I returned from Vietnam in March, 1968  about four weeks earlier than my planned rotation to go to Honolulu to testify at the trial of the thugs who robbed us on Diamond Head while I was there on R&R in October, 1967.  This story is documented below (Can you tell me why you wrote those serial numbers down?) so I won’t dwell on it here other than to say thank you to them for probably saving my life.

One of the most beautiful sights in my life was seeing the Golden Gate Bridge in its “redsplendent” glory as our plane landed in San Francisco.  Shortly I was on my way to Kennedy Airport in New York.  I had a good break between leaving Vietnam and arriving at home for good.  There are few who understand what it means to be fighting a war one day and going home a few days later.  I had survived and I knew that I had changed in many ways.  Even fewer understand that the trauma of war doesn’t go away.  It is always there along with the tears on Veteran’s Day.  No one who tasted blood in combat is ever again the same person.  I had to reconcile that.  One of the great advantages of an education is that you know you have to climb that mountain.  Suddenly, I was at Kennedy and there was my wife Susan and my parents.  I cannot adequately describe my emotions other than a delicious release of tension, overwhelming joy, and a combination of love and lust.

My 20 days at home before reporting to my next duty station were filled with joy of being with my wife and having a profoundly heightened sense of appreciation for what we have in America.  The air was fresh and clean.  Food was plentiful and wonderful.  We took a few days to go to Martha’s Vineyard to see old friends.  I bought a 1968 candy apple red Mustang with a V-8 engine and all the options possible.  I rejoiced when Lyndon Johnson announced his decision not to run for a second term as President.  Just as quickly, I was on a plane heading south to Camp LeJeune, NC where I was sent to the 2^nd Battalion, 8^th Marine Regiment.  This turned out to be one of the biggest shocks of the summer!

When I reported aboard, the First Sergeant told me that I was to be sent to the US Naval Base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba to serve out my enlistment.  2/8 was missioned with the defense of the Naval Base.  Most returning Vietnam Veterans arriving at Camp LeJeune with short periods remaining on their enlistment were sent to Cuba.  However, the heat stroke that I had suffered in Vietnam resulted in a restriction in my medical record for serving in high heat.  They also discovered my documented organizational skills so I was retained at Camp LeJeune where I set up the first, organized Legal & Joins Office for the Battalion.  The Company Captain, Adjutant, and First Sergeant were all actually shocked at how quickly and efficient I made the process of joining 2/8 for incoming Marines.  I was able to tell Susan to come to Camp LeJeune when she was done teaching.

Life as the Sergeant-in-charge of the Legal & Joins Office was a lot more interesting than I expected.  Because we were in Headquarters, we had strict adherence to military discipline, grooming and clothing standards, frequent inspections, and total formality.  Woe came to those who thought they could flaunt regulations because “they had been in the Nam”.  As these transgressors faced non-judicial punishment, they quickly learned that infractions were met with loss of rank, loss of pay, and loss of privileges.  I was kept busy documenting these proceedings while joining 20 to 40 Marines a week.

It became my responsibility to tell incoming Marines that they were going to Cuba.  As Marines, most of them took the news in a professional but resigned manner and got on with their lives.  However, there were exceptions.  Some would lose their temper and shout at me while some would be very sarcastic and somewhat threatening.  I learned very quickly how to become firm and hard.  Since I outranked most of them, it wasn’t a problem to intimidate them into compliance.  I soon got a reputation for toughness but being fair which I carried with me for the rest of my working life.

Susan and I were very happy in our little apartment just off the Base.  We had crazy neighbors, all of whom were veterans of some of the worst fighting in the Vietnam War.  We all got along very well because we all could relate with each other so our time there was a pleasure.

1968 was a watershed year in American history.  The Civil Rights movement had burgeoned into an unstoppable force for change.  The protests against the conflict in Vietnam intensified.  Washington was in an uproar as the Presidential campaign was fought.  Two American Leaders were assassinated that summer.  Dr. Martin Luther King died in Tennessee while Robert Kennedy was killed in California.  Both of those deaths resulted in incredible escalations of protests, demonstrations, and civil disobedience.

Camp LeJeune was very much impacted by the swirling winds of history.  There were protests by black Marines in support of civil rights which were crushed by a Military worried about maintaining discipline.  Protestors against the war appeared in Jacksonville but were dealt with equally harshly by a population largely sympathetic to the military.  There was always an underlying racial tension everywhere or so it seemed.  I can’t really recall much racial strife in Vietnam because we were fighting and frankly there was no room for any kind of problem if you wanted to stay alive.  However, back on Base, the climate changed and not for the better.  There were frequent fights between Whites and Blacks.  Military discipline was applied very strictly.

My workload in Legal went up with the tensions.  We had at least three NJPs a week.  In addition to the punishments such a loss of rank and pay, a fight would land you in Cuba immediately and a guaranteed miserable time for the rest of your enlistment.   It broke my heart when one of my best buddies from Vietnam, an African American from Arkansas, gave me a cold shoulder when he checked in to 2/8.  It was an ugly time for everyone.

In August, I was granted leave to spend a week on Martha’s Vineyard with my parents at their cottage in Oak Bluffs on the Methodist Campground.  During our week there, the Campground held its Grand Illumination when the small Victorian gingerbread houses are covered with illuminated Japanese lanterns.  Thousands of people swirled through the magical moment.  I sat on our porch in my Marine Corps Dress Blues.  Everyone who walked by were respectful which surprised me given the tenor of the times.

During the summer, I completed the process for applying to a US Agency.  The process was long, vetting took months, and, at the end of the summer, wasn’t yet complete.  As the vetting ground forward, other opportunities started to open up from places that I had not anticipated.  I was torn among finishing Grad School; joining a US Government Agency; or, joining the business world (which I ultimately chose).

September came and went seemingly as quickly as the last several months.  On 1 October, I was called to the Battalion Colonel’s Office.  While I stood at attention, he offered me a commission as a second lieutenant.  I respectfully asked for a day to “discuss it with my wife”.  My request was granted.  That evening, Susan and I “talked about it, laughed about it, and forgot about it”.  The next morning I respectfully declined the opportunity to a very unhappy Battalion Commander.  On 2 October, we drove out of the Base and into the next phase of our lives.   At that point in time I was done with the Military but how things can change.

This concludes my series on the SUMMER OF 19XX.  I wrote these pieces to show one young man’s challenges in the mid-1960’s.  More than a few of us had to make life and relationship changing decisions while faced with the spectre of the Beast otherwise known as Vietnam.  During this time, there was no volunteer military so your life was dictated by a local Draft Board tasked with filling quotas.  I was fortunate enough to have had two very excellent professors in College that helped me through the process of making some of the hard decisions that needed to be made.  They showed me the future and they were right.

I was a Marine in South Vietnam assigned to Kilo Company, Third Battalion, 1^st Marines.  I was a rifleman in the second platoon, second squad, second fire team.  Since arriving in the middle of March, I had walked countless day and night patrols in the area just south of Marble Mountain near DaNang.  My Battalion provided outlying security for the US Air Base at DaNang by interdicting Viet-Cong attempts to fire rockets and mortars at the Base. I have no idea how successful we were because the Airbase had a lot of incoming fire regardless of our efforts.

The terrain in which we patrolled was a combination of desert with cactus, scrub pine trees, bushes, and rice paddies.  The eastern side of our TAOR (tactical area of responsibility) was the South China Sea from which the VC landed sampans full of weapons in the dead of night.  Aside from VC patrols and snipers, our area was full of lethal booby-traps ranging from a simple “panji” pit (a boot sized hole filled with poison-tipped bamboo stakes) to grenade chains (a tripwire connected to several hand-grenades hung in bushes which would detonate about waist-high). Worse were “bouncing betty” types which were buried rifle rounds that would detonate when you stepped on them and fire a charge upwards into your body or  detonate an explosive device in the air about chest-high.  The absolute worst of the booby traps were command-detonated devices such as claymore mines which when detonated would spread widely dispersed steel balls into an entire patrol, potentially killing or maiming everyone there.

My time in the Infantry ended with a severe heat exhaustion while on Operation Union.  All I remember is standing in a rice paddy and the next thing I knew I was aboard a medevac chopper headed to Chu Lai.  When we arrived, I tried to stand up but passed out again.  It took more than 41 years but it was at our 2008 Kilo Company Reunion at Quantico, Virginia when I met the Company Gunnery Sergeant who had dribbled precious water on my forehead until the medevac arrived.  That action may have saved my life.  I finally met him at the reunion.  It was a very emotional and powerful experience for me.

After a brief stay at the US Naval Hospital in DaNang where I was hydrated and evaluated, I learned that I could “no longer serve in the Infantry nor was I to be assigned to any position requiring prolonged exposure to sunlight and heat”.  That news, surprisingly, brought mixed reactions in my mind.  One part of me felt tremendous guilt at leaving my Company while the other was relief on several levels.  I returned to Battalion Headquarters where I was instructed to get a night’s rest and report to the S-1 (Personnel) in the morning.

Late that night, I was awake and decided to go find a typewriter to send the latest news home to Susan.  As I started to type, the S-3 (Operations) Major walked in and observed me for a moment.  When I became aware of his presence, I snapped to attention.  He asked me my name and said to “carry on”.  I finished my letter home and caught some more sleep.

When I reported to S-1 the next morning, I was assigned to S-3.  I was surprised to learn that the Major had pulled my file after I left and discovered that in addition to knowing how to type, I had a College degree and had scored high on all my tests.  I reported to S-3 immediately.  I always tell people that S-3 is where I “grew up”.  I was in awe of the job that was assigned to me.  When I learned that my work would have a direct bearing on keeping Marines in the field alive, a sense of nearly overwhelming responsibility came over me.

To understand my working environment, you have to understand the function of the Operations Section.  S-3 is the military designation for the operations center of a Marine Battalion.  In Vietnam, the S-3 prepared the daily operations plan;  prepared operations orders if the Battalion was ordered into battle;  and coordinated the Combat Operations Center (COC) which was the command, control, and communications “brain” of the Battalion.  All intelligence that impacted operations was coordinated by S-3.  This was basically an area where you did not want to screw up.  The Section in which I would work was headed by a Section Chief, a Sergeant and two other Marines.  We had visibility and daily contact with all of the Senior Officers of the Battalion including the Battalion Commander, the Executive Officer, and the individual Company Commanders.

I was assigned to do the daily patrol overlays for the Battalion.  The military maps we used were the most current available and were divided into grids.  The maps were well detailed with topography, village locations, trails, roads, rivers, streams, etc.  Every military command in Vietnam used the same maps so there was little chance of conflict.

The operations process began each morning with the Battalion Commander’s Briefing in which all incoming orders, intelligence, patrol activity reports, and other information were all relayed.  Critically important was a daily intel brief which detailed anticipated activities of the local Viet Cong including anticipated movement of the enemy and other tactical information from neighboring Battalions, Air Wing, and any conceivable plans that would impact our TAOR.  The Battalion Commandeer issued his guidance and the Company Commanders would prepare their plans of action including patrols, ambushes, interdiction missions, and other plans.  These would be returned to S-3 where we plotted out the plans on a tactical map.  Once the activities were plotted, we analyzed the planned actions to avoid conflicts among patrol activities; avoid friendly fire onto patrol activities; and ensure that the patrol plans were in concert with the CO’s guidance.

Once the patrol plan was accepted and approved, it was my job to draw up and publish the patrol overlays to the four infantry companies for execution.  The accuracy of the patrol overlays were critically important and were thoroughly vetted.  The master patrol overlay also went to Artillery and Mortar Batteries, Tank and Amtrac platoons, the Air Wing in DaNang, and Regimental Headquarters.  The supporting arms groups planned harassment & interdiction fires around the patrols as necessary or ordered.  The overlay could not be wrong PERIOD. Once the overlay was released, we were ready to commence operations.

At any given time, there were between four to eight patrols active within our TAOR.  At this point, my (our) job was to be in the Combat Operations Center to monitor the progress of all patrols that were in the TAOR

A typical patrol of that era was composed of a squad leader, 9 riflemen, one or two machine gunner, a radioman, and a corpsman.  The composition of the patrol could vary depending on the mission.  Each squad leader had their orders including designated radio checkpoints.  As the patrol approached a checkpoint, the radioman would relay their position on the map by grid coordinates.  That information came into the COC where I plotted their position immediately.  It was my responsibility to make sure that the patrol was on plan and not veering away.

The COC had representatives from all Supporting Arms including an air liaison.  There was a watch commander, usually a lieutenant, and one or two of us depending on how many patrols were active.  The COC was always tense with continual checkpoints being called in by the patrols.

If one of our patrols came under enemy fire or called for fire support, we had to very quickly check to see if the planned fires would jeopardize friendly activity nearby.  If we found none, the COC would authorize a fire mission in support of the patrol.  All of this was handled in moments.  If one of our Marines was wounded due to enemy fire or a booby trap, the radioman called in coordinates and we had a chopper enroute in moments.  Everything happened in those ubiquitous “moments”. You hoped and prayed that you “got it right”.

A COC Watch was from 6 to 8 hours although it could go much longer.  Once we completed the day, we grabbed whatever rest we could and started it all over the following day.

Years later in Battalion and Company reunions, most of the Marines who had been on those patrols had absolutely no idea that so much was done to “catch their back”.

We had other duties.  We often did Listening Posts or morning mine sweeps.  Although I had been disqualified from field duty, I could go out on either of these missions.

Listening post duty was drawn every ten days or so.  There were five LP’s a night.  They were always a three-man team.  Since Battalion Headquarters was a primary target for the VC there was always danger of night-time sniper attacks or, worse, a coordinated VC Sapper attack.  Sappers were Vietnam’s equivalent of suicide bombers.  They would approach in the dead of night and attempt to blow up a target like the COC or S-3.  Although the threat was always there, we did not have anything other than sniper attacks while I was in S-3.  Listening Posts lasted about four hours and were from 50 to 100 or more meters from the front lines.  Each of them was composed of a radioman and two riflemen.  We were the first warning in case of a sneak attack.  It was a tense four hours where a beach of silence, loss of way, or even failure to apply enough camouflage during a full moon could spell instant death from a sniper.

Mine Sweep security wasn’t fun either.  Each morning, a squad of engineers would leave Battalion Headquarters with mine sweeping equipment.  They would walk up the Main Supply Route (MSR) to ensure there were no buried mines in the road.  The MSR was about four miles long consisting of packed clay .  The VC planted mostly pressure-detonated landmines in the clay almost every night and often had snipers to greet the engineers.  It was our task to provide flank security for them.  Each morning a security team consisting of riflemen, machine gunners, and corpsmen would walk about 700 meters on each side of the road as protection.  Each mine sweep lasted about three hours starting about 0500 until 0800 or so.  Most our “contacts” were booby traps, sniper rounds, or an occasional VC team who would engage us.  The Engineers usually blew up one or two mines.  At around 0815, the road would open.

Summer in Vietnam brought the “Monsoon” season which lasts roughly from the end of May to early September.  During this time, the heat can be unbearable but suddenly rain could fall like you never thought possible.  The Marine Corps never stopped it’s patrol activities because of the Monsoon.  If a patrol was “in the bush” and the monsoon rains hit, they would usually kneel in place until the rain let up.  Literally, you could not see the person in front of you.  The greatest danger outside of booby traps during this time was being carried away by a rush of water similar to the washes in Arizona.

As the summer wound down, I continued my daily responsibilities.  I ended the summer with a sense of overwhelming duty to my fellow Marines.  I think this experience ingrained a toughness that I had never felt before.  All of us in the S-3 offices felt the same way.  Regardless of our prior experiences, education, or background, we had all matured both professionally and personally.

The Battle of Thon Tham Khe

26-27 December 1967 on Operation Badger Tooth by the 3^rd Battalion, 1^st Marine Regiment, USMC

Quang Tri Province, Republic of South Vietnam at the Mouth of Cua Viet River

In the last two months of 1967, the area just south of the Demilitarized Zone in South Vietnam saw increasing amounts of activity from the North Vietnamese Army as several battle hardened units continued to move into South Vietnam.  Among these Units was the 116^th North Vietnamese Army Battalion, a part of the 90^th A NV Army.  The Battalion was tasked with disrupting shipping operations between the US Navy Supply Base at Cua Viet and the Marine Corps Combat Base at Dong Ha which provided logistical support for US Marine Corps battle groups in Northern South Vietnam.  As history evolved, these NVA operations conducted in conjunction with their Viet Cong Allies were critical to the planned TET Offensive in January, 1968.  .

US Military Commanders became increasingly alarmed at the heavy enemy disruption of shipping in December, 1967.  Ground intelligence confirmed the presence of over 1,700 NVA regulars and conceived an Operation using combat elements of the 1^st and 3^rd Marine Division to clear the NVA from a wide area along the Cua Viet south of Dong Ha and Camp Carroll.  However, when a late report was received from Army intelligence that there was an unusual concentration of NVA in two coastal villages, one named Tho Trung An and the other Thon Tham Khe.  These areas were considered Viet Cong strongholds but not NVA.  Given this new intel, a decision was made to launch Operation Badger Tooth landing in the vicinity of these two villages to remove the enemy threat.

I was serving in Headquarters Company, 3^rd Battalion, 1^st Marines performing numerous tasks such as Battalion Legal, S-3 support, and, writing letters for the Battalion Commander to send to the wives and parents of Marines who had been killed in action.  One of my vivid memories is attending a Christmas Eve Service with the “snick, snick, snick” of mechanic’s tools as they worked on Helicopters which would soon carry the assault force ashore the next day.  We were singing the hymn “Silent Night” which I always found somewhat ironic.

On Christmas morning, the first elements of the Battalion were helilifted to shore.  These were mostly coordinating personnel with air, artillery, and other logistical support.  Christmas Day aboard the Valley Forge, a helicopter aircraft carrier, was very busy with weapons preparation, inspections, packing supplies for a three day land operation, and shifting ground combat personnel between ships.

At 1100 on 26 December Lima Company landed in amphibious tractors near Thon Tham Khe and started combat operations by sweeping toward the Village.  The remaining Companies, India, Kilo and Mike were landed by helicopter to the west and commenced combat operations.  Lima and Mike Companies swept through Thon Tham Khe with little resistance.  4 Viet Cong were captured and three killed in action without any Marine casualties.  Trung An was swept with no resistance.  All three of the infantry companies linked up and spent their first night ashore without incident.  The collective belief was that there were no NVA troops in the area.  However, the weather was cold, intermittent rain, and the sea had become too rough to land battle tanks which were critical in supporting the ground assault forces.

At the Combat Action Center aboard the Valley Forge, intelligence reports continued to reference a large force of NVA but none of the reports were able to provide positive confirmation of the location of these troops.  The S-2 (Intel) and S-3(Operations) officers were deeply concerned about the lack of intel on the location of the 116^th NVA Battalion.  There were questions raised about how effectively the line companies had searched in the two Villages.  Finally, everyone concluded that the NVA force must have moved up the Cua Viet river to avoid detection; an assumption that later proved to be terribly wrong.

Aboard the Valley Forge, I was up only after a few hours of sleep to catch up on documentation for several legal proceedings.

At 0700, Mike and Lima Companies were ordered to make another sweep of the two villages before the Battalion moved up the Cua Viet.  As the Marines approached Thon Khe, the NVA unleased hell with a devastating blast of machinegun, rifle, mortar, and RPG fire  Lima Company suffered a number of KIA and WIA personnel.  The Company Commander pulled Lima back to regroup.  The Company Commander ordered a frontal assault on the bunker complex but the attack failed with the loss of his own life and that of several Marines.   They soon discovered a veritable fortress of concealed bunkers, interlocking fields of fire, and camouflaged tunnel entrances which were well-prepared defensive positions from which an unbelievable volume of fire was being called down on the Marines.   In the escalating fog of war, the Battalion Commander ordered Mike Company to assault from their position north of Tham Khe but their lead elements were hit by the same volume of defensive fire with more casualties.  Lima ordered air strikes and artillery fire but in an unbelievable confluence of circumstance only two air strikes and one artillery strike were made.  Artillery didn’t fire because they were afraid of hitting our fighters while our fighters did not go in because of artillery.  Topping it all off, the tanks had not been landed which would have been the “go to” weapon for dug in defensive positions.  As this happened, it dawned on the Battalion Command that they had found the 116^th NVA Battalion, right under their noses and the fight was turning more and more ugly.

Kilo was now ordered to hit the south end of the village to take pressure from Lima and Mike who were regrouping.  The Tanks were now on their way from the ships in rough seas.  Kilo prepped the Village with 81mm mortar strikes but that was largely inadequate against bunkers dug into soft sand.  Kilo attacked anyway and met the same fierce resistance resulting in a stalemate.  Finally, the tanks arrived but in yet another disastrous occurrence, the communication capabilities to the tanks had been knocked out during the landing because of the rough seas.  This meant that the infantry companies had to use hand signals to guide the tanks.  The battle continued throughout the late afternoon into the early evening but the Marines were unable to make any significant progress.

The Battalion Commander had requested additional air strikes and more tank forces from Dong Ha. As darkness fell and in anticipation of the NVA withdrawal, he ordered India Company to cover the right flank;  Kilo to cover the beach;  Mike to the north; and, Lima to the west.  With command and coordination resolved, artillery strikes continued on the two villages.  The Marines recovered most of their dead and staged the bodies for transfer to the Valley Forge which contained surgical quarters and a morgue.

On 28 December, with adequate tank support and several air strikes, the Battalion converged on Thon Tham Khe and took the village complex without a shot being fired.  The NVA were gone along with most of their dead and wounded.  A stunned Battalion Commander ordered the tunnels searched.  Not long after, the first elements of the search teams reported finding an incredibly complex series of tunnels that were dug far beyond the blocking Marine positions of the previous evening.  There was evidence that the defensive fortress had been prepared for “all around” defense with tunnels in which you could stand up, defend in any direction, and supported ground level bunkers for machine guns, rpgs, and small arms around the entire perimeter of the Village.  Most of the complex was camouflaged with growing vegetation.  A massive weapons cache was found inside the complex indicating that the NVA had constructed it rather than local Viet Cong.  Villagers questioned afterwards told the Marines that the NVA had spent more than a year building the complex.  As the seach continued, ARVN forces operating northwest of Tham Khe found more than 100 bodies of dead NVA.

The horror on the shore carried into the Ship.  I was ordered to the Hangar Deck on the Valley Forge where a triage area had been set up.  I worked in casualty control.  You heard “MEDEVAC INBOUND” come over the loud speakers, then the helicopters landed, and then the elevator delivered first the most seriously wounded.  Life and death decisions were made by Navy Doctors.  The first 30 or 40 Marines had grievous wounds ranging from gunshot wounds in the upper body to bodies literally torn apart by shrapnel.  I thought how anyone could live through any of it was a miracle.  My initial responsibility was to tend to the dying.  Their wounds were fatal.  We staged them away from the bodies of the dead and in a relatively peaceful area.  The Ship’s Chaplains gave them last rites while I tended to their needs until they passed.  Most died quickly and mercifully;   three passed while I held their hand and prayed for them.

I moved on working with the wounded who were waiting for “their turn on the table”.  The anguish and screams of the wounded still haunt me but years later at Battalion reunions, I had several of those wounded Marines tell me how grateful they were for my attention to them.

Things got much worse.  With the wounded ashore and treated, the choppers started bring the bodies of our dead back to the ship.  John Milton and Dante could not have imagined what a real Hell looks like.  As the bodies were unloaded on pallets, we moved them to stretchers.  Most of the bodies were fairly intact.  However, some were missing arms, legs, feet, parts of their head, or torn up beyond belief.  One stretcher was unloaded with just limbs that we tried to match to a dead comrade.  Blood was everywhere as it mixed with water and oil so we had a reddish hue on the hangar deck with a greasy slick upon which we tried to keep our footing.  We catalogued their effects, ensured that one of their dogtags was in their mouth, and after doctor review loaded them into a rubber body bag.  Because our choppers were not always available to take a load of bodies to DaNang, the Ship’s Galley made ice and we placed bodies in a container to ice them down until a chopper could be freed up.

I learned to hate the announcement “MEDEVAC INBOUND” booming from the Hangar Deck speakers. I saw many friends and acquaintances come across the triage area during the three days that I worked almost non-stop.  One of the worst moments was when a small Hispanic Marine from my old squad was brought aboard KIA.  There wasn’t a mark on him but his helmet was fixed on his head.  When I removed his helmet, the top of his head fell off and bits of his brain matter spilled onto the greasy slick.  I recovered these and tied his helmet back on with a note to Graves Registration to be cautious.  Finally, after 52 straight house of being the devil’s apprentice, I passed out and was allowed to sleep for six hours.

Forty eight Marines died in the Battle for Thon Tham Khe;  the fourth largest loss of US Marine life in a single engagement in the history of the Vietnam Conflict.  More than 200 were wounded.  Of these, many did not survive even after being shipped to Japan and Okinawa for treatment.  I don’t know the final tally but I am guessing that more than 60 died.  I still see men at our reunions 45 years later with bodies that were broken at that Village.  After I passed out, I returned to the Battalion Offices and began writing letter of condolence from the Battalion Commander.  Those letters were among the toughest that I have ever had to write since I could attach a face to many of them.  I am convinced to this day that had I not had a heat stroke several months earlier that I would have been among those killed or wounded since most of my original squad died there and I would have been with them.

There is really never a happy ending for people who have seen combat.  Those who have not experienced it will never know nor really understand no matter how they may think they do.  But, 3^rd Battalion, 1^st Marines launched Operation Badger Catch early in January, 1968 and destroyed the 116^th NVA Battalion and a significant numbers of the 90^th NV Assault Army preventing both Units from reaching Hue City in the Tet Offensive that followed.

I want everyone to remember the US Marines and Navy Corpsmen who died in this Battle in what eventually was a senseless conflict.  I make it a point to memorialize them at our Church every year and on my birthday, December 28^th; I raise a glass to them, to their honor, and in their memory.

Vietnam, 1967 R&R (Rest & Relaxation)

It was as though the Devil had given us a pass from Hell!  I was on my way to Honolulu for a week’s worth of R&R!   On the plane, most of us were happy.  But, at the end, it was all overshadowed by the six months most of us had left in Vietnam.  We knew what it was like to have to go to war and, after our R&R, would have to do it again!    

One of the most wonderful memories of my life was walking into the airport past a glass wall behind which the wives and sweethearts were going into a frenzy of joy to see us.  I found Susan and held her for a very long time before we went to our hotel. 

One morning, a few days into R&R while Susan was showering, I sat on our balcony.  I have no idea what made me do it but I wrote down the serial numbers of the $20 bills I was carrying in my wallet.  I think I was enjoying looking at US money again and I noticed that some of the serials were sequential.  That little almost nonsensical act had a profound impact on my tour in Vietnam and probably changed my life. 

Later that day, we drove up Diamond Head to take pictures of the spectacular waves smashing onto the lava flows.  As we walked down the steep slope, three men were climbing up.  I had a bad feeling about them but they kept moving.  Suddenly, I remembered that I had left my wallet in the car.  No one in Vietnam carried a wallet.  When I got to the car, the wallet was gone. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere came an unmarked police car. A Detective asked me if I had lost anything.  I said that my wallet was gone.  The car roared out of the parking lot and up the road.  A few minutes later, the suspects were apprehended a short distance up the road and arrested. They were the same three men who walked up the lava flow.  However, my wallet and the money were missing.  

As we stood there awaiting a uniform car to take them to jail,  I remembered my list of serial numbers which I had placed in the glove compartment of the car.  I told the incredulous detective that I was providing him with a list of the serial numbers.  He stood there dumbfounded.  I remember him asking, “Can you tell me why you wrote those serial numbers down?”  I told him that I really didn’t have a good answer for him.  He just laughed and said that it was a moot point since the money had not been recovered.  We searched the area but to no avail.  The police left to take the suspects to the Station.  We learned that they had been under surveillance suspected of committing series of robberies in the area.   We also learned that they were “bad boys” who were dangerous. 

Susan suggested that we search some more.  After about a half hour, we found the wallet under three rocks.  We called the police.  At the Station, the Detective asked me again why I would have written down the serials.  I couldn’t give him a good answer.  The DA had to retain the money as evidence but they gave me $300 from a special fund so we could continue our R&R.  Two days later, we learned that the men were to be indicted and tried.  I was held over for a day in Honolulu but Susan had to return to her teaching job in New York.

What had been a joyous reception a week earlier was now a scene of somber wariness for the future.  A pall of sadness was everywhere as the wives and sweethearts filed back into planes.  Many of these couples would never see each other again. Those thoughts played inside my head until I finally cleared them at the hotel bar that night.  Since I had missed my original flight, I was routed back to Vietnam through Saigon where I had to catch a “hop” on a C-130 to DaNang and then a truck out to my Battalion Headquarters where an arrest warrant had been issued.  When I presented the credentials from the Marine liaison in Hawaii, I was returned to duty immediately.

My Battalion became part of Marine Amphibious Unit with the mission to attack the North Vietnamese Armies as they moved south for what we later learned was the Tet Offensive.  My job was in Operations and Legal but the losses grew in the intensified  ground combat.  We had trouble getting replacements on a timely basis since our casualties were so high.   

In early March, 1968,  the Battalion trapped an NVA Division on the banks of the Cua Viet River.  The Battalion Commander decided to take everyone off the ship who could carry a rifle for the attack.  Dutifully, with about 30 days to go, I got my rifle, pistol, extra magazines, and hand grenades and climbed into a C-46 Assault Chopper for the hop into Dong Ha.  

Suddenly,  a Corporal from HQ Personnel appeared and I was pulled from the helicopter.  I had priority orders to Honolulu to testify at the trial!  I went from the USS Valley Forge aboard a chopper to DaNang two hours later.  In DaNang, I was priority on the first flight to Okinawa.  I did three days of processing there in five hours and was placed on a Continental Jet for Honolulu.   Upon arrival, a Marine Corps staff car was waiting on the tarmac to take me directly to the District Attorney’s Office.  I was able to call Susan and tell her that I was in Hawaii!   I went into the Courtroom wearing combat boots and the utility uniform.  The trial went quickly.  When it was my turn to testify, the Prosecutor went to great lengths to stress that I had been in Vietnam and headed for commbat just days ago.  He asked me how I knew that the three men on trial were, in fact, the three men that I saw.  I told him that in our training, we focused on details to potentially save our lives in the field.  I then drew a picture of a tattoo.  I told them that if they looked on the left arm of the defendant, they would find a similar tattoo.  The defining moment came when the tattoo was shown to the jury.  I had other identifying details for the other two men.   The Defense tried to shake me.  He asked if it were possible that I saw them on the beach.  I said “no!” and told him that I felt potentially threatened by the men and focused very hard on them.  With the corroborating testimony by the Detectives and other witnesses, the jury took less than an hour to convict! 

I was sent to the USMC HQ in Hawaii Camp H. M. Smith.  I was apprehensive that they would return me to Vietnam.  However, the Major in the Legal Office offered me a chance to stay in Hawaii.  However, when he learned that I only had six months left on my enlistment and was married, I was given orders to Camp LeJeune, North Carolina.      

The simple act of writing down serial numbers plus some determined wifely persistence set in motion a series of events that got me out of Vietnam about five weeks early and potentially saved my life.  I often look at my Children and Grandchildren and think back to that fateful day in a hotel room overlooking the ocean where I wrote down the serial numbers!  Perhaps I cheated the Devil out of his due!      

 “Sleep When You are Dead”

25 World War II Veterans, 25 Marine Guardians, and 5 Honor Flight Staff assembled at the American Legion Complex in The Villages, Florida beginning at 0315 on Sunday, 8 September 2013 to begin their journey to Washington, DC.  I would say that the general atmosphere was enthusiastic anticipatory, and very happy.  Almost all of us had not been on an Honor Flight and little did we know what was to come!

Honor Flight is a national organization dedicated to bringing the remaining Veterans of World War II to Washington, DC to see “their” memorial on the Mall as well as the Lincoln Memorial, Korean War Memorial, Vietnam Memorial, Air Force Memorial, and Arlington Cemetery.  The motto of the Honor Flight is “All they did was to Save the World!”.  They are dying at the rate of 700 a day across the United States.  Even here in Florida, the numbers of World War II Vets are diminishing quickly.  The oldest Vet on our Flight was 97 and the youngest 87.  Like I said, we didn’t know what was to come!

Eight of our Vets came from the US Navy;  eight from the US Army;  five from the US Marine Corps; two from the Army Air Corps (later the US Air Force); and, two from the Merchant Marine.  Within this group were veterans of some of the toughest fights in the Pacific (Iwo Jima, Leyte Gulf & Guadalcanal); one who worked with the Navaho Code Talkers; veterans of the hard fighting in Europe (tankers, infantry, and one who crossed the beach at Normandy); fighter pilots and tail gunners in the Pacific; a UDT Commando (forerunners of the Navy Seals); US Navy gunners aboard warships; and, veterans who steered convoys across the Atlantic facing Nazi submarines. 

The Marine Guardians were from my Marine Corps League Detachment here in The Villages.  Among them were several Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan Vets.  I was proud of have had a PhD, Professor of Audiology, who taught at Gallaudet University as a Guardian.  She is an Associate Member of the Leesburg, FL MCL Detachment.  One of our Guardians was a former Commanding Officer of the Helicopter Squadron that serves as Marine One.  He flew Presidents Reagan and Clinton in this capacity. Our Honor Flight was the first one ever to have all Marine Corps Guardians.  We looked splendid in our red shirts, covers, khaki trousers, and short haircuts!

We boarded our bus for Orlando International Airport 0425.  As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, we went under an arc of water spraying in the air from two fire trucks.  Suddenly, two police cruisers with sirens and flashing lights took their place and moments later a convoy of 25 Patriot Guard motorcycles each flying flags snugged in behind the police cruiser.  We went roaring through Leesburg and other towns with people standing on the sidewalks cheering.  I have to tell you that I got misty eyes, the first of a lot of them to come.  We were escorted as far as the Florida Turnpike where we settled in the one hour ride to the airport.  We unloaded, each team getting a wheelchair, and assembled.

At Orlando, we were greeted by an Honor Guard from the TSA and a crowd of cheering passengers.  We thought this was unbelievable.  Everywhere we went, people would thank our Vets, cheer us, smile, and wave.  We were escorted by TSA through Security to our gate where volunteers with breakfasts served us.  My 87 year old Vet (the UDT Commando) couldn’t believe the attention we were all getting! 

We flew Southwest Airlines.  Our Group boarded first, settled in to our seats, and then the Crew and Passengers came aboard, clapping and giving our Vets high fives.  As the plane pulled out of Orlando, an Honor Guard stood at attention and the plane went through high arcs of water from two fire engines.  Soon, we were off!

We landed at Baltimore at 0935.  As we deplaned, another Honor Guard and more crowds of cheering passengers greeted us.  We moved through the airport and got onto a bus.  As we left, an escort of two National Park Service police cars and another group of Patriot Guard motorcycles surrounded the bus.  We had top priority on the freeways.  The NPS police pushed traffic aside and we quickly drove to Washington, DC to our first stop at Arlington National Cemetery for the Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  The crowds were friendly and supportive all day long!

Our next stop was the U. S. Air Force Memorial which I had never seen.  There are three steel arcs going high in the air representing the tail exhausts of the Thunderbirds.  There are Memorial tributes, statues, and a spectacular view of Washington, DC.  We settled in there and had a box lunch while enjoying the view. 

Next up was the US Marine Corps War Memorial which depicts the flag raising over Iwo Jima.  We were further honored when Deputy Chief Commandant of Air Operations, BGEN Glaner visited us.  He was warm, welcoming, and enjoyed chatting with our Vets.  They enjoyed picture opportunities with the General and the Statue.  Of course, it was an emotional moment for our Marine Guardians and Vets who consider the place sacred soil.

Our police escort then got us quickly to the Mall and the World War II Memorial.  We unloaded wheel chairs and pushed our Vets around the Memorial Circle.  Most wanted their picture taken in front of the columns for their individual home states.  The Vets of the Pacific and Europe fighting spent time studying the monuments to those theatres of war with the great battles commemorated on the walls. At the “Wall of Stars” where one star represents 100 killed in action, we took a group picture in front of the 4400 stars representing 440,000 dead from WWII.  It was both a somber moment and a joyous moment as our Photographer finished his pictures people kept running up to take our group pictures!  There was more clapping and cheering!  Remember the misty eyes?  All of these stops were emotional for everyone and it showed.

We had about two hours afterwards to push our guys around the Mall.  I took my Vet up the elevator to the Lincoln Memorial as it was his first visit to Washington.  He gazed up into Lincoln’s eyes and read the quotes from the Emancipation Proclamation and Gettysburg Address and had tears running down his cheeks.   I remembered my visits to the Lincoln Memorial with lots of emotions as well.  As we came out of the Lincoln Memorial, we passed by another Honor Flight trip from Montana.  Our Vets greeted each other as we passed.  I did note that two of their Vets had “hospice care” tags on their wheelchairs. 

We then headed for the Korean Memorial.  My Vet  was wearing down a little and I was having fun pushing him along in the wheelchair although he was pretty mobile most of the time!  At Korea, you see a patrol outfitted with almost the same gear that I carried in Vietnam.  The statues of the soldiers on patrol are sculpted in a haunting, almost eerie soft white color depicting anxiety while anticipating the worst.  I am always affected by the realism which sparks memories.  My Vet had the same reaction.  We took time there to rest, hydrate, and chill out with some of the other Honor Flight teams.   

With time passing quickly, we went over to the Vietnam Memorial.  My Vet was shocked and saddened at the 58000 names carved in a granite wall.  We went by the Memorial with the poignant pictures of the dead left by still grieving family members or friends all these many years later.  My Vet was affected by all of this.  I showed him the names of many of my comrades and that of Jedh Barker, a close friend who won the Medal of Honor posthumously.  As we passed the final section of the Wall, my Vet shook his head and dried yet another tear.  I did, too. 

By now, we had been up for more than 14 hours,  I had been handling a wheelchair since the airport in Orlando.  We were getting tired physically but the adrenalin was pumping!  Soon, we were off to our next adventure of the day!

Remember our police escort?  You should have seen them in action as we went for a tour of downtown Washington, DC!  We went to the Capitol, the US Navy Memorial, the US Coast Guard Memorial, the White House, Supreme Court, and about every major Cabinet Department Building, and, of course, the Washington Monument.  This monument had been damaged a couple of years ago by a rare earthquake and is in the process of being repaired.  As of this time, there is an incredible scaffolding pattern on the monument that is so spectacular that many are suggesting that it be retained.  The jury is out on that one for now.

Our bus returned to Baltimore with screaming sirens, parted traffic, and we arrived right on schedule.  Once again we had an Honor Guard and fantastic reception by the crowds of passengers.  We went to our Gate and had supper at a nearby Food Court.  I have never had a diet Pepsi or Quizonos sub that tasted so good!  We gathered at our Gate and soon we were on our way to Orlando!  It was now 2020 as we took off with an Honor Guard and cheering passengers! 

At 2230, we came off our plane in Orlando.  This time, a bagpiper played all the Service Hymns while passengers cheered and a TSA Honor Guard welcomed us home!  As we embarked onto our bus, little did the Vets know that there was one last surprise to come! 

We rolled up the Florida Turnpike getting off south of Leesburg.  Everyone on the bus was either sleeping, drowsy, or just waiting for this to end.  Suddenly, the lights in the bus flashed on, the command “attention on deck!” given, and bus rolled to a  stop in front of a housing development called “Legacy” where golf carts with their lights on illuminated a cheering crowd who were waving flags and cheering!  My Vet said to me, “I keep pinching myself to see if this is real or just a wonderful dream!”.

Soon, the bus rolled northward through Leesburg when, yet again, police cruisers lit up the night sky with about 50 Patriot Guard motorcycles joining the convoy back to the American Legion Complex.  About fifteen minutes later, our Vets looked from the top of the entrance, down on hundreds of people who came to see them home!  There was a band, playing, a drum line, cheerleaders, twirlers, and fire trucks shooting arcs of water high in the air!  The motorcycles came down hill, engines roaring, horns honking, and throngs of people all shouting and cheering.  My Vet just stared and there came the tears.

We exited from the bus right into an honor line with the drums drumming, the band continued to play, people hugged our Vets, and it was a scenes of what I would call organized, chaotic joy and happiness!

The cameras flashed, news crews rolled their cameras, and we went to a stage where chairs had been set up.  In a brief ceremony, our Vets were introduced to the crowd who cheered the loudly.  Finally, at 0130, on Monday Morning, we put my Vet into our car and drove home.  Now, by the time we arrived, we had been up for more than 24 hours!  We came into the house and two of our closest friends, popped a bottle of champagne and a little wine and celebrated our homecoming!

My Vet opened up a little and started telling me about some of his experiences during the War.  He said that he had never talked about them but we spent about 30 more minutes talking.   Finally, at about, 0230, I told my Vet that our motto that day was “Sleep when you are Dead”.  I reminded him that if we didn’t some sleep, we might be “dead” and, so,  we headed for the showers and the rack.

You will notice that I use the term “our Vets or my Vet” in the writing of this blog.  This day was all about them and not about us.  We tended to their every need at every moment.  We did so with the understanding that our Vets would be recognized by name in the ceremonies but that we would be “the Guardians”.  We paid our own way on the flight and seek no special glory or honor other than to be fulfilled in a wonderful way.  Writing their story is fulfillment enough for me.

Honor Flight is running out of Vets to honor!  The organizers here said that the age of the Vets on the waiting list grows older.  The Vets on the flights are more infirm and less mobile now.  In the not too distant future, Honor Flight will start taking Korean Vets to Washington.  This made me think a bit about how much our younger folk know about World War II.  How much they realize that our opportunity as a Nation to develop and grow in freedom was bought by these men and women in the battlefields of Europe, the Islands of the Pacific, and in air over both theatres of war.  Honor Flight honors their legacy and I was proud to have had the privilege of being a Guardian. 

THE WILD BLUE YONDER!

“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experiences.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt

And so, to celebrate the double nickel, I decided to take a ride in a perfectly good airplane and jump out it somewhere around 14,000 feet! Above “Skydive The Ranch” near Gardiner, New York, just next to the beautiful Hudson River at the Poughkeepsie bridge.

Where did this come from?

I’ve always been adventurous although am now considerably mellowed in terms of what constitutes a thrilling adventure!  Although I have salt water running in my veins, the sky has always fascinated me.  I love to fly, even took flying lessons for a time until I sat down and tried to figure out what I would do with a pilot’s license.  The answer was “not much”.

The paratroopers jumping out of their planes above occupied France during WWII were probably the first real influence on my psyche.  I had no fear of heights.  I jumped off high cliffs into the waters of lakes in the Catskill and Adirondack mountains as a teen ager.  I tried to get as close to the rim of canyons as possible to see what I could see which drove my poor Mother crazy.  Later, in Vietnam, I rode a number of helicopters into battle.  I even volunteered to become a machine gunner on medevac helicopters but my request was denied.  I loved to fly in Piper Cubs and small Cessnas as a passenger. I loved being up in the Empire State building or the Towers.  I loved being on the edge at the Grand Canyon.  Heights and flying were fascinating to me and still remain so to this day.  I am an amateur photographer so I have some spectacular shots from unusual places.

And, so, we return to the “Ranch”.  I arrived without my wife who refused to come over and watch me do the “skydive thing”.  I needed to get this out of my system.  I checked in with a rather beautiful woman who showed me into a room to watch a film.  The room darkened and, .lo and behold, there was the likeness of Charles Manson, beard and all (of course, it wasn’t but……) who proceeded to tell us that we could die.  Then, there were several variations on how we could die.  But, I trucked on….and soon we saw a film on how to pack a parachute and how to do a lot of things!

My “Team” had twelve skydivers.  Eight of them were doing single jumps because they were experienced, four had been US Army Rangers Of the remaining four were three 30 something males, full of bravado, courage, and BS.  The final member was me.  The four of us had to be schooled in actually packing a parachute, although we didn’t for our upcoming skydive.  Most of the session was devoted to what happens when it is time to actually jump;  pulling the ripcord at a certain altitude;  how to land out of the skydive; and, what to do if there was any problem.  One thing our instructor said that I remember with crystal clarity is “When you are coming up to the door, you will hear the wind howling, and your mind will turn to mush.  When that happens just jump out of the door!”.

We then met our tandem partners.  The tandem jump is two people connected together.  My guy had jumped over 1000 times and was an instructor at The Ranch.  He was ex-US Army and was the most experienced tandem jumper there.  He was lanky, long-haired, and very, very professional.  We had quite a discussion about why I was jumping and if I could go through with it.  I convinced that not only could I do it, but I would without hesitation.

Remember our threes macho males?  After they spoke with their tandem partners, the testosterone levels seemed to have receded a bit.  No more braggadocio, much less posturing, and much quieter.  Personally, I had crossed the “line of departure” in my mind and there was no turning back.  We spent the next half hour watching the teams that were to jump before us load into the planes, take off, and pretty soon you saw the chutes way, way, way, up in the sky.  As the skydivers landed, they joyfully whooped, screamed, and cried.  It was all good.

Soon, our turn came.  We lined up in front of our plane.  Being the oldest one on board, I was first in to the plane in position number 1 (first in, last out).  I was a little annoyed with that but there was some history of skydivers over 50 chickening out.  We were soon all sitting in our positions.  Suddenly, with a roar, the propeller started churning and we taxied to the runway.  No one said a word in the plane as it gathered speed and then lifted off into the sky.  I remembered being very, very calm with great anticipation.

Our plane climbed with great circles, each lifting us higher and higher.  We leveled off just under 14,000 feet.  The “flight Commander” announced that we were ready to go.  All that was missing was the klaxon and blinking light from military aircraft.  The pilot gave the command to jump!  The first eight jumpers went out the door, several seconds apart, and you could hear a “whooshing” noise as each jumper cleared the door.  Now, it was our turn.  The first two young males moved to the door with some hesitation but each jumped.  I am sure their tandem partner was encouraging them on as was mine.  Suddenly, the jumper in front of me, froze for a moment.  I kicked his back and motioned that he should jump or get the hell out of my way!  He moved to the door and was gone!

The walk from the back of our small plane to the door was was filled with anticipation for me.  Then, suddenly, I was there.  I looked down and everything looked like a little toy.  My Instructor said to me, “Mr. Davies, are you ready to go?”.  I replied, “Yes, are you?”  I then leaned out of the door and tumbled into the blue.

The first thing I was told to do was to put my hands out just like Superman.  I did and it stabilized us from tumbling to actually flying.  What a sensation!  As we fell, I looked up the Hudson River and was stunned at the number of bridges that I could see.  As I was marveling at the number of bridges, my neck suddenly jerked back.  My Instructor said that I had missed the cutoff point to pull the ripcord!  I replied, “Yes, but look at all the Hudson bridges you can see!”  He laughed and explained that he had pulled the ripcord.  We were in good shape!

As we fell, we started to do left turns, the some right turns, and I think we did a circle.  He was impressed with my handling of the directional cords.  He said, “See that little circle down there?”, I said, “Yes!”.  He said, “think you can land on it”.  I said, “I’ll try” and so we went left, then right, the left, and suddenly we were right on target to actually hit the circle (which when I first saw it looked like a penny).

We walked out of our landing after hitting the circle without falling down.  We later learned that we were the only ones who did.  I was beyond thrilled!

We had to go into a post-jump debrief.  My young male who was in front of me thanked me for “encouraging him”.  My Tandem Instructor said that I could probably become a “certified” skydiver.  I told him that I had now checked something off the life list now known as the “Bucket List”.   I was glad to have had this once in a lifetime experience  over the beautiful Hudson River Valley.

As the summer of 1965 approached, I was in my senior year in College.  Vietnam had blown up and on March 8^th, 1965, US Marine Corps Battalion Landing Team 3/9 waded ashore on Red Beach just south of DaNang.  I completed four years at Wesleyan in May but decided to return in the Fall to finish up my degree requirements due to changing my minor too late to take all of the required courses.  I was fine with that because I thought (rather naively) at the time, that perhaps Johnson would resolve Vietnam. 

Over the last two years of my College life, my career interests continued to evolve.  I did plan at that time to become a candidate for Navy OCS upon graduation.  As world events evolved, it looked like it was going to be a reality rather than a possibility particularly with the early bombing of the North.   None of this deterred me from exploring other options such as studying Law or a career in the U. S. State Department Foreign Service. 

Although I actively dated in College, I had determined a year or so previously that I was not going to enter a long term relationship until my military status was determined.  The draft had started up and was already snaring people that I knew.  Returning to Wesleyan guaranteed me a 2-S status for the Selective Service System aka “The Draft”.  2-S was a student deferment until after graduation. 

For the summer of 1965, I decided to go back to Martha’s Vineyard and have a fun summer for what I thought was probably the last time.  I looked at several job options and decided to drive the freight truck for the Martha’s Vineyard Cooperative Dairy.  This meant arising at 4:30AM, driving out to the Dairy, driving the freight truck to the ferry in Vineyard Haven, taking the 6:00 ferry to Falmouth, driving to the Hood Distribution Center in North Falmouth, loading the truck with an iron hook by myself (my loads varied from 12 to 18 tons of dairy products, driving the truck back to catch the 12:00 ferry, and unloading the truck at the Dairy and be done by around 2:30 in the afternoon.  I did this for 6 days a week.  It was a perfect job to leave some beach time and to have a social life.  The catch was going to bed by around 11:00. 

Martha’s Vineyard was a center of protest against the Vietnam Conflict.  My coffee house, The Mooncusser had gotten a little famous so it was packed every night with quality folk and mountain music.  As a long term “customer”, I always had a seat when I went even if I helped around the place a bit.  I almost never had to pay the cover charge.  I grew to really love that music and it is an affinity that I have to this very day.  I attended some beach parties with some of the bands who played there but I soon discovered that Ms. Mary Jane was very popular so I stopped going to them as the police were very tough on drugs.  I wasn’t interested in drugs at all.

I lived at The Wesley House which was an old Resort Hotel built in 1879.  I had worked there for the previous two summers.  The Owner said that I could stay there with full room and board in exchange for helping out when and where needed.  So, I performed repairs, bussed when needed, waited when needed, and worked behind the desk on a limited basis.  In short, I was a troubleshooter.  The Staff of the Hotel was all College students working for the summer.  They were from good schools and mostly were nice kids.  I was a little older than most of them (perhaps a year or two).  Among the staff was a woman named Susan Olson who, on a whim, decided to apply with her sister for a job in the Wesley House.  Susan had graduated from Augustana College (Illinois) and had just finished her first year of teaching in Littleton, Colorado.  Little did I know what was to come!

I had an active social life on the Vineyard that summer.  A girl whom II had dated on and off for three years was back for a little while.  I met a number of women at The Mooncusser, some of whom were more than very interesting.  But, as I said, I wasn’t going to pursue any long term relationships until my military situation was resolved.  However, as the summer progressed, I grew very interested in Susan.  We never dated formally but went out in Groups.  As things went, we wound up talking to one another a lot.  I remembered being a little concerned that she dated a Secret Service agent for part of the summer.

In early August, a crewmember from Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow’s yacht returning from a beach party drowned in the waters just off East Chop.  A day or so later, I took a date to dinner at Monroe’s Restaurant in Oak Bluffs, We were shown to a table for two just near some secluded booths.  My date saw Frank Sinatra and I told her not to bother them or even to look at them.  When it came time for me to pay the dinner bill, the waiter said that it had been taken care of with thanks.  We got up, nodded, and left.

The Civil Rights movement was very active.  Congress passed the Voting Rights Act in July but the violence continued in the Deep South and then, unfortunately, in August, the Watts riots began.  All of these events were reflected on The Vineyard with peaceful demonstrations, intellectual discourse, and great awareness.  Of course, in the Northeast, we thought that we knew it all.  We did not!

By the end of the summer, I knew with some certainty that my immediate future after College would most likely involve military service.  I also knew that I had strong feelings for Susan.  Since I used to talk about Susan with her Sister, Carol, who ran the bakery, I am pretty sure that I got “ratted out”.  But, I struggled with myself because of my impending military plans.  At the end of the summer, as we all said our farewells, I felt empty and drained.  Susan sailed off into the morning sun and I thought I probably would not see her again.

I remember going to the Mooncusser the night they left.  Someone sang “The Times they are a’ changing”…and how right that song was!  They were a’changing for me..and I didn’t know it yet!

I will be a Guardian on the upcoming Villages Honor Flight on September 8th, 2013. Honor Flight is a National Organization that was founded to honor the veterans of World War II. Without these men and women, we would live in a materially different world today. The Founders of Honor Flight discovered that many WWII veterans had never been to Washington, DC . The magnificent World War III Memorial is on the Mall. The organization decided to start sponsoring “Honor Flights” into Washington so these Vets would have a chance to see the Memorial dedicated to them.

Our Honor Flight will be an “All Marine Guardian Flight” which will be a first A Guardian is an individual who is responsible for the WWII Vet for the entire time. Vets don’t pay a cent. Guardians pay up to $400 for their flight.
We leave The Villages for Orlando International at 3:00 AM. The flight leaves about 7:00 AM for Baltimore. We arrive there about 9:30 and are bussed down to Washington with a National Park Service escort. When we arrive, we visit the World War II Memorial, Arlington National Cemetery, The Iwo Jima Memorial, Korrea and Vietnam Memorials, Lincoln Memorial, etc. At 5:00, we are on the busses back to Baltimore with an arrival back in the Villages at aprox. 12:30 AM. It will be a LONG day but very fulfilling.

Our flight will take approx 25 WWII Veterans from the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, and Army Air Corps. Each Vet has a guardian. We are organized into 5 “squads” of 5 Vets to a squad. I am tasked with being a Squad Leader in charge of 5 teams of Guardians/Vets. We also have a Flight Director, Tour Guide, Medical Personnel (including a Corpsman for each squad), and a Photographer.

The planning that goes into this endeavor is incredibly meticulous, detailed, and rehearsed. We have already met with our Vets. My Vet is J. Rosseau who was a UDT specialist which were the forerunners of the Navy Seals. Basically, his job was to remove obstacles from beaches so the Marines could land. He is 87, feisty, and quick. He loves the fact that a Field Grade Marine Officer is going to be wheeling him around DC. He REALLY loves that part. We bonded very quickly.

The World War II generation is dying at the rate of 800-900 per day. We are losing them quickly. Each of our Vets has never been able to get to Washington and is grateful for the opportunity. We who are Guardians are privileged to be able to help them make this journey.

After September 8th, I will post a follow-on to describe out adventure!

The Summer of 1963 was a time of awakening, awareness, and decision for me. I was between my sophomore and junior years in College. In October of 1962, those of us who were entering our late teens went through the Cuban Missile Crisis which brought both the possibility of an all-out war with the Soviet Union and quite, possibly a nuclear war right into our collective faces. Suddenly, the prospect of entering the Service became frighteningly real for twelve days in October. None of us forgot what those days were like. That crisis brought me to an intensified awareness of the Cold War and what implications it could have for my future. Within the framework of my classes, I studied our conflicts with China, the Soviets, and the liberation movements in Latin America with a much greater interest than I could have ever thought. At the same time, the Civil Rights movement was gathering momentum. I had been into the deeper south by then and had experienced segregated facilities, dining establishments, even drinking fountains. I was pretty repelled by these things and even more appalled at the beatings, murders, and even attempts to prevent people of color to get an education. I also became aware of early American intervention in Vietnam as we sent advisers there in the early fight against the domino theory.  One of my History professors, Dr. Dwight Mikkelson, was very astute politically and forecast our involvement in Vietnam.  As a result of these discussions, I talked with military recruiters for the US Navy for the first time right after mid-terms.  This was the first time that I put a military stint into my potential future plans.

After finals, I came home to Poughkeepsie, New York for a brief time before I was to head out to Martha’s Vineyard to begin my summer job at one of the resort hotels on the Island. I was to be a “jack of all trades” rather than being assigned to the dining room wait staff or bell staff. While at home, I was approached by a couple of friends who were going to take one of the freedom buses “south”. I thought a great deal about going but it would have meant giving up my summer job which I could not afford to do at the time. So, reluctantly, I passed and went on to the Vineyard.  It did bother me all summer that I did not make that trip.

Martha’s Vineyard in 1963 was a burgeoning hotbed of intellectual liberalism, decidedly anti-war, pro Civil Rights, and became one of the great melting pots of folk music that embraced all of these themes. A place I frequented in Oak Bluffs was called “The Mooncusser” which was a coffee house where you sat and listened to the early version of some of the greatest folk musicians of that era.  I met a number of very interesting people in The Mooncusser, some of whom I number in my friends today.  The music that I heard there has stayed with me for life.  The folk music genre is one my all-time favorites.   I also read voraciously from the classics, history (The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich), and popular crime novels.  I also read the newspapers and listened to news reports on radio and TV on a daily basis.  I substantially increased my awareness of the world events that could shape our Country’s future.  I studied the expansion of Communism with great interest and some trepidation.

At the same time, I had a summer of fun which included beach parties, dating, and trips to Nantucket (maybe my most favorite Island but don’t tell anyone LOL).  My Mother and Father were at their cottage in the Martha’s Vineyard Camp Meeting Association in Oak Bluffs so I finally was able to have some serious talks about where my future career would be.  By this time, he had (sort of)  gotten over my decision not be a Methodist Minister.  Once that happened then our discussions were much more fruitful.  One of the strengths of the Campground was the eclectic mixture  of people from all walks of life, different experiences, and  varying perspectives on just about everything.  I got a lot of advice on a lot of things from a lot of people.  With all of the input and discussion, I decided that after I finished my degree.  I would then enter as a candidate for Naval OCS and finish a Master’s Degree during my four years as a Naval Officer.  Well, as future events unfolded, ” the best laid schemes of mice and men gang-aft-agley” as said the poet Robert Burns in his poem “To a mouse, or tuning up her nest with a plough” in 1785.  But, that’s a future post.

Another issue for me was to decide whether or not to return to West Virginia Wesleyan College.  I went to Wesleyan because the New York Conference of the United Methodist Church was putting a lot of resources into supporting the Church in Appalachia.  A surprising number of “PK’s aka “Preacher’s Kids”  from New England, New York,and Pennsylvania matriculated at Wesleyan in my class.  The College was vibrant and there was absolutely no place where you could have gone that matched the quintessential all-American college experience at Wesleyan.  The academics were rigorous;  the social life fantastic; all the sports in a tough conference (for colleges that size);  Fraternity life ;and, an incredible group of Professors, many of whom had left large Universities to come to Wesleyan (and other colleges in the general region).  During the Summer of 1963, I made a decision that I would return to Wesleyan to continue to pursue my undergraduate degree.    I wrote to Boston University and turned down their offer of admission as a transfer student.

As the summer evolved and the news reports continued to come from the South, I became angrier about the oppression that the  Civil Rights movement was fighting against.   I think this sparked a life long interest in the history of the Civil War.  1963 was the hundred year anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation.  When you combine that with the Civil Rights movement, it raised my awareness and interest.

On a personal level, the Summer of 1963 was full of momentous events that shaped some critical decisions in my life.  Those decisions had far-ranging implications for me personally.  I had to make most of them myself with input from a lot of incredible people.  Some of my friends said that I was too serious at times.  They were right.  I had a lot to decide.    When I returned to my Fraternity House at Wesleyan, I sat down with Professor Mikkleson and told him all of what you have read above.  He was great.  He said that my decisions were grounded in solid research and sufficient perception of the future.  He told me that he had met few students who put as much effort into making a decision on their future as I.  Personally, I was kind of stressed out about it all but things went very well, at least going forward.

The next installment of this story will be the Summer of 1965.  When I thought I made a lot of decisions in 1963, they pale when compared with the Summer of ’65!