Dear Veteran: Thanks

This is the field where the battle did not happen.
No blood was spilled; no lives were taken away.
The only gunfire heard is in the memories of men
As they search among the engraved for a buddy lost long ago.

I wrote that opening quatrain of a poem in my senior year of high school. The summer before I saw the Vietnam Memorial in Schuyler, Nebraska. It wasn't the "real" monument. That one is in Washington, D.C. I saw the traveling Monument, a replica of black aluminum panels, engraved with 58,000 names of men and women who did not return alive from Uncle Sam's RSPV-not-necessary-but-attendance-is-required invitation to Vietnam. The traveling Wall is in perfect, reduced scale. But, for the men and women who served - and especially for those who stood in the Nebraska city park and stared through the black panels back into their youths that disappeared into the jungles, swamps, rice patties, skies and rivers of South Vietnam - the memories and the names are still larger than life.

I remember reading in a book that Veterans frequently speak about the sounds of Vietnam: the strange, high-noted sing-song language; the bugs (always, always there were bugs); the distant rumble of an aerial bombardment; the sharp bark of artillery; the chatter of automatic rifle fire; the growl of a deuce-and-a-half truck transmission.

But the iconic sound of Vietnam is the "chop chop chop" sound made by the Bell UH-1 Iriquois helicopter, better known as, simply, the Huey. The Huey was to the Vietnam War what pickups are to Texas. They hauled everything from men to materiel; from FNGs (ahem..."fresh" new guys) heading to a forward operating base to body bags heading back to graves registration.

No matter the load, one thing was consistent: hunkered in the open side door was a man charged with defending this 20th century stagecoach: the door gunner. Armed with a .30 caliber M-60, he laid down suppressing fire while a half-dozen troopers bailed out of or into the bay doors, putting himself in harm's way for the sake of those troopers entrusted to his watchful eye and trigger finger.

Uncle Ron - 1971, South Vietnam.
Note 101st Airborne Screaming Eagle Patch on his right arm.

My uncle, Ron, was one of those door gunners. He served, first, as a mechanic in the 101st Airborne division (note the Screaming Eagle on his right shoulder) and then in the First Aviation Brigade in 1971-1972. He said he was fortunate: even though his first station of duty was near the DMZ, and it was "out in the boonies," he never really saw the really nasty stuff that is so often written about or portrayed in the movies. His second duty station - the one where he served as door gunner - was mostly flying between Dion and Cambodia. I don't know - I am not about to ask - but he probably did see some stuff he would rather not talk about or remember too closely (that's why I am not about to ask).

His view from the Huey door

I read that by 1973, the war was so unpopular that returning service personnel were advised to change into civvies (civilian clothes), ditch the uniform, and get a regular non-GI haircut as soon as he could so to not be so conspicuous. I read how soldiers, sailors and airmen took "friendly fire," so to speak, when they got home. Fellow Americans spit at them, mocked them, threw rocks and other detritus at them, and called them the ugliest names in the English language - all this after surviving the worst that the Vietcong threw at them. "Thank you" were words rarely said to a soldier returning home from Vietnam.

Uncle Ron, left. Fall 2017

There is an organization called Honor Flight (www.honorflight.org) that is dedicated to honoring Veterans by providing transportation for them to visit Washington D.C. and the monuments that are dedicated to their honorable service in times of war.  Uncle Ron was recently honored for his service by getting to take an Honor Flight from his home state of Iowa to D.C.. Among the stops was the Wall - the chevron of black marble dug into the hillside. There, surrounded by the sounds of the Nation's capitol, Uncle Ron heard a sound he did not hear in 1973 when he returned home. It wasn't  gunfire, jet engines, or helicopter blades. He heard the sound of appreciation as men and women stopped and said, "Thank you."

In just a few weeks, November 11, it will be the 98th remembrance of Veteran's Day. It's been my privilege to have met Veterans from all branches of the Service. I met a man who was on the USS Arizona on December 7, 1941. I will neither confirm nor deny that I may have a cousin who may or may not have been in a highly secretive unit of the United States Navy which shares the same name as a semi-aquatic animal.  I have two other cousins who are mechanics in the Air Force - ironically, one works on the same B-52s that were flying while Uncle Ron rode shotgun in his Huey. I know a woman who was in the US Army nursing corps in World War II, and I also know a man who was at the Battle of the Bulge --- on the German side. Now that was an interesting story!  My father-in-law is a veteran of Vietnam, also - a USAF cartographer, who got to look at pictures and make maps of Vietnam and other "interesting places."  My high school band teacher was drafted for Vietnam, but when he confessed to knowing how to type, he wound up stateside teaching typing for clerks heading overseas. Are typing instructors eligible for the purple thumb? I met a Korean War veteran at Wal-Mart who was at the Chosin Reservoir in 1950 with the 1st Marine Division; he swore he still hadn't thawed out 60 years later. And, I knew another Korean War veteran who was the company cook. He made so much oatmeal that, until the day he died, he couldn't even look at an oatmeal cookie without groaning. I buried a veteran who fought up Italy with the 10th Mountain Division in WWII. I have a good friend who is a tank driver in the Armored Cav and is currently stationed far away from home. The best man at my wedding is in the Navy. I've lost track of all the men I've met at my church in Victoria who were drafted, volunteered, or whose sons and daughters are now serving.*

Uncle Ron's Honor Flight Group

To each of them, and to any Veteran who might read this, please know you have my deepest respect and appreciation for what you did. Whether you carried sacks of potatoes or a 9.5 pound M1 rifle; whether you served under the sea or thousands of feet above the earth, or never left our own shores; whether you proudly display a chest full of earned medals or are simply proud of the DD214 that is in your safe deposit box, I don't care. Wherever and whenever you served you did what was asked. As one who hasn't served - and can't serve - I won't pretend to know your story. But if I run into you, and you're wearing a cap, or a coat, or a pin, or have a bumper sticker that says that you're a proud veteran, you can expect a handshake. Or maybe I'll simply look you in the eye and give a knowing nod, or maybe I'll even buy you lunch or a beer.  I'm not asking for anything and I don't want a war story. I simply want to say thanks.

So, thank you for your service, Uncle Ron. The next cold one is on me. I hope that sounds OK to you. 

All photos used with permission of Ron Kelderman.

* I know there is a difference between currently serving and Veteran. I group them together only loosely for the purpose of this post. Thank you for understanding. JFM