Regarding Ireland and the debate about abortion, I have no doubt that if the only persons who were capable of becoming pregnant were the Pope, Catholic priests, bishops, Cardinals, all clergy, all male politicians and wealthy men...Ireland and every other country would have abortion clinics open 24/7.
Every major street, shopping mall, resort…you name it would have a 'Men's 1 Stop Health Clinic'. Some would offer free travel to and from the clinic...maybe even frequent flyer miles. And, there would be a UN Convention guaranteeing the right of men to quality services and access 24/7. There would be no debate!
More importantly, there would be no sanctimonious preaching by those clergy who protect paedophiles within their ranks, and remain silent (including the Pope) in the face of 'mass slaughter' launched by the USA under the guise of fighting terrorism....
The author is a Marine Corps Vietnam veteran.
Yours Paul Meuse
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
'The Wisdom of Gerry Kelly' and (Payments to Lawyers, 1 Feb.).
This was sent into The Irish Times (letters) on Tues. 2 Feb. 2010
Payments to lawyers
'The Wisdom of Gerry Kelly' and (Payments to Lawyers, 1 Feb.).
Gerry and I were Vietnam veterans in Boston during the 1980's. He was an army vet; I
was a Marine Corps vet, but I didn't hold it against him;-) He died from
Agent Orange in 1988.
He was one of the smartest, and funniest persons I have ever known,
or as he said 'there's a fine line between genius and crazyiness and I'm a just
a bit over the edge, but I don't mind...I'm smarter than most...and we have a
good time'. But he knew many lawyers and offered this advice on lawyers.
When I got a legal bill for over $2,700 Gerry said 'pay them half that'. I said 'Why?'
And, he said 'lawyers always charge you double because they figure you're gonna
screw them anyway and just pay half. Give them $1,400; they'll be happy.' I paid
them $2,200 over 10 years.
They had helped me when I was leaving work on a disability. After I got out
the lawyer, Mike, a nice Irish-American, asked if I could settle up the bill of $2,700.
I said, "Mike, I don't have a job anymore. You helped me and i'm grateful, but
how can I pay the firm?" My income has been cut by 60%." He hung his head.
Thank you Gerry:-)
When Gerry was arrested for on a murder charge (innocent-a priest said another man told him he did it) he had to meet his lawyer, (a Mr. F-a long term friend) in a fancy Boston restaurant to hand over $15,000 as a retainer. He had just received a disability settlement of $17,000. Gerry was broke, and owed many friends. So, he asked his best friend, me, do him a big favour...to wait in the bathroom stall and whack the lawyer friend went he went for a piss with the nice blackjack he admired, and take the money back. I said 'No'. because Mr. F would know, and be thinking about it when writing his summation to the jury.
The lawyer took the money, ordered pastry and coffee for Gerry (while he held his hand)and left quickly. No bathroom visit.
His lawyer died from cancer in under four months. When he took Gerry's $15,000
he knew he would be dead before the trial. Gerry couldn't get the money back because
on paper Mr. F was quite poor, but his wife was rich. Everything was in her name, and
his once successful business seemed to be bankrupt! I always wondered if I made the
right decision. But, for the life of me I can't imagine why Gerry thought that I was even
capable of such a thing:-)
Fast forward to several + years ago. A student in the law programme I was in got a summer internship with a law firm in Cork . He had to draw up a new contract for a long term client. It was for the client 's business and his client. The intern was told he could get a blank contract right off the internet, use the old one as a guide, and put in the new figures etc. He asked how much it would cost...like €500? The Solicitor told him 'No'. You charge the same amount as if you did it from scratch...closer to €5,000!
Yet, I have know and respected many lawyers in my life.
Payments to lawyers
'The Wisdom of Gerry Kelly' and (Payments to Lawyers, 1 Feb.).
Gerry and I were Vietnam veterans in Boston during the 1980's. He was an army vet; I
was a Marine Corps vet, but I didn't hold it against him;-) He died from
Agent Orange in 1988.
He was one of the smartest, and funniest persons I have ever known,
or as he said 'there's a fine line between genius and crazyiness and I'm a just
a bit over the edge, but I don't mind...I'm smarter than most...and we have a
good time'. But he knew many lawyers and offered this advice on lawyers.
When I got a legal bill for over $2,700 Gerry said 'pay them half that'. I said 'Why?'
And, he said 'lawyers always charge you double because they figure you're gonna
screw them anyway and just pay half. Give them $1,400; they'll be happy.' I paid
them $2,200 over 10 years.
They had helped me when I was leaving work on a disability. After I got out
the lawyer, Mike, a nice Irish-American, asked if I could settle up the bill of $2,700.
I said, "Mike, I don't have a job anymore. You helped me and i'm grateful, but
how can I pay the firm?" My income has been cut by 60%." He hung his head.
Thank you Gerry:-)
When Gerry was arrested for on a murder charge (innocent-a priest said another man told him he did it) he had to meet his lawyer, (a Mr. F-a long term friend) in a fancy Boston restaurant to hand over $15,000 as a retainer. He had just received a disability settlement of $17,000. Gerry was broke, and owed many friends. So, he asked his best friend, me, do him a big favour...to wait in the bathroom stall and whack the lawyer friend went he went for a piss with the nice blackjack he admired, and take the money back. I said 'No'. because Mr. F would know, and be thinking about it when writing his summation to the jury.
The lawyer took the money, ordered pastry and coffee for Gerry (while he held his hand)and left quickly. No bathroom visit.
His lawyer died from cancer in under four months. When he took Gerry's $15,000
he knew he would be dead before the trial. Gerry couldn't get the money back because
on paper Mr. F was quite poor, but his wife was rich. Everything was in her name, and
his once successful business seemed to be bankrupt! I always wondered if I made the
right decision. But, for the life of me I can't imagine why Gerry thought that I was even
capable of such a thing:-)
Fast forward to several + years ago. A student in the law programme I was in got a summer internship with a law firm in Cork . He had to draw up a new contract for a long term client. It was for the client 's business and his client. The intern was told he could get a blank contract right off the internet, use the old one as a guide, and put in the new figures etc. He asked how much it would cost...like €500? The Solicitor told him 'No'. You charge the same amount as if you did it from scratch...closer to €5,000!
Yet, I have know and respected many lawyers in my life.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Robbery by one class of another
If a group of thugs cornered you, or the people on
your street, or city, or country, and stripped you
of your wallet, cash, jewelry, car, bank accounts and more
(You get the picture?) and told you "Get used to it".. for the
next year, or five or ten or more years. Or if they said, "There
is nothing that we can do. We'll do our bit too, but you must do
without a lot to help US all get better financially, or things will
get really, really bad".
What would you do?
Would you roll over and play dead?
Would you say "there's nothing we can do?"
Or, "okay." And, would you tell your children "we
have NO other choice...but your children or grandchildren
may have it a bit better if we do as these men say"?
And what if these men went on regular holidays, had big
expense accounts, and their families didn't have to suffer like
everyone else?
would you still roll over and play dead?
At what point would you say "No"?...and teach your children
a lesson in how to deal with thieves and other parasites and
scum?
If you haven't noticed it's happening in Ireland, Iceland, The
USA...and many places...except that the thieves wear suits and
ties, and carry briefcases. Oh, and politicians in the back of their
pocket to enforce this crime(s).
I have a different view than many people. I was in Vietnam-
Marines...a rifleman...a 'grunt', or a bullet stopper. I've had
people try to rob me. I've had a gun to my head, balls (same
man). I disarmed him, and let him feel what a gun to his head
felt like. It felt good to me.
I've had a knife to my ribs. Disarmed. There is more.
To me, what is happening in Ireland and elsewhere is robbery
with a brief case. But, to me it is still robbery!
It is what has happened across time and history; one group
oppressing another group and living off of them. They are
parasites. We had parasites in Vietnam; they were called
leeches. They live off others...I took them off me and squished
them!
In life they are, to me, politicians, banking families, developers
(in Ireland), and more.
As a society, we must reject what they say, and are trying to
implement, and tell ourselves that it would be better to take
them all and put them on a small island...Like the Isle of Man?
Give them their bad bank notes etc...and say good bye. Don't
leave or else!
But, first they must be tried, and punished for their crimes.
They should rehabilitated if possible (not much of a chance).
Why? Because they are thieves, and destroy families, homes,
communities...and countries.
People have a choice. When foreigner occuppiers are tossed out
of a country...new domestic ones arise for control.
My second summer in Ireland (Cork), I was sitting at a cafe
in Carey's lane with my then wife, when I saw a fella (about 40-
50ish) looking at me. I thought, 'Oh god, he sees a yank, and wants
to have a a few words. He had come out of a pub next to Fellini Cafe
(where we were),and was lubricated a bit.
He started to tell me about famous Irish-Americans and how they had
contributed to America (I have three Irish grandparents), and at some
point he asked me if I knew what contributions the Irish have made to
America?
I was waiting for that one. I said, 'Yes, political corruption (Tammany
Hall, Mayor Curley (I'm from Boston:-)...Mayor Daily...ward bosses..
'no-show jobs...et al. I was just messin a bit.
He was a nice man; a teacher from West Cork, and he raised his hand
to make a point, but after I rattled off a few things he dropped his hand.
His head went down, then up and he laughed and said...'You got
me on that'...and then we had a good chat.
Politicians work for the wealthy, and when our country is being robbed,
sacked and pillaged...we must stop it by putting millions of bodies in
the streets. But, we must not let this go on.
He then asked
"Banking was conceived in iniquity and was born in sin. The Bankers own the earth. Take it away from them, but leave them the power to create deposits, and with the flick of the pen they will create enough deposits to buy it back again. However, take it away from them, and all the great fortunes like mine will disappear and they ought to disappear, for this would be a happier and better world to live in. But, if you wish to remain the slaves of Bankers and pay the cost of your own slavery, let them continue to create deposits." : Sir Josiah Stamp (1880-1941) President of the Bank of England in the 1920's, the second richest man in Britain
“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.”
your street, or city, or country, and stripped you
of your wallet, cash, jewelry, car, bank accounts and more
(You get the picture?) and told you "Get used to it".. for the
next year, or five or ten or more years. Or if they said, "There
is nothing that we can do. We'll do our bit too, but you must do
without a lot to help US all get better financially, or things will
get really, really bad".
What would you do?
Would you roll over and play dead?
Would you say "there's nothing we can do?"
Or, "okay." And, would you tell your children "we
have NO other choice...but your children or grandchildren
may have it a bit better if we do as these men say"?
And what if these men went on regular holidays, had big
expense accounts, and their families didn't have to suffer like
everyone else?
would you still roll over and play dead?
At what point would you say "No"?...and teach your children
a lesson in how to deal with thieves and other parasites and
scum?
If you haven't noticed it's happening in Ireland, Iceland, The
USA...and many places...except that the thieves wear suits and
ties, and carry briefcases. Oh, and politicians in the back of their
pocket to enforce this crime(s).
I have a different view than many people. I was in Vietnam-
Marines...a rifleman...a 'grunt', or a bullet stopper. I've had
people try to rob me. I've had a gun to my head, balls (same
man). I disarmed him, and let him feel what a gun to his head
felt like. It felt good to me.
I've had a knife to my ribs. Disarmed. There is more.
To me, what is happening in Ireland and elsewhere is robbery
with a brief case. But, to me it is still robbery!
It is what has happened across time and history; one group
oppressing another group and living off of them. They are
parasites. We had parasites in Vietnam; they were called
leeches. They live off others...I took them off me and squished
them!
In life they are, to me, politicians, banking families, developers
(in Ireland), and more.
As a society, we must reject what they say, and are trying to
implement, and tell ourselves that it would be better to take
them all and put them on a small island...Like the Isle of Man?
Give them their bad bank notes etc...and say good bye. Don't
leave or else!
But, first they must be tried, and punished for their crimes.
They should rehabilitated if possible (not much of a chance).
Why? Because they are thieves, and destroy families, homes,
communities...and countries.
People have a choice. When foreigner occuppiers are tossed out
of a country...new domestic ones arise for control.
My second summer in Ireland (Cork), I was sitting at a cafe
in Carey's lane with my then wife, when I saw a fella (about 40-
50ish) looking at me. I thought, 'Oh god, he sees a yank, and wants
to have a a few words. He had come out of a pub next to Fellini Cafe
(where we were),and was lubricated a bit.
He started to tell me about famous Irish-Americans and how they had
contributed to America (I have three Irish grandparents), and at some
point he asked me if I knew what contributions the Irish have made to
America?
I was waiting for that one. I said, 'Yes, political corruption (Tammany
Hall, Mayor Curley (I'm from Boston:-)...Mayor Daily...ward bosses..
'no-show jobs...et al. I was just messin a bit.
He was a nice man; a teacher from West Cork, and he raised his hand
to make a point, but after I rattled off a few things he dropped his hand.
His head went down, then up and he laughed and said...'You got
me on that'...and then we had a good chat.
Politicians work for the wealthy, and when our country is being robbed,
sacked and pillaged...we must stop it by putting millions of bodies in
the streets. But, we must not let this go on.
He then asked
"Banking was conceived in iniquity and was born in sin. The Bankers own the earth. Take it away from them, but leave them the power to create deposits, and with the flick of the pen they will create enough deposits to buy it back again. However, take it away from them, and all the great fortunes like mine will disappear and they ought to disappear, for this would be a happier and better world to live in. But, if you wish to remain the slaves of Bankers and pay the cost of your own slavery, let them continue to create deposits." : Sir Josiah Stamp (1880-1941) President of the Bank of England in the 1920's, the second richest man in Britain
“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.”
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Girl I Met On Christmas Day 1968- DaNang
Tues. 26, January 2010
My first time to Vietnam I landed in Da Nang early on Christmas morning
1968 at about 2-3am. Later, I would fly north to Dong Ha, and hitch a ride
to Quang Tri to join the 3rd Marines.
As we had time to spare we were taken into a militarized part of Da Nang.
We were warned to be careful of begging children, and that they could be
We were warned to be careful of begging children, and that they could be
thieves and may use razor blades to cut our pockets. We soon came upon a
group of 20-30 such children.. I had some sweets and money to give. Most
were under 10...small.
I gave sweets, mostly, whilst I looked the crowd over for thieves. But, they
I gave sweets, mostly, whilst I looked the crowd over for thieves. But, they
just seemed like nice kids. It felt good to meet, chat, joke and to give to these
children. But, I felt bad that they were begging. Why? I thought that we were
here to help them? And, why is this happening on Christmas day? And why
aren't we (the military) feeding them? My first awakening that things weren't
right.
Some children had missing limbs. Some had scars, and some had shrapnel
Some children had missing limbs. Some had scars, and some had shrapnel
wounds. I felt bad; very bad. Most, most were okay. But, this is what this hard
and tough marine, so eager for combat saw on his first day in VietNam. My only
thoughts were of killing people, and winning medals for heroism. I had not
thought of, nor imagined that I would be seeing child victims of war...our war.
I was naive and innocent. War destroys your innocence first. And yet, these
children were friendly, chatting and smiling. Save one.
I felt someone's presence at the back of the group...a couple or more steps behind
I was naive and innocent. War destroys your innocence first. And yet, these
children were friendly, chatting and smiling. Save one.
I felt someone's presence at the back of the group...a couple or more steps behind
the others...as if she was separate from the group. I could feel that she was looking
at me, and when I looked at her, I saw a lovely girl of between 11-13. She was
looking into my eyes, softly, and for a bit, then she lowered (bowed) her head.
But, by then she had torn my heart out.
She did not hold her hand out like the others. I think that she felt different...not
as young or cute as the smaller ones? And, marred. I saw pain and hurt in her,
She did not hold her hand out like the others. I think that she felt different...not
as young or cute as the smaller ones? And, marred. I saw pain and hurt in her,
and I felt pain, hurt and agony for her in my heart and soul.
She raised her head again and looked into my eyes for a few moments. I had
She raised her head again and looked into my eyes for a few moments. I had
been frozen in place. But, as she lowered her head again I was wading through
the middle of the group of children until I stood in front of her.
She lifted her head, and we looked at each other for a long moment. I nodded to
She lifted her head, and we looked at each other for a long moment. I nodded to
her and she to me. Then, I took her right hand (shy) and put all the money I could
get (mostly, if not all coins) into her hand quietly, and covered it with sweets...to
hide from the other children. I made gestures and nods to that effect. She understood
and nodded. I understood, then, how cruel war is.
Then, we looked at (and into) each other for a long, long moment. It was a very
Then, we looked at (and into) each other for a long, long moment. It was a very
poignant and meaningful moment in time and space that is forever etched across,
and in my mind, heart and soul. Though, she was alone and apart from the group...
I came to her only. And, I have often wondered why she was looking at me.
You see, this beautiful Vietnamese girl had no right eye, nor even a patch.
She only had basic treatment...she did not wear an American uniform! She
may not have felt beautiful, but she truly was. Her eye was so beautiful and
soulful...as was her soul was and is. (Da Nang had no eye hospital until 1998).
She may have appreciated what little I gave her (I don't remember how much I
You see, this beautiful Vietnamese girl had no right eye, nor even a patch.
She only had basic treatment...she did not wear an American uniform! She
may not have felt beautiful, but she truly was. Her eye was so beautiful and
soulful...as was her soul was and is. (Da Nang had no eye hospital until 1998).
She may have appreciated what little I gave her (I don't remember how much I
had or gave), but it felt completely inadequate to me. I felt bad that my $ bills
were in my boots (to protect from child and other thieves that I had been warned
about). And, I felt worse when I thought about how much money I spent getting
drunk in Okinawa, and to see a prostitute for my first time with a woman just days
before. I didn't care if I had any money left after seeing her.
She took my heart and soul and humanized me in an instant. As we looked into
She took my heart and soul and humanized me in an instant. As we looked into
each other she melted my hardness, toughness and brought tears to my eyes, and
agony to my heart and soul. Without speaking a word she showed me what war is
and does to people, especially children. And, I would never, ever be the same again.
I felt awful leaving her. I would have food, water, and medical care if wounded.
I felt awful leaving her. I would have food, water, and medical care if wounded.
But she and the others? It hit me like a ton of bricks that our (America's) war did
this to her. She may have been marred, but I saw the whole her-a beautiful human
being and soul. She has been with me ever since, and I have wept many, many times
whenever I have thought of her.
I believe that our meeting was not by chance, nor a coincidence, and I have always
wondered what became of her. And, I have never forgotten her. And, I weep for
I believe that our meeting was not by chance, nor a coincidence, and I have always
wondered what became of her. And, I have never forgotten her. And, I weep for
her before, and on Christmas day, and after.
War is horrible and criminal. It makes super profits ''for the few'' at the expense
War is horrible and criminal. It makes super profits ''for the few'' at the expense
of ones like her and I.
But, she is 'The Girl I Met On Christmas Day 1968- Da Nang.'
It is those things-what happens to children, old people, and (especially
young girls and women), homes, families, villes, cultures, societies, and
also, to other Marines blown to bits, maimed, traumatized for a medal that
hurts and causes pain most every day of my life.
But, she is 'The Girl I Met On Christmas Day 1968- Da Nang.'
It is those things-what happens to children, old people, and (especially
young girls and women), homes, families, villes, cultures, societies, and
also, to other Marines blown to bits, maimed, traumatized for a medal that
hurts and causes pain most every day of my life.
Those of us who survived had to fight our own government as veterans for
recognition that their wounds/conditions merited treatment. But,the children
of Vietnam Afghanistan, Iraq (or Fallujah, where the U. S. waged chemical
warfare against the civilian population, and now their children have a higher
rate of congenital birth anomalies that Hiroshima after the bomb was dropped),
or any country America wages war upon...the children have to fend for theirselves.
War is a criminal enterprise! Or, as Major-General Smedley D. Butler said,
'War is a Racket'.
War is a criminal enterprise! Or, as Major-General Smedley D. Butler said,
'War is a Racket'.
Friday, January 1, 2010
A true story: don't get sniped whilst playing with your tool;-)
This is a true, but somewhat tongue-in cheek,
story. Whilst I did draw sniper fire as the
platoon Sgt's radioman (as did many other
people), but some jobs more than others:-).
But, there was one occasion where I
wasn't carrying the radio, and could
have been sniped at, and decided that if
I were...I didn't want to be found in an
embarrassing position:-)
I was at FSB (Fire Support Base) Charlie II
-our home base, and had to relieve another
man...(let's call him B..to avoid embarrassment)
from his shift of guard duty-perimeter watch
(2-4 hours-I'm not sure).
Jackson, was another good man from 2nd platoon,
and possibly my team leader at the time. He was
the grenadier-'Blooper' man; he carried the blooper-
M-79 grenade launcher...and was excellent at it(I
wouldn't have wanted to be on the receiving end of
his fire) On this day Jackson was taking me to relieve
B of his shift.
As we got nearer to the bunker Jackson noticed that B
wasn't on top or around the bunker; he wasn't visible.
Jackson got pissed when he realized that B might be
'copping some ZZZ (sleep). It's a major NO-NO in war,
but it happens. I learned how to sleep with my eyes
open;-) But, shit the snoring kind of gives you away;-)
I was never caught...and to scared to sleep.
( an aside: I was in an Amsterdam coffee shop after an exam,
and I closed my eyes for a bit. I was just trying to
remember my answer to one question when the
bouncer, Pete, tapped my shoulder and said to wake
up, or no sleeping. He was just checking to see...
I told him that I learned to sleep with my eyes
open in Vietnam, so he better check me even if my
eyes are open;-) )
But, as we got close to the bunker, Jackson and then I
heard heavy breathing. There are no women there, but
loads of porn magazines of all types...Swedish etc. So, you
get my drift? B was just taking care of his needs, or releasing
stress, if that sounds better;-) He had more time in the Nam
than both of us combined.
Jackson whispered what we'd do. As we came to the top
of the hill we got up and ran towards the bunker door with
our rifles, and we screamed 'Gooks' several times, or such.
What we saw was a man trying to finish what he was doing,
whilst at the same time trying to put his pecker back into his
pants like it never happened, and we never saw it...AND grab
his rifle and respond to the threat he just heard...from us.
After they left...and Jackson probably warned me about
sleeping and... I decided to sit on top of the bunker. It was a
beautiful day. And, being me...I tried to think of what B
did wrong...(I did the same in criminal law class. Whilst the
professor was explaining what part of the law was violated
in a criminal act, and why; I would always be thinking...the
guy, or woman was stupid. He/she should have done this or
that:-)
So, as I was sitting there atop the bunker it came to me. I said to
myself B should have done it right here on top of the bunker...
that way there be no suspicion because he would be visible, and if
done right no one would see.
And, then, I saw what the end of that scenario could be, and put
that idea out of my head.
I pictured myself being found laying on my side. A snipers bullet
through my skull, my dick in my right hand, and a porn magazine
in my left hand with blood all over the place...and giving everyone
a big laugh.
So, I just enjoyed the nice day;-)
True
story. Whilst I did draw sniper fire as the
platoon Sgt's radioman (as did many other
people), but some jobs more than others:-).
But, there was one occasion where I
wasn't carrying the radio, and could
have been sniped at, and decided that if
I were...I didn't want to be found in an
embarrassing position:-)
I was at FSB (Fire Support Base) Charlie II
-our home base, and had to relieve another
man...(let's call him B..to avoid embarrassment)
from his shift of guard duty-perimeter watch
(2-4 hours-I'm not sure).
Jackson, was another good man from 2nd platoon,
and possibly my team leader at the time. He was
the grenadier-'Blooper' man; he carried the blooper-
M-79 grenade launcher...and was excellent at it(I
wouldn't have wanted to be on the receiving end of
his fire) On this day Jackson was taking me to relieve
B of his shift.
As we got nearer to the bunker Jackson noticed that B
wasn't on top or around the bunker; he wasn't visible.
Jackson got pissed when he realized that B might be
'copping some ZZZ (sleep). It's a major NO-NO in war,
but it happens. I learned how to sleep with my eyes
open;-) But, shit the snoring kind of gives you away;-)
I was never caught...and to scared to sleep.
( an aside: I was in an Amsterdam coffee shop after an exam,
and I closed my eyes for a bit. I was just trying to
remember my answer to one question when the
bouncer, Pete, tapped my shoulder and said to wake
up, or no sleeping. He was just checking to see...
I told him that I learned to sleep with my eyes
open in Vietnam, so he better check me even if my
eyes are open;-) )
But, as we got close to the bunker, Jackson and then I
heard heavy breathing. There are no women there, but
loads of porn magazines of all types...Swedish etc. So, you
get my drift? B was just taking care of his needs, or releasing
stress, if that sounds better;-) He had more time in the Nam
than both of us combined.
Jackson whispered what we'd do. As we came to the top
of the hill we got up and ran towards the bunker door with
our rifles, and we screamed 'Gooks' several times, or such.
What we saw was a man trying to finish what he was doing,
whilst at the same time trying to put his pecker back into his
pants like it never happened, and we never saw it...AND grab
his rifle and respond to the threat he just heard...from us.
After they left...and Jackson probably warned me about
sleeping and... I decided to sit on top of the bunker. It was a
beautiful day. And, being me...I tried to think of what B
did wrong...(I did the same in criminal law class. Whilst the
professor was explaining what part of the law was violated
in a criminal act, and why; I would always be thinking...the
guy, or woman was stupid. He/she should have done this or
that:-)
So, as I was sitting there atop the bunker it came to me. I said to
myself B should have done it right here on top of the bunker...
that way there be no suspicion because he would be visible, and if
done right no one would see.
And, then, I saw what the end of that scenario could be, and put
that idea out of my head.
I pictured myself being found laying on my side. A snipers bullet
through my skull, my dick in my right hand, and a porn magazine
in my left hand with blood all over the place...and giving everyone
a big laugh.
So, I just enjoyed the nice day;-)
True
Saturday, December 26, 2009
What War Is and Does to People:'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’ Dan Nang 1968.
This was originally a letter sent to my
son, Kyle, and then, my daughter, Nora.
I've added to it since, and will more as it
will be part of a novel.
I never heard a response back from my
children, and it just feels worse.
But, I am re-posting and re-editing this
over the next few days
I was trying to explain why I was not an
ordinary father with a 9-5 job, career etc...
much of the terror, trauma, and grief was and
had to be suppressed at the time...because I
had a bigger concern...just surviving that
night.
It's only later when we return that it comes
over us.For me, it meant drinking as much as
I could, and any drugs I could take during my
first 2 1/2 years back to shut out the thought,
images, pain and hurt.
Each Christmas is harder to survive in a way
because I landed in Da Nang, VietNam on Christmas
Day 1968 at about 2-3 am...and if you read far
enough below you will read of 'The Girl I met
on Christmas Day’ Dan Nang 1968.
But, this year I started writing about it. I
felt so fucked up in pain that at some point
I took a pen into my hand.
What she did...without ever speaking a word was
to show me what war is and does to people. She
took this hard marine and ripped his heart out
and humanized him! I think of her, and have
never forgotten her.
I came to Vietnam with Marine Corps training that
taught me to hate. But, I left her feeling awful...
and feeling love for her and also, hurt, pain,
and the beginnings of a new awakening.
What War Is and Does to People:
Dear Kyle,
It was 40 years since I was in Vietnam as a
young boy of 18. I was a Marine Corps 'grunt'
(a rifleman). This Christmas will be 41 years.
The first time I was 18 and 4 months when I
was medivaced from a place of terror. I felt
guilty for leaving my platoon, and especially,
Chief, my team leader and a Seminole Indian
who had saved my life at least once.
I was walking point , but as I made it to the
top of the hill I stopped. I felt uncomfortable
with the layout. The hill was a large area with
chest high grass, and surrounded by trees. I felt
inside somewhere that this could be it for me. I
didn't think that I could turn around and say I
got a bad feeling about this...can we go back
to the fire base? No, I was there. I was a
FNG (fucking new guy) walking point.
But, before I could take another step my Chief,
(Paul Bowers) my team leader stopped me. I
really think that it was for Chief to take a
look for himself. If i fucked up and stepped
on a landmine it would not be just my life.
He saved many lives by stopping me.
He turned his back to the hill, and told me
if you see anything don't look directly at it,
or they may open up on us if they think you've
seen them...or words to that effect. He had me
look at him and said not to look at the hill,
then he told me that there may be something
at 1 o'clock, or between 1 and 2 o'clock.
his neck was 12 o'clock.
I turned my head to my left away from the
hill, and smiled like we were sharing a
something funny, but my right eye was
looking over the spot, and I had a
sinking feeling in my heart or stomach...
and nodded.
I was waiting for Chief to get back into
his spot when I was told to 'freeze'.
Chief came back, and motioned me to step
back. He carefully went through the bushes,
and vines I’d been pushing through, and
showed me a green vine that was flat
against my chest. It was a trip wire. He
had it between his thumb and forefinger.
My next half-step and I’d been blown to
bits by an anti-tank mine on one side of
me and an anti-personnel mine on the
other side.
It would've taken 8-12 men dead and wounded.
My own death was one thing, but I would've
felt awful to have caused the death of
others. If we were ambushed as well,
then much of the platoon would be gone.
That’s how sharp Chief and aware of
everything around him, and why he was
important to the platoon. He came up;
took a look, and remembered something
that wasn't right and came back. I and
others are alive as a result.
Bobby traps, particularly, the 'bouncing
betty' killed more US troops than anything
else.
It was a special to see him laugh or smile,
or share good moments with him. He saved my
life, and I learned to watched for everything
in a way I hadn't before that. And, I had been
very alert and aware.
Weeks later, our platoon (about 45 men) were
used as bait for a battalion of NVA (North
Vietnamese Army regulars). We were put in a
small abandoned Marine fire base. Hall, a
state (high school) wrestling champion came
up to me and patted me on my right shoulder
and said, (I thought) 'Are you okay?' And I
said 'ya, i'm just getting my gear; i'm doing
the first watch.’
But, then Hall said 'your okay.' and patted
me on the shoulder. I looked at him, and he
tapped my radio, stood in front of me, and
said there were three on that(the radio)
before you. I was the platoon Sgt’s radioman).
Plus there was a guy from Vegas (I think)
who got shot up bad when he was the radioman...
then there were three in the 4-5 months he was
in the hospital, and then...me.
I had transferred from Fox 2/3 2cn Battalion
(Batt) 3rd Marines (regiment) because 2nd
Platoon golf 2/3 had 'lost' a radioman and
needed another.
Hall was just telling me you're okay and
you've been okay(and LUCKY-mine). I really
respected him. He had a good sense of humor,
was strong, and Always made people laugh and
was good even nice to this F-cking New Guy FNG.
It meant that there was some talk of me:-) I
couldn't have asked to be placed with a better
group of Marines, or fellas than those in the
second platoon of Golf Co.
Then, and this is what happens in war...a
terrible irony…he pointed to all the firing
pins (from hand grenades) scattered around
and told me not to touch them. He said they’re
dangerous. He said that it’s safe to pick them
up one side, but...as he picked one up to show
me he said, but if you pick up the wrong side
your own body heat is enough to set off the
charge. And then, his hand opened up in front
of me from the explosion, and he was screaming
and screaming. It looked as if someone took a
knife and sliced his hand open.
With explosions or bullets...you see the
results and then hear the noise. There was a
loud explosion after I was looking at his hand,
and blood flying both ways. He was in immense
pain, shock. I was in shock and have never
forgotten that night.
I've always felt bad that if he hadn't been
nice to me...
About a week or less from my being medivaced
(seizure and dysentery) to the USA we landed
on a ridge (Co Ca Va?) in the A Shau valley;
the ‘ Valley of Death ’. It was Fire Support
Base (FSB) Cunningham; the HQ for Operation
Dewey Canyon I.
Being a radioman is one of the most dangerous
jobs; (a snipers delight). They could ambush
a platoon, but if just one man survived he
could call in air strikes within 10 minutes.
So they go for the radio first, and the platoon
is a bit f-cked. Someone (Hall?) explained
this to me after I survived a month (as
radioman) and snipers.
When word got out that we were replacing
Mike Co., 3/9 (3rd Battalion 9th Marine
regiment) it had a chilling effect. 1/9
(1st Battalion 9th Marines was known as
'The Walking Dead'- a casualty rate over
90% dead, wounded, and missing...93.?%
of every 100 young boys like me...year
in and year out...every year of that war.
War is criminal. I had hoped to join them...
was I daft.
But, even 3/9 meant bad, bad shit was going
to happen. The Ninth 9th Marines meant only
one thing: 'heavy combat' and casualties like
not seen before. We missed the main attack
(below) 'Sapper Attack in the A Shau During
the Vietnam War' (link http://bit.ly/fGrBea )
But we were replacing the men who had endured
that assault-to rub out the base, plus nightly
sapper attacks…night terror. Sappers were four
men teams with explosives in their backpacks,
and plenty of hand grenades to toss into other
holes. They were brave men trying to rid their
country of foreign occupiers...as the Vietnamese
people had for thousands of years.
Our first night we(Chief and I) were sent to a
share a bunker with some (grunts) from Mike 3/9;
they were leaving the next morning. After we had
made the introductions...some men started to cry;
and these were tough marines...who had been exposed
to too much night terror. They said the things
like...'we're all gonna be die'. They said they
get in every night.
I had no idea of what they were saying. Is he
talking about a ground attack? I had not even
thought, nor probably heard about 'sappers.'
They said sappers get in every night...we're
gonna die. Chief immediately grabbed one covered
his mouth and told them all to 'shut the fuck up'
etc. It was a powerful lesson for me.
As he did this all of a sudden we heard loud
screams from beyond the perimiter wire. They were
silenced immediately by a very loud explosion,
and then, there were no more screams. The other
men started to break down, and the first one said
'See, that's the fourth LP in a row. An LP is a
listening post, and on that ridge it was four
men. With that explosion the total went to 16.
4 men each night for four nights. North
Vietnamese Army Regular (NVA) sappers had
crawled up on the LP and one sapper
sacrificed his life to blow four Marines away.
The men started to sob again and Chief drew
his knife. I got in front of another Marine
and drew my K-Bar (combat knife) and stood
in front of the other Marine. He probably had
much more time in Vietnam than me, and it felt
strange to be doing this. They don't teach
these things in boot camp and infintry training.
Then, Chief took me away from that fortified
bunker and went pointed to two small three
foot deep holes forward of all the bunkers
with no sandbags or any protection, and right
out in the open. He got in front of me; our
faces were far apart, and as he pointed to
the bunker that we had just left he said 'We´ll
be okay. will watch each other each other's
back. We'll be okay, but we got to get away
from that(panicking-mine). He pointed toward
the bunker we had just left .' Chief said it
twice and looked into my eyes saying "we´ll
be okay." And we were okay. We survived a
scary night. I trusted Chief, and would have
followed him in any situation.
The next morning, Mike 3/9 were gone. That
night our company, Golf 2/3 were facing what
had terrorized the men from Mike 3/9. Of the
three platoons in the company, ours, the second
platoon, had to send out the first LP. Everyone
was nervous because by then we knew what had
happened to the other LP's/ It came down to
our squad and then, our four man fire team-
Chief’s. But, Chief had a plan to make sure
that we didn’t get blown away. I wasn't
surprised that Chief was chosen to take out
the first fire team!
I thought that Chief stood the best chance
in the whole company. I'm just glad that I
was with him. In 2010 he joked me that he
just thought that they (command) were trying
to get me killed
Chief's plan was simple, yet like everything
he did...he had put a lot of thought into it...
and that night, Chief wasn't exactly leading
the cream of the Corps (myself included--still
green;-) men he could have, but he made it work.
The plan was this: if we try to stay out all
night...we'll be dead. They'll-the NVA creep
up on us like they did the other LP's. We
were going to have to be faster, and sharper.
The others were blown away within an hour or two.
When we heard movement...even before they could
get within hand grenade of us...we would notify
our LT (Lieutenant) that we had contact and were
going to toss hand grenades to break contact,and
come back into the perimeter...this allows for...
when we think we hear contact? They were there,
but we're alive.
But, the brass didn't want us to come in. When
I called in-radio-to the CP they said we need
more information on how many they were, the
direction of attack etc...you know the types
of things that would get us blown to bits if
we stayed out all night like they wanted us
too. I whispered to the next man what was
said, and it was passed to Chief. Chief and
I leaned forward, and looked at each other.
Chief shook his head back N forth "NO!' a
few times, and made a sign with his hand
and that was good enough for me, and I went
to squelch on the radio. This meant that I
could not talk (make verbal transmissions...
as someone is to close:-) And, I could only
use (key) my handset.
We had tossed our frags (grenades) in front
of us, to give us time and cover to get back
into the perimeter. I was the the last one
out-position, I was 'Tail End Charlie. And
when I got up I realized that they were closer
than we thought. As I got up to run I heard
noise to my right and almost right rear and
saw someone in the darkness...where we hadn't
thrown frags.I was terrified that they had
gotten so close. I sprayed a burst emptying
my magazine. I was more than nervous...
'scared shitless' is the word.
I ran forward through the zig-zag like coils
of concertina wire, whilst looking behind me
for anyone who wasn't supposed to be there.
I was last. I was changing the magazine in
my rifle while listening for the sound of a
'frag'(hand grenade)dropping near me(theirs-
none). I was trying to catch up with the
others. As I came through the last twist
and turn of the wire all hell broke loose.
I thought that the NVA had opened fire on
the hill, or launched a ground attack, and
ours were returning fire.
As we came through the wire,someone set off
a trip flare, and we were visible to all.
We came the shortest way...across our kill
zone, and were almost cut to pieces by our
own machine guns, and every trigger happy grunt
(or as we say 'every swinging dick with a rifle.')
I had radioed in, but no one had told the fellas
we were on our way. We almost got torn to shreds;
the bullets were all around us and me.
I was the only standing target. ´Chief´, ´Rags´
and ´Florida´ were on the ground. I turned facing
the hill and went to drop, but a hail of bullets
went all aroud where I was to drop. I don´t know
how I wasn´t hit.
I turned a bit to me left-the direction of where
the others were on the ground and saw Chief look
at me like I must be crazy standing, but as I went
to fall bullets tore up the ground sent wood, rocks
and everything flying all around me on my left and...
I had tears and fear I turned back slightly the
first way facing the hill and fell to the ground.
Bullets were tearing up the ground just above
where my head was and down my right side. I was
terrified, and screamed into the radio. We
survived; Chief’s plan worked. God bless Chief.
When someone asks me how I survived I say I
know there is a God because I can't understand
the times I was almost been killed and Chief
wasn't there:-)
Secondly, Chief handled everything that God
was too busy for at the moment! And, that
was a lot!!
Third, my own instincts, and again, there
was Chief and my own good instincts…which
were constantly honed and corrected by Chief.
Finally, luck....if there is such a thing in war.
On night after Mike 3/9 was gone we had our own
sapper attacks; they must start about 2:30 am
because i'm always awake then and till later...
daylight. Chief and I had the bunker on the
extreme flank. One night the darkness was
pierced by the screams of the two men from
the next bunker. They came running towards
us screaming hysterically ‘The gooks are all
around us ...we’re gonna get killed.’
Chief and I each grabbed one,(I was following
Chief's lead from the first night)and covered
their mouths. I put the flat handle of my K-Bar
against the back of the neck of my man so he
couldn't move. Then I put my K-Bar to his throat.
In his eyes I saw sheer terror that I remember to
this day. I kept looking over my man's shoulder,
and all around me.
Chief whispered 'Shut the fuck up. Get back into
your hole. Keep your head down, and your eyes
and ears open.' And, for good measure, Chief
added 'and don't bring them over here.'
I had also run my knife down the man's throat
to his chest and I gave him a look that was
meant to scare him as much as what had just
terrorized him. I was scared too, but knew
that panic is deadly.
They ran back. We evacuated our bunker;
everyone knew it by then, and Chief said
something to the effect that we could only
use our knives and hand grenades from here
on in. The flash of a rifle would give our
position away.
After a few minutes a sapper made it into
their bunker and began knifing them to keep
them there until his satchel detonated. We
listened to them scream and scream in agony
and terror of their last seconds (6-7) of
their lives…They were fifty feet away…begging
and one cried aloud ‘Oh God’ just before the
explosion. It was awful.
I got over their deaths in a sense. A single tear
rolled down the right side of my face, and both
eyes were wet. But, I shut down every human
emotion and feeling. I was worried that the
sounds might mask someone approaching us. And,
I needed all my instincts unclouded. I was 110%
adrenalin. All they had to do was get within
hand grenade range.
Later that morning my platoon Sgt. said ‘we
got two new men coming in on the copter, and
we don’t want them seeing it (the bunker) like
that. I nodded and took the rags, and went in
to clean it up. My training hadn't taught me
how to clean up the exploded remains of marines...
it was all blood, bits of flesh, bone and whatever.
I almost cracked. It was horrible.
Most of all, God, I didn’t want another Marine
to see me crying…so I stuffed it. At one point
I said to myself 'You can't do this. You can't do
this(cry). So, I stuffed way down, but have cried
many times since leaving that hill.
I have since felt that on the Judgement Day even
if Allah-God himself, and those two men come over
to me and smile and say it's okay now...I feel like
I will always feel like shit for eternity for what
happened that night. I looked at my man so coldly...
as if there was no human emotion within me. And I
know that we had no other choice...and would do it
again in the same circumstances.
The rags were too small, and their blood and
whatever got on my hands, and I ran out of the
bunker and wiped my hands in the dirt. War can
make someone superstitious. Stuff got on my
clothes, hair, and then the rags were soaked...
that's when it got to me, plus it seemed like
I didn't know how to do it...and I just wanted
to be done.
The medivac copter that took me out set down
at another firebase for 10 minutes...and in an
'Irish mist' I sat there counting body bags
stacked like cordwood on the tarmac. I stopped
at 240.
The screams of those two men, and the terror
and pain are with me every day. It never leaves.
I am just giving you this so you know what I
experienced, and why I was not the ordinary
guy with a 9-5, and got down. War is horrible
and criminal. It scars deeply within as surely
as it does on the outside.
But my real purpose is also to tell you of an
incident that preceded all the terror and death
(even before I touched a rifle)...and humanized
my heart and soul. I am speaking of...
'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’ Dan Nang 1968
I landed in Da Nang early on Christmas morning...2-3am.
Later I would fly north to Dong Ha, and then by truck
to Quang Tri to join the 3rd Marines.
We were taken into Da Nang city briefly after being
warned that begging children might steal. We came
upon a group of 30-40 such children.. I had some
money to give and sweets.
At first it felt good to give to people in need,
but I felt bad that they had to beg...why? And
why aren't they being fed by the military (my
first awaking that things weren't right).
Almost all were under 10, but some had
amputations, shrapnel damage and more. Most
were okay, but this was what this hard marine
so eager for combat saw on his first day in
Viet Nam .
But, I felt someone's presence at the back of
the group. I knew she was looking at me, and
when I looked up I saw a lovely girl of between
11-13. She looked right into my eyes (softly)
for a bit, then lowered (bowed) her head. But,
by then she had torn my heart out.
She did not hold her hand out like the others.
I think she felt different...not as young as
the others)...and marred
She raised her head again, made eye contact...
kept it for a bit and lowered her head again.
I waded through the crowd till I stood in front
of her and she raised her head again and we
looked at each other. I took her hand and gave
her whatever money I could get, and disguised
it to seem like I was just giving her sweets.
I didn’t care if I had any money left after
giving to her.
We both nodded to each other, and I know I was
holding back tears. We shared a special and
poignant moment in space and time that I will
never forget.
You see this beautiful Vietnamese girl had no
right eye and, had minimal treatment because
she didn't wear an American uniform! But she
was a beautiful young girl. And, it is that
young girl, and her soulful look, and her
situation that has been with me ever since.
I know she appreciated whatever I gave her,
but it felt inadequate to me.
She was marred; not even a patch, but I could
see the whole her, and my heart ached(s) for
her. Ive' always wondered what became of her?
I would have food, water, medical care, but she?
It is those things-what happens to children,
old people, and especially (young girls and
women, homes, families, villes, cultures,
societies, and also, to other Marines blown
to bits, maimed, traumatized for a fucking
medal that hurts and causes pain most every
day of my life.
Those of us who survived had to fight our
own government for recognition that their
wounds/conditions merited treatment. But,
the children of Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq
or any country America wages war upon...
have to fend for theirselves.
But she is 'The Girl I Met on Christmas Day 1968’ '
or 'The Christmas Girl' and she can make me cry
easy...when I think of her.
War is a criminal enterprise!Or, as Major-General
Smedley D. Butler said, 'War is a Racket'.
Vietnam is over there, but the war is truly still
inside, and will be all the days of my life. All
of the hurt you see or feel and suppress at the
time...you feel later when you are home...and
forever.
son, Kyle, and then, my daughter, Nora.
I've added to it since, and will more as it
will be part of a novel.
I never heard a response back from my
children, and it just feels worse.
But, I am re-posting and re-editing this
over the next few days
I was trying to explain why I was not an
ordinary father with a 9-5 job, career etc...
much of the terror, trauma, and grief was and
had to be suppressed at the time...because I
had a bigger concern...just surviving that
night.
It's only later when we return that it comes
over us.For me, it meant drinking as much as
I could, and any drugs I could take during my
first 2 1/2 years back to shut out the thought,
images, pain and hurt.
Each Christmas is harder to survive in a way
because I landed in Da Nang, VietNam on Christmas
Day 1968 at about 2-3 am...and if you read far
enough below you will read of 'The Girl I met
on Christmas Day’ Dan Nang 1968.
But, this year I started writing about it. I
felt so fucked up in pain that at some point
I took a pen into my hand.
What she did...without ever speaking a word was
to show me what war is and does to people. She
took this hard marine and ripped his heart out
and humanized him! I think of her, and have
never forgotten her.
I came to Vietnam with Marine Corps training that
taught me to hate. But, I left her feeling awful...
and feeling love for her and also, hurt, pain,
and the beginnings of a new awakening.
What War Is and Does to People:
Dear Kyle,
It was 40 years since I was in Vietnam as a
young boy of 18. I was a Marine Corps 'grunt'
(a rifleman). This Christmas will be 41 years.
The first time I was 18 and 4 months when I
was medivaced from a place of terror. I felt
guilty for leaving my platoon, and especially,
Chief, my team leader and a Seminole Indian
who had saved my life at least once.
I was walking point , but as I made it to the
top of the hill I stopped. I felt uncomfortable
with the layout. The hill was a large area with
chest high grass, and surrounded by trees. I felt
inside somewhere that this could be it for me. I
didn't think that I could turn around and say I
got a bad feeling about this...can we go back
to the fire base? No, I was there. I was a
FNG (fucking new guy) walking point.
But, before I could take another step my Chief,
(Paul Bowers) my team leader stopped me. I
really think that it was for Chief to take a
look for himself. If i fucked up and stepped
on a landmine it would not be just my life.
He saved many lives by stopping me.
He turned his back to the hill, and told me
if you see anything don't look directly at it,
or they may open up on us if they think you've
seen them...or words to that effect. He had me
look at him and said not to look at the hill,
then he told me that there may be something
at 1 o'clock, or between 1 and 2 o'clock.
his neck was 12 o'clock.
I turned my head to my left away from the
hill, and smiled like we were sharing a
something funny, but my right eye was
looking over the spot, and I had a
sinking feeling in my heart or stomach...
and nodded.
I was waiting for Chief to get back into
his spot when I was told to 'freeze'.
Chief came back, and motioned me to step
back. He carefully went through the bushes,
and vines I’d been pushing through, and
showed me a green vine that was flat
against my chest. It was a trip wire. He
had it between his thumb and forefinger.
My next half-step and I’d been blown to
bits by an anti-tank mine on one side of
me and an anti-personnel mine on the
other side.
It would've taken 8-12 men dead and wounded.
My own death was one thing, but I would've
felt awful to have caused the death of
others. If we were ambushed as well,
then much of the platoon would be gone.
That’s how sharp Chief and aware of
everything around him, and why he was
important to the platoon. He came up;
took a look, and remembered something
that wasn't right and came back. I and
others are alive as a result.
Bobby traps, particularly, the 'bouncing
betty' killed more US troops than anything
else.
It was a special to see him laugh or smile,
or share good moments with him. He saved my
life, and I learned to watched for everything
in a way I hadn't before that. And, I had been
very alert and aware.
Weeks later, our platoon (about 45 men) were
used as bait for a battalion of NVA (North
Vietnamese Army regulars). We were put in a
small abandoned Marine fire base. Hall, a
state (high school) wrestling champion came
up to me and patted me on my right shoulder
and said, (I thought) 'Are you okay?' And I
said 'ya, i'm just getting my gear; i'm doing
the first watch.’
But, then Hall said 'your okay.' and patted
me on the shoulder. I looked at him, and he
tapped my radio, stood in front of me, and
said there were three on that(the radio)
before you. I was the platoon Sgt’s radioman).
Plus there was a guy from Vegas (I think)
who got shot up bad when he was the radioman...
then there were three in the 4-5 months he was
in the hospital, and then...me.
I had transferred from Fox 2/3 2cn Battalion
(Batt) 3rd Marines (regiment) because 2nd
Platoon golf 2/3 had 'lost' a radioman and
needed another.
Hall was just telling me you're okay and
you've been okay(and LUCKY-mine). I really
respected him. He had a good sense of humor,
was strong, and Always made people laugh and
was good even nice to this F-cking New Guy FNG.
It meant that there was some talk of me:-) I
couldn't have asked to be placed with a better
group of Marines, or fellas than those in the
second platoon of Golf Co.
Then, and this is what happens in war...a
terrible irony…he pointed to all the firing
pins (from hand grenades) scattered around
and told me not to touch them. He said they’re
dangerous. He said that it’s safe to pick them
up one side, but...as he picked one up to show
me he said, but if you pick up the wrong side
your own body heat is enough to set off the
charge. And then, his hand opened up in front
of me from the explosion, and he was screaming
and screaming. It looked as if someone took a
knife and sliced his hand open.
With explosions or bullets...you see the
results and then hear the noise. There was a
loud explosion after I was looking at his hand,
and blood flying both ways. He was in immense
pain, shock. I was in shock and have never
forgotten that night.
I've always felt bad that if he hadn't been
nice to me...
About a week or less from my being medivaced
(seizure and dysentery) to the USA we landed
on a ridge (Co Ca Va?) in the A Shau valley;
the ‘ Valley of Death ’. It was Fire Support
Base (FSB) Cunningham; the HQ for Operation
Dewey Canyon I.
Being a radioman is one of the most dangerous
jobs; (a snipers delight). They could ambush
a platoon, but if just one man survived he
could call in air strikes within 10 minutes.
So they go for the radio first, and the platoon
is a bit f-cked. Someone (Hall?) explained
this to me after I survived a month (as
radioman) and snipers.
When word got out that we were replacing
Mike Co., 3/9 (3rd Battalion 9th Marine
regiment) it had a chilling effect. 1/9
(1st Battalion 9th Marines was known as
'The Walking Dead'- a casualty rate over
90% dead, wounded, and missing...93.?%
of every 100 young boys like me...year
in and year out...every year of that war.
War is criminal. I had hoped to join them...
was I daft.
But, even 3/9 meant bad, bad shit was going
to happen. The Ninth 9th Marines meant only
one thing: 'heavy combat' and casualties like
not seen before. We missed the main attack
(below) 'Sapper Attack in the A Shau During
the Vietnam War' (link http://bit.ly/fGrBea )
But we were replacing the men who had endured
that assault-to rub out the base, plus nightly
sapper attacks…night terror. Sappers were four
men teams with explosives in their backpacks,
and plenty of hand grenades to toss into other
holes. They were brave men trying to rid their
country of foreign occupiers...as the Vietnamese
people had for thousands of years.
Our first night we(Chief and I) were sent to a
share a bunker with some (grunts) from Mike 3/9;
they were leaving the next morning. After we had
made the introductions...some men started to cry;
and these were tough marines...who had been exposed
to too much night terror. They said the things
like...'we're all gonna be die'. They said they
get in every night.
I had no idea of what they were saying. Is he
talking about a ground attack? I had not even
thought, nor probably heard about 'sappers.'
They said sappers get in every night...we're
gonna die. Chief immediately grabbed one covered
his mouth and told them all to 'shut the fuck up'
etc. It was a powerful lesson for me.
As he did this all of a sudden we heard loud
screams from beyond the perimiter wire. They were
silenced immediately by a very loud explosion,
and then, there were no more screams. The other
men started to break down, and the first one said
'See, that's the fourth LP in a row. An LP is a
listening post, and on that ridge it was four
men. With that explosion the total went to 16.
4 men each night for four nights. North
Vietnamese Army Regular (NVA) sappers had
crawled up on the LP and one sapper
sacrificed his life to blow four Marines away.
The men started to sob again and Chief drew
his knife. I got in front of another Marine
and drew my K-Bar (combat knife) and stood
in front of the other Marine. He probably had
much more time in Vietnam than me, and it felt
strange to be doing this. They don't teach
these things in boot camp and infintry training.
Then, Chief took me away from that fortified
bunker and went pointed to two small three
foot deep holes forward of all the bunkers
with no sandbags or any protection, and right
out in the open. He got in front of me; our
faces were far apart, and as he pointed to
the bunker that we had just left he said 'We´ll
be okay. will watch each other each other's
back. We'll be okay, but we got to get away
from that(panicking-mine). He pointed toward
the bunker we had just left .' Chief said it
twice and looked into my eyes saying "we´ll
be okay." And we were okay. We survived a
scary night. I trusted Chief, and would have
followed him in any situation.
The next morning, Mike 3/9 were gone. That
night our company, Golf 2/3 were facing what
had terrorized the men from Mike 3/9. Of the
three platoons in the company, ours, the second
platoon, had to send out the first LP. Everyone
was nervous because by then we knew what had
happened to the other LP's/ It came down to
our squad and then, our four man fire team-
Chief’s. But, Chief had a plan to make sure
that we didn’t get blown away. I wasn't
surprised that Chief was chosen to take out
the first fire team!
I thought that Chief stood the best chance
in the whole company. I'm just glad that I
was with him. In 2010 he joked me that he
just thought that they (command) were trying
to get me killed
Chief's plan was simple, yet like everything
he did...he had put a lot of thought into it...
and that night, Chief wasn't exactly leading
the cream of the Corps (myself included--still
green;-) men he could have, but he made it work.
The plan was this: if we try to stay out all
night...we'll be dead. They'll-the NVA creep
up on us like they did the other LP's. We
were going to have to be faster, and sharper.
The others were blown away within an hour or two.
When we heard movement...even before they could
get within hand grenade of us...we would notify
our LT (Lieutenant) that we had contact and were
going to toss hand grenades to break contact,and
come back into the perimeter...this allows for...
when we think we hear contact? They were there,
but we're alive.
But, the brass didn't want us to come in. When
I called in-radio-to the CP they said we need
more information on how many they were, the
direction of attack etc...you know the types
of things that would get us blown to bits if
we stayed out all night like they wanted us
too. I whispered to the next man what was
said, and it was passed to Chief. Chief and
I leaned forward, and looked at each other.
Chief shook his head back N forth "NO!' a
few times, and made a sign with his hand
and that was good enough for me, and I went
to squelch on the radio. This meant that I
could not talk (make verbal transmissions...
as someone is to close:-) And, I could only
use (key) my handset.
We had tossed our frags (grenades) in front
of us, to give us time and cover to get back
into the perimeter. I was the the last one
out-position, I was 'Tail End Charlie. And
when I got up I realized that they were closer
than we thought. As I got up to run I heard
noise to my right and almost right rear and
saw someone in the darkness...where we hadn't
thrown frags.I was terrified that they had
gotten so close. I sprayed a burst emptying
my magazine. I was more than nervous...
'scared shitless' is the word.
I ran forward through the zig-zag like coils
of concertina wire, whilst looking behind me
for anyone who wasn't supposed to be there.
I was last. I was changing the magazine in
my rifle while listening for the sound of a
'frag'(hand grenade)dropping near me(theirs-
none). I was trying to catch up with the
others. As I came through the last twist
and turn of the wire all hell broke loose.
I thought that the NVA had opened fire on
the hill, or launched a ground attack, and
ours were returning fire.
As we came through the wire,someone set off
a trip flare, and we were visible to all.
We came the shortest way...across our kill
zone, and were almost cut to pieces by our
own machine guns, and every trigger happy grunt
(or as we say 'every swinging dick with a rifle.')
I had radioed in, but no one had told the fellas
we were on our way. We almost got torn to shreds;
the bullets were all around us and me.
I was the only standing target. ´Chief´, ´Rags´
and ´Florida´ were on the ground. I turned facing
the hill and went to drop, but a hail of bullets
went all aroud where I was to drop. I don´t know
how I wasn´t hit.
I turned a bit to me left-the direction of where
the others were on the ground and saw Chief look
at me like I must be crazy standing, but as I went
to fall bullets tore up the ground sent wood, rocks
and everything flying all around me on my left and...
I had tears and fear I turned back slightly the
first way facing the hill and fell to the ground.
Bullets were tearing up the ground just above
where my head was and down my right side. I was
terrified, and screamed into the radio. We
survived; Chief’s plan worked. God bless Chief.
When someone asks me how I survived I say I
know there is a God because I can't understand
the times I was almost been killed and Chief
wasn't there:-)
Secondly, Chief handled everything that God
was too busy for at the moment! And, that
was a lot!!
Third, my own instincts, and again, there
was Chief and my own good instincts…which
were constantly honed and corrected by Chief.
Finally, luck....if there is such a thing in war.
On night after Mike 3/9 was gone we had our own
sapper attacks; they must start about 2:30 am
because i'm always awake then and till later...
daylight. Chief and I had the bunker on the
extreme flank. One night the darkness was
pierced by the screams of the two men from
the next bunker. They came running towards
us screaming hysterically ‘The gooks are all
around us ...we’re gonna get killed.’
Chief and I each grabbed one,(I was following
Chief's lead from the first night)and covered
their mouths. I put the flat handle of my K-Bar
against the back of the neck of my man so he
couldn't move. Then I put my K-Bar to his throat.
In his eyes I saw sheer terror that I remember to
this day. I kept looking over my man's shoulder,
and all around me.
Chief whispered 'Shut the fuck up. Get back into
your hole. Keep your head down, and your eyes
and ears open.' And, for good measure, Chief
added 'and don't bring them over here.'
I had also run my knife down the man's throat
to his chest and I gave him a look that was
meant to scare him as much as what had just
terrorized him. I was scared too, but knew
that panic is deadly.
They ran back. We evacuated our bunker;
everyone knew it by then, and Chief said
something to the effect that we could only
use our knives and hand grenades from here
on in. The flash of a rifle would give our
position away.
After a few minutes a sapper made it into
their bunker and began knifing them to keep
them there until his satchel detonated. We
listened to them scream and scream in agony
and terror of their last seconds (6-7) of
their lives…They were fifty feet away…begging
and one cried aloud ‘Oh God’ just before the
explosion. It was awful.
I got over their deaths in a sense. A single tear
rolled down the right side of my face, and both
eyes were wet. But, I shut down every human
emotion and feeling. I was worried that the
sounds might mask someone approaching us. And,
I needed all my instincts unclouded. I was 110%
adrenalin. All they had to do was get within
hand grenade range.
Later that morning my platoon Sgt. said ‘we
got two new men coming in on the copter, and
we don’t want them seeing it (the bunker) like
that. I nodded and took the rags, and went in
to clean it up. My training hadn't taught me
how to clean up the exploded remains of marines...
it was all blood, bits of flesh, bone and whatever.
I almost cracked. It was horrible.
Most of all, God, I didn’t want another Marine
to see me crying…so I stuffed it. At one point
I said to myself 'You can't do this. You can't do
this(cry). So, I stuffed way down, but have cried
many times since leaving that hill.
I have since felt that on the Judgement Day even
if Allah-God himself, and those two men come over
to me and smile and say it's okay now...I feel like
I will always feel like shit for eternity for what
happened that night. I looked at my man so coldly...
as if there was no human emotion within me. And I
know that we had no other choice...and would do it
again in the same circumstances.
The rags were too small, and their blood and
whatever got on my hands, and I ran out of the
bunker and wiped my hands in the dirt. War can
make someone superstitious. Stuff got on my
clothes, hair, and then the rags were soaked...
that's when it got to me, plus it seemed like
I didn't know how to do it...and I just wanted
to be done.
The medivac copter that took me out set down
at another firebase for 10 minutes...and in an
'Irish mist' I sat there counting body bags
stacked like cordwood on the tarmac. I stopped
at 240.
The screams of those two men, and the terror
and pain are with me every day. It never leaves.
I am just giving you this so you know what I
experienced, and why I was not the ordinary
guy with a 9-5, and got down. War is horrible
and criminal. It scars deeply within as surely
as it does on the outside.
But my real purpose is also to tell you of an
incident that preceded all the terror and death
(even before I touched a rifle)...and humanized
my heart and soul. I am speaking of...
'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’ Dan Nang 1968
I landed in Da Nang early on Christmas morning...2-3am.
Later I would fly north to Dong Ha, and then by truck
to Quang Tri to join the 3rd Marines.
We were taken into Da Nang city briefly after being
warned that begging children might steal. We came
upon a group of 30-40 such children.. I had some
money to give and sweets.
At first it felt good to give to people in need,
but I felt bad that they had to beg...why? And
why aren't they being fed by the military (my
first awaking that things weren't right).
Almost all were under 10, but some had
amputations, shrapnel damage and more. Most
were okay, but this was what this hard marine
so eager for combat saw on his first day in
Viet Nam .
But, I felt someone's presence at the back of
the group. I knew she was looking at me, and
when I looked up I saw a lovely girl of between
11-13. She looked right into my eyes (softly)
for a bit, then lowered (bowed) her head. But,
by then she had torn my heart out.
She did not hold her hand out like the others.
I think she felt different...not as young as
the others)...and marred
She raised her head again, made eye contact...
kept it for a bit and lowered her head again.
I waded through the crowd till I stood in front
of her and she raised her head again and we
looked at each other. I took her hand and gave
her whatever money I could get, and disguised
it to seem like I was just giving her sweets.
I didn’t care if I had any money left after
giving to her.
We both nodded to each other, and I know I was
holding back tears. We shared a special and
poignant moment in space and time that I will
never forget.
You see this beautiful Vietnamese girl had no
right eye and, had minimal treatment because
she didn't wear an American uniform! But she
was a beautiful young girl. And, it is that
young girl, and her soulful look, and her
situation that has been with me ever since.
I know she appreciated whatever I gave her,
but it felt inadequate to me.
She was marred; not even a patch, but I could
see the whole her, and my heart ached(s) for
her. Ive' always wondered what became of her?
I would have food, water, medical care, but she?
It is those things-what happens to children,
old people, and especially (young girls and
women, homes, families, villes, cultures,
societies, and also, to other Marines blown
to bits, maimed, traumatized for a fucking
medal that hurts and causes pain most every
day of my life.
Those of us who survived had to fight our
own government for recognition that their
wounds/conditions merited treatment. But,
the children of Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq
or any country America wages war upon...
have to fend for theirselves.
But she is 'The Girl I Met on Christmas Day 1968’ '
or 'The Christmas Girl' and she can make me cry
easy...when I think of her.
War is a criminal enterprise!Or, as Major-General
Smedley D. Butler said, 'War is a Racket'.
Vietnam is over there, but the war is truly still
inside, and will be all the days of my life. All
of the hurt you see or feel and suppress at the
time...you feel later when you are home...and
forever.
Hello,
This is a long overdue tribute to my personal hero...a very good
and kind man with a great sense of humor and my teacher. He
was known to me as 'Chief', but his name is Paul Bowers, Sr.
I have always had the greatest respect for him, and instinctively
knew upon meeting him that he was the best in the platoon, if not
the company or battalion...I grew up in a rough environment, and
had to have sharp instincts to survive my childhood. I played in
swamps as a boy too... But, I would've been dead if not for Chief,
and not written this.
I'm so used to thinking of 'him as 'Chief'. I was in his fire team with
Golf 2/3 for a bit. Chief/Paul saved mine and many lives...more than
once, and I not only wish to thank him,(how do you thank a man for
saving your life multiple times?) but to tell everyone how much he
meant to this FNG(guy).
I was walking point once when Chief stopped me to point something
out and I think to remind me of the dangers as I was coming over the
top of a hill (ambush territory-I had a bad feeling about the layout of
the place-this part is new- the hill was flat and had chest high
grass, and was ringed by trees). But, I really think that it was for
Chief to take a look for himself. He saved many lives by doing so.
I was waiting for Chief to get back into his spot when I was told to
'freeze', or words to that effect. Chief came back, and motioned me to
step back. He carefully went through the bushes I’d been pushing through,
and showed me a green vine that was flat against my chest. It was a trip
wire. My next half-step and I’d been blown to bits by an anti-tank mine
on one side of me and an anti-personnel mine on the other side.
It could've taken 8-12 men dead and wounded; that would have bothered
me more than my own death! If we were ambushed as well, then much of
the platoon could be gone. That’s how sharp, or aware of everything around
him he was. He had seen something and came back. I and others are alive
today.
I learned from everything that he did...and tried not to 'piss him off'
as I didn't want to see his anger;-)
Chief was important to the platoon. It was a special to see him laugh
or smile.
I was with him for a bit on FSB Cunningham in the A Shau valley, and he
saved many lives...(Chief do you remember our first LP there-for the
reader an LP is a listening post...the most forward and exposed
position just outside the perimeter wire)? Others
got blown away, but Chief/Paul had a plan...and we survived! We almost
got blown away by our own men as we came back into the perimeter.
Paul you may not have been keeping count, but I sure did. I felt so
bad leaving Chief and our platoon that I volunteered again, but was
sent to 3/1.
Whenever people have asked me how I survived I have always told
them this:
First, I know that there is a God, because I can't explain the times
I was almost killed...and Chief wasn't around:-)
Secondly, there was Chief who handled everything else when God
was too busy with everyone else!
Thirdly, I was lucky.
Fourth, and again, there was Chief.
And then my own instincts...and Chief again to correct and hone
those skills.
On this holiday there are those who can walk, talk, laugh, see
children and grandchildren, enjoy life...because of one man
Paul Bowers Sr.,
To me he is and will always be
My Chief.
Paul Meuse...the FNG radioman
This is a long overdue tribute to my personal hero...a very good
and kind man with a great sense of humor and my teacher. He
was known to me as 'Chief', but his name is Paul Bowers, Sr.
I have always had the greatest respect for him, and instinctively
knew upon meeting him that he was the best in the platoon, if not
the company or battalion...I grew up in a rough environment, and
had to have sharp instincts to survive my childhood. I played in
swamps as a boy too... But, I would've been dead if not for Chief,
and not written this.
I'm so used to thinking of 'him as 'Chief'. I was in his fire team with
Golf 2/3 for a bit. Chief/Paul saved mine and many lives...more than
once, and I not only wish to thank him,(how do you thank a man for
saving your life multiple times?) but to tell everyone how much he
meant to this FNG(guy).
I was walking point once when Chief stopped me to point something
out and I think to remind me of the dangers as I was coming over the
top of a hill (ambush territory-I had a bad feeling about the layout of
the place-this part is new- the hill was flat and had chest high
grass, and was ringed by trees). But, I really think that it was for
Chief to take a look for himself. He saved many lives by doing so.
I was waiting for Chief to get back into his spot when I was told to
'freeze', or words to that effect. Chief came back, and motioned me to
step back. He carefully went through the bushes I’d been pushing through,
and showed me a green vine that was flat against my chest. It was a trip
wire. My next half-step and I’d been blown to bits by an anti-tank mine
on one side of me and an anti-personnel mine on the other side.
It could've taken 8-12 men dead and wounded; that would have bothered
me more than my own death! If we were ambushed as well, then much of
the platoon could be gone. That’s how sharp, or aware of everything around
him he was. He had seen something and came back. I and others are alive
today.
I learned from everything that he did...and tried not to 'piss him off'
as I didn't want to see his anger;-)
Chief was important to the platoon. It was a special to see him laugh
or smile.
I was with him for a bit on FSB Cunningham in the A Shau valley, and he
saved many lives...(Chief do you remember our first LP there-for the
reader an LP is a listening post...the most forward and exposed
position just outside the perimeter wire)? Others
got blown away, but Chief/Paul had a plan...and we survived! We almost
got blown away by our own men as we came back into the perimeter.
Paul you may not have been keeping count, but I sure did. I felt so
bad leaving Chief and our platoon that I volunteered again, but was
sent to 3/1.
Whenever people have asked me how I survived I have always told
them this:
First, I know that there is a God, because I can't explain the times
I was almost killed...and Chief wasn't around:-)
Secondly, there was Chief who handled everything else when God
was too busy with everyone else!
Thirdly, I was lucky.
Fourth, and again, there was Chief.
And then my own instincts...and Chief again to correct and hone
those skills.
On this holiday there are those who can walk, talk, laugh, see
children and grandchildren, enjoy life...because of one man
Paul Bowers Sr.,
To me he is and will always be
My Chief.
Paul Meuse...the FNG radioman
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