Jakob called me on November 11th with a "Happy Veteran's Day". Nice of him to do so even though his Dad was standing alongside prodding him on. Uf dah, it's not easy saying a simple thank you when there so many conflicting thoughts running through your head.
What can I say? The war sucked? I didn't really want to be there? It was an ugly war that should never have been fought? Can't say I'd have understood such ideas back when I was eight.
Whatever I did say probably reflected my jumbled mind. A little stammering, a stutter or two, then a simple thank you. Before I die I'll have to have a heart to heart with all my grandchildren. Let them know what the war in Vietnam was like from a grunt's point of view. Doubt very much their high school history classes will get it right.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Woolwine IV
Sometimes I'm incredibly stupid. Awhile back I received a comment from the son of Bobby Woolwine. Sure didn't see that coming. And don't know how he found this blog unless he did a lot of digging. Regardless, he did write me a note concerning his dad and though Jason's words have stuck with me over the months, I've haven't written of them.
From what Jason wrote, Bobby Woolwine's life was greatly affected by his time in Vietnam. Still had shrapnel in his body and eye. has suffered from post traumatic stress syndrome and is now passing through dementia. Seems like those who went through the worst shit during the war were doomed to live through the worst shit afterwards. Not a whole lot of justice in that situation as far as I can see.
Over the years I've searched the internet for Woolwine and a few others with nothing to show for my efforts. Don't know what I'd do even if I did get a few hits. That was then and this is now. Doubt I'm even the same person I was in those olive drab days.
To this point in my life I've found it best to turn my memories into words and store them in this blog. Better here than festering away in my mind. So, I'll sign off for now and maybe do an internet check of Bobby's name.
From what Jason wrote, Bobby Woolwine's life was greatly affected by his time in Vietnam. Still had shrapnel in his body and eye. has suffered from post traumatic stress syndrome and is now passing through dementia. Seems like those who went through the worst shit during the war were doomed to live through the worst shit afterwards. Not a whole lot of justice in that situation as far as I can see.
Over the years I've searched the internet for Woolwine and a few others with nothing to show for my efforts. Don't know what I'd do even if I did get a few hits. That was then and this is now. Doubt I'm even the same person I was in those olive drab days.
To this point in my life I've found it best to turn my memories into words and store them in this blog. Better here than festering away in my mind. So, I'll sign off for now and maybe do an internet check of Bobby's name.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Easter
Yesterday was Easter. That means I was on one of my rare visits to a church. Even spiffed up a bit. A disguise to wear into the valley of death in hopes of warding off evil. As usual it's a reluctancy. Stuffed in a building with a crowd of people singing about things I don't believe in. Don't find true. Makes me feel guilty I'm in the building and not in the open air.
There's an up side. Church moves me inward. I drift off to other locations and times. Kinda like being in the Army. My body in one place, my mind in another.
Seeing as how it was the day it was, my drift begins in the direction of Oakland Army Base, 1969. Guess that's forty-five years ago as the crow flies. Left for Vietnam on Easter sunday. Nothing gets me out of where I am at the moment like that day and the months that followed.
Lacking the ability to hold onto a single train of thought, my airhead moves elsewhere from the Nam. Yesterday my drift was with my Uncle Emil and the tale I recently rough drafted about him. Being in church I got to thinking that maybe he could be my mouthpiece concerning belief. Hate to put the man in that off-putting position but better him than me. Dragging that kind of stuff out in the open riles up my nerves. Makes me think no matter what I say it has no weight. Just guesswork in a world floating on belief and calling it gospel.
Can't say my attitude in church started in Vietnam but it sure had a few nails driven in over there. Since then nails have just kept on coming.
On a similar level and definitely related were the times we stood in formation to honor those who'd been killed in a previous operation. Bayonetted M-16 stabbed into the ground, helmet on top, boots to either side at the base. Much like the man without the body. Then a brief speech by Bravo 6, our CO, that drew on our mission to stop the spread of Communism. The boys had not died in vain. Amen.
Gotta say those memorials tended to piss me off. To me the deaths didn't have much of a point to them. Coupla guys got caught in the meat grinder and would just have soon been alive and home. Don't know how the others felt 'cause there was no way the subject could have been brought up. Life in the big war. Suck it up, keep your mouth shut and head back out to the field.
In short, it's my problem, for better or worse. And not something easily spoken of in polite society.
There's an up side. Church moves me inward. I drift off to other locations and times. Kinda like being in the Army. My body in one place, my mind in another.
Seeing as how it was the day it was, my drift begins in the direction of Oakland Army Base, 1969. Guess that's forty-five years ago as the crow flies. Left for Vietnam on Easter sunday. Nothing gets me out of where I am at the moment like that day and the months that followed.
Lacking the ability to hold onto a single train of thought, my airhead moves elsewhere from the Nam. Yesterday my drift was with my Uncle Emil and the tale I recently rough drafted about him. Being in church I got to thinking that maybe he could be my mouthpiece concerning belief. Hate to put the man in that off-putting position but better him than me. Dragging that kind of stuff out in the open riles up my nerves. Makes me think no matter what I say it has no weight. Just guesswork in a world floating on belief and calling it gospel.
Can't say my attitude in church started in Vietnam but it sure had a few nails driven in over there. Since then nails have just kept on coming.
On a similar level and definitely related were the times we stood in formation to honor those who'd been killed in a previous operation. Bayonetted M-16 stabbed into the ground, helmet on top, boots to either side at the base. Much like the man without the body. Then a brief speech by Bravo 6, our CO, that drew on our mission to stop the spread of Communism. The boys had not died in vain. Amen.
Gotta say those memorials tended to piss me off. To me the deaths didn't have much of a point to them. Coupla guys got caught in the meat grinder and would just have soon been alive and home. Don't know how the others felt 'cause there was no way the subject could have been brought up. Life in the big war. Suck it up, keep your mouth shut and head back out to the field.
In short, it's my problem, for better or worse. And not something easily spoken of in polite society.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Thoughts
If you were a Grunt or a Marine your road wasn't a fun one to travel. 'Bout as shitty a one as most Baby Boomers walked. Unless, of course, you were maimed or killed, then it was more or less a one way or a dead end. But for the bulk of us it was only a year long misery with a hole or two in your body. A year done, you got on the bird and went home to deal with your ghosts. Coulda been worse, a whole lot worse, for someone as relatively lucky as I was.
On the other hand the ARVNs weren't so lucky. When the domino tumbled there was no freedom flight warmin' up its engines for them. They were screwed 'cause they'd bet on the wrong horse. Someday should you passing an aging Vietnamese on the street and ask them how the '70s were.
Then there was the NVA. The war over, they hobbled home, if they could, to a country that was bombed all to hell. Back to scroungin' out their next meal in a land where nothin' was certain. Or maybe they stayed in the Army and went after Hmongs or Cambodians just so they could keep their killin' honed to a fine edge.
And then there were all the women and children who endured the bombin', agent orangin', bein' relocated, raped and a ton of other shit I don't have a clue about.
The Hmongs fought on our side with the guarantee we wouldn't abandon them. Then we abandoned them. Years of being hunted down and killed by the North Vietnamese followed. Some finally made it to the USA after a half dozen or more years of running, hiding, dying and at the end, refugee camps. Once in America, they were treated like there was no reason for them to be here.
A third of all Cambodians died in the Killing Fields where dead bodies helped fill the vacuum we left behind.
Seems like all of the things we fought to prevent were only made worse. But considering what we left behind I thank my lucky stars, God, whatever, that I went home to what passes on this planet for heaven. In short, it coulda been worse. A lot worse.
On the other hand the ARVNs weren't so lucky. When the domino tumbled there was no freedom flight warmin' up its engines for them. They were screwed 'cause they'd bet on the wrong horse. Someday should you passing an aging Vietnamese on the street and ask them how the '70s were.
Then there was the NVA. The war over, they hobbled home, if they could, to a country that was bombed all to hell. Back to scroungin' out their next meal in a land where nothin' was certain. Or maybe they stayed in the Army and went after Hmongs or Cambodians just so they could keep their killin' honed to a fine edge.
And then there were all the women and children who endured the bombin', agent orangin', bein' relocated, raped and a ton of other shit I don't have a clue about.
The Hmongs fought on our side with the guarantee we wouldn't abandon them. Then we abandoned them. Years of being hunted down and killed by the North Vietnamese followed. Some finally made it to the USA after a half dozen or more years of running, hiding, dying and at the end, refugee camps. Once in America, they were treated like there was no reason for them to be here.
A third of all Cambodians died in the Killing Fields where dead bodies helped fill the vacuum we left behind.
Seems like all of the things we fought to prevent were only made worse. But considering what we left behind I thank my lucky stars, God, whatever, that I went home to what passes on this planet for heaven. In short, it coulda been worse. A lot worse.
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