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Category Archives: Vietnam Veterans

Memorial Day 2016 and Memories of the Wall in DC

28 Saturday May 2016

Posted by stjohnveterans in Vietnam Veterans

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combat veterans, honor guard, Memorial Day, survivor's guilt, veterans, Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall, Vietnam Wall

The Wall-2The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall is composed of seventy-four separate panels, measuring forty inches in width, meeting at an angle in the center, where the tallest panels are slightly over ten feet. This is where the list of names starts. Beginning with the date 1959, and continuing back to the end of the East section, the names appear to recede into the ground, only to “reappear” at the start of the West section, ending once again in the center with the date 1975. Thus, the circle of war is complete, broken only by the earth itself.

One hundred and thirty-seven names are listed on the tallest panels. The shortest panel has one. The last four panels are blank. The names are listed in chronological order by the date of the casualty. Within each day, the names are alphabetized. Most of the panels have five names per line inscribed, but some are now carrying six. As of 2016, the total number of names is 58,315, with about 1,200 marked as still missing (MIAs, POWs, and others).

As with all family members of Vietnam veterans living or dead, I have a special interest in one of the panels: Panel 3 East. Panel 3 East represents the Ia Drang Valley ambush. My oldest brother was one of the survivors of that fierce battle. In 2005, I went to a First Cavalry reunion that marked the fortieth anniversary of the battle. I met other survivors of that terrible time and slowly learned that most, if not all, still suffer with what they had to see, and what they had to do, in country. The veterans talked casually and warmly, often with great wit and charm, until that sound…or that word…or that photograph…came into their view and suddenly, there it was again: that gray, pained, haunted look that I was beginning to recognize.

In the wee hours of Sunday on that Veterans’ Day weekend, we all gathered at Panel 3 East before sunrise in preparation for a reading of the names by (Ret.) Colonel Hal Moore and Joe Galloway. Moore and Galloway are authors of the book that describes the battle, We Were Soldiers Once…and Young.

The veterans who gathered at the Wall in the darkest hours before the dawn, were somber and straight….noble in their bearing. Their eyes shifted from the ground to the Panel, then to the ground again. The family members kept close, warily watching their veteran, wondering if they could be strong enough to face whatever emotion would be called forth from the depths of those they loved, who have already given so much.

The First Cavalry Honor Guard was standing at attention on the top of the PanFirst Cav Color Guard at the Wallel, with the flag and the campaign ribbons of the First Cavalry. In the pre-dawn darkness, you could only see them when a flash from a camera exploded. Then the blue and gray, red white and blue, became etched against the black of the night in eerie poignancy.

Moore and Galloway took their places in front of the panel as the sun’s rays began to creep upon the ground, encasing the entire memorial in a grayish light. One by one, the names were read with deep respect and choked voices. With each name, the sun’s morning band of colors widened their grip of the earth, broadening their reach against the panel. Name after name, the dawn crept in stealthily, gently highlighting the Honor Guard, and bleeding the reddish hue of the dawn down the panel like a stream of blood on a battlefield. Stifled sobs could be heard in the intense quiet of the group and above the sound of a name being read. I was ashamed to feel relief that I didn’t have to listen that closely – my brother’s name wasn’t on that wall.

I began to search the faces of the living veterans, wondering how often they went “back there.” Were they suffering with night terrors or flashbacks? Did they feel out of place in their skin because America had no place to file them away after they came back? Were they feeling survivor’s guilt and thinking their names should be on that panel, instead of their comrades?

Their shaking shoulders told me everything I needed to know. And in knowing, my heart broke.  Being at the Wall in that cold, haunting dawn, and hearing the roll call of the dead in front of the names, took battlefield courage.

I knew that many outstanding veterans, who had fought on Vietnam soil and faced the enemy with determination and guts, would never find the courage to visit the Wall and see for themselves, the names of their friends and colleagues who gave the ultimate sacrifice. Or, attend a reunion and see their friends and “brothers.” Their suffering is too much to bear already.

Tears slid down my cheeks. I turned back to stare at the Panel, hearing the veterans crying for those whose names are listed, and I cried with them.

But I wasn’t crying for the names on the Wall. I was crying for those whose names are not.

The lost brothers and sisters-in-arms from the Vietnam War are now at peace.  May those they left behind find some, too.

 

Facts about the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall:

The Memorial consists of three pieces: the Wall of Names, the Three Servicemen Statue and Flagpole, and the Vietnam Women’s memorial.

No federal funds were needed to construct the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall. Almost $9,000,000 in private contributions was donated..

The flag flies twenty-four hours, seven days a week to pay tribute to the men and women listed on the Wall of Names.

No civilians are listed on the Wall of Names.

The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall is visited by over four million people annually.

 

 

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ViêtNow Convention 2013 – My Speech

05 Saturday Apr 2014

Posted by stjohnveterans in Vietnam Veterans

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Branson Missouri 2013, combat veterans, Hal Moore, Ia Drang Valley, Joe Galloway, Landing Zone Albany, Landing Zone XRay, PTSD, veterans, Vietnam veterans, Vietnam War, VietNow convention, We Were Soldiers Once and Young

DSC_0003 ViêtNow  Convention 2013

“Over time, the war came to mean less and less, until it meant nothing at all….and meanwhile, the other soldiers came to mean more and more until they came to mean everything.”

–       David Finkel, author, “Thank You For Your Service”

My name is Karen St. John. I’m a writer. I’m here not because I have a cause or a contribution to share with you or to tell you about. I am here simply to tell you how much I care about you.

I didn’t always. I never even thought about you. But there was something that happened to me in my life that changed me forever. I want to tell you about that and I want to tell you about what I was like before then and what I am doing about it now.

I am deeply grateful to ViêtNow for all the wonderful opportunities that it has given me as a writer. At the top of my list is being at this convention with you folks. I have never met a kinder, nicer group of people than you, who have welcomed me with open arms. No questions, no expectations. I was here, that’s all that that you needed to know. But of course that didn’t surprise me because you’re veterans…and I’ve come to understand a little bit about you veterans.

I have had enormous pleasure learning about this group: you are very straightforward, very honest; you want people to shoot from the hip, thank you kindly, and you want transparency. So I am going to be real honest with you and I’m going to say there are some things that I do not bring to this podium. But there are some things that I do.

The first thing that I’m going to tell you is what I don’t bring to the podium.

I am not a veteran. I am not an important person. I am not the CEO of a company. I don’t run a media organization and I’m not a legislator, I can’t make laws for you. I have absolutely no fantastic skill that counts. And, I’m average.

Now. Here’s what I do bring to this podium.

I am not a veteran, but I proudly come from a family of veterans. My father served in WW II, and all of my three brothers served in the service.   My younger brother Dave served in the National Guard. My older brother Wayne served in the Air Force. He was stationed out in Mountain Home Air Force Base in Boise, Idaho. The first time I rode a train and saw mountains was when I went to see him. My oldest brother Bob joined the Army and is a Vietnam War veteran. (“Tell him we said, ‘Welcome home.’”) Thank you. He will appreciate that.

There was one weekend in 2005 that changed my life forever. I had no idea that it was going to. I am not the same person I was before that weekend that I am now. Because of that weekend I now write for you. I try to bring concerns and issues that matter to you to the nation’s conscience. Or maybe I should say, with you Vietnam veterans, I am trying to give the nation a conscience. That would probably be more accurate.

Most of my experiences that caused transformation in my life have been through combat veterans. I don’t want those of you veterans who have served in times of peace to feel that I don’t understand you. A veteran is a veteran is a veteran. Combat veterans have laid the pathway for me to other veterans, not just in this country, but worldwide. The same issues concern every veteran.

The past two nights at this convention…when you all stood up when a patriotic song was sung… you grabbed the hand next to you like this (raised arm). You made one chain going around this room with all your hands up…that’s what combat veterans have done for me. I am connected to every veteran in this nation and in this world because of combat veterans, and I am damned proud of it. Pardon my language.

My father suffered from “shell shock.” He found refuge in alcohol and detachment. It wasn’t until you Vietnam veterans came home that people actually got a little bit concerned and decided they were going see if maybe, war was a little bit dangerous for people. They interviewed Vietnam vets who had come home and found out that everybody was adjusting just wonderfully. They had no problems, they were back into a social life, everything was honkey dorey.

That’s what the study discovered.

Then 25 years later, the people who did the study decided that maybe they’d come back and see how those Vietnam veterans were still doing.

They were startled at what they discovered. The Vietnam veterans said, “I’m depressed. I’m suicidal. I’m having nightmares. I’m full of rage. I’m full of anger.”

Not every combat vet was that way, because not every combat vet who experiences trauma suffers afterwards. But because of that study, because of you Vietnam veterans, we finally have figured out that “shell shock” – “combat fatigue” – is actually post-traumatic stress disorder. And because of you Vietnam veterans, they’re finally starting to do something about it. In my opinion, they are not doing nearly enough. But I am very grateful that they have started to do something. I didn’t understand all of this stuff as a little girl. All I knew was that my daddy was drunk a lot and he didn’t seem to like me very much.

In my family I was one of five children, smack dab in the middle. But there’s quite a span of ages between the youngest one and the oldest one. Twenty years. Because my father was not emotionally around, I looked up to the oldest who was Bob. He became a father figure for me. When he was the first one to join the services, I was very proud. I mean…what is not to like about a military uniform? What is not to be impressed about the presentation of the colors? I was very impressed with the uniform, I was very proud of my brother Bob.

He graduated from Officer Candidate School in June of 1965. In August of 1965 he got his orders to go to some kind of a weird place…somewhere I’d never heard of….started with a “v” something. I found out it was called “Vietnam.” When he left he said, “Write to me because letters are going to be important.” As soon as I got home I sat down and wrote my first letter to him and mailed it. I did that every day until he came back from Vietnam. Every day, even on a Sunday when the mail wouldn’t even go out, because I knew letters mattered to my brother. He told me so. He also told me everything was going to be okay.

When you have a loved one and you’re left behind…and your loved one is going to a dangerous situation…nothing is normal. Your whole life changes for you.

My family’s house was huge. It sat up on top of a hill. You had to walk up cement steps and onto its veranda, a wooden porch that would wind all the way around half the house. We lived in a very small town with 300 people. When you live in a town that size, you have neighbors who just stop in whenever they feel like it. They don’t call and say, “Hey, is this a good time?” They just pop in. When they popped into our house, they had to walk up the cement steps to the veranda. If they walked straight and took a couple of steps, they’d be walking into the living room door. But in a small town, you don’t walk into the living room door, because that means you’re kind of uppity. No. You go right around and you come in the kitchen door. If somebody in my small town had walked into my mother’s house through the living room door, her first thought would have been, “Are you mad at me? What are you in the living room for? Come back into the kitchen!” People loved my mother, she always had the coffee pot on. They were always coming up the steps, getting on the wooden porch, going around and coming back to the kitchen.

On a day in October of 1965, I was in that kitchen with my mother. Because it was a beautiful day, all the windows and all the doors were open. And then I heard the steps.

Do you know what it’s like to hear footsteps on a wooden porch?

Thump. Thump. Thump. Heavy. Steady. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I had been doing some studying about the War. I had been watching TV. Vietnam was the first War was that was telecast on the news with footage from the lines. I’m not sure what I think about that broadcasting war on TV and seeing the deaths. When the footage came on, I looked for the face of my brother every time. When I saw a body on a stretcher, and there was a hand sticking out with a watch on it, I would say, “Oh, my god, Bob has a watch like that! That must be Bob!” Or if I saw a dead body on the ground, I’d look at those boots and I would say, “OH MY GOD, MY BROTHER HAS BOOTS LIKE THAT!” Well, duh. Everybody had boots like that. But as I said, when you have a loved one in a dangerous situation, there is no such thing as normal. Everything turns into fear.

There I was in that kitchen on that October day with Bob gone when I heard those footsteps on that wooden porch, coming at me…and I thought, “I don’t recognize those.”

I had kept asking people, “What if something would happen to my brother, how would I know?” They said, ‘Oh, you’d probably get a telegram. Or more than likely, people in uniform would come and tell you.” So I was always afraid of people I didn’t know. And I did not recognize these footsteps.

I heard ‘em coming around…thump…thump…thump….and I kept thinking, “There is NO WAY my brother is not coming home! He promised me! He told me, ‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ ” and I believed him.

Those footsteps started getting closer and closer and I was thinking, “Is…is that ONE person? The death squad…that comes in twos…right!?! I think it’s just one person.” I’m there, listening to these footsteps that are getting closer and closer upon me. When all of a sudden the kitchen door is pulled wide open and a neighbor sticks her head in and says, “Hey? Got any coffee?” My mom said, “Sure! Come on in.”

I could only stand there and stare. I stared at the wall opposite me as my neighbor went by me, and I saw my heart that she had grabbed out of my chest and smacked up against that wall, slide down that wall bleeding. I was so scared for my brother. But then I put my chin back up, and I was more determined than ever that he was going to come home.

Although I had begun knowing a lot more about Vietnam, I am glad I didn’t know everything.

In mid-November, I did not know that my Second Lieutenant brother was on a plane with his platoon and heading out for much needed R & R when his radio man handed him the radio and said, “Sir? We got some new orders.” I did not know that when my brother took the radio and said, “Yep? Yes, sir!” that the plane was going to be turned back to the front lines. I did not know that in the Central Highlands of Vietnam, in a lovely little valley with the Ia Drang River running through it, that the 7th Cav was there in battle and they were in trouble. They were calling in reinforcements. My brother belonged to A Company, First of the Fifth. They were one of the first groups that was called in.

I did not know any of that. I also did not know that the life span of a Second Lieutenant in the Ia Drang Valley of Vietnam was a whopping three minutes.

The second day, November 16, 1965, his group was leaving from an area called Landing Zone X-Ray, and moving to a spot called Landing Zone Albany when they were ambushed by mortar fire. My brother was leading his group into the mortar, which he explained to me afterwards, is what you do. That army does not make sense, but he was trying to get his men out of danger when he was hit by mortar in his back and fell to the ground. He should have died instantly, but he didn’t. He hung on. Four of his men picked him up, put him in his poncho, and under heavy enemy fire, began taking him to the Medevac site. His men had to drop him constantly to fire back at the enemy to save their own lives; over and over, they picked him up, dropped him, picked him up, dropped him, all the way to the Medevac site.   There was one moment when my brother slid right out of the poncho in a sea of his own blood. They picked him up, put him back in and made it to the Medevac site. The medic there took over and stopped my brother from bleeding to death.

This was the first major battle of the Vietnam War and it was horrific. There were many casualties in a short period of time, and many wounded waiting to be Medivac-ed out. But while my brother waited, the Medevac helicopters back at base were told not to go in any more because the enemy fire was so bad.

Well, hold on a minute, demanded two supply pilots. Absolute nonsense, they argued. They were not going to leave any man behind, and they were NOT going to leave our wounded behind. Too Tall Freeman and Bruce Crandall decided they were going to take their supply helicopters and they would make the runs to pick up our guys.

My brother had to wait his turn. He was in and out of consciousness, much like the day was going from light to dark. Everybody knew that the copters couldn’t come in at night because of the enemy fire. As the day turned into evening my brother prayed that if he would die, it would not be on foreign soil. He wanted to live long enough to die on American soil.

Evening settled in and it was determined that he was going to be on the next copter that made it in. He waited for the sound. And then…

Sure enough, the “whomp whomp whomp whomp” – the sound of hope – was coming in.

They loaded up my brother onto the helicopter and two weeks, three countries, and several operations later, we knew that he was going to stay alive. That he was going to come home. That he was going to be walking and talking.

The first time he came up our steps and I gave him a hug, he looked like my brother, he smelled like my brother, he sounded like my brother. But when I stepped back and looked into his eyes, I saw a stranger.   He was not my brother any more. He had a “stare” that I didn’t know why was there.

In 2002 he retired from his work and was belatedly diagnosed as having post-traumatic stress disorder. We started to talk then about the experiences that he had. He started telling me what it was like to be in combat and I started telling him what it was like to be back home, left behind, feeling alone and not being able to do anything about it. So when 2005 came around and he got word that there was a forty-year reunion of the Ia Drang Valley survivors, I said, “You aren’t going to go without me, I’ll meet you out there.”

A book had been written by Hal Moore and Joe Galloway, and a movie made about that ambush in the Ia Drang Valley called, “We Were Soldiers Once and Young”. My brother had bought me a paperback and had written down his own comments in pencil. He is mentioned in the book by rank and what happened to him was described. Someone said to me, “Take a hard cover because Joe and Hal are going to be there and they can sign it for you.”

I flew out there on a Friday to meet my brother, his wife and one of their sons. When I got to the hotel he and his family were still out for dinner. I knew there was a reception that night, a banquet on Saturday night, and service at the Wall on dawn Sunday morning. I called my brother and told him I’d meet him at that evening’s reception.

I grabbed my hard cover book, got in the elevator, and headed for the reception. I did not know that when I left that hotel room, I was going to return to it later as a different Karen St. John than the one who was just leaving. I just got in the elevator, went down to the floor and when the elevator opened up, I stepped out.

But I couldn’t go any further.

It wasn’t because I didn’t know where the reception was. It was right there, through the double door ahead of me. It wasn’t because I was afraid to go in. That room had nice people. I knew that. It was because I felt something. Something strong around me. The voices…you could hear them…they sounded like normal voices…but I could feel something in those voices whirling around me, wrapping all the way around me. I stood there and thought, “There is something in the air here. There is something different about this and I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out.” I decided I was going to be kind of quiet. Which is a feat for me.

I walked into the reunion and when the veterans came up to me to chat, I thought, “You know…they’re all…normal. They’ve been through one of the worst things in their entire life and they look like normal people. They act like normal people. They’re talkin’. They’re walkin’. They’re having a good time. Some are quiet. Some are chatty. Some are gregarious. But they’re normal people!”

Veterans would ask, “Do you want me to sign your book? I’m on page such-and-such.” Mmm…YES! Someone said, “See that tall guy over there?” Oh, yeah, the one, like, two heads above everybody else? Telling raunchy jokes? They said, “That’s Too Tall Freeman.” I introduced myself to that Medal of Honor recipient who then signed my book. I also met Joe Marm, another Medal of Honor survivor. As if that wasn’t enough to comprehend all at once, somebody then said, “See that guy over there, in the middle of the group? He’s a nice guy.” People were lined up to talk to him. I was told to introduce myself to the nice man whose name was Bruce Crandall. Did I know who he was?” I said, “Yes, I know who he is, I read the book.” So I went over, introduced myself to Bruce, a future Medal of Honor recipient, and went back to the party. I hung out with my brother, got my book signed by the authors and enjoyed myself. But as the night started going by and it started getting darker, things started to change for the veterans.

I didn’t know what caused the increasing unease. The Honor Guard was still standing in the back with the ribbons from the campaigns…but things were getting tense. Things were getting uncomfortable. I didn’t know what was going on. I turned around and I happened to look over in Bruce’s direction just as he had turned around. I was shocked to see all the joy was out of his eyes. He had a haunted look. The same look my brother had. I didn’t understand it then.

You folks talk in code, you just don’t know it. Veterans would walk up to each other and say, “How is your night?” And someone would answer back, “I’m back in country.” And I thought to myself, “Why the heck would you go out in the country in the dark when you can’t see anything?” Or they would say, “How is so and so? How’s his mind?” “He’s back there.” What? Where’s “back”?   And then they started talking in percentages. They’d say, “What’s your percentage?” “30%.” “You should have 100. Call me. I’ll tell you who to talk to.”

I now understand what all of that means. I understand PTSD night terrors, back in country…I understand the Veterans Affairs percentages. I didn’t understand it then. What I understood was, I was mistaken. Those real men were not ordinary men. Those were heroes. They were tough. They were like steel…honed on the central highlands of Vietnam; and I had the privilege of being with them.

That banquet on Saturday…when I saw those colors come in and all those uniforms…I still liked the uniforms, but it was when everybody there got to stand up and introduce himself and say what company he was with, that changed me. I realized during those introductions, that I was no longer impressed with the uniform…I was impressed with the human being in it. That was my first change that weekend.

On Sunday they had a pre-dawn service at the Wall, Panel 3 East, and roll call. That’s a whole, entire, different experience. I wrote about it and it’s on the literary wall of the online Vietnam Memorial Wall page if you ever want to read it. That was a profound moment for me and my second change. Because as I stood there, I cried…not just for those whose names who were on the Wall, but for those whose weren’t.

That weekend absolutely changed my life forever. I went from not caring about veterans, not being concerned about veterans, to being an advocate about what’s important to you, and wanting to do everything that I possibly can for those issues that concern you.

I wanted to write about that reunion and so I did. I sent it to three publications.

The first editor wrote back and said, “We don’t do anything about the Vietnam War any more because it was so long ago.” The second editor said, “I really would like to print your article but my publisher said we did something about the Vietnam War last year and it’s too early to print something else.” The third editor wrote back and said, “You saw the heart of the veteran. I’d like to publish this.” And so, in 2006, I started my career writing for ViêtNow magazine. I am deeply grateful for all the years that I’ve had writing for that magazine and all the opportunities that it has given me.

This is the first impact you Vietnam veterans have had on me.

In 2007 I started doing book reviews that were written by veterans or were about veterans, and I still do that. I do film reviews, too, and I have a personal blog for veterans.

ViêtNow and my association with it has given me cool things that I am invited to.

I’ve been to dedications for Medal of Honor recipients.

When I read about the Westborough Baptist church…which is not a church… which is not affiliated with the Baptist faith…which is really a hate group that goes to funerals and bothers the survivors of the soldiers…I found out there was a motorcycle group from the American Legion and other groups that put themselves between the haters and the family. I found out my state had one…I introduced myself to them. “I write for VietNow. I’d like to learn about your group.” Since then I have spent time with the Patriot Guard in flag lines at services, at cemeteries and with them in the joy of welcoming home the National Guard from war.

With the impact that you’ve had on me, I’ve learned several other things from you.

I’ve learned not to flinch.

I listened to an Iraq vet talk about suicide bombings and how he had to scrape babies off walls in pieces. I didn’t react because I learned from you folks that you have to talk about it and I can’t show any reaction. I have to get across the fact that you had to do what you had to do in those situations to survive. You all need to know that you are still okay.

You also taught me how to mistrust politicians when they praise you.

A group hired me in 2008 to investigate the political voting records of key political candidates throughout the nation. While doing my research, I really got mad. There are a lot of people who gave the most beautiful speeches…and sold out our veterans. I thought, “You know what? You are not gonna do this to MY veterans. I’m gonna call you out.”   I wrote, “You talk a pretty speech but you’ve got a slight of hand going. You said all those wonderful things about what you are going to do for veterans…and then behind their backs you’re betraying them.” I was particularly hard on those who were veterans themselves and didn’t vote for the GI Bill. Or didn’t vote for the health care funds that came up. I said, “You know what you are? You’re friendly fire. And you’re hurting my veterans and you darn well better stop.”

You taught me more.

You talk me to be sassy. Now, there are some who might say,”Karen, you didn’t need to be taught that.”  You taught me a special kind of sass. It is true what they say about women when they feel protective…well, I hate to say this…but I feel protective of you. If somebody’s gonna get you, they’re gonna have to go through me first, and I tell you…they ain’t gonna wanna do that.

I was invited to a veterans’ group where a staff member was going to be there from one of the presidential campaigns. He was going to talk about what was being proposed for you veterans. The staff worker was introduced as a veteran. He launched into the health care plans of the candidate. Now it is my idea that your health care be included as a line item in any military budget. I think that makes total sense. I wanted to make that point to this staffer. So I said, “Sir!” He said, “Yes?”   I told him my idea. He said, “Okay.” I said, “Will you tell that to the presidential candidate?” He said, ‘Yes, I will,” and he turned around. I thought, now you wait just a minute. You don’t turn around on me. I want your word. “Excuse me!” I said to him. He turned back like, whoa, what is this woman wanting now? And I said, “Can I have your word on that? That you’re going to take that idea to the presidential candidate?” He said, ‘Yeah. I give you my word” and he turned back around. Again I thought, wait just a minute. “Sir!’ I said. He turned to me, probably thinking, “WHAT does this strange lady want!?!”

The veterans are looking at me now, too. I said, “I don’t want your word as a staffer. You’re a soldier. Right?” He answered yes with pride. I told him, “I want you to look these veterans in the eye. I want you to give them your word as a soldier that you are going to tell that idea to this presidential candidate. Health care has to be a line item.” He had a look of alarm on his face. But he put his shoulders back, lifted his chin and he looked those veterans in the eye and said to them, “I give you my word as a soldier.” I have no doubt he kept it.

But the impact you’ve had on me is no different from the impact you have on others.

When I stepped up here to the podium I told you I did not achieve anything great; that I was not special, that I was average.

That’s a plus.

I am a normal person. There are billions of people like me who care about you. They are doing things quietly and humbly like I do, trying to help you. They are donating their time and/or money and efforts. They are writing their legislators, they’re checking voting records, they’re trying to vote for the right one who will help you.

There are billions of people trying to help you. Just like me.

I know that you are here at this convention because you want to be with your brothers and sisters in arms. But I am telling you that you also have brothers and sisters in heart. I am your sister in heart. There are billions of us who care about you.

From time to time I get emails from strangers saying, “You know, we were learning about the Vietnam War in school and I have a lot of respect for what those men and women went through. Can you tell me a little bit about them?” Or, I will have people write me and say, “I want to know what happened to my father…my friend’s father…my brother…can you point me in the right direction? “ In fact, there is a beautiful story about a son of a combat veteran who contacted me trying to find out about his dad. He didn’t know until his father died that his father had been awarded the Silver Star. It was a wonderful story and it is published in one of the issues on the of ViêtNow. Your influence is felt. You are heroes in uniform. There is no doubt about that.

But your impact isn’t just with us. It is being passed on to other generations.

What you haven’t been told yet is that out of uniform, you are creating heroes.   The upcoming generation…and the generation after them…now know what you have been through. They want to be like you. They want to be noble…like you are. They want to be tolerant…like you were. They want to be a hero…like you remain.

You weren’t just heroes then…you are heroes now. Don’t you doubt that for one second.

I told you I learned to respect the human being in the uniform. You changed that, too.

After all that you’ve gone through…the rejection…blame…criticism…that you faced with tolerance…kindness…compassion….your greatness is not in the fact that you were a human being in a uniform. Your greatness…is that you stayed one.

You’ve made me a better person and you’ve made me a stronger person. I can’t say that I’ll walk in your footsteps because I don’t have the nobility, the courage or the compassion you do to say that I can do that. But I will walk by you. I stand by you. And I will stand UP for you.

For all of you combat veterans, I say with great love in my heart: I am so glad you made it back.

To all of you veterans, I say: welcome home. Thank you for your service.

I honor you. I cherish you. And I salute you.

Thank you.

compressedkaren1

To learn about the study of PTSD on Vietnam veterans, click on National Vietnam Veterans’ Readjustment Study (NVVRS).

Click on General Impact of Vietnam Veterans to read St. John’s article on the increasing impact of Vietnam veterans.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 29, 2014: Welcome Home, Vietnam Veterans

29 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by stjohnveterans in Vietnam Veterans

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combat veterans, March 29, PTSD, veterans, Vietnam veterans, Vietnam War, wounded warriors

Line of flags in cemeteryToday pays tribute to all Vietnam veterans…to welcome them home…thank them for their service…and vow never to turn our back on our returning troops again.

We are still struggling to keep that vow. But for those of us with relatives and friends who served, it is a vow of honor worthy of our men and women who served in that terrible time, and those who serve in terrible times today.

There is a haunted look in the eyes of combat veterans…and often, those veterans who were left behind to serve in other ways, and could not stand side-by-side with their brothers and sisters in combat. These veterans touch my heart and own a piece of it. To you, I say the following.

Do not doubt your legacy. You may feel it is still that of a political war and taking blame for things that had nothing to do with an honorable sense of duty, the highest level of sacrifice or the most courageous of actions. They are part of the times. But they do not define you. Here is what defines you…this is your legacy: you have created heroes.

To serve this country with a strong sense of duty…to put your life on the line for all people of your country, even the ignorant, the haters and those who demeaned you…is the definition of a hero. But you had more to shoulder than simply being a hero. The reaction of this country upon your return…the misplaced blame and subsequent abuse…the humiliation and injustice that made you put away your uniform and hide your years of service…you shouldered all that, too.

It would have broken any man or woman. But it did not break you. You stood tall. You carried courage in your heart. You stared life in the face with compassion, tolerance and forgiveness, never once forgetting that the brothers- and sisters-in-arms who came after you deserved a proper welcome home. You shook their hands. You welcomed them home at airports. You patted them on the back. You never…not once…turned your back on the country who turned its back on you.

Therein lies your legacy. You cast a stone into the lake of humanity that is rippling out to multiple generations after you. And in those generations that you are touching…those who now see what you had endured before, during and after the war…they are changed for the better. They see you for the heroes you were, not only in the war, but at home afterwards. And they want to be just like you.

They, too, want to serve their brothers and sisters who took up arms to serve, defend and protect them. They are creating organizations to help wounded warriors…feeding homeless veterans…advocating for financial assistance, health care and education. The cry now is not only to welcome you home properly, but to send no man or woman into war without a justifiable cause, without the necessary and full equipment, or without the proper financial, medical, emotional, and social support upon return.

Your legacy is that they want to be heroes…just like you. And just like you, they are standing tall and doing so.

To all Vietnam veterans I say, especially on this day of national gratitude: welcome home. Thank you for your service. Thank you for reaching into generations past you and planting the seeds of true heroism. Our world is a better place because of you.

That…my friend…is your truest legacy.

Vietnam War’s Generational Impact: Children and Grandchildren Discover Secrets Of Vietnam Ia Drang Valley Ambush

09 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by stjohnveterans in Vietnam Veterans

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Daniel Torrez, Freddie Owens, Hal Moore, Ia Drang Valley ambush, Joe Galloway, LZ Albany, LZ X Ray, November 1965, Veterans Day, Vietnam medic Torrez, Vietnam veterans, Vietnam War

Untitled1

(Printed in VietNow magazine 2012.  Photo:  Sp5 Daniel Torrez with son Daniel Torrez II)

With the cold winds of November still near by, I am reminded that there are two things about Veterans Day that always irk me.  Number 1:  it’s one day out of the year.  Veterans Day should be 365 days of the year.  Number 2:  all the politicians will be out in force admiring this noble group of citizens and standing up for their issues.  Only a third of them will mean it.  (You can check out your politician’s voting record on veterans’ issues and their approval ratings given by veterans’ organizations at Project Vote Smart.   http://votesmart.org/

I come from a family of veterans.  Dad served in WW II and fought in the Saipan campaign.  My oldest brother Bob served in the Army and fought in the Ia Drang Valley of Vietnam.  My older brother Wayne served in the Air Force, and my younger brother Dave served in the National Guard.

For the past seven years I have been doing my utmost to honor all veterans, especially my family members and other veterans I am honored to call friends.  Once in a while I will get an email or get contacted by a stranger who just wanted to mention where he did his service, or his dad/brother/friend who served.  I always feel humbled by a veteran who wants to tell me anything.

I felt that way about Daniel Torrez II, when he spoke with me via email about his father who survived the Ia Drang Valley ambush.  Naturally I could empathize with his interest, as that is the very battle my brother barely survived.   And, I’ve learned a great deal about that battle and its heroes in the past seven years.  But what I didn’t know was that Daniel’s father, Sp5 Daniel Torrez, had secrets about the Ia Drang Valley ambush.  And that those secrets affected my family, too.

Daniel Torrez Senior tried to keep his Vietnam War secret hidden.  Even when his little sister Irma gave him a copy of We Were Soldiers Once…And Young by Joe Galloway and LTG (Retired) Hal Moore, Mr. Torrez only mentioned to his daughter Delores that the number of kills in that first night in the Valley was wrong, that it was actually many more.  But her father never again talked about November 1965 in the Ia Drang Valley.   His son, Daniel II, adds, “He did not speak freely of the war, and when he did it wasn’t much.”

When Mr. Torrez died of a massive stroke in September 1997, he was surrounded by his family.  Son Daniel still feels the loss.  “My whole life my father has been my hero.  It’s hard to fathom that it has been so long since he passed.  I still remember picking him up from work sometimes. We would talk about life.  Not as father and son.  We were getting to a point in our relationship that we were more like friends.”  He knew about his father’s military life and admired his dad’s commitment to service.   “For as far back as I can remember, anytime I needed to do a report, I did it about my father.   Or about the army, Vietnam, The 1st Cav.  I remember from about the 3rd grade on I didn’t wear a regular jacket.  I wore one of his field jackets.  I wore them until they didn’t fit me anymore.”

Daniel II had tried before to learn more about his father’s war experiences and never had much luck.  “The things I knew about what happened in the Valley I learned from newspaper and magazine clippings my mom had saved.”  That’s when he discovered that his dad had received the Silver Star.

Curiosity about his dad’s experiences in the Valley was peaked.  What had his dad done to be awarded such an honor?  What had his dad lived through?  The son’s quest became urgent after his cousin attended a book signing for We Were Soldiers.  When author Joe Galloway realized the connection to the Daniel Torrez he had known in the Valley he signed the book, “…hero medic of LZ Albany.  We remember your dad – who kept over 40 wounded soldiers alive and safe thru the longest night of their lives.  We looked for him for years in the wrong town.  Be proud of him always.”

Galloway’s touching tribute to his father took Daniel II to Facebook to see what he could find out about the ambush and who else had known his dad.  This time, his Internet research brought him straight to the man who would change Daniel II’s life in a way he could never have imagined.  Freddie Owens was the key.   Freddie Owens not only knew Daniel’s father, he had been with him in the Ia Drang Valley – and he knew his secrets.

Freddie Owens is a man of substance.  A man you take seriously.  One who true soldiers respect without reservation.  In November 1965, Freddie was jumping into the Ia Drang Valley, along with Daniel Torrez II and my brother.  “…the only thing you can do is look at the guys that you’re with and look ‘em straight in the eye….You can’t pamper the situation.”   Freddie still marvels at how anyone from Herrick’s cut off platoon[1] survived the night.  Freddie survived the assault near LZ X-Ray and got to LZ Albany.  He adds, “It was a walking massacre, a walking massacre.  And we figured that we had went through the worst of times at X-Ray, and it was only beginning.”  Freddie was wounded near LZ Albany, patched up and went back into the fighting.

I met Freddie seven years ago at a special reunion for the survivors of the Ia Drang Valley ambush.   It didn’t take very long for me to realize that Freddie was a man of integrity, compassion, wit, and intelligence.  It did take me a little longer to know all that he does for others.  And even after these seven years of friendship, there is still a great deal for me to learn about Freddie and all he does for his “brothers” and their families.

Freddie’s the go-to person for anything relating to the ambush in the Valley.  He made himself available to all the survivors, walking them through 3 AM night terrors or the paperwork at the Department of Veterans’ Affairs.  When he visits the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall with a first-time visitor, he is careful to slow down the pace and take it like he does his own life:  one step at a time

When Freddie began to get numerous calls from family members asking about their deceased husband, brother or father, he always answered their questions or directed them to someone who would know.  Freddie has never met a person he has not wanted to help.  That’s when he got the idea to put up a Facebook page that would serve as a point of contact for the survivors, families and friends of the First Cavalry Division who served in Vietnam.  He called it “We Were Soldiers Once and Young:  Ia Drang Valley 1965” and it went live in April 2009.  Since then Freddie estimates that the site averages one hundred fifty hits a day.  Between September and December the hits have been as high as four hundred because of the information submitted for Veterans’ Day activities.

That’s how Daniel Torrez II found Freddie.

Freddie recounted to Daniel the truth about his dad.  During that fatal ambush of November 1965, the kill zone was full of dead and wounded American soldiers.  Without the means to take out all the wounded, Sp5/medic Daniel Torrez from El Paso, Texas, would not desert the men who needed him.  Though not looking forward to spending the night in the Valley, he grabbed an M-60 machine gun for himself, then proceeded to pick up weapons from the dead and place them near the wounded so they could protect themselves.  He stayed with his wounded men all through the long night.  In the morning, the choppers returned to finish picking up the wounded and the dead.  Daniel Torrez was regarded as one of the best men in his platoon…and he was a hero.

Freddie told all this to Daniel II, and the great respect given to his dad by his fellow brothers in arms.

Then Freddie called to tell me another of Sp5medic Torrez’s secret.

My brother suffered a near-fatal hit in the attack at LZ X-Ray.  His back was shredded by mortar.  Four of his men carried him in his bloody poncho out of the perimeter to the medical evacuation zone.  My brother was in serious trouble.  It was this very same Sp5/Medic Daniel Torrez who stopped my brother from bleeding to death that day in the Valley.

I was stunned at this connection to my brother.  So was Daniel II. “I was already in awe of my father.  After talking to Freddie and you, I am amazed that I can hold him in even higher regard.”

Daniel II is still learning about his father.  “My cousin in New Mexico and a few other family members have been talking about looking into getting my father awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor (CMH) posthumously.  I remember hearing two of my uncles talking at my dad’s funeral service about how my father should have gotten the CMH.  When he found out his superiors wanted to nominate him for it, he told them to please not do it.  He didn’t deserve it.  He was only doing his job.  He only did what his ‘brothers’ would have done in the same situation. ” Daniel II would like his dad to receive the Medal, but he doesn’t need it to prove that he was a hero.

But that is the men of the Ia Drang Valley:  they served fully, courageously and heroically.  They just do not bother to tell anybody.

I thank the spirit of Sp5/Medic Daneil Torrez for saving my brother’s life, along with so many others.  Thank you, Freddie Owens, for your many years of service, especially in the Ia Drang Valley, and to the service you continue to give to the children and grandchildren of those with whom you served.   This salute is for you, too, and all your brothers in arms and of the heart.

I now know that one man’s story does not stand alone.  For every action in the Valley, and in every battle fought in Vietnam, there are many whose very actions saved lives, honored their families, and bred the genes of a hero within themselves.  Those genes are now being passed on, generation to generation.

Peace to all veterans, and thank you for your service.

[1] Herrick’s platoon became separated from the rest of the battalion by approximately 100 meters when Herrick went after the North Vietnamese.  An intense firefight quickly erupted in the clearing only to quickly disintegrate for Herrick’s 2nd Platoon.  Within approximately 25 minutes, five men of 2nd Platoon were killed, including Herrick.  Herrick gave vital instructions to his men before he died with orders to destroy the signals codes and call in artillery support.  After Sergeants Palmer and Stokes were killed, leadership of the platoon went to Sergeant Ernie Savage.  Eight men of 2nd Platoon were killed and 13 wounded.  Under Savage’s leadership, and with the extraordinary care of platoon medic Charlie Lose, the men held their spot for the duration of the battle at X-Ray.

— ( c) St. John 2011

On the Passing of Command Sergeant Major Basil Plumley

10 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by stjohnveterans in Vietnam Veterans

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7th Cav, Basil Plumley, Command Sergeant Major, Freddie Owens, Hal Moore, Ia Drang Valley, Joe Galloway, Vietnam War

For the Ia Drang Valley survivors, October 10, 2012 will be a day they will remember for the rest of their days.  At 4:00 AM this morning, Command Sergeant Major Basil L. Plumley of the U.S. Army’s 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry Regiment, died.  He was 92 years old.

“Old Iron Jaw,” as he was affectionately called, was a soldier’s soldier, a veteran of WW II, Korea and Vietnam.  He retired twice.  First as a Command Sergeant Major on December 31, 1974, and in 1990 as a civilian from the Martin Army Community Hospital.

When he was diagnosed with terminal cancer and had to be transferred to a hospice, word got around and the mail began to arrive, piling up more and more with each day the Sergeant Major survived.  From all around the world, not just the men who served under him, but their families and friends, and strangers who had heard or read about him, poured out their prayers and well wishes to the quietly suffering, noble man.

I did not know the man.  In fact, whenever I heard his name, I immediately envisioned Sam Elliott, who played the role of Plumley in the movie, “We Were Soldiers Once..and Young” by (Ret.) General Hal Moore and Joe Galloway.   Galloway described his first meeting with Sergeant Major Plumley during the Ia Drang Battle ambush:

“A hail of bullets cracked and snapped all around us. I was flat on my belly, wishing I had spent the night digging a hole in that rock-hard ground. Wishing I could get even lower. About then I felt a thump in my ribs and carefully turned my head to see what it was. What it was was a size 12 combat boot on the foot of Sgt. Maj. Basil L. Plumley, a bear of a man who hailed from West Virginia.  The sergeant major bent at the waist and shouted over the incredible din of battle, “You can’t take no pictures laying down there on the ground, Sonny.” I thought to myself he’s right. I also thought fleetingly that we might all die here in this place—and if I am going to die I would just as soon take mine standing up beside a man like this.”

Then Lieutenant Colonel Hal Moore, whose 7th Cavalry was the very same that rode with Custer, asked Plumley at the start of the battle for the Ia Drang Valley, “I wonder what was going through Custer’s mind when he realized that he’d led his men into a slaughter?”  To which Plumley replied, “Sir, Custer was a pussy. You ain’t.”

Plumley was nobody’s fool.  He knew what was coming for the men of the 7th Cav in that Central Highland valley of Vietnam, and he preferred his pistol to the M-16, which he thought felt like plastic.  Lt. Col Moore disagreed.  He told Plumley, “I think you oughta get yourself an M-16.”  To which Plumley replied, “Sir, if the time comes I need one, there’ll be plenty lying on the ground.”

Freddie Owens was a Sergeant in A Company, 1st of the Fifth, when he fought with Plumley in the Ia Drang Valley.  But he had known Plumley before that battle of November 1965.  A week before Plumley’s death, Freddie sadly remarked, “I know he will find peace in passing, but it will be hard to say good-bye to someone you have known for over fifty years.  He and I go back a long way.”

That so many people who met Plumley in the worst possible conditions a human could endure, would be inspired to find calm, pride and love in their hearts for this solid leader, speaks volumes of the strength, wisdom, integrity, compassion, and spirit of this son of a coal miner from West Virginia.

No, I did not know the man.  But through men like Hal Moore, Joe Galloway and Freddie Owens, and the survivors of the Ia Drang Valley Ambush of 1965, I got a glimpse of the soul of this revered man.  And I can say with completely sincerity, “I salute you, Command Sergeant Major Basil Plumley.  You will be sorely missed.  May you rest in peace.”

My condolences to his loved ones and family, and the family of soldiers and civilians who had the privilege to know this gentle giant.

Garry Owen, Sergeant Major!

November 13 Here…November 14 There: Heroes Everywhere

29 Saturday Sep 2012

Posted by stjohnveterans in Vietnam Veterans

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battle, First Cav, Hal Moore, history, Ia Drang Valley, Jack Zalen, Joe Galloway, November, Seventh Cav, winter

It’s November 13, 2011, and the car shakes as the wind whips across the road. November has settled into Indiana with the sniffles, sneezing leaves from trees onto the highway and the passing cars.

The northwest area of Plei Me in the Central Highlands of South Vietnam is a day ahead, so it is November 14 there.  I don’t know if it’s windy, but I bet it is quieter than it once was.

Forty-six years ago, the Central Highlands of Vietnam was under siege. Air artillery, aerial rockets and air strikes shuddered the earth. At 10:48 A.M., 7th Cavalry Regiment Commander Hal  Moore had been the first man out of the lead chopper.  He literally hit the ground running, firing his M16 rifle.  His mission:  find and kill the enemy. When the 7th Cavalry Regiment landed in the area, John Herron’s Bravo Company was kept near the landing zone (LZ X Ray).  Alpha Company was ordered past a creek bed.  In the ensuing moments, three platoons patrolled the jungle.  One platoon was surrounded and pinned down, cut off from the rest of the troops.

My car zooms past stores and restaurants, flags whipping against their poles.  Whenever I see a flag flying, I see the faces of men and women etched across the red, white and blue stripes, and Medals of Honor holding each star.  Jack Zalen was one of my Vietnam veteran friends.  He was killed this year while riding his motorcycle.  Forty-six years ago, he had been one of the men in the platoon that found itself cut off.

Moore and his troops had no idea what they would go up against.  450 of our guys were soon to be pitted against 2,000 of theirs.  Not one man under Moore’s command nor Moore himself,  realized that he had landed in the pages of history: the first major battle of the Vietnam War, the Ia Drang Valley battle.

Getting out of the car in this wind is a chore.  If you don’t hang onto something, you may end up in Kansas, Dorothy.  This kind of wind in Indiana always blows up a wicked storm.  It’s supposed to arrive tomorrow, our November 14, Vietnam’s November 15.

On November 15, 1965, after a day of attacks, reinforcements from the 1st Cavalry Division began to arrive.  The battle was raging so fiercely that the 2nd Battalion of the 5th Company had to land at another spot and then move to LZ X-Ray. My brother had arrived with A Company, 1st of the 5th.   Efforts continued for the rescue of the cut off platoon.  When finally successful, of the twenty-nine men, nine were killed in action and thirteen were wounded.

It took Jack Zalen decades to be able to talk about what the horrors of the night were like for the cut off platoon.

I managed to work my way into Applebee’s to meet my friend for lunch.  She and I like the restaurant because it’s convenient to both of us, and because veterans are provided meals at no cost on Veterans Day.   We talked about the rain and storms coming, and then how it was supposed to clear and be sunny on Tuesday, November 15.

In Ia Drang, November 16 dawned.  By mid morning the battle was over, for all practical purposes and LZ X-Ray secured.  The 2nd of the 7th  Cav. and the 1st of the 5th Cav were ordered to stay at X-Ray in order to avoid the appearance of a retreat.  The remaining battalions were ordered to march to Landing Zone Albany.   Unknown to our troops, the enemy were all around, searching for wounded Americans in the tall grass to kill them.   The enemy struck at different spots in the marching column of troops.  In the first few minutes, seventy men from Charlie and Alpha were killed.  Near LZ X-Ray, my brother lay on a field, bleeding profusely from a mortar attack.  Four of his men who carried him in his poncho, a medic who plugged up his bleeding holes, a Medal of Honor recipient pilot who flew in under heavy enemy fire, and several nurses and doctors in MASH units, took turns saving his life.

It would take three more days for the battle to end and our men to be gone from the Valley.  In the fighting at LZ Albany, 155 men were killed and 124 were wounded.  In an odd quirk of fate, on November 24, a passing H-13 scout helicopter was flagged down by the lone remaining American, Toby Braveboy.  On November 25 back in Iowa, we were sitting down to Thanksgiving turkey, still unaware that my brother was fighting for his life.

Now here it is, November 13 again.  I’m starting Thanksgiving early this year, with a family dinner tomorrow at a friend’s whose daughter is visiting from New York.  It will have all the delicious aromas and taste of the Thanksgiving feast, and I will be thankful again for my brother and my Ia Drang survivor friends, and their having another kind of November than the terrible one of 1965 in the Ia Drang Valley of Vietnam.

— ( c ) St. John 2011

Farewell, Randy “Doc” Lose, and Garry Owen!

26 Tuesday Jun 2012

Posted by stjohnveterans in Vietnam Veterans

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7th Cavalry, Hal Moore, Ia Drang, Joe Galloway, John Herren, Randy "Doc" Lose

A Final Farewell to Randy “Doc” Lose,

1st Battalion, 7th U.S. Cavalry, Medic of the “Lost Platoon”,

Ia Drang Valley Ambush, Vietnam, November 1965.

Background:

From November 14 -17, 1965, then Lt. Col Hal Moore and his men of the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry Regiment, 3rd Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division, found themselves in the first major battle of the Vietnam War.  Shortly after making an air assault landing, Moore and his men were attacked by the People’s Army of Vietnam (PAV) in a valley northwest of Plei Me in the Central Highlands of Vietnam.  The Ia Drang Valley, named after the Ia Drang River, hosted two U.S. landing zones (LZs), X-Ray and Albany.  Colonel Moore’s battalion fought in the first battle at LZ X-Ray. The 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry was ambushed in a subsequent battle at LZ Albany.

By November 17, 1965, the American forces in the Ia Drang Valley had swelled to include the 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry and the 2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry.   The story of the Ia Drang Valley battles was retold in the critically acclaimed book and movie, We Were Soldiers Once…and Young, written by Hal Moore and Joe Galloway.

On the first day, November 14, then Captain John Herren ordered three platoons to advance toward the Chu Pong Mountain that dominated the terrain.  The 2nd platoon under Lt. Henry Herrick aggressively pursued a group of enemy soldiers, but ran into a large force of enemy coming off the mountain, and was cut off and surrounded.  Despite suffering heavy losses while engaging the American platoon in the first few minutes, the North Vietnamese continued the assault, killing six men in the platoon within the first 30 minutes, including Lt. Herrick.  An additional two men would be killed and thirteen wounded before the rest of Captain Herren’s company and the 2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry linked up with the platoon and brought them back to the LZ the next day.

The odds against any man surviving in the cut off platoon were huge.  Credit for this remarkable survival is given to Sgt. Ernie Savage, who repeatedly called in artillery fire support around the platoon’s position, and the outstanding care of the platoon’s medic, Randy Lose.  Wounded himself in the foot, twenty-two year old Lose kept the wounded alive throughout the twenty-six hour ordeal.  He crawled from man to man throughout the fighting, plugging their holes with C-ration toilet paper when he ran out of bandages.  “Doc” Lose earned a Distinguished Service Cross for his actions in saving the lives of the wounded under his care.

The Final Good-Bye

On April 3, 2009, “Doc” Lose, 1st Battalion, 7th U.S. Cavalry, was buried in the National Cemetery in Biloxi, Mississippi.  His former captain, (Ret.) Col. John Herren, recounts the final good-bye to this fine young soldier and remarkable human being.

“Doc Lose” was given an outstanding military honors farewell at the Biloxi National Cemetery on 3 April under blue and sunny skies.  Mark Lose, his nephew and former Navy man, organized the service that featured a former 82nd Airborne Reverend presiding, and a former XVIII Airborne Corps bandsman singing a solo and doing the readings. The local National Guard and Reserves were there in dress blues to handle the presentation of the flag to Pam Gerald, Randy’s daughter, and to sound taps. 

About 45 minutes before the service, the Mississippi Patriot Guard motorcycle group rolled in with American flags flying to honor Randy and to guard the service against any anti-war protesters who may have had plans to disrupt this military funeral, as they have tried to do at similar funerals in other parts of the country. 

The Reverend Thack Dyson recapped Randy Lose’s battle with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and other related problems, which he was never able to overcome.  Ernie Savage, Ed Times, another B Company member and I made some short comments about Randy and his heroic actions at LZ X-Ray with the cut-off platoon.  About 20 members of Randy’s family attended as well as Billy Smith and Jim Ertle from my former Company and a member of the 1st Battalion, 21st Artillery that provided the fire support that kept the 2nd platoon alive during their 26-hour ordeal. Following the funeral service, some of us were able to attend a Lose family gathering in Saraland, Alabama, where we were warmly welcomed and feasted on good southern cooking. 

I am sure that Randy would have been proud and honored by his sendoff and we will all miss that brave medic-soldier who helped save many of his fellow troopers at LZ X-Ray.

“Garry Owen”, Sir.  

John Herren

Note:  If you wish to contact (Ret.) Col. Herren, please contact St. John at stjohnjournals@comcast.net.  Ms. St. John will forward your information to (Ret.) Col. Herren.

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