Military Service

Early Times

From entry in March, 1967, to exit in March, 1970, my time in the US Army was a patchwork of various experiences. Entry came at Fort Benning, Georgia, with basic training. At age 20 years I was among the oldest of my group; although in those years we were all young and all male.

After basic training came a stint at Fort Campbell, KY, for training as a tank driver. The tank of the day was a 50-ton behemoth which never managed to become my friend. A bit of time later saw me assigned to a tank battalion stationed in Gelnhausen, Germany. During a 17-month assignment in Germany I was sent to school for additional training as a communications technician and then as communications chief.

Promotions during the time in Germany led to a final grade of sergeant E-5 (Buck sergeant) and an accumulated three stripes on the sleeve. I was shipped from Germany to Vietnam in August, 1969, with a stop at home in the middle. By the time I arrived in Vietnam only about six months remained in my service obligation. In those years involuntary extensions were unheard of. We finished our time and either reenlisted or were discharged from the service.

Vietnam Times

The trip to Vietnam began in Fort Lewis, Washington. We were loaded onto chartered airplanes for the long trek over the ocean. On the first leg we stopped for a brief time in Hawaii, my one and only trip to those islands. Next stop was Guam for another brief time. And then on to Cam Ranh Bay, South Vietnam.

Upon our arrival in the country we were all assigned to training and introduction companies. A mistake in my orders had me assigned as a tank commander, but that was soon changed to the correct assignment as a communications chief, the position I held at the time.

We all received similar training with our first introduction to the M-16 in classes where we learned to maintain the weapons and on the firing ranges where we learned to fire the rifles and qualified as various grades of marksman before going to the field.

One piece of introduction was an overnight trek in the local area. We were sent into the country as a combat unit. All were frightened at our first trek with very few among us knowing what to expect. Nervous fingers on the company lines led to much firing into the darkness but at least no one was injured and no opposition was encountered. Even in that early encounter my position in the headquarters platoon meant a place in the center of a large circle of infantry troops.

Final assignment to a combat infantry company meant a trip in a cargo plane with delivery to An Khe in the Central Highlands. After a few days in base camp and a time of learning more about equipment and about the mission I was about to endure, I was sent to the field. My company was in the field at the time so my first helicopter ride was on the way to join the troops.

My arrival was met with both celebration and disappointment. The company and especially the headquarters platoon was happy to have a new member but many were disappointed at how little time I had left in the service. Counting days was a ritual we all practiced. By that time my days were numbered in the 170's while many in the company had much more time remaining for their tours (the typical tour was twelve months in duration).

Time in the field was in large measure a time of boredom punctuated by times of high excitement. We moved our position at regular intervals with two to three days being the longest we usually remained in one site. Moving meant carrying all our possessions on our backs including food, weapons, ammunition, and personal effects. In addition I carried the secure communications gear and spare batteries. At each site we maintained radio contact overnight by dividing the time into shifts. Most nights I had an early morning shift, usually 1-3AM.

Excitement came in various forms. The arrival of a supply helicopter or new troops was always a high time. Other times came from sniper fire or from our surveillance patrols being fired upon. During the time I spent in the field (three to four months) not one person in the company was injured or killed. In the days both before and after there were soldiers killed. We all lost friends in the fray at one time or another.

Leaving the field meant a very brief time in base camp in An Khe and then back to a firebase as one member of a communications team. We were part of a larger encampment including artillery, infantry, and a planned command post. The planned final installation never came, but we endured days of heat and daily sniper fire for a few weeks in place.

One more assignment took me to a larger base camp near Pleiku. This time there were no real jobs available for my position. I became a member of the team that sat on the helicopter pad and loaded supplies for the troops in the field. On some occasions I was the courier for the codebooks used for secure communications. A security clearance at my level was required for such service and not everyone on the loading pad had that approval.

I was shipped home from the larger base in Pleiku. The trip was reversed with one more trek in a cargo plane to Cam Ranh Bay followed by a charter flight back home. This time we landed in Anchorage, Alaska, for a very brief stopover. The snow was blowing as we moved from the plane to the terminal, but no one seemed to mind too much as we were heading home. Final discharge from Fort Lewis was followed by the plane trip home to a waiting family.

Today I am proud of my military service. At the time I was very young and not entirely ready to face the world. The experience taught me a great deal about life and living. In addition the experience taught me the real horror that is war. Civilians and soldiers alike suffer in those circumstances. No person deserves to be treated the way war treats human beings.

Hard Times

The life changing events were many and varied. For me nearly every day brought some new experience that proved further to my mind the futility of war. A regular sight was gunships (both fixed wing and helicopter) raining death and destruction on the landscape. We heard the sound of artillery firing at targets far away almost continuously. The only time the sound was notable was Christmas Eve when the silence was deafening.

In the base camp we were sometimes treated to nighttime mortar attacks. These attacks were most often aimed at the ammunition storage facilities and the motor pool. To be safe we moved from our tents into bunkers when the first sounds came our way. Jolly we acted, but frightened we were. We never knew if an errant round might fall through our tent in the middle of the night. Fear remained our constant companion.

We often met civilians as part of the daily activities. We were received in a variety of ways, but the only ones who seemed to like our presence were the prostitutes and drug dealers. Others met us with either disdain or outward hatred. The hate came most often at times when our company was moving through rice paddies as the farmers stood by helpless as we took away their livelihood.

Destruction was everywhere at hand. As one member of an infantry company I had the chance to move about the country more than some people. We saw the damage done by the bombs dropped from B-52s and we wandered through areas defoliated by Agent Orange. We saw villages that were damaged or deserted as a result of the war. Women and children were sometimes alone as their male family members were off to fight or were already dead.

I lost a friend one day, another Kentucky boy somewhat younger than me. He was on sentry duty in the daytime when a single bullet from a sniper hit his head. At the time he was writing a letter home, according to the field reports. I was in base camp and was asked to identify his body for shipment back home. I escaped that duty when another member of the base camp contingent took the job in my place.

Days after leaving the company to return to a base camp position a group of soldiers in my company were killed when gunships were called in to the wrong position. There is nothing at all friendly about being fired upon by one's own troops.

One evening in the middle of the night a man awakened for his time on guard duty was startled. He fired his M-16 in a reflex action killing the man awakening him.

Natives were routinely fired upon by our patrols if their behavior was suspicious in any way without real regard to their being combatants or even of being armed at all.

War is hell. There is no kind or gentle way to avoid those words. By the time I reached Vietnam, I could see the failure of the US Army to prepare well for the situation. We were trained in conventional warfare and then sent to fight a guerilla operation. We were kids sent to do a man's work as the old saying goes. No amount of preparation could have readied us for what we were to face. Only experience taught us the lessons of survival, and too many did not live to share their experience.

Peace Times

The sights and scenes play back in my mind like a bad movie. I can return to those minutes and hours at any moment of the day without hesitation. The memories are as clear today as the day I came home all those years ago. I was lucky to be spared much of the worst of what war can bring one's way. I am among the fortunate ones who came home alive, if not so well as before. Many thousands of my fellow soldiers came home in caskets. What each and every one of us endured was more than enough to teach me the futility and uselessness of all war let alone one of occupation.

I came home a very changed person. That returning was the beginning of my time as an antiwar activist. The intervening years have seen increased involvement in protest until today when I stand for election to Congress in the House of Representatives. I stand as an antiwar activist and campaigner for the people. The lessons of the past are very clear. War is not the way to win hearts and minds. We must pursue more peaceful solutions if humankind is to survive. There is so much we humans can accomplish if we begin to work together for a better world. If we continue our militaristic ways we may have no future whatsoever.

Peace.

Me at age 20 in basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia, in March, 1967. Basic training was quite a trial. Only a few days out of civilian life, as indicated by the white head not yet accustomed to sunshine, I was one miserable young man. Life took many more turns in the military before I was to see home once again.

Motto and insignia of the 4th Infantry Division of the United States Army. Co. D, 3rd Bn, 8th Infantry Batallion, 4th Infantry Division was my field unit. The insignia adorned our left shoulder in olive drab colors. On returning stateside the insignia moved to the right shoulder to designate the combat unit service.

The "Huey" HH-1 helicopter was basic air transportation. We loaded and unloaded as quickly as possible to avoid possible attack. When the entire company or a larger group was moved the helicopters looked like flocks of birds in the sky.

The children were ubiquitous. Often they greeted us looking for candy or small amounts of money. We had to be careful, as sometimes children were used as messengers bringing danger our way. No soldier ever let down his guard for long.

Searching local villages was part of the job. My company participated in only one search during my time in the field. We were seeking any evidence of arms or resistance. Men were gone by the time we arrived, but the snipers remained in the nearby jungle and kept our attention.

We all decorated our helmets just the way this trooper has done. We used various religious symbols or slang sayings. This soldier's helmet marks the days left in his tour, a "short-timer helmet."

Military scrip was issued in Vietnam in an effort to keep American dollars out of the hands of the locals. I drew a total of $50 per month, just enough to play cards and visit the NCO club. Life was inexpensive in Vietnam in those days. We did not struggle with paying our bills the way so many in our country are doing today.

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