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SPIRITUAL WARRIOR
Editor Bill McDonald
Issue #5 – August 2000
WORLD PEACE ALOHA FESTIVAL
Bill Sroud, a Vietnam veteran of the 173
Assault Helicopter Company out of Lai Kai (1967-69), and a former
Crew-Chief/Door Gunner with the famous Robin Hoods, is helping sponsor a world
wide reunion. The gathering is on the island of Maui in Hawaii. It is open to
all forces and all countries that served in the Vietnam War. It also welcomes
family members of those veterans.
On their website you can check out more about this world wide gathering that
takes place this year from November 6 through November 12. That website is:
www.Vietnam-Vets-of-the-world.org
If you have more questions about this event you can contact
Bill Stroud at WFStroud@aol.com
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TOMAHAWKS IN KOREA
The 128th Assault Helicopter Company is still alive – but it has
changed names, locations and no longer flies around in old Huey’s. It is now a
part of a aviation unit stationed in Korea. They have a web site in which you
can go and read the history of the unit, including it’s present day commanders
and staffing. Go to the following web address and check it out:
www.korea.army.mil/eusa/52ar/bnmain.htm
Thanks to Jeff Groskopf for the information on this web site and the history.
1st Avn Bde POW/MIA Dedication Ceremony
The 1st Avn Bde will be having a special ceremony to honor it’s
own POWs and MKIAs from the Vietnam War. This will be taking place at Fort
Rucker, Alabama in September 2000. MSG Eric Nelson is looking for memorabilia
for displays to honor these men. Please contact Eric at his email address if you
can help out with donated or loaned items. His email address is: NelsonE@rucker.army.mil
_____________________________________________________________
The following poem has generated so much interest, especially since Ann
Landers printed it in her Memorial Day 2001 column, that it's presented here in
its entirety. This is among Larry Vaincourt's finest work and first appeared in
1985 in his newspaper column, then was included in his 1991 collection, RHYMES
AND REFLECTIONS.
For information regarding reprints, please contact vancourt@canada.com.
THE COMMON SOLDIER
BY: WWII Veteran - A. Lawrence
Vaincourt
Copyright 1985.
JUST A COMMON SOLDIER
He was getting old and paunchy, and his hair was
falling fast;
And he sat around the Legion telling stories of the past,
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds he had done.
In his exploits with his buddies, they were heroes, every one.
And tho' sometimes to his neighbors, his tales became a joke, all his
Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer, for old Bill has passed away;
And the world's a little poorer, for a Soldier died today.
He'll not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
for he lived an ordinary, and quite uneventful life.
He held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth their bodies lie in state,
And thousands note their passing, and proclaim they were great.
Newspapers tell their life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a simple Soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A person who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man,
Or the ordinary fellow, who in times of war and strife
Goes off to serve his country and offers up his life?
It's so easy to forget them, for it was long ago,
The "Old Bills" of our country went to battle; but we know,
It was not the politicians, with their compromises and ploys
Who won for us the freedom that our country now enjoys.
He was just a common Soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his kind again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the Soldier's part,
Is to clean up all the troubles that others often start.
If we cannot give him honor, while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage, at the ending of his days.
Perhaps a simple notice in the paper that would say,
"Our country is in mourning, 'cause a Soldier passed away."
Copyright 1985 - A. Lawrence Vaincourt
This poem can be viewed at the following web site:
www.Randyvancourt.com/Common_Soldier.html
WORDS FROM BILL McDONALD
Since I have put up this web site just a short time ago – I have had the
honor and privilege, of meeting on-line, with thousands of men and women, who
have been touched by the Vietnam War. Some have fought there, while others have
had family and friends there – some have had to deal with the aftermath of our
feelings when we returned home.
The hardest ones for me to talk to have been those grown children of the KIAs.
Some have no memories of their fathers at all. One man told me that he was born
after his dad was killed. He was given up for adoption as a new born baby and
had just recently learned who his mom and dad were. What made it hard was that I
knew his dad. I was there in the unit when he was killed. I attended his
memorial service as a 20 year old man, with just 3 months in country.
At the time of the memorial service, I was young and knew so little about
life or death, for that matter – the thought that he was leaving behind a
child and a girl friend never entered my mind. But when I heard from this young
adult on email about his search for his dad – it hit me hard. He was looking
for any piece of information on him – and I felt so bad that the 30 plus years
had eroded much of my memory. I really had so little to give him. I looked back
and thought about all the young men I had served with – and we really did not
know much about each other. I guess we did not want to know. We did not want to
form those bonds of friendship so that if anything happened, it would not hurt
as much.
On the day of this young man’s search for answers, I had to look deep
within myself for my own. I cried – for his dad and for his son. I could offer
nothing more than a silent connection with his past – and for that, I felt
ashamed and empty. I hope my prayers and words of comfort were enough to bridge
that gap between father and son.
I also thought about my own son – a Gulf War Veteran. What would have his
life been like without me? Would there be someone to reach out and tell him
about me? It would have been just as silent, since I told others so little about
myself, while in Nam.
We must not forget that veterans were not the only victims of this war.
Please reach out to help those still suffering. Be there for them when they ask
" What did my dad do in the war?"
VHPA BANQUET SPEECH JULY 3, 2000
These are the words of Joe Galloway, author of "We Were Young Once, And
Brave", spoken at the VHPA Banquet. Enjoy (Remarks prepared for delivery
Monday July 3, 2000, at the Vietnam
Helicopter Pilots Association dinner and reunion in Washington, D.C.)
Thank you Goldie for that introduction......and thanks to all of you for giving
me the honor to speaking to you. I have got to tell you that looking out across
this assemblage I must confess: I haven't seen this
many bad boys collected in one location since the last time I visited
Leavenworth Prison.
When I first learned that I would be doing this gig I asked an aviator buddy of
mine what else I needed to know......and he said, well, most of you would be
bringing your wives along.......that half of you were so
damn deaf that you couldn't hear a word of what I was saying.....the other half
would be so damn drunk you couldn't understand what I was saying..... so I might
just as well talk To the ladies......
I have waited years to be able to share this story with so august a group of
aviator veterans as this: A few years ago I was at a large official dinner and I
was seated next to a nice lady who was the wife of a two-star
general. I knew the lady had two college-age daughters and I also knew that one
of them had been dating a Cavalry lieutenant.......so I thought to make some
polite conversation and I offered her my condolences at her daughter's choice of
companionship. "Oh No!" the general's wife said. "He is a fine
young man. Nothing wrong with him......and at least he isn't a goddam
aviator!"
I just wanted you to know that your successors in the bizness continue to win
friends and influence people in high places.
Before I go along any further in this thing I need to ask you some questions:
--Is there anyone here who flew with the 1st Cavalry Division? The 229th? The
227th? How about the old 119th out of Holloway? Any Marine pilots who flew them
old CH-34 Shuddering Shithouses??? Now I know I am among close friends......I
know that old Ray Burns from Ganado, Texas, is here.....and I have got to tell
you a story about me and Ray that goes back to October of 1965. Plei Me SF Camp
was under siege by a regiment of North Vietnamese regulars. I was trying to get
in there.....like a fool......but after an A1E and a B57 Canberra and one Huey
had been shot down they declared it a No-Fly Zone. So I was stomping up and down
the flight line at Holloway cussing......when I ran across Ray. He asked what
the problem was and I told him. He allowed as how he had been wanting to get a
look at that situation and would give me a ride......I still have a picture I
shot out the open door of Ray's Huey. We are doing a kind of corkscrew descent
and the triangular berms and wire of the camp below fill that doorway.....along
with the puffs of smoke from the impacting mortar rounds inside the camp.
Hell.....I can scare myself bad just looking at that photo.
Well old Ray drops on in and I jump out....and the Yards boil out of the
trenches and toss a bunch of wounded in the door and Ray is pulling
pitch.....grinning......and giving me the bird. When the noise is gone this
sergeant major runs up: Sir, I don't know who you are but Major Beckwith wants
to see you right away. I ask which one is the major and I am informed he is the
very big guy over there jumping up and down on his hat. I go over slowly. The
dialogue goes something like this: Who the hell are you? A reporter. Son, I need
everything in the goddam world from food and ammo to water....to medevac......to
reinforcements.....and I wouldn't mind a bottle of Jim Beam.......but what I do
not need is a goddam reporter. And what has the Army in its wisdom delivered to
me? Well....I got news for you.....you ain't a reporter no more; you are my new
corner machine gunner."
Ray.....I want to thank you for that ride.......wasn't for you and Chuck
Oualline I wouldn't have had half as much fun in Vietnam.
Hell.....every story anyone has about Vietnam starts and ends with a
helicopter......you guys were simply fantastic. Thank you all. Thank you for
every thing....large and small.
Now I guess I got to get down to business. All of you know that I have spent
most of the last forty years hanging out with the Infantry.....a choice some
folks view as perverse if not totally insane. But there was always method in my
madness: With the Infantry things happen close enough that I can see what's
happening.....and slowly enough most times that even I can understand what I'm
seeing.
There's just this one little downside to my long experience with the Infantry:
During that time I have personally been bombed.....rocketed.....strafed.... and
napalmed by the U.S. Air Force.....U.S. Navy......U.S. Marines.....and U.S. Army
Aviation......as well as by the air forces of South
Vietnam.....Laos......Sri Lanka......India......and Pakistan.
Now I don't consider myself an inconsiderable target.....and wasn't even back
when I could fit comfortably behind a palm tree......but here I am....running my
mouth.....nothing hurt beyond my dignity. Don't get
me wrong; I don't hold any grudges against those gallant winged warriors. But
ever since the first time they attacked me and missed.....I have never ever used
the words "surgical bombing strike" in any story I ever wrote.
I had the chance to say some good things about all of you at the Memorial
Service at The Wall on Sunday. I meant every word of that.....and more. You
chopper guys were our heroes in Vietnam. You were our rides....but you were
much, much, more than that. We were always either cussing you for hauling our
butts into deep kimchi.....or ready to kiss you for hauling us out of it. I have
a feeling that without you and your birds that would have been a much shorter
and far more brutish war.
You were our heroes, though, first last and always. You saved us from having to
walk to work every day. You brought in our food and ammo and water.....and
sometimes even a marmite can full of hot chow. To this day I think the finest
meal I ever ate was a canteen cup full of hot split pea soup that a Huey
delivered to a hilltop in the dry paddies of the Bong Son Plain in January of
1966. For a moment there I thought if the Army could get a hot meal out to an
Infantry company on patrol maybe.....just maybe.....we could win the damn war.
Oh well.
I think often of all that you did for us.....all that you meant to us: You came
for our wounded. You came to get our dead brothers. You came....when the fight
was over.....to give us a ride home from hell. There
isn't a former Grunt alive who doesn't freeze for a moment and feel the hair
rise on the back of his neck when he hears the whup whup whup of those
helicopter blades.
What I want to say now is just between us.....because America still doesn't get
it.....still doesn't know the truth, and the truth is: You are the cream of the
crop of our generation.....the best and finest of an entire generation of
Americans. You are the ones who answered when you were called to serve.....You
are the ones who fought bravely and endured a terrible war in a terrible place.
You are the ones for whom the words duty.....honor.....country have real meaning
because you have lived those words and the meaning behind those words. You are
my brothers in arms....and I am not ashamed to say that I love you. I would not
trade one of you for a whole trainload of instant Canadians.....or a
whole boatload of Rhodes Scholars bound for England......or a whole campus full
of guys who turned up for their draft physicals wearing panty hose.
On behalf of a country that too easily forgets the true cost of war.....and who
pays that price....I say Thank you for your service!
On behalf of the people of our country who didn't have good sense enough to
separate the war they hated from the young warriors they sent to fight that
war.....I say we are sorry. We owe you all a very large
apology.....and a debt of gratitude that we can never adequately repay. For
myself and all my buddies in the Infantry I say: Thanks for all the rides in and
out....especially the rides out.
It is great to see you all gathered here for this reunion. A friend of mine,
Mike Norman, a former Marine grunt....wrote a wonderful book called "These
Good Men" about his quest to find and reunite with all the survivors of his
platoon from Vietnam. He thought long and deep about why we gather as we have
done this evening and he explained it thusly:
I now know why men who have been to war yearn to reunite. Not to tell stories
or look at old pictures. Not to laugh or weep. Comrades gather because they long
to be with the men who once acted their best.....men who suffered and
sacrificed.....who were stripped raw......right down to their humanity.
I did not pick these men. They were delivered by fate and the military. But I
know them in a way I know no other men. I have never given anyone such trust.
They were willing to guard something more precious than
my life. They would have carried my reputation.....the memory of me. It was part
of the bargain we all made.....the reason we were so willing to die for one
another.
As long as I have memory I will think of them all.....every day. I am sure that
when I leave this world....my last thought will be of my family and my
comrades.......such good men. I'm going to shut up now and let us all get down
to the real business of drinking and lying.....er.....telling war stories.
Thank you. I salute you. I remember you. I will teach my sons the stories and
legends about you. And I will warn my daughters never ever to go out with
aviators......
Good evening. God bless......
VHPA Reunion in Washington D.C.
Submitted by Mike Waugh
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