerned with now is the possible blood clot in my chest. I have been taking pills and getting shots in the stomach to "thin my blood," besides getting streptomycin shots in my cheeks (smile again) to keep the wound sterile. The wound doesn't give me any more pain, but I get a tremendous shock of pain at the sole of my foot and toes. The doctor said it is caused by the damaged nerve tissue and there is nothing they can give me to relieve it So all I do is just scream-day and night. Everyone in the ward knows about it because I yell at the top of my lungs to relieve, the pressure. Don't worry, just "scream and bear it (smile).

Every other day a nurse comes around for physical therapy. I get a little exercise for my toes. It is difficult for me to move them. But with great effort I can manage to wiggle them a wee bit, and this is all she asks of me.

I haven't received any back mail yet, so I haven't received the pictures. Those pictures of Uncle Jimmy and the family were nice. Say, that was a cute little tree you had at Christmas.

I don't know what will happen to my personal things. Imagine they will ship them to me some way.

I suspect there's a letter from Richard on the way. I don't think it will be a disgrace [for him] to go to jail for something he truly believes in. I wrote a letter to his company commander requesting that his status be changed to a noncombatant, and I hope it did some good.

. .. . . I guess I'll try to read a few pages or listen to the radio. My leg (rather foot) is acting up again.

So long for now.

Love,
Kenny
 

Sp/4 Kenneth Peeples, Jr., Company A, 2nd Battalion, 18th Infantry, Ist Infantry Division, arrived in Vietnam in June- 1966. He wrote this letter to his parents two weeks after he was wounded in action in III Corps. He now lives in South Orange, New Jersey, and is a librarian at LaGuardia Community College in New York City.
 
 
 
 
 

February 21, 1967
St. Eleutherus
7:30 pm.

Hello Son,
How are feeling today? Hope this letter will find you successfully recovering. Today we received your Purple Heart medal. I looked at it with mixed emotions. Happy, because you are out of Vietnam; sad, because of the price you had to pay to get away from there. However, I do -hope that-you won't have any serious complications and that you will fully recover and be restored to health. I also realize the thousands of boys who will never return home, and the parents who have received the Purple Heart because of their son's death. When I think of these things, I know that I shouldn't feel too bad about your condition. Our main concern now is your recovery!

Let me say here and now that I'm extremely proud of you, son. Not because you were awarded the Heart, but because you did an honorable thing. I know that you were bitterly against going into the service and rejected our reasons for being in Vietnam. I also knew of your feelings about the U.S. and its treatment Of Negroes. I also imagine that you were contemplating going AWOL. Yet, in spite of these conditions, you did everything that was asked of you. Whether it was to please your mother or your grandmother I do not know.

But I do know that you made a prudent and honorable decision. It may not matter at all to you, but you are coming home a hero to us. Not a war hero, because you had to fight and get shot, but more so because you made a man's decision and stuck it out. You should feel proud of yourself! You are now in a position to take every advantage that is offered to a GI (and there are many). You can hold your head high everywhere you go, and you can go anywhere you wish. Had you chosen the alternative, these things would not be so. I hope Richard-will realize these things and take that "chip" off of his shoulders!

Everyone here is so concerned about you, all of our: friends constantly ask about you. Your mother told one person about you on the telephone, and a few days later. the whole parish knew. Certainly will be glad when you are sent stateside. Let us know as soon as you, find out....

You know, I was thinking that for a person who never traveled much, you are really seeing the world. Who would have thought that you would be writing from Japan, and your letters would arrive here in just two days. Hope ours reach you just as fast.

Rest good, and eat hearty. Relax, and don't worry about anything, Will write again soon. Until then, may God continue to bless you.

Love,
Mom & Pop

Sp/4 Kenneth Peeples received this letter from his parents.
 
 

25 Jan 68

Dear Linda,

Some good news today. Doctor said that I wouldn't have to lose my right arm and will be able to regain-almost- full control. I've been moved to a hospital in Japan near Tokyo where I'll probably spend two or three week & Then they'll send me to a hospital in the States as-near home as possible.

The other- day my executive officer and a couple of my men stopped by and talked to me before I left for Japan. The day or so after I got hit, one of my men stepped on the same kind of mine I did and was killed. In the space of five days I lost 16 men in my platoon to mine & One KIA and the rest WIA--quite a few will lose their legs and maybe a couple their hands. My good friend, the third platoon leader Bill Ordway, was killed two days after my accident. So looks like I was pretty lucky after all.

Write to this address as I should be here if you answer right away. I'm anxious to find out how you feel and what's been going on this last month of January as no mail has caught up to me yet.

They pulled a few stitches out of my hind end yesterday, so only have about a thousand to go.

It's rather uncomfortable now but something I'll be able to look back on and laugh about it. It seems funny to tell someone you got shot in the butt.

I spent a night in the Philippines on my way to Japan in a new hospital which was fabulous. You can't imagine what a new military hospital can look and be like. TV in each room-two men to a room-radio for each bed-private bath with shower in each room-each room has a balcony-full glass window, one side of wall overlooking the countryside.

Everywhere I've been I've been treated real well by all the personnel with whom I've had contact-nurses, doctors, Red Cross, chaplains, wardboys, and guys who -are healing but able to be of help all they can.

After seeing the patients around me, I consider myself very lucky. There are many who have lost legs, arms, eyes and other parts of their bodies, which leaves them in worse shape than I am. I'm really very anxious to know how you feel about me losing my arm because naturally I don't know how you will react when you see me. With my new arm they will give me, I'll be able to act like I normally did, which was always a little crazy. I haven't been depressed or anything like that, so [I] don't want you to feel bad either. I just paid the price that many, soldiers pay defending our country, and I've accepted the fact that I can get along as well with an artificial arm as I did before. Some guys feel so sorry for themselves. They're miserable all the time.

But our mind and soul don't come from our extremities. My personality is the same as it's always been and is not going to change because of a little setback. Tell Tammy and Teri that I miss them and look forward to seeing [them] both very much.

You know how much I miss you and how very much I want to see you after so long an absence. It shouldn't take too much longer for me to come home-probably at least a month.

I love you and miss you very much.

Your husband,
Fred
 

[Dictated to a Red Cross volunteer.]
21.t. Fred Downs suffered extensive wounds, including the loss of his left arm, when a land mine exploded near Chu Lai on I I January 1968. He has incorporated his experiences in and after Vietnam in two books, The Killing Zone and Aftermath. Today he is director of the Veterans Administration Prosthetic and Sensory Aids Center in Washington, D.C.
 
 
 
 

10 Feb 69

Hi Mom,

Well I am fine today, and I hope that you are in good shape also. Today, I am at the river swimming, washing and taking in the sun. The beach is great, the sand is white and the sky is clear. Boy, I wish every day was like this. Then I wouldn't have any problems while I'm here.

How is Dad's health? What are you doing, and how are the peace talks? I have to wonder if it is worth anything to be here. Nobody wants us, and yet we still maintain our position. Well, I guess that is what life is all about.

I heard that you and Jo's parents got together. It is about time if I am going to marry her. I do suppose you should get together. I hope you like them because you will be seeing a lot of them when I get married. My plans are already down in my head. All I have to do now is wait till I am home to talk it over with Jo. It will be a wonderful wedding.

Love always,
Jack
 

Sgt. Jack Calamia, from Glendale, New York, arrived  in Vietnam in December 1968 and was assigned to Company D, 3rd Battalion, IIth Light Infantry Brigade, Americal Division, in I Corps. He was killed by a land mine on 20.October 1969. He was 21 years old.
 
 
 
 

7 July 1969
 

(Dear Mom & Dad)

They think the enemy went back into Cambodia to get resupplied and that he's on his way back. There's talk of the 299th moving again, but they've been talking about it for a couple of months now. The politics behind all the monkey business around here is insane. Ibis gradual withdrawal is going to cause more damage than good. As there become less and less GIs over here, it means that the guys still here will have to depend on the ARVNs. I would not want to have to depend on an ARVN for anything I don't see how we ever won a war if we are fighting the same way as they fought in WWII. Maybe we will leave soon after all.

George
 

SP/4 George Ewing, Jr., served in Vietnam with Company D, 299th Engineer Battalion, between January 1969 and January 1970, stationed at Dak To. He is now a student at Columbia University in New York City.
 

24 July 1969

Dear Family,

Things go fairly well here. Monsoon is very heavy right now-havenÕt seen the sun in a couple of weeks. But this makes the sky that much prettier at night when flares go off There's a continual mist in the air which makes the flares hazy, At times they look like failing stars; then sometimes they seem to shine like crosses.

At 4:16 A.M. our time the other day, two of our fellow Americans landed on the moon. At -that precise moment, Pleiku Air Force Base, in the sheer joy and wonder of it, sent up a whole skyful of flares-white, red, and green. It was as if they were daring the surrounding. North Vietnamese Army to try and tackle such a great nation. As we watched it from the emergency room door, we couldn't speak at all. The pride in our country filled us to the point that many had tears in their eyes. It hurts so much sometimes to see the paper full of .demonstrators, especially people burning the flag. Fight fire with fire, we ask here. Display the flag, Mom and Dad, please, every day. And tell your friends to do the same. It means so much to us to know we're supported, to know not everyone feels we're making a mistake being here.

Every day we see more and more why we're here. When a whole Montagnard village comes in after being bed and terrorized by Charlie, you know. These are helpless people dying every day. The worst of it is the children. Little baby-sans being brutally maimed and killed. They never hurt anyone. Papa-san comes in his three babies--one dead and two covered with frag wounds. You try to tell him the boy is dead--"fini--but he keeps talking to the baby as if that will him live again. Its enough to break your heart. And through it all, you feel something's missing. There! You put your finger on it. There's not a sound from them. The children don't cry from pain; the parents donÕt cry from sorrow; they're stoic.

'You have to grin sometimes at the primitiveness of these Montagnards. Here in the emergency room, docs and -nurses hustle about fixing up a little girl. There stands her shy little (and I mean little-like four feet papa-san, face looking down at the floor, in his loin, smoking his long marijuana pipe. He has probably never seen an electric light before, and the ride here in that great noisy bird (helicopter) was too much for him to comprehend. They're such characters. One comes to the hospital and the whole family camps out in the hall or on the ramp and watches over the patient No, nobody can tell me we don't belong here....

Love,

Lynda
 

1 Lt. Lynda Van Devanter, 71 st Evac. Hosp., Pleiku; and 67th Evac. Hosp., Qui Nhon, 1969-1970.
 

[August 1969]

Dear Yolanda,

... Things are picking up around here. We're starting to train the Vietnamese to do our jobs so they can take over when the time comes for the Air Force to pull out.

The Army's 9th Infantry Division has pulled out already, and the Navy's river patrol force is just about taken over by the Vietnamese Navy. The local people are not very enthusiastic about our leaving, for one reason, they don't want to lose all the money they are making off the American GIs.

We cannot blame them for wanting a way of life that they have, never had, and a continuation of the war is not going to bring any solution. They do not want to fight, they're tired of suffering, and they've finally realized this is more a political war with no gains for the common people. It's a complicated problem. I just can't begin to go into it without ending up with a book. I've always felt that if the North would agree to a peaceful settlement, both North and South could make more progress toward helping their people, whether be under a communist or democratic system, than by killing each other. I've learned only one lesson from this and that is if man has been fighting his fellow man since the beginning of time, he will continue to do so, and the United States, as powerful as it may be, cannot play the role of God and solve all the problems of the world, and sometimes I wonder if there really is a God. .

Well, now, I'll be leaving for Hong Kong on the 14th to REST MY BONES. Really, Yolanda, I need a rest. What I'm really interested in is buying some tailor-made suits and a coat. I'll be getting you your ring in Hong Kong also. I want to see if I can find something special that no one else has. OK? ...

I'll write again soon. I have to write to the kids.
 

Love,
Chicky

Sgt. Hector Ramos spent the year from January 1969 to February 1970 with the Air Force's 632nd Security Police Section at the air base in Binh Tuy. He is an electrical designer with an architectural firm in New York City. Yolanda is now his wife.
 
 
 

2140 hrs, Thursday 30 October 1969
Cu Chi

Dear Mom, Dad, and Tom,

. . . Everybody here is waiting for what Nixon has to say on 3 November. I'm personally skeptical about any idea for a for a unilateral cease fire, as are most of us here.... There was a time when this post used to be hit often-very often-with mortars which are high-trajectory weapons whose range is in thousands of meters, not miles. So I just hope Nixon knows what he's doing, Whether or not we should be here, the fact that 500,000 GIs are here means they deserve as much protection as they [can] get.

I read in the paper that [New York City] Mayor [John] Lindsay had the city's flags fly at half staff on the so-called Moratorium Day. After nine months I have mixed feelings about our involvement here. I can say, however, that the so-called Vietnamization of -the war, while perhaps overplayed, is coming about. [The ARVNs] are taking more casualties than the Americans these days... Maybe all the time we've bought for these people with American blood will finally begin to pay dividends. In any event, the Vietnamization seems to me the way to get us out of here, not simply to get up and let the VC have this country.

I've philosophized enough on the war. There are so many things here that I've seen that make me proud to be an American, proud to be a soldier. Yet there are times too when I just wonder why things are done the way they are in the war, in the Army. I find myself a witness--and, yes, even, at times, an accomplice-- to things I never would have dreamed [of]. I suppose that innocence at best is not permanent, but the end of it is inevitably accompanied by some pain...

Take care. I'll be OK.

Love, Bob
 

1 Lt. Robert Salerni, platoon commander, Co. 554th Engr. Bn., 79th, Engr. Gp., 20th Engr. Bde., C, Chi, Nui Ba Den, 1969-1970.
 
 
 
 
 

Oct. 1969

Hello Brother,

How are you treating life these days? Have you gotten a grip on those Merrimack students yet? . . . This place is sort of getting to me. I've been seeing too many guys getting messed up, and I still can't understand it. It's not that I can't understand this war. It's just that I can't understand war period.

If you do not get to go to that big peace demonstration [on] October 15th I hope you do protest against or sing for peace-I would. I just can't believe half the shit I've seen over here so far...

Do you know if there's anything wrong at home? I haven't heard from anyone in about two weeks, and normally I get 10 letters a week. You mentioned in your last letters that you haven't heard from them for a while either. I couldn't take sitting over [in] this place if I thought there was anything wrong at home.

Well, brother, I hope you can get to your students and start them thinking about life. Have you tried any marijuana lectures lately? I know they dig that current stuff.

I gotta go now. Stay loose, Paul, sing a simple song of me and I'll be seeing you come summer.
 
 
 

Feb. 9, 1970

Hello Brother,

How is America acting these days? Are the youth still planning new ways to change our world? I think the 70s, will see a lot of things changed for the better.

I'm stiff trying to survive over here but the NVA aren't making it too easy lately. We've just been in contact with them for three days and things aren't looking too bright. When you have bullets cracking right over your head for a couple days in a row, your nerves begin to fizzle. When you're getting shot at, all you can think about is--try to stay alive, keep your head down and keep shooting back.

When the shooting stops. though, you sort of sit back and ask yourself, Why? What the hell is this going to prove? And man, I'm still looking for the answer. It's a real bitch.

Thanks for that Playboy you sent me. I sort of forgot what girls look like. I think the real personality of Jesus has been sort of hidden from us. Either that or no one's wanted to look for it before. If he were alive today he'd probably be living in Haight-Ashbury and getting followed by the FBI who'd have him labeled as a communist revolutionary. He'd definitely be shaking some people up...

Well, its time to make my delicious C-ration lunch. Stay loose and stay young...

The beat goes on,

Joe

Joseph Morrissey, staff sergeant with Company C, 1st Battalion, 12th Cavalry, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile), served in III Corps from July 1969 to May 1970. He wrote this letter to his brother, Paul, a Roman Catholic Priest in the diocese of Brooklyn. He now works as a carpenter in Parkesburgh, Pennsylvania.
 
 
 
 
 

04 Feb 68 Hello All,
 

Once again I haven't written but I haven't had too much time. Today is the 4th, 14 days left in the field and then I should be headed back to CONUS (Continental United States).

By the way, did you receive my $134.00 check I sent about Jan. 3rd? I can't write too long, we are going out in about an hour for an ambush. Here is a $159.00 check plus my W-2. I'll tell you-it's a hard way to make $1,206.00

Love,
Jim
 

PFC James J. Rice, from Newtonvilie, Massachusetts, served with Company K, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Regiment, 3r~ Marine Division. In action near the DMZ on 7 February 1968, he was killed while attempting to rescue a friend who had been badly wounded. He was 21 years old.
 
 
 

Tuy Hoa
7 Feb 66

Dear Mom,

I know you must be worried to death from not hearing from me, but at least it was unavoidable this time. We moved out about a week ago from our base camp at Tuy Hoa and replaced a unit of ROK [Republic of Korea] marines. I was right in the middle of a letter when we got the word to move, and I had to pack it away. These ROKs we replaced were dug in defensively in the middle of a rice paddy. They had been hit by two battalions of VC a few nights before, suffering 48 casualties and killing over 100 VC. They hadn't been sending out patrols or recon, so when they dropped us out here we had no idea what the situation was.

Since we've been here we've suffered pretty heavy casualties. Yesterday the count stood at 2 dead and 15 wounded. But last night B and C Companies got into it with a battalion of VC, and at last count there were 6 dead and many wounded. By the time you get this I imagine you will have-heard about the 101st on the news. We've killed a lot of VC and captured a lot of weapons, and that's what counts. -

I got into it pretty heavy a few days ago, and it was a miracle that I'm alive. I can give you the date and time and see if there was any indication of extreme danger at that time on my chart. It happened on the 4th of February. There were about 12 of us with the lieutenant out on a routine patrol and a half mile from the hill the rest of the company was on. We Were searching through an abandoned village looking mainly for chickens, eggs and mats to sleep on. We were crossing a dike between two houses when we were opened up on by about 10 VC with automatic weapons. I was, carrying the radio, which made me a prime target. That's not my usual job. On this particular day I ended up with it.

We started returning fire, and my weapon jammed on me on three different occasions. This whole fight was being observed by our men on the hill. We received instructions to try and maneuver and push the VC, which we were able to do fairly successfully, and were told that help was on the way. The guys on the hill said they could observe about a platoon of VC moving away from us. Anyway, they entered a tree line as we were coming out of another tree line with about a 300-yard, open rice paddy between us. We were about halfway across when they opened up from the tree line again. We were laying in about six inches of water and a foot of mud. We held back for an air strike and artillery. These helped some, but they didnÕt follow through.

We were told to begin pushing again. When we stood up, they wounded two men, and when the lieutenant ran over to one of them, they killed him. This put us without a leader because the platoon sergeant was way around to the left trying to flank them. About this time the' company was coming up behind us and they didn't know where we were exactly. The fire from the VC was going over us and into them and the company was firing back at us. So we were receiving murderous fire from both sides. They were so close that when one of us would try and stand up and tell our guys they were firing at us we could hear them yelling, "There's one! Get him! Get him!" We ended up with one seriously wounded by our own fire, and the other one we're not sure who got him. It was about 2:30 Pm. when they first fired on us and about 4:30 Pm. when we finally met up with the company and pushed the VC to the river. When you check your chart, be sure to allow for the time difference.

You probably can't tell too much from what I'm writing, but I'm mainly interested in getting this letter off to ease your worry As you can see I'm writing this on the back of one of Shawn's letters. I carry all your letters in the top of my helmet, and I was able to scrounge up an envelope. I'll close this now and [it] will go out on the resupply chopper.

Don't worry, and I'll write first chance I'll get.
 

Love,
Johnny
 

PFC John R. Rice, from Norfolk, Virginia, who arrived in Vietnam in December 1965, served with Company A, 2nd Battalion, 502nd Infantry, 101st Airborne Division, based at An Hoa. He was killed in action on 9 February 1966 before this letter to his mother, Mrs. Dorothy Dobrinsky, was mailed. He was 21 years old.
 
 
 
 
 

5 Feb '69

Dear Mic,

Time really seems to be going by now. Of course, next week I'll probably think it is creeping but at present it seems to be going pretty fast. Only two and a half more months to go! From all that is happening in little Laos it seems that I will keep quite busy, so that will help also. '

Baby, as you have probably guessed by now, R&R looks doubtful. Maj. McManners has the mid-February quota, and there is a quota open for March. Either me or Lt. Col. McLean, my boss, will get it. He hasn't made up his mind yet. I realize that is only a month before I would be home, but it would be worth it to me. How about you?

I think the R&R setup for us is a dirty shame: 12 quotas a year for Hawaii for 72 people. Sweetheart, I know that worrying about it has caused you a lot of heartache, but Joe has done all he could to try to get to Hawaii. I sort of feel like US. Army has let us down on this one.

The past few days here have been so cold I had to wear a field jacket all day. At night I just freeze. Gosh, won't it be nice to have someone to snuggle with again! Not just someone, but you! The idea really excites me, to put it mildly. Baby, I need your lovin'. Poor Robin, what will she ever think of her father-always taking Mommy off and locking her up in the bedroom three or four times a day. .

Well, baby, it looks, like I will have about six new ribbons on my uniform when I come home. All of that is classified, but if all the paperwork gets completed I will have received a little recognition for a generally thankless job. Also it is a little consolation that I have been asked to extend by our office, which I politely refused to do, and ordered to extend by the local commander---an order that, thank goodness, he cannot enforce! Don't worry, old Joseph will be home to his wife and daughter in April as planned even if he has to swim the Pacific.

Keep smiling, darling, for Joe thinks of you and loves you every minute of the day.

Your own,

Joe

Capt. Joseph Kerr Bush, Jr., whose home was in Temple, Texas, was serving as a military attache and adviser to Laotian forces at Moung Soui. He was killed during an attack by NVA commandos on 10 February 1969. For his actions he was posthumously awarded the Silver Star. Capt. Bush was 25 years old.
 
 
 

May 19, 1968 Dear Mom and Dad,

How is everyone? I hope fine. When you receive this letter, May will be Just about over. I will be down to six months and a couple of days left in December which amounts to nothing. I'm going to have a big celebration when I leave Vietnam. And when I get back to the World, I won't forget to keep the seventh day open to the Lord.

I guess the time is passing by fairly fast for you, because you're pretty busy "But not for me." Received all your letters, Ma, and I'm always glad to hear from a squared-away mother, as the Army would say it about a Number I soldier. It all just comes to the heading you're the best in my books, Ma.

Also heard from Aunt Flo. I know you will thank her for me, about writing to me, it was nice of her. So far you're doing good, Ma, about writing. Keep up the good work. Now I want to let you' know you will always be Number I mother in my books.

Heard you got Nancy a portable hair dryer. I think it was nice of you to always look out for the other person. But, remember, stay like you are, and dont let them take advantage of a well-natured mother. Also, keep up the good work, and keep the letters flowing in. Say hi to everyone.

Love,
Rick

RS. Watch my return address. I'm all over--everywhere.
 

Sp/4 Richard A. Carlson, a medic attached to Company D, 2nd Battalion, 8th Cavalry, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile), operating in I Corps, had been in Vietnam four months when he was killed while ministering to the wounded during on ambush on 24 May 1968. "Doc, I'm a mess," he said to a fellow medic. "Oh, God, I don't want to die. Mother, I don't want to die. Oh, God, don't let me die." These were his lost words. He was 20 years old.
 
 
 

[Dick,]
 

. . . Let me describe to you events of the recentpast. . . .I left for Utapao, Thailand, which is a little over 300 miles south of here on the coast. I had no clear idea as to what was going on, but we felt as though it had something to do with Saigon for the obvious reason that themilitary and political situation there wasdeteriorating rapidly.

The next morning, which was a Sunday, I went to an intelligence briefing. They told me that I was going to fly my airplane . . . to a Navy carrier. Well, that was not really a surprise because Utapao is on the ocean and we knew that the Seventh Fleet was doing some weird thing out there.

But I didn't know that the goddamn carrier was 500 miles away--off the coast of South Vietnam.

Well, obviously I did manage to find the carrier, the U.S.S. Midway. Iassure you that they are not as large when they are on the ocean as they appear to be when they are tied up at the dock.

I landed on the carrier and was quickly indoctrinated into the way of the Navy. I didn't like it one goddamn bit. We went to daily intelligence briefings, and basically the situation was this: We were there to evacuate American citizens, selected Vietnamese and other delegated third-country nationals at the last possible moment if the situation deteriorated to the point that they couldn't use Tan Son Nhut airfield, which serves Saigon...

I made four sorties into Saigon. The situation with 150,000 [enemy troops] around the city, of course, was not the most salubrious situation in which to take a big, lumbering aircraft with nothing but defensive weapons to take people out.

And, of course, Tan Son Nhut was closed.

I could tell you about how real the fear was that I felt, since from the time we crossed the Delta and made the run into Saigon we were over enemy territory. We were being fire upon by anti-aircraft guns. The VC had commandeered Air America Hueys and they were flying them around, which simply made for a very interesting chess game.

I mean, it was bad. We thought- that they were going to call off the operation when it became dark, because we never expected them to send us into such a bad situation to begin with, even if it was daytime. But, as you probably know, they continued the mission until nearly 5 o'clock in the morning. The night sorties were the worst, because we flew lights out. The tracers kept everybody on edge. To see a city burning gives one a strange feeling of insecurity.

Tan Son Nhut was being constantly shelled, and when I see you I will show you some pictures of where I was going in relationship to what was happening. And you can judge for yourself that it wasn't the best of all situations.

I learned something...oh, that's the wrong way to say it. I was given something, as a result of this trip the answer to the question: Why did I come?

It isn't very easy for me to even tell myself what the motivation was to come here. It was more the feeling than something concrete. I have been repaid. And that's possibly a funny way of saying it, but that's the way I feel.

There is a disadvantage to this. [The] task which I had outlined for myself [and] felt that I had to accomplish is over. And I cannot assure myself this time that I am prepared to make any kind of decision as to what I am going to do next. I have been seriously considering-in regard to this uncertainty-simply leaving the Air Force. I don't think it has much to offer me any more....

I went into this thing searching for something. I have it now...

Let me throw a couple of facts your way, which may conflict with what you have been reading in the papers. I call them facts in that I saw them happen. I will throw them out for whatever they are worth. Number One: At approximately 9 O'clock on the morning of the 29th [of April, 1975], which was the day that the mission was executed, a Vietnamese Huey flew out towards [the] sea, and found a carrier.

It was nearly out of gas. It made an emergency landing on the carrier. [At that time] anybody who had an ability to fly anything commandeered aircraft from whatever source [out of Vietnam]. They flew out their families and their children and in some cases select individuals.

This aircraft that landed--landed about 50 feet away from mine--and the man who got out of this aircraft [had been] quoted approximately a week earlier as saying that any South Vietnamese who left the country [was a] coward and that everybody should remain in South Vietnam and fight to the bitter end. This very same man was the first person to arrive on the U.S.S. Midway and, to my knowledge, the first to be recovered by the 7th Fleet. This man was General [Nguyen Cao] Ky [vice-president of the Republic of South Vietnam]. Now I really don't have any personal feelings about the war over here. I really don't care one way or the other in regard to who is right and who is wrong, because that's a waste of time, a waste of thinking. But I did find myself feeling that I wish he had been shot down....

We pulled out close to 2,000 people. We couldn't pull out any more because it was beyond human endurance to go any more....

I am back now. I got back today. I am in bits and pieces, fairly incoherent only because it's been such a fast pace. I assure [you] that I am in one piece. It could have been a different story. But I may have told you before that I am somewhat fatalistic about believing that I shall never come to serious harm in the military...

I can envision a small cottage someplace, with a lot of writing paper, and a dog, and a fireplace, and maybe enough money to give myself some Irish coffee now and then and entertain my two friends....

I dont think it will be too terribly long before we are together again.

I wish you peace, and I have a great deal of faith that the future has to be ours.

Adios, my friend.
 

Air Force At. Richard Van de Geer, from Lorain, Ohio, a helicopter pilot assigned to the 21 st Special Operations Squadron, based at Nohom Phnom, Thailand, participated in the evacuations of Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and Saigon in 1975. When the Cambodians seized the S.S. Mayaguez, his unit was again called into action. As his chopper, filled with Marines, flew into the inland of Koh Tong, it was blown out of the sky by enemy forces. There were no remains. This is an excerpt of a tape Lt. Van de Geer sent to his close friend Richard Sanclza, who received it on the morning of 15 May 1975, the day Lt. Van de Geer was killed. Officially, Richard Van de Geer was the 'last American to die in the Vietnam War.
 
 

"'Remember, Mom if something should happen to me please don't be too sad because at least I will have done my share of good in life. So be proud, not sorrowful." Although he was wounded in Vietnam, Hospital Corpsman Gary Panko survived his tour. Billy Stocks did not.
 

Mrs. Eleanor Wimbish, of Glen Burnie, Maryland, is the mother of William R. Stocks. She leaves letters to him-her dead son-under his name on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. For her, he will always be more than a name etched on a wall.

For. Veterans, and for others, like Mrs. Wimbish, the pain and anguish of the war linger on, scarring our souls, a stain on the national psyche. No memorial can fix this. "Maybe the war will end soon," Navy Lieutenant Richard Strandberg wrote to his wife Susan in 1968. "Wishful thinking? Yes. The Vietnam War will never end."
 
 

Dear Bill,

Today is February 13, 1984. 1 came to this black wall to see and touch your name, and as I do I wonder if anyone ever stops to realize that next to your name, on this -black wall, is your mother's heart. A heart broken 15 years ago today, when you lost your life in Vietnam.

And as I look at your name, William R. Stocks, I think of how many, many times I used to wonder how scared and homesick you must have been in that strange country called Vietnam. And if and how it might have changed you, for you were the most happy go-lucky kid in the world, hardly ever sad or unhappy. And until the day I die, I will see you as you laughed at me, even when I was very mad at you, and the next thing I knew, We were laughing together.

But on this past New Year's Day, I had my answer. I talked by phone to a friend of yours from Michigan, who spent your last Christmas and the last four months of your life with you. Jim told me how you died, for he was there and saw the helicopter crash. He told me how you had flown your quota and had not been scheduled to fly that day.. How the regular pilot was unable to fly, and had been replaced by. someone with less experience. How they did not know the exact cause of the crash. How it was either hit by enemy fire, or they hit a pole or something' unknown. How the blades went through the chopper and hit you. How you lived about a half hour, but were unconscious and therefore did not suffer.

He said how your jobs were like sitting ducks. They would send you men out to draw the enemy into the open and then they would send in the big guns and planes to take over. Meantime, death came to so many of you.

He told me how, after a while over there, instead of a yellow streak, the men got a mean streak down their backs. Each day the streak got bigger and the menbecame meaner. Everyone but you Bill. He said how you stayed the same, happy-go-lucky guy that you were when you arrived in Vietnam. How your warmth and friendliness drew the guys to you. How your [lieutenant] gave you the nickname of "Spanky," and soon your group, Jim included, were all known as "Spanky's gang." How when you died it made it so much harder on them for you were their moral support. And he said how you of all people should never have been the one to die.

Oh, God, how it hurts to write this. But I must face it and then put it to rest. I know that after Jim talked to me, he must have relived it all over again and suffered so. Before I hung up the phone I told Jim I loved him. Loved him for just being your close friend, and for sharing the last days of your life with you, and for being there with you when you died. How lucky you were to have him for a friend, and how lucky he was to have had you.

Later that same day I received a phone call from a mother in Billings, Montana. She had lost her daughter, her only a child, a year ago. She needed someone to talk to for no one would let her talk about the tragedy. She said she had seen me on (television] on New Years Eve, after the Christmas letter I wrote to you and left at this memorial had drawn newspaper and television attention. She said she had been thinking about me, all day, and just had to talk to me. She talked to me of her pain, and seemingly needed me to help her with it. I cried with this heartbroken mother, and after I hung up the phone, I laid my head down and cried as hard. for her. Here was a mother calling me for help with her pain over the loss of her child, a grown daughter. And as I sobbed I thought, how can I help her with her pain when J have never completely been able to cope with my own?

They tell me the letters I write to you and leave here at this memorial are waking others up to the fact that there is still much pain left, after all these years, from the Vietnam War.

But this I know. I would rather to have had you for 21 years, and all the pain that goes with losing you, than never to have had you at all. -
 

Mom