Walking Point in the Bloody Vietnam War

Fifth Marines landed in Chu Lai, and I remember I was the first automatic rifleman in the first team, first squad, first platoon for Hotel Company. I remember going down the nets, getting into the Mike boat headed toward shore. Then the ramp went down. When the ramp went down, I thought to myself, “Oh man, I’m in a shooting gallery, there’s no place to go here.”

So we ran off this thing and we ran up the beach. There was nobody shooting at us, there was none of that stuff going on. In fact, there was a band playing off in the distance. We got up on the sand dunes, stopped, sat down, and waited.

About four or five hours later, the company commander came down, the platoon commanders came down, and they gave us our marching orders. We were on our way out to Hill 69, walking through the rice paddies or on the rice paddy dikes to get there.

Then we went over to a place called Hill 10, which is right outside of Chu Lai. On the fifth night there, we pulled an ambush, and I was part of that ambush. We inflicted some damage on some other people.

The next night, it was 2:00 in the morning, and one of my fire teammates woke me up and said, “Come on, get your watch.”

So I got up and propped my feet down in my fighting hole. I was sitting there for just a couple of minutes, having made myself a cup of coffee down in the hole, when all of a sudden there were these green lights coming across the valley at us. I dropped down in the hole and yelled for my fire team leader, Harrison.

He jumped down in the hole, looked at me, and said, “Get your helmet on.”

That night, we got hit by an estimated company plus of heavy weapons folks who had mortars. They mortared us, and they shot the machine gun at us. If they had done it the opposite way, we wouldn’t have known what we were doing, because all you hear are the mortars going in the tube and coming out. But in fact, they opened up with the machine gun, which gave us a little bit of a warning for everybody to get in their holes.

So we did. That night, two of the guys got a Silver Star, and one guy got a Bronze Star. We had no casualties, and we inflicted a lot of casualties on them as they came charging across the dry rice paddies.

The next day, we went out on patrol and found where they had dragged their bodies up into this cave on the other side of the valley. They were stacked in there, covered with lime. We were pretty proud of ourselves, though little did we know it wasn’t going to be like that all the time.

After that, we didn’t have anything at all go on for maybe another two months. It’s just the way it is, the nature of the beast. We did a lot of patrolling, always looking for them, and eventually we ended up in these four little villages just below Hill 69.

I still remember walking point for the first time through some of their areas. I walked point more than once, and I walked rear guard and main body. We were walking down this pathway because they didn’t have any roads there; the pathway was everything they had to haul carts in and out of these villages.

On each side of this one path—I still remember this—there were these big rattan pads with all this red stuff on them. As we got into them, my face started burning, my eyes started watering, and my nose started draining.

I remember turning around to my squad leader and saying, “What is this?”

He said, “Oh, those are their chilies, they’re drying their chilies.”

The gas coming off those chilies was what was making my face burn and everything else, because you’re literally almost walking on them. It was those kinds of things, not so much culture shock, as just unbelievable that you’re in this kind of an environment.

I still remember thinking to this day how different it was in South Vietnam than where I had grown up. There was jungle all around and rice paddies all around. But I didn’t give it any other thought than it’s just different.

The pace of the fighting for us picked up as we went on a lot of operations—13 of them over my time period there. Depending on the operation, you were either in it or you weren’t. In my own personal case, I learned to expect to see somebody who didn’t like us. I also learned that I had a responsibility to protect my fellow Marines as well as myself, and to report up the chain what was going on.

That carried on until I became the company radioman. That happened primarily because I was first told I was going to be the platoon radioman. Harrison had been overseas before and his time was up, Otis Bartley got transferred to Third Marines, Jack Corders got transferred to Seventh Marines, so I was the last man standing. I was a very junior Lance Corporal then, and they said, “Okay, you’re going to be the platoon radioman.”

Within a short period of time, I was sent up to company radio. In company radio, I was constantly around the CO as well as the Gunny and the XO. I learned more about leadership from Captain D.H. and Gunny Huzak than I ever learned in any of the other schools that I went to for the Marine Corps.

One of the things I learned the most was that sometimes you have to make decisions that nobody is going to like, but it’s the right thing to do.

In this particular case, it was the operation where we came out of the valley to an area called Tam Ky. Tam Ky was an ARVN base with a huge parade ground, really nice sand, and lush surroundings. It had a nice road on both sides, and somebody was going to pull perimeter. I thought that had already been decided, so I was really looking forward to being able to sleep on some soft sand.

Instead, the CO came down and said, “Gunny, we’re going out on perimeter.”

I thought, “Oh man, I want to sleep.”

The end result was that we got the company, went down another road, and set up a perimeter about 400 meters out—the entire company. Early the next morning, I heard a very familiar sound that woke me up: the sound of mortars being fired.

They were not shooting at our perimeter; they were shooting at the parade ground. We lost four people that night because the ARVN would not let us dig in on their parade ground—they didn’t want any holes in it. That was the night that Crowder and two others that I knew got killed, along with one other from another company.

I thought about it later on, and I realized that could have been us. That could have been me. Instead, the boss made a decision that not very many people were happy with at the time, except that we got to set up our positions.

I’ve always thought about that later on in my career when I had to make decisions about doing what’s right. Is it the right thing to do because you want to do it, or is it the right thing for everybody? In this case, the decisions he made were the right decisions for the entire company. That stuck with me throughout my career. I’m very fortunate I had a pretty happy career.

We flew into this valley on an operation shortly after Hastings. I learned on Hastings that we were really fighting professional fighters. They pulled ambushes on us, they patrolled on us, and we patrolled on them. We got lucky a couple of times and caught them off guard, being able to take care of business there.

This one particular time has always stuck with me. If I ever go back, I would love to see this particular tree temple. It was about 8 to 10 feet wide, 10 to 12 feet deep, and there were deities carved into the tree inside. In front of each deity was a small bench where you could see it had been worn down by the knees of people kneeling in prayer. It was so stunningly beautiful and painted, showing that somebody really cared about their religion there.

From there, we patrolled a little bit more, and there was a well I’ve never forgotten. The well was probably 20 feet wide and very deep, lined with limestone blocks that were about 2 by 3 feet each. Between the blocks, there were steps built in a circle leading down to the water line. It was ingenious and smart, showing a civilization and a society that we don’t often see back home in America.

Operation in Antenna Valley has always stuck with me too. As we were going in, we were taking fire, so everybody took off their helmets and sat on them so they wouldn’t get shot in the rear.

We landed, exited the aircraft, and started our patrol up into the mountains above where the coal mine was later located. We found a whole series of Vietnamese hooches, but they didn’t have normal doors and windows. They had those same rattan pads, and each hut was full from floor to ceiling with rice. The NVA had taken it away from the local civilians to feed themselves in the hills.

There were seven of these huts, and it would have fed a lot of people for a long time. We pulled it all out, gave it back to the villagers, and moved everybody out of Antenna Valley.

Operation Tuscaloosa was a defining moment for the company and the battalion. It was a very small operation. We had been in that series of villages at Christmas time, expecting a Christmas truce that didn’t happen, but the NVA left. A month later, on the 29th, we went back in, and they were waiting for us.

We had a number of casualties, though they had a lot more than we did. Tuscaloosa was one time when two companies in a battalion got online and assaulted into this built-up village. I’ve never forgotten Gunny Huzak coming over to me after being wounded in the arm.

He said, “I’ll take it.”

I remember the CO saying to him, “Gunny, I need you. Stick around, I’ll take care of you.”

And he did. But Gunny Huzak was one of the last people evacuated from the field because he had been shot through the arm. I saw him spin around, hold up his arm, and keep going.

During that particular operation, the battalion commander came up on my company net instead of the battalion net. I told him that the CO was busy with the CO of Golf Company and the platoon commanders, so I was staying where I was, and I asked him to please get off my net.

He just said, “I understand,” and disappeared off my net.

We finished up the operation, went back to An Hoa, and I was on radio watch that night. The captain came in, sat down in the chair next to me, looked at me with a funny grin, and said, “Did you really tell the battalion commander to get off your net?”

I said, “Yes, sir.”

He just got up and walked away. Nobody ever said another word about it. I thought my goose was cooked, but sometimes you have to take things into your own hands.

I carried that radio for nine months and was never wounded. I came close to stepping on a mine and close to being shot once or twice, but I led a charmed life.

When asked about returning from Vietnam and whether I got a warm welcome, I’d say it was not warm. I remember thinking to myself, “Nobody here really gives a damn, nobody cares.”

I got invited to my high school to talk about it, and that’s what I said. When I said, “Nobody cares here,” it got real quiet in the classroom.

The teacher, Bob Smith, said, “Well, I don’t think that’s really true.”

I just looked at him and thought, “No, it’s true. Nobody cared.”

People glared at me at the airport, and people turned their backs on me. It was my opinion at the time that nobody really gave a damn.

If you ask if I feel that way today, I’d say no. It has dramatically changed with the public. Because of Iraq and Afghanistan, people now respect the service.

Today, my wife Sally and I were walking around after a boat tour, and a couple of people said, “Thank you for your service.”

My response is always the same: “No, thank you for the support.” You can’t do the service unless you have the support at home.

Regarding PTSD and dreams, everybody gets them, especially in Hotel Company. Fortunately, I’m married to a woman who understands. She’ll notice when I didn’t sleep well, and I’ll admit it.

When people ask why I’m not smiling like usual, I just say, “I’m thinking of other things.” I don’t need to dwell on it, but it’s always there somewhere in your system, psyche, or thoughts. You’re never going to leave it behind completely