Voices To Veterans

Let’s help veterans tell their stories. Maybe they worked in the mess halls serving chow, or helped load ordnance onto jets waiting their turn to launch on combat missions, or maybe they had to watch their friends get hit in an ambush or a firefight in a rice paddy in Vietnam. It’s time we hear what they have to say!

If you are a veteran, or you know a veteran you’d like to have considered, send an email to VoicesToVeterans@gmail.com with the name of the veteran, a short summary of his or her story, and a picture of the veteran in uniform if you have it. I’ll then select veterans from the nominations I receive and write-up their stories for the Voices to Veterans Spotlight. Every veteran whose story I feature will receive a free signed copy of my latest Steve Stilwell legal thriller, Sapphire Pavilion, which is dedicated to “Wounded Warriors and Vietnam War veterans, especially those heroes still waiting to come home.”

April 25 2018

Staff Sergeant Jerry Ingram U.S. Marine Corps No Greater Honor

Photo of Marine Corps Veteran Jerry Ingram saluting at a remembrance ceremony. — Marine Corps veteran Jerry Ingram, a survivor of the 1945 Battle of Iwo Jima, salutes before placing a flower on the 4th Marine Division Monument at the Leavenworth National Cemetery. Photo by Prudence Siebert/Fort Leavenworth Lamp

When most of us are 16, our biggest worries are getting our drivers license or figuring out our date to the prom. When Staff Sergeant Jerry Ingram was 16, he was a combat tank commander with Company C of the 4^th Tank Battalion, 4^th Marines, preparing to fight his way to victory across the Pacific to Japan. This is Jerry’s story.

Jerry was born on May 20, 1927, in Kansas City, Kansas. Scraping by at the height of the Great Depression, Jerry left home when he was 10 and lived on the streets. He made enough money to survive working on local farms, but after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Jerry enlisted in the Marines when he was only 15. He was a big kid at 6 feet tall and 200 pounds, just what the Marines were looking for. Jerry says he lied about his age to get into the Marines, and he’s been lying about his age ever since.

Jerry reported for duty on November 9, 1942, and was sent to Marine boot camp in San Diego California. He lived in a tent his full time there, and would continue to live in tents all the way through to the end of the war. Jerry said his drill instructor was a Pearl Harbor survivor, which made him especially tough on his men. Whatever the requirements were, he made them do more. At the time, Jerry thought they were being over-trained. Looking back, he attributes a significant part of his survival to his Marine Corps training, which taught him to never give up. The rest he knows is due to the hand of God. Jerry is certain God has allowed him to survive so he can relay his story to others, so that they, too, can learn to never give up.

One story stands out for Jerry from boot camp, where there was significant competition between platoons to outdo each other. On the night before the final inspection and graduation parade, Jerry and some buddies from his platoon took permanent shoe die and painted black mustaches on sleeping Marines in the other platoons. Then they painted mustaches on themselves so no one would know which platoon did it. Jerry said you can only imagine the reaction the next morning when the new Marines showed up for their graduation inspection with mustaches painted on their faces.

After boot camp, Jerry reported to the Marine Corps camp at Jacques Farm, also in San Diego. He thought he was going for Raider training, but he learned when he arrived the camp had just been repurposed to train Marines to fight with tanks. By the time he left Camp Jacques, still at the age of 15, he had become a tank driving instructor.

After Jacques Farm, Jerry was assigned to Company C, 4^th Tank Battalion, 4^th Marine Division at Camp Pendleton in California. As part of this unit, he participated in the island battles in the Pacific that served as the crucible for the Marine Corps and made it the legendary fighting force it is today. These landings were:

Roi and Namur Islands, February 1944
Saipan, June 15 – July 9, 1944 (13,000 U.S. casualties, including 3,000 killed)
Tinian, July 24 – August 1, 1944 (2,300 U.S. casualties, including 389 killed)
Iwo Jima, February 19 – March 26, 1945 (26,000 U.S. casualties, including 6,800 killed)

Jerry fought in these battles as a commander of a Sherman tank, which was the main battle tank for the United States during the war. He recalls that when they conducted the Roi and Namur Island landings, U.S. Navy ships offshore mistakenly fired on their tanks. To prevent that from happening again, someone up the chain of command came up with the idea to paint the tops of the tanks yellow so they could be easily identified from the air. When the tanks landed in Saipan, they learned the hard way that the new paint scheme was not such a good idea. Jerry and his tank Company had landed in the wrong place, so they got out of their tanks to check their maps to see where they were. Suddenly, Japanese shells rained down on them because the yellow tops made them easy to spot and target.

When the shells started coming in, Jerry and a Gunnery Sergeant (Gunny) jumped under one of the tanks and the tank took a direct hit. The Gunny said he was hit, and Jerry reached over and felt blood all over the Gunny’s leg. Despite being in cramped quarters and unable to see because they were under the tank, Jerry managed to get a tourniquet around the Gunny’s leg. When the shelling stopped, Jerry pulled the Gunny out from under the tank only to find that it wasn’t blood on the Gunny’s leg, but warm diesel fuel that had leaked from the tank after it had been hit.

After securing Saipan, the 4^th Marine Division returned to its base on Maui to prepare for their next assignment: Iwo Jima. This proved to be one of the costliest battles of the war and the only battle in the Pacific where more American attackers were killed than Japanese defenders. Jerry remembers going to the cemetery on the island after the island was secured and being overcome by the thousands of crosses marking the graves of his fellow Marines. He says this was the only time he cried during the war.

After surviving these horrific island-hopping battles, Jerry was transferred to the 1^st Marine Division in Tientsin, China, as part of the occupation forces securing the area after Japan surrendered. Jerry said the Chinese people were destitute, having suffered greatly at the hands of the Japanese. He saw people stripping bark from trees to eat and using sand as filler in some of their meals. Yet when the Americans shipped food for the starving people, corrupt local officials kept it from those who needed it most.

Image of Jerry Ingram saluting at Royals Game. — Jerry Ingram at Kansas City Royals baseball game

Jerry returned to the United States from China and was honorably discharged in 1946. He still suffered from the effects of the war, especially amoebic dysentery, which plagued him for years. Amoebic dysentery is caused by a one-celled organism that invades the intestines, resulting in severe abdominal pain, diarrhea, and blood loss. Further complications occur when the parasite gets into the bloodstream. Early on, Jerry’s infection was so bad that he went to the VA Hospital in Leavenworth, Kansas. At one point he overheard that he was in the St. Peter’s room, which meant he was not expected to live. But the Marines had taught him to be a survivor, and if the VA Hospital couldn’t help him get better, he would go back home to Kansas City and try something else. So he snuck out of the hospital wearing nothing but his hospital gown with the ties in back, and hitchhiked to Kansas City. As he looks back on it now, he can’t believe someone actually stopped and gave him a ride given how he was dressed.

Jerry recovered and went back to school to complete his education. Not only did he get his high school degree, but he also used the GI Bill to get his bachelor’s degree from Kansas University.

As if Jerry’s experience in the war wasn’t enough, he had two other close calls with death. First, when Jerry was 25, his car was hit head on by a drunk driver. Jerry suffered massive head trauma and was in surgery for 23 hours. He eventually had an acrylic plate put into his head and he had to re-learn his memory, but he never gave up and he recovered. Then, in 1981, he was caught in an elevator with 3 other men when an arsonist set fire to the Las Vegas Hilton. When the elevator door opened, Jerry crawled to safety, but the 3 other men, who tried to run through the smoke, died from smoke inhalation.

Jerry attributes his longevity to the Marines who instilled in him that he must never give up, no matter how bad things get, and his faith in God as a Christian. He feels duty-bound to tell people his story so they understand that there is a cost to the freedoms we all enjoy.

When I asked Jerry if he thinks serving in the military is a good option for young people today, he didn’t hesitate. He said there is no greater honor than serving God, Country and the Corps. He is a Marine through and through, who knows and appreciates that next to life itself, freedom is the most precious gift we have.

At almost 91, Jerry still works full-time at Jerry Ingram Fire & Rescue, providing fire departments with uniforms and other required first responder equipment. He also supports the American Legion and Veterans of Foreign Wars, and is active in the Marine Corps League. He remains the driving force behind a memorial and annual remembrance ceremony in March for the battle of Iwo Jima at Leavenworth National Cemetery in Kansas.

Voices To Veterans proudly salutes Staff Sergeant Jerry Ingram for his distinguished service in the United States Marine Corps and for his lifelong commitment to preserving the freedoms of every American. There is no doubt how Jerry would close out his story if he were telling it in person: Semper Fi!

U.S. Marine Corps Memorial in Washington, DC.

March 7 2018

Specialist 4 Tom Garvey, U.S. Army Lesson from Vietnam: Glad to be Alive

Specialist 4 Tom Garvey carrying 105mm shells in Vietnam. — Specialist 4 Tom Garvey

Think of your most stressful day on the job—looming deadlines, unhappy bosses, sales quotas, late nights, and people who can’t get along. Then consider what Specialist 4 Tom Garvey went through every day during his tour in Vietnam from 1967-1968—fire missions with high explosives, incoming mortar fire, rocket and artillery attacks, and the constant possibility of his unit being overrun. Listening to Tom’s story helped me view my life’s experiences from a different perspective. I hope his story will have the same effect on you.

When Tom graduated from Franklin K. Lane High School in Brooklyn, New York, in 1965, his immediate thought was to get a job and earn some money. He also wanted to go to college, but coming from a poor family, the only way he could continue his education was to work during the day and go to school at night. Tom’s mother suggested he apply at the New York Stock Exchange, which he did, and he landed a job as a page taking stock purchase and sale orders from the brokers on the floor to the specialty brokers for execution. He also enrolled at Brooklyn College, taking night classes in pursuit of a bachelor’s degree in economics.

Things were falling in place for Tom until he was drafted in 1966 at the age of 19. On October 19, 1966, he was sworn in at Fort Hamilton at the foot of the Verrazano Bridge in Brooklyn. As he stood in line after taking the oath, an official walked past, designating each person as either Army or Marines. The men on either side of Tom were sent into the Marines; Tom was sent to the Army. Knowing now what the Marines went through in Vietnam, Tom considers that to be one of luckiest days of his life.

Tom went to Basic Training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, and from there, he went to Advanced Individual Training (AIT) in artillery at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. After AIT, Tom received orders for Vietnam—he would be replacing artillerymen who had completed their tour of duty and were returning to the States. (A tour of duty in Vietnam was 12 months, except for Marines, who had a 13-month tour).

When Tom completed AIT, he boarded a plane and headed to Vietnam with no idea where in Vietnam he was going or what unit he would be assigned to once he arrived. He was on his own.

Fixed firebases near the Demilitarized Zone in South Vietnam — Fixed firebases near the DMZ in South Vietnam

Tom landed in Cam Ranh Bay, Republic of South Vietnam, in February 1967, and was immediately assigned to the 90^th Replacement Battalion. After a couple of days, an Army sergeant told him he would be permanently assigned to the 1^st Battalion, 40^th Field Artillery Regiment (1^st/40^th), located at Dong Ha, near the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) between South and North Vietnam. The sergeant also told him, “You don’t want to go there.” When Tom reached Da Nang on his way up to Dong Ha, he spoke with a Marine Gunnery Sergeant (“Gunny”), who asked him where he was going. Upon hearing Tom’s response, Dong Ha, the Gunny told him, “You don’t want to go there.” The 1^st/40^th Field Artillery was assigned to support the 3^rd Marine Division in operations around the DMZ, so when Tom arrived he was greeted by a Marine lieutenant who told him, “You don’t want to be here.” The problem was, Tom was there, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Tom was assigned to gun #1 of Charlie Battery. The battery consisted of six M108 105mm self-propelled howitzers, each of which had a crew of six and could accurately fire a thirty-three pound explosive projectile up to seven miles. As a replacement, Tom had to fit into a gun crew that already knew each other well. His gun’s sergeant, Sergeant Martin, told him, “If you listen to me, you’ll get out of here. If you don’t, you won’t.” The choice was obvious, if Tom wanted to survive, he had to listen and learn.

Although the 105mm guns were self-propelled, they executed their fire missions from fixed firebases located in places close to the DMZ like Dong Ha, Con Thien, Gio Linh, C-1, Ca Lu and the Rock Pile. Each gun fired from a parapet (dugout position), surrounded by sand bags, at a target they could not see. Charlie Battery forward observers gave map locations to the fire direction center, which then calculated the charges to be used and the angle needed in order for the projectiles to reach their targets. The gun crews then trained their guns on the locations identified by the observers. While this allowed them to pour precision fire on enemy positions, it also made them static targets for North Vietnamese mortar, rocket and artillery attacks. As a result, they were in constant danger of being killed by North Vietnamese fire.

Charlie Battery’s proximity to the DMZ and North Vietnam also put them at great risk. Tom notes that Army Intelligence (G-2) warned them repeatedly that they might be overrun. Eventually, Tom realized if it was his time to die, there was nothing he could do about it. Accepting that helped him and his fellow soldiers deal with the constant stress.

Around August of 1967, Charlie Battery conducted a fire mission at Gio Linh, located north of Dong Ha on Highway 1, very close to the DMZ (see map). While they were firing, Tom’s M108 took a direct hit from a North Vietnamese Army (NVA) artillery round. The crewmembers did not immediately realize they had been hit. A call came in over the radio, “#1, you are on fire, get out of your gun.” The crew knew, though, that now that they were hit, the NVA would train their weapons on them hoping they would get out of their stricken vehicle so they could be picked off. The gun crew decided to stay inside the gun, thinking it would be safer. Then they heard someone knocking at the rear double doors of the M108 where handlers loaded ammunition into the vehicle. They opened the doors and saw an officer. Suddenly, another NVA artillery round exploded right behind the officer and they were sure he was dead, so they slammed the vehicle doors shut. Then they heard knocking again, this time coupled with “Open the door you son of a bitch!” They opened the door and the officer climbed inside. After the engagement, they learned that an NVA artillery round had hit their vehicle’s engine compartment. The round totaled the M108, which had to be taken out of service. Miraculously, no one inside the gun was injured. If the round had hit twelve inches higher, they all would have been killed.

Incoming rounds weren’t the only things Tom had to deal with. During one fire mission during the rainy season, Tom and his gun’s crew fired for around 48 hours straight. Dead tired, Tom climbed down into his bunker to get some sleep. The bunker, which was dug out of the ground and had steel sheets and sandbags on top, was nothing but mud on the floor given the constant monsoon rain. Tom took off his boots and lay on a cot, too tired to move. He was soon awakened by a rat crawling up his leg, but he was too exhausted to react and just passed out. This memory affects him to this day.

Because the 1^st/40^th was assigned to the 3^rd Marine Division, the Marines treated Tom and his fellow artillerymen like Marines. That meant on occasion, Tom had to participate in night ambush patrols and search and destroy missions. As a trained artilleryman and not an infantry soldier, Tom explains these missions were terrifying. Still, he credits his Army basic training with teaching him what he needed to know to get the job done.

Tom wearing a Marine flak jacket in South Vietnam. — Tom wearing a Marine flak jacket

To help prevent casualties, Tom and his fellow soldiers were ordered not to congregate in groups greater than four when moving around their firebases. They also wore flak jackets to protect them in the event incoming enemy rounds threw shrapnel in their direction. Tom wears a Marine flak jacket in this picture. Why a Marine’s issue rather than Army? Because he traded his Army flak jacket to a Marine. The Marines used the firebases to send out patrols, initiate operations and provide perimeter security. One day a Marine approached Tom and asked if they could trade flak jackets. The Marine was going on patrol and he said an Army flack jacket would protect him better than the one issued to the Marines. Tom made the trade. Tom doesn’t know what happened to the Marine—he never saw him again.

When Charlie Battery was out at the remote firebases, they had no way to shower or get clean clothes. Every few days, a truck would take four or five Charlie Battery guys back to Dong Ha for a shower, clean clothes, and a hot meal. Trips like this were a real luxury. In fact, during Tom’s time on the DMZ, he never saw a PX (military store), a USO show, a reporter or even a chaplain. It was just too dangerous.

Vietnam caused Tom and his friends to grow up fast. Often only 19-years-old when they arrived in country, they had to learn quickly to rely on other people. Something Tom valued was that he still had to think for himself. While he followed orders, he knew he could refuse to do anything unethical or illegal. He liked that and felt like that was what set American soldiers apart; they can think for themselves when necessary.

Tom left Vietnam around the end of February 1968, a month after the start of the Tet Offensive. For once, his location by the DMZ worked to his advantage, as the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong concentrated their Tet attacks against cities and towns in South Vietnam, not against units in the field like Charlie Battery.

For its service in Vietnam, the 1^st/40^th received the Presidential Unit Citation (Navy) 1966-1967, and two Meritorious Unit Commendations (Army) for 1967-1968 and 1968-1969.

When Tom arrived home, he had 30 days leave in Brooklyn to decompress. Then he had to finish the remainder of his two-year Army commitment at Fort Sill in a unit training new artillery officers on what to expect in Vietnam.

Tom was honorably discharged on September 3, 1968. He returned to Brooklyn and his former job at the New York Stock Exchange. He also completed his bachelor’s degree at Brooklyn College, but now he had a different outlook. He no longer valued the money he thought so important when he first started working right out of high school. Now he was just happy to be alive, and he wanted a career helping people, so he turned to health care and earned his Masters in Health Care Administration. And, he intentionally tried to forget about the war.

Tom & Maureen Garvey. — Tom & Maureen Garvey

The war returned in 2000 once Tom’s children grew up and Tom and his wife had more time on their hands. It first surfaced as diabetes and congestive heart failure—the result of exposure to Agent Orange—and then as PTSD. Tom’s dealt with the war by tracking down and reconnecting with other members of Charlie Battery, and by arranging reunions around the country. He’s found that there is no better therapy than meeting with his brothers-in-arms and working through the war’s issues together, just like they did on the battlefields of Vietnam fifty years ago. And, he wears his Vietnam Veterans hat to remind the American public of those who served and died.

Voices To Veterans is proud to salute Specialist 4 Tom Garvey, U.S. Army, for his distinguished service in Vietnam and for his ongoing efforts to preserve the bonds of friendship among Charlie Battery Vietnam veterans. Tom served our country with honor and courage during time of war, and for that we are grateful!

February 15 2018

Sergeant George A. Williams, U.S. Army Part 2: Transfer to Pleiku and Coming Home

To read Part 1: Drafted and Fighting in Vietnam, click here.

After about six months at Dong Ha, George Williams transferred to Battery A of the 3^rd Battalion, 6^th Field Artillery Regiment, in the general vicinity of the town of Pleiku in South Vietnam’s Central Highlands. Battery A spent a lot of time out in the field, away from its base camp. In fact, on one occasion, Battery A left the base camp for a fire mission at a Montagnard village about nine miles away. George credits this mission with possibly saving his life because while he was gone with Battery A, another U.S. artillery unit arrived at the base camp. That same day, the North Vietnamese fired mortars at the base camp and many Americans from the newly arrived artillery unit were killed or wounded.

On another occasion, George’s unit was on a fire mission in the field when it received orders over the radio to get everyone inside their M108 self-propelled guns and close the hatches because they were about to be overrun. Once they sealed themselves inside, other U.S. artillery units began to bombard the area around them with a ring of fire to keep the enemy troops away. The friendly fire came in so close that George could hear shrapnel from the shells pinging off the armor of his vehicle. Sealed up inside, George couldn’t see what was going on outside and had no idea whether he would survive. Fortunately, the ring of fire worked and the enemy did not break through. George was safe.

Map of Vietnam showing Pleiku, Cam Ranh Bay, and Saigon While in Pleiku, George was promoted to Sergeant and designated as his gun’s section chief. This meant he controlled everything in the gun and rode with his upper body out of the turret when the gun was driving. In this position, he could fire the M108’s .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the top of the turret. He also wore a microphone to communicate with the driver and give any necessary instructions.

George got to escape the confines of his M108 once by taking a helicopter ride on a mail run near the Cambodian border. The helicopter flew so low that the pilot had to pull up to avoid hitting water buffalo grazing in the fields. When the helicopter stopped at its destination, the crew gave the unit its mail and the unit gave the crew body count information to take back to headquarters. This was George’s only experience with the body counts that preoccupied U.S. commanders and the media.

One day in September 1967, George’s lieutenant started chewing him out for something. The chewing out was a ruse, because when the lieutenant finished, he surprised George by adding, “Williams, if you can get on that helo in ten minutes, it’s your turn to go home.” George had a number of souvenirs he’d planned to carry back with him, but with only ten minutes to pack, he had to leave much behind. Needless to say, he made it on the helicopter in time to start his journey home.

George had to wait in Cam Ranh Bay for a flight back to the United States. He got bumped three times by officers, and he didn’t sleep for three days because if they called his name and he didn’t answer, they would give his seat to someone else. Eventually he caught a flight back to San Francisco, where he stayed with his uncle and aunt for a few days, mostly to sleep. From there he flew back to Champaign, Illinois, where his wife and the nine-month-old daughter he’d never met were waiting for him. He was finally home and with his tour of duty in the Army over, he simply wanted to forget his time in Vietnam.

George started back to work soon after he arrived home. He settled into his job at Sullivan Chevrolet and its successor, Sullivan-Parkhill Automotive, where he worked for forty years. He finally retired in 2004 as a Service Manager.

George and Jeanette have been married for fifty-four years and they have three children and seven grandchildren. Although George left Vietnam behind long ago, he stays in touch with five brothers-in-arms who shared the artillery experience in Vietnam: Don Lawhead, Richard Svec, Jerry Zientara, Larry Ammann, and Tom Garvey. Although George would serve his country again if asked to do so, he would not wish war on anyone. War is a terrible thing to have to go through.

In looking back at his life and what he learned from his experience in the Army, George is certain that if it wasn’t for his faith in God, he would not have survived. He’s also glad his dad was a Lutheran minister—he jokes his dad might have had a little extra pull with his prayers to keep George safe.

Voices To Veterans is proud to salute Sergeant George Williams, U.S. Army, for his distinguished service in Vietnam. George epitomizes the U.S. citizen soldier, doing his duty when our country called and then becoming a pillar in his community after he returned home. We are thankful for George and other citizen soldiers like him!

Plaque commemorating those who served in the Vietnam War.

February 7 2018

Sergeant George A. Williams, U.S. Army Part 1: Drafted and Fighting in Vietnam

Sergeant George Williams — Sergeant George A. Williams

We’ve had an all-volunteer military since the draft ended in 1973, so it’s hard for us today to understand the life-changing impact of receiving a draft notice in the mail. George Williams knows that impact all too well. Drafted in 1965, he left small-town America to fight in the jungles of Vietnam during the height of the Vietnam War, where he served with honor and distinction. This is his story.

George was born in 1941 in Springfield, Illinois. He moved later that year to Sadorus, Illinois, a small farming community in the east central part of the state. When George was sixteen, his family moved to Stewardson, Illinois, where he graduated from high school in 1959. Unable to find a decent paying job, George headed west to live with his uncle and aunt just outside of San Francisco. He found a job working for City Transfer & Storage, packing up offices and readying them for moving trucks.

In 1962, George returned to Sadorus, where he took a job laying and cleaning carpets. The significance of this visit was he became re-acquainted with his longtime schoolmate, Jeanette. Carpet installation proved to be too much for George’s knees, so he returned to California and began working for a Chevrolet dealership delivering parts. This job opened the door to a forty-year career, but for now it was only temporary because George could see the draft looming on the horizon.

George married Jeanette in Sadorus in 1963 and took her to California. They moved back to Sadorus around Easter in 1965, about the same time President Johnson was escalating U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War. Around November, George went into the Sadorus post office to pick up his mail. He saw three or four old-timers from the community hanging around the post office, watching him go in. There was a letter waiting for him telling him he had been drafted and to report for induction into the military on December 2, 1965. George figures the old-timers knew he was getting the letter and wanted to see his reaction.

George’s wife, mom, and dad saw him off as he boarded a bus for the induction center in St. Louis. George describes saying goodbye to Jeanette as the hardest thing he’d ever done. After passing his induction center physical, George lined up with the other draftees. An official came down the line and pointed to each man, telling him whether he was going to go the Army or the Marines. The official pointed at George and said “Army.”

George and the other Army recruits loaded onto a bus and headed west for a little over two hours until they arrived at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, for basic training. As soon as the buses pulled in, screaming drill sergeants jumped aboard and barked out orders, herding the men off the buses. That night they went through orientation, and in the morning they were assigned to the company they would train with for the next eight weeks.

George remembers basic training being miserable because it was the middle of the winter and freezing outside. In particular, he remembers having to slither under barbwire through ice cold or frozen mud and water, while live ammunition whizzed by just above him. He also remembers that although he was in great shape, being a big guy, he had trouble doing the required number of push-ups and pull-ups. When it came time for the physical fitness test, another soldier put on George’s shirt and did the push-ups and pull-ups for him. As a result, George passed the physical fitness test and graduated from boot camp.

While still at boot camp, George and all of the other recruits were given an aptitude test. One of the questions asked which is the higher caliber, 9mm or .357 magnum? George got the answer correct and when he completed boot camp, he was told he was being assigned to the artillery. He’s always joked that it was because he answered that question correctly, but he also thought it might have something to do with his age. At twenty-four, he was the “old man” of the graduating class. Most of the other graduates were only eighteen.

After boot camp, George reported to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for eight weeks of artillery training (AIT). He completed that training and was assigned to “Charlie Battery” of the 1^st Battalion, 40^th Field Artillery Regiment (1^st/40^th), which would be deploying in about eight months from Fort Sill to Vietnam. Although the Army did not encourage spouses to accompany soldiers to Fort Sill, Jeanette moved to Oklahoma to be with George during this time and they rented a house off post. George trained almost exclusively on 105mm “split tail” howitzers, which were artillery pieces that had to be towed into their firing positions. With about two weeks to go, George trained on the M108 105mm self-propelled howitzer, which was what he would operate throughout the remainder of his time in the Army.

On September 25, 1966, George said an emotional goodbye to Jeanette, who was six months pregnant, and flew to San Francisco. There he boarded a ship en route to Vietnam. He was excited as they sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge because he enjoyed the water and the view was beautiful. But as soon as they got out of the bay, George got deathly seasick, and he remained seasick for the full twenty-four day voyage. The only way he could find relief was laying flat on his back on the deck of the ship. His buddies brought him crackers and oranges to eat—the only two things he could hold down. Although he did get out of physical training, it turned out to be a very long twenty-four days crossing the Pacific Ocean.

Before arriving in Vietnam, the ship stopped in Okinawa. George and the other soldiers were permitted to leave the ship, but they were restricted to a compound nearby. After living on nothing but crackers and oranges for so long, George gladly stood in line for over four hours to get a hamburger. During this stop, George’s unit, the 1^st/40^th, learned that they were not going to the Mekong Delta area in the vicinity of Saigon as originally planned, but would instead support the 3^rd Marine Division in Dong Ha, which was very near the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) between North and South Vietnam. This area saw heavy fighting throughout the war.

George’s ship arrived in Da Nang on the coast of South Vietnam in October 1966. That first night they weren’t permitted to go ashore, so George spent the evening cooped up in his berthing area, where bunks were stacked on top of one another. The whole area, now baking in the tropical Vietnamese sun, stunk of sweat, puke and men. George and the others couldn’t wait to go ashore.

The next day they were permitted to unload, but since the ship was anchored out in the bay, they had to take small boats to the pier. George rode a small boat that looked like a World War II landing craft. As he was getting ready to disembark, he tossed his duffle bag up to a soldier on the pier. Unfortunately, just as he let go of the bag, a wave hit and George’s duffel bag with all of his belongings inside splashed into the water. Not a very good start for his first day in Vietnam.

Transporting M108s on the Dong Ha River. — George Williams transporting M108s on the Dong Ha River

George spent three days in Da Nang, sleeping on air mattresses in tents. While they were there, the monsoon rains started, and they woke up in the morning floating on their air mattresses inside their tent. When it came time to go, they loaded onto the landing craft with their M108 self-propelled howitzers and headed up the coast to the Dong Ha River, and then up the river to their base camp at Dong Ha.

When the 1^st/40^th arrived at Dong Ha, it had eighteen M108 self-propelled guns, six in each battery (Alpha, Bravo and Charlie). In addition to the turret-mounted 105mm gun used to fire a thirty-three pound explosive projectile up to seven miles, each M108 had a single .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the top of the turret. It took five crewmembers to operate each M108. George was assigned as the driver.

George’s M108s had no infantry assigned to protect them, so the men in the unit had to protect themselves. That first night, George was assigned guard duty. He was issued three grenades and three pop-up flares, but he wasn’t issued any ammunition for his M-14 rifle. As he looked out into the darkness, he swore he could see things moving around in the trees. That’s when he realized why he hadn’t been given any ammunition. Being so green, he would have shot at just about anything. Before he would be issued ammunition, he needed to be broken in with grenades and flares.

Map showing Dong Ha and Da Nang in Vietnam The 1^st/40^th’s base camp sat on a small hill overlooking Highway 1, which ran all along Vietnam’s coast. From there, George could see Dong Ha, a small village consisting of nothing but ramshackle buildings, off in the distance. The 3^rd Marine Division was somewhere in the vicinity, but George couldn’t see any Marines. His unit was alone.

During George’s assignment in Dong Ha, Charlie Battery conducted numerous fire missions. For a fire mission, the battery would be given coordinates to fire upon and the guns would rain precision fire down on the enemy. Sometimes the battery would be told what the target was, sometimes it would not. Regardless, the battery’s guns were extremely accurate and they could pinpoint their ordnance right on target.

One mission in particular stands out for George at Dong Ha. It required George’s battery to drive about seven miles to a fire on enemy soldiers attacking Marines at the top of a steep hill known as the “Rock Pile”. They had to concentrate fire on the enemy scaling the hill before the enemy could reach the Marines at the summit. This was an ongoing battle, as Alpha, Bravo and Charlie batteries would take turns on Rock Pile missions. George was only there long enough to conduct one Rock Pile mission.

About midway into George’s assignment in Dong Ha, something happened that opened his eyes to his own mortality and is difficult for him to talk about to this day. He woke up one morning coughing up blood. He’d had pneumonia numerous times before, and he assumed that’s what it was again. Eventually he made his way to an aid station. While he was there, a helicopter came in with wounded men on board. One young man, no more than eighteen or nineteen, was set on a table about ten feet from George. One arm and one leg had been blown off, and he had a big hole in his chest. Blood was everywhere and he was screaming, begging God to let him die. God granted the young man’s prayer.

After witnessing that horrific situation, George thought to himself, “What am I doing here?” He got up and went back to his unit, still coughing up blood. Several days later he was sent to Da Nang to be evaluated, where doctors diagnosed his condition as a bleeding ulcer. Although the doctors were able to treat his ulcer, watching the young man die made George realize for the first time he might not be going home. Before that, he hadn’t thought about it. Now the possibility seemed real.

Read about the second half of George’s tour of duty in Vietnam and his return home to his family in Part 2, which will be available on February 15, 2018.

January 8 2018

First Sergeant Mike Allen, U.S. Army (Retired)

Mike Allen Official Photo Some people are called to serve our country in extraordinary ways, putting their life on the line for mission and comrade during time of war. Such is the case for First Sergeant Mike Allen, who served in the Army for 23 years, including during the Vietnam War. This is his story.

Mike was born in 1947 and raised in the small farming community of Tuscola, Illinois. He graduated from Tuscola High School in 1965 at the age of 17, but couldn’t find a job because he would be subject to the draft on his 18^th birthday. Rather than wait for the draft, Mike decided to join the Army. His father, a Combat Engineer in Europe during World War II, advised Mike to think about it before making his decision. When Mike assured him he wanted to join, his father signed the necessary parental consent paperwork and Mike enlisted.

Mike reported to boot camp at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri for basic training in September 1965. He survived the drill sergeants screaming in his face, the early morning awakenings, and the rigorous physical training, and appreciated the camaraderie that developed among the recruits. As would be the case throughout his Army career, if a recruit lagged or needed help, Mike and the others pulled together to make sure their fellow recruit succeeded.

After 8 weeks of basic training, Mike reported to Fort Polk, Louisiana, for advanced infantry training (AIT). Just as at boot camp, drill sergeants dictated his every move, including improving his proficiency with the M-14 rifle. After concluding the 8-week AIT course, it was time for the new soldiers to find out their assignments. The First Sergeant put the new soldiers in formation and produced a scroll. He yelled out, “If I call your name, stand over at the right. You will not be going to Vietnam.” He then called out one name, which was a foreign sounding name. Because the individual was not yet a U.S. citizen, he would not be going to Vietnam. Everyone else, including Mike, would be.

Mike landed at Tan Son Nhut Air Base in South Vietnam in May of 1966, just as the Vietnam War was intensifying. He was issued orders to the 1^st Cavalry Division. The unit had suffered heavy casualties in the first battle of the Ia Drang Valley in November 1965. The battle, which pitted new airmobile U.S. Army helicopter assault forces against North Vietnamese regular soldiers for the first time, was subsequently made famous by the bestselling book We Were Soldiers Once . . . And Young, by the U.S. battlefield commander, Lieutenant Colonel Hal Moore, and reporter Joseph Galloway. In 2002, the book was released as a movie, We Were Soldiers, with Mel Gibson starring as Lieutenant Colonel Hal Moore.

On May 8, 1966, Mike was sent to An Khe in jungle and rolling hills of South Vietnam’s Central Highlands. The nearest city to the operating base was Pleiku. He joined Alpha Company of the 1^st Battalion, 7^th Cavalry, 1^st Cavalry Division. His company’s mission was to conduct search and destroy missions, where they would go into the field to locate and kill the enemy.

Mike Allen in Vietnam Mike was assigned to be a radio operator, replacing a soldier who had been killed during the first battle of Ia Drang. His First Sergeant said, “Allen, you look like a healthy young man. You’ll be our radio operator.” Mike learned that the reason his strength was important was because he had to carry his regular gear plus the radio, giving him a much heavier load than many other soldiers. When Mike said he didn’t know how to operate a radio, his First Sergeant said, “We’ll teach you. Now put this on and get going.” It was on the job training from that point on.

Mike remembers the fear that set in on every mission. He never knew what lurked behind the next tree. On his first mission, when it came time to disembark the helicopter, the veteran soldiers all jumped out and disappeared in the tall elephant grass. The crew chief told Mike to jump, too. Mike looked down and was terrified, so he turned to the crew chief and said he wasn’t jumping. The crew chief told him to look down one more time, and when Mike did, he gave Mike a shove with his boot and Mike launched out of the chopper, landing on the ground. Mike jumped out of helicopters on his own from that point on.

Mike’s unit would normally spend 3 weeks in the field, then it would be pulled off the line to guard an artillery battery for 2 weeks, and then the rotation would start over again. If the unit was really deserving, it would get to spend time at the base camp in An Khe.

One junior officer Mike remembers in particular was the unit’s forward observer, who called in precision artillery and close air support strikes during their search and destroy missions. The observer had a habit of taking off his helmet when he started to call in artillery. He’d radio in the target coordinates and then the rounds would come in and hit the designated point. He’d radio again, adjusting fires to drop the next rounds closer to the unit. He’d repeat the process until he put on his helmet and took cover. When the men saw this, they knew the rounds would be coming in very close, so they’d hit their foxholes to avoid being struck by friendly fire.

Map of Vietnam showing location of Ia Drang Valley. The most significant engagement of Mike’s tour occurred on August 8, 1966. Mike’s company (Alpha Company), which at the time had about 85 men, was on a search and destroy mission in the Ia Drang Valley. Mike’s unit saw the telltale signs of a significant enemy force in the vicinity (markings on trees and recently abandoned camps), but when his unit reported to headquarters that they thought something big was in the vicinity, headquarters replied that, according to intelligence reports, there were no significant enemy forces nearby.

Mike’s unit found out that headquarters was wrong when it was attacked by an entire North Vietnamese regiment consisting of approximately 1200 men. The North Vietnamese repeatedly charged Alpha Company. The unit took heavy casualties, but the men kept fighting even when wounded. Just as the North Vietnamese were preparing for the final assault to overrun Alpha Company, the sound of approaching helicopters caused the North Vietnamese to abandon the attack and Mike survived. When Mike left the battlefield, he had only 5 rounds of ammunition left.

During the course of that engagement, Mike recalls an Air Force pilot flying overhead indicated he was returning from a mission and had some ammunition left. He asked Mike’s unit if he could help and they said yes. The pilot keyed his microphone so he was continuously transmitting as he made a strafing run on the enemy, all the time whistling the Air Force song Wild Blue Yonder. He did a second strafing run, again, whistling Wild Blue Yonder over the radio. Finally out of ammunition, the pilot wished Mike’s unit good luck and said he’d drink a beer for them when he returned to his airbase.

Mike stated that when the Medevac helicopters arrived, there was only room for the wounded to be evacuated. One soldier, who everyone looked out for because he was mentally slow, asked if he could leave with the Medevac helicopters. Mike said no, that he had to be wounded to evacuate. The soldier asked, “If I’m wounded, would I get to leave on a helicopter?” Mike said yes. The soldier then turned around and showed Mike 2 bullet holes in his back. Mike immediately tried to assist the soldier to a helicopter, but the soldier walked there under his own power and flew away, waving to Mike as he departed. Mike was also wounded by shrapnel during the battle, which he suspects came from a grenade.

After the battle, a reporter interviewed Mike and the story ran nationwide on August 9, 1966. Mike said the interview was how his parents learned he was okay, since the Red Cross had notified his parents he was wounded but not told them what his condition was or if he was even alive. Quoting from Mike’s hometown newspaper, the Tuscola Review, Mike “was awarded the Purple Heart and Army Commendation Medal for his efforts on August 8, 1966, which included crawling twice through heavy fire and exploding grenades to deliver messages to the forward observer. Because of his action, communications were kept open and reinforcements were brought in.” After recovering from his wounds, Mike returned to his unit and finished his tour of duty in Vietnam.

Mike left Vietnam in May of 1967 and returned on leave to Tuscola, where his town welcomed him home as a hero. One example is when Mike’s Dad asked him to go to a local bar. Walking in, Mike saw a local judge with a police chief. Mike’s Dad ordered a beer, while Mike, who was only 19, ordered a Coke. The bartender set the Coke on the bar, but before Mike could reach it, the judge stepped up and grabbed it. He asked Mike, “didn’t you just come back from Vietnam?” When Mike said yes, the judge continued, “well, you didn’t drink just Coke in Vietnam, did you?” When Mike said no, the judge told the bartender to “give this man a beer.” The police chief told the bartender “and when he finishes that one, the second one is on me.”

First Sergeant Mike Allen, U.S. Army Official Photo Mike credits the support of his town, and especially the support of his close-knit family, with helping him transition from Vietnam. His father and four of his father’s brothers had all served in World War II, so they related to Mike because they understood what he had been through. Mike’s father, in particular, helped him learn to talk about his experience, rather than trying to keep it to himself. Mike also had four cousins who fought in Vietnam, so they were able to share their experiences together. Talking about Vietnam made all of the difference in the world, as Mike felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

After Vietnam, Mike was sent to Germany to serve out the remainder of his enlistment. With the Cold War in full swing, Mike’s job was to patrol the border between Germany and Czechoslovakia. While he was there, his First Sergeant took him under his wing and talked to him about reenlisting. The offer of a $6000 reenlistment bonus and 30 days leave in Tuscola was just too much to pass up. That 6-year reenlistment turned into a distinguished 23-year Army career.

Mike retired from the Army as a First Sergeant in 1988. He’s since retired 2 more times, first from a magnet factory in Kentucky and later from the City of Radcliffe, Kentucky. Mike is now fully retired and living with his wife, Martha, in Winter Haven, Florida. He hopes to relocate soon to his beloved town of Tuscola so he can be closer to family and friends.

Voices To Veterans is proud to salute First Sergeant Mike Allen, U.S. Army (Ret.), for his long career of dedicated service to our country in the Army, and especially for his courage and devotion to duty during the Vietnam War. Mike and his family have answered the call whenever our nation was in need, and for that we are forever grateful.

December 15 2017

Sergeant Richard “Dick” Sowinski, U.S. Marine Corps

Sergeant Richard "Dick" Sowinski, U.S. Marine Corps Natural leaders rise to the top, no matter where they start out. That’s why when the Marines recruited Richard “Dick” Sowinski, they knew they had a winner. They could not have been more right.

Born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio, Dick graduated from West Tech High School in 1953. That fall he attended Kent State University, but it was his first time away from home and he spent a little too much time having fun and not enough time studying. It wasn’t long before Kent State sent him a letter inviting him not to come back.

Disappointed, Dick decided to straighten himself out, so he went to a military recruiting office. He intended to join the Navy, but he felt like the Navy recruiter gave him the “song and dance,” so he enlisted in the Marines instead. He didn’t tell his parents right away because he knew they would worry. To put his enlistment into historical context, the Korean War had just ended and the Cold War was in full swing, so when his parents found out, they were scared for him. Dick’s father also feared Dick would never finish college.

Dick and other local recruits began their Marine Corps enlistment on October 20, 1954, by boarding a train in Cleveland en route to Parris Island, South Carolina. When they arrived in South Carolina, they took a bus to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. As soon as the bus stopped, drill instructors rushed aboard and started yelling at them to get off the bus. Dick’s immediate thought was “Oh no, what have I gotten myself into.”

Dick found out the next morning. “In processing” began with a haircut that left him totally bald. In addition to the rigorous physical and military training, which began right away, recruits were required to shave every day, whether they needed it or not, and field day meant cleaning every inch of the barracks to the drill instructors’ exacting standards. Failure meant doing it all over again. Dick had to wash his clothes by hand with a scrub brush and hang them outside to dry. The one bright spot was mail call, where Dick’s drill instructor would hand out mail to the waiting recruits. Any recruit receiving lots of letters from a girlfriend was teased in front of everyone, and it was the one time the recruits were permitted to laugh.

Despite the demanding training and new way of life, Dick did well at boot camp. So much so, that his drill instructor designated him the “house mouse,” which meant he had to clean and take care of the drill instructors’ duty hut. Being the house mouse had its advantages, because when the rest of his platoon had mess duty working in the kitchen, Dick stayed in the duty hut getting coffee and doing other tasks for the drill instructors. Dick was also designated to carry the platoon flag, known as the guidon. That honor signaled to everyone Dick was squared away.

Dick learned early on that if a recruit didn’t get rifle qualified, he was looked down upon. Knowing his right eye was weak, Dick was afraid he might not qualify if he had to aim with his right eye, so he decided to learn to fire his M-1 rifle left-handed. To his surprise, he earned his rifle qualifications firing left-handed even though he was right-handed by nature.

Dick graduated from boot camp in January 1955. After a short leave period, he reported to Camp Geiger in Jacksonville, North Carolina, for advanced infantry training, and then on to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, to the Second Marine Division, Sixth Marines, for his first assignment.

Dick excelled at Camp Lejeune just as he had at boot camp. He was made squad leader for his rifle platoon and soon his company commander recommended him for an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy. He passed the physical and written tests with ease and then had to interview with the regimental commander, who was a Medal of Honor winner. During the interview, Dick learned the course of study at the Naval Academy would be engineering. Afraid he could not handle the math, and believing rumors he’d have to commit to twenty years in the military, Dick turned down his appointment. His company commander was not pleased.

Soon thereafter, Dick’s unit sailed to Vieques Island off the coast of Puerto Rico for amphibious assault training. Dick’s ship had an admiral on board, and the admiral brought his barge, which is a small boat an admiral uses to go ashore or to entertain dignitaries. One of the Marines on board thought it would be a good idea to steal the admiral’s stars off the barge. When the admiral discovered they were missing, he turned off the smoking lamp (which meant no smoking), stopped showing movies, closed the ship’s store, and restricted the Marines to their quarters. As the seas got rougher, the situation got worse, until the offending Marine snuck back one night and returned the admiral’s stars to the barge. Appeased, the admiral lifted the sanctions and life at sea returned to normal.

Eventually Dick’s unit was ready to assault the Vieques beach as part of the exercise. After a steak and eggs breakfast, at 5:00 a.m. they climbed down the cargo nets on the side of the ship into the waiting landing craft and assaulted the beach. Once ashore, they dug in and camouflaged their foxholes. Dick knew he had done a good job because later that night his company commander came by to check out the unit’s positions and, not seeing where Dick was, fell into Dick’s foxhole.

After the exercise, Dick’s unit went ashore for liberty at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Since Fidel Castro had yet to take over the country, the Marines were permitted to leave the base and go into town during the day, but they had to be back inside the gates by nightfall. Still, Cuba’s precarious political situation meant Dick’s unit was on call in case they were needed for action.

When Dick returned to Camp Lejeune after the exercise, his company commander recommended him for Drill Instructor School. Only the very best Marines are permitted to become drill instructors because they are responsible for molding the next generation of Marines. Now a corporal, Dick was selected and began the school. He remembers early on sitting toward the back of the class when the instructor called him out and accused him of sleeping. Dick wasn’t sleeping, but he decided not to defend himself and just absorbed the berating. The instructor stopped abruptly and said to the rest of the class, “Now there’s a disciplined Marine. He didn’t challenge me or act disrespectfully. He just took my yelling calmly. Drill instructors need to be disciplined like this Marine.” Dick was really glad he hadn’t said anything to the instructor.

Dick graduated from Drill Instructor School in 1956 as a sergeant and then reported to Parris Island to train new recruits. While he has many drill instructor stories, one stands out in particular. One of the men in his platoon was a small, unassuming recruit, but he had a lot of spirit. One day a general was inspecting Dick’s platoon, which meant Dick followed right next to the General in case the general had any comments while inspecting Dick’s men. The general stopped in front of the unassuming recruit and barked, “What’s the motto of the Marine Corps?” Misunderstanding what the general said, the recruit answered enthusiastically, “There’s nothing the matter with the Marine Corps, sir!” Dick said all the general could do was laugh, pat the Marine, and move on. Dick and Maureen Sowinski

After serving as a drill instructor for 18 months, Dick got out of the Marine Corps and re-enrolled at Kent State. This time he made the Dean’s List every year. He graduated in 1960 with a Bachelor’s Degree in Health and Physical Education, and later earned his Master’s Degree in 1966.

One other thing happened in 1960 – Dick married Maureen, his wife of 57 years. They have four children (including one who served in the Navy), and ten grandchildren. They’ve had a wonderful life together.

Dick credits the Marine Corps with giving him a philosophy to live by – a philosophy he’s shared with countless youth over the years both as a teacher and a much-loved high school and then college freshman football coach at Baldwin Wallace College in Berea, Ohio. Here is Dick’s philosophy for personal success:

Spiritual Soundness – Have a deeply rooted faith in God.
Respect – Show respect for your parents, the girl you are dating, and authority.
Courage – Stand up for what is right and don’t be afraid to say no to what is wrong.
Excellence – Do your best at whatever you are called to do and never do less than you are able.

Voices To Veterans is proud to salute Sergeant Dick Sowinski for his service in the Marines and his years of helping young people succeed both on and off the football field. Thanks for a job well done!

November 1 2017

Staff Sergeant Bernard Moritz, U.S. Army & NASA Plankowner

Staff Sergeant Bernard Moritz celebrated his 100^th birthday this past April. As we talked about his life and the things that are important to him, Bernard described his life as anything but remarkable. But when you hear the many unique things he’s had the chance to do, I think you’ll conclude as I did that he’s had an amazing life’s journey.

Bernard was born into a musical family and raised in Michigan City, Indiana, about 25 miles from the steel mills of Gary, Indiana. A brilliant young man, growing up he never received anything below an “A” in school, a feat made all the more remarkable in that Bernard stuttered severely. So severely, in fact, that his teachers never called on him because they knew he couldn’t speak without stuttering. When it came time for graduation, his graduating class did not have a Valedictorian because they knew Bernard would not be able to give the traditional address at the graduation ceremony.

Although others might have dismissed him, Bernard did not let his stuttering slow him down. He was accepted into the prestigious University of Chicago in 1934, where he earned his bachelor’s degree and then continued studying law. That’s where he came to the turning point in his life. In order to complete law school, he had to participate in the school’s moot court competition. In moot court, law students argue a fictitious case in front of a panel of distinguished faculty and guest judges and are graded on their performance. On the night before the competition, Bernard had no idea how he would be able to present his argument to the court given his stuttering.

Then the revelation came to him. Growing up, Bernard loved to sing. Now, for the first time, he realized that when he sang, he didn’t stutter. So the next day when he presented his argument before the judges, he imagined that he was singing it to music as if it were a Gregorian chant. Not only did this allow him to present his argument without stuttering, but he also never stuttered again! In fact, his presentation was so flawless that one of the visiting judges asked him where he had learned to articulate his speech so well.

Bernard graduated from the University of Chicago law school in 1940 and began to work for a law firm in Chicago, Illinois. There, he and two other attorneys wrote and published a book on military procurement. He sent the book to what was then Wright Field in Dayton, Ohio, where the Army’s Materiel Division was located. He was asked to provide a 9 X 12 photo and to answer some questions, which he did. He expected that would lead to a commission in the Army, but he did not hear from them again. He later changed jobs and worked for the Municipal Reference Bureau in Minneapolis, Minnesota, providing legal advice to small towns. Then he was drafted.

In February of 1942, Bernard reported to Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Indiana, for his basic training. Because he was the first lawyer that had been drafted in his region, they weren’t sure exactly what to do with him. Initially they thought he might be able to get a direct commission as an officer, but they learned that was only possible with the personal permission of the Secretary of War. Since Bernard didn’t personally know the Secretary of War, he went through basic training just like everyone else.

After he had been at Fort Benjamin Harrison a few weeks, a group of non-commissioned officers (NCOs) approached him and told him that in order to be granted liberty and be permitted to go out in town, he had to have a proper garrison cap (uniform hat) and belt. They told him they would get it for him, but it would cost him $5. Bernard paid the money, but he never received his garrison cap and belt. He mentioned it to a Chaplain after choir practice one day and the Chaplain said he would look into it. The next day when Bernard was marching with his company, he heard his named called over the loudspeaker and was told to report immediately to the Captain’s office. When he arrived, the Captain was there with the NCOs who took his $5. The Captain asked Bernard and the NCOs some questions, and then Bernard was dismissed and he went back to his barracks.

Over the course of the next three days, Bernard was given continuous KP and guard duty, peeling potatoes and carrots and handling a rifle for the first time since he reported to camp. He didn’t get any sleep for three days. Apparently the NCOs didn’t take kindly to having their scheme disclosed, after they’d bilked thousands of dollars out of the many recruits who had trusted them with their money. In the end, they got what they had coming to them, in that all the NCOs involved were court-martialed. Bernard, on the other hand, went to work in the base commander’s office.

Because Bernard could sing, he was given the opportunity to perform in a musical show written by some of the base officers’ wives. He traveled with the show throughout the 8^th Service Command’s region, which included the Midwest and Texas. When he returned, he was given orders to Panama, where the U.S. had significant forces deployed to protect the Panama Canal. Once there, Bernard applied for a transfer to Military Intelligence.

Bernard’s first assignment was to buy a civilian suit and pick up a Plymouth car because he would be doing undercover counter-intelligence work. He thought this typical military because everyone knew that U.S. undercover personnel drove Plymouths, so he doubted whether anyone was really undercover. Still, he spent the rest of the war in Panama surveilling and reporting on people assigned to the Spanish embassy, and on agents the Spanish government hired (primarily South American women) to collect information from U.S. servicemen in Panama. Given that then-fascist Spain was sympathetic to Nazi Germany, the Spanish agents sent money and information to countries like Brazil, where there was a Nazi presence.

Near the end of the war, Bernard was in a local club playing bridge when a group of officers came in and sat down. Bernard noticed one of them staring at him, so he went over to the officer and asked him if they had met before. The officer said in a manner of speaking, yes. He said he had been assigned to a board at Wright Field before the war evaluating candidates for commissions as officers when he saw a 9 X 12 picture of Bernard and a description about how Bernard had helped write a book on military procurement. The board was deciding whether to offer Bernard a commission as a 2^nd Lieutenant or a Captain when it learned Bernard had been drafted and inducted into the Army. At that point, they stopped considering Bernard as a candidate for a commission as an officer.

Bernard was discharged from the Army in September 1945. He went to work in the Office of the Alien Property Custodian, where he located people who had had their property confiscated by the Nazis and returned it to them once it fell into American hands. His cases involved all kinds of assets, including jewelry, artwork, real estate, and ownership interests in companies. Bernard did this until 1949, when he went to work in the General Counsel’s Office for the newly formed National Aeronautics and Space Administration, better known as NASA.

Bernard had a long and distinguished career with NASA. When he started, the agency was brand new. He had no office, no instructions on what to do, and no regulations constraining the agency’s actions. By the time he finished, not only had he reviewed billions of dollars of contracts with major aerospace companies, but he also went on to rise to the level of Deputy Administrator. He worked on issues supporting the moon landings and the space shuttle flights, and in 1971, was awarded NASA’s highest honor, the Distinguished Service Medal. He retired in 1975 and moved with his wife to Williamsburg, Virginia, where he lives to this day.

In looking back on his military service, Bernard feels it was a worthwhile experience, and he would recommend the military to young people today. He believes service in the military teaches people how to get along, how to organize, and how to lead.

Bernard also wanted to stress how important music was in his life. It helped him at almost every milestone, but most importantly, it helped him overcome his stuttering.

Voices To Veterans is proud to salute Staff Sergeant Bernard Moritz for his long and distinguished career of service to the United States during World War II and for many years thereafter at NASA.

October 1 2017

1st Lieutenant Iris Nigg Lundin – WWII Marine Corps Trailblazer

When I met 1^st Lieutenant Iris Nigg Lundin, U.S. Marine Corps, to talk to her about her experience as a female Marine Officer in World War II, she handed me her prized possession from her service – her Aerial Navigator Wings. “I was one of the first 4 women to get these wings,” she said with well-deserved pride, “and I hope my story inspires young women to give the Marines a try.”

Iris just celebrated her 99^th birthday in June. She was born in Minnesota, but grew up in Webster, Wisconsin, a town of about 600 people. She attended the University of Wisconsin in Superior, starting with a one-year scholarship for being the valedictorian of her high school class. She graduated with a four-year bachelor’s degree and began teaching school and working extra jobs during the summer. With World War II raging in the Pacific and Europe, Iris’s summer work in support of the U.S. war effort included operating a factory machine that inserted grommets into canvas pup tents.

After the law authorizing the U.S. Marine Corps Women’s Reserve went into effect, Iris heard the recruiting slogans “Uncle Sam Needs You” and “Free a Man to Fight,” and walked to a recruiting office. She wanted to be a Marine because the Marines had a top-notch image. On her way into the office, she passed two women on the street who asked her what she was doing. She told them she was going to enlist in the Marines. They said, “you must think you’re pretty good.” Their observation confirmed the Marines were right for her.

Iris enlisted in August 1943 and headed for boot camp in Camp LeJuene, North Carolina, right away. Her days consisted of training and learning about the Marines, including observing all of the training the men did so she would understand the Corps and its mission.

As part of boot camp, Iris also had mess duty. Iris’s first thought as she reported to her initial mess duty assignment was that she would be peeling potatoes all day long. When she got to the kitchen, she saw a machine in the middle of the room that looked like her mother’s Maytag washing machine. She assumed everyone working in the kitchen must get so dirty that they just washed their clothes before they left. Then she saw someone dump a sack of potatoes into the machine and turn it on. Forty seconds later, all of the potatoes came out peeled because the machine was lined with sand paper. Much to her surprise, Iris never peeled a potato in the Marine Corps. She concluded that inventions must be made by lazy people!

After completing boot camp, Iris was selected to go through Officer Candidate School, likely because she had a college degree. There she made friends with a brilliant and beautiful fellow officer candidate named Betty. Betty was fluent in multiple languages, including sign language. She was also a ventriloquist and could throw her voice, and on more than one occasion they had fun with Betty’s surprising talent at the expense of their unsuspecting Marine instructors.

Iris was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant upon graduating from Officer Candidate School. She and three other women were sent on short notice to a Navy navigation school in Hollywood, Florida. Because it was a Navy school, Iris thought it would be ship navigation. But when she arrived, she found out it was aerial navigation. Her classes began the day after she arrived. Her training was intense – she had to quickly learn and master navigation by dead reckoning, radio, LORAN (long range navigation), and the stars. Some of her classes began at midnight and lasted until 8:00 a.m. Her star identification classes were held outside and she had to know 100 stars. She also practiced navigation on four-hour flights heading south over the Florida Keys. On one of these flights, she saw a capsized vessel that had apparently fallen victim to a German submarine just a few miles off the U.S. coast. She was amazed that the war was so close to home. She was told news about ships being sunk right off the U.S. coast wasn’t publicized out of concern people would panic.

Iris and her three female classmates were the first four women in the Marine Corps to go through the necessary training and earn their Aerial Navigator wings. They were sent to Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point in North Carolina to teach aerial navigation to Marine Corps combat pilots. Iris took her job seriously, because she knew men’s lives depended upon what she did. And, because she respected the pilots for willingly putting themselves in harm’s way whenever they flew in combat, she never wore her Aerial Navigator wings on base because they looked like pilot’s wings and she didn’t want any of her fellow Marines to think she’d qualified as a pilot. She did, however, wear her wings on her uniform off base because she wanted women to see what she had accomplished and learn that there were now doors open to them that had previously been closed.

The aerial navigation classes Iris taught, which included training rides with students up and down the East Coast in rickety twin engine Beechcraft airplanes “held together by bobby pins,” were for both new pilots and experienced pilots coming through Cherry Point for refresher courses. The most famous pilots Iris taught were from Major Pappy Boyington’s legendary Black Sheep squadron, made famous by their success in shooting down Japanese aircraft in the Pacific. Iris said they were the roughest and smartest guys to come through, but she goes out of her way to say that she was never given a hard time or told she couldn’t do anything because she was a woman. She said if you were competent at your job and worked hard, the men respected you and treated you like a Marine. She was proud of her students and continued to correspond with some even after the war.

Iris demanded that every Marine be treated with respect. She despised racism and segregation and on one occasion put several officers senior to her in their place when they put down an African-American steward working in the officer mess. Iris expected a backlash for her criticism of the senior officers, but there was none so she knew “they got the message.”

Iris remained in the Marine Corps until her discharge in December 1945. She married the love of her life, Bill Nigg, one week later. Bill, who remained in Minnesota during the war, proposed to Iris by mail. They had two children and were happily married for 38 years until Bill passed away in 1983. At one point Iris and Bill were adopted by a tribe in Nigeria after they opened their home for over two years to a young Nigerian man and his family while the young man studied at the Minnesota State University at Mankato. Iris estimates that approximately 2,000 tribe members from around the world attended the event in Nigeria. Iris remains close to the family’s children to this day. Iris remarried another wonderful man, Vern Lundin, seven years after Bill’s death, and they spent three-and-a-half years together before Vern passed away.

Iris has lived the Marine Corps ethos since the first day she put on a Marine uniform. She has the character and the courage to lead Marines, and she’s been a trailblazer for women in the military. She says if you are a young woman and willing to work harder than ever before and accept new things, the Marines will help open doors for you for the rest of your life. With more than a bit of Marine Corps pride she says, “when you meet someone else in a military uniform, you smile and maybe salute, but when it’s a Marine, you just stand taller.”

Voices To Veterans is proud to salute 1^st Lieutenant Iris Nigg Lundin, not only for her wartime service in the Marines, but also for opening doors so others can follow.

September 2 2017

Staff Sergeant Vanessa Lawicki Vaché – Determination Has No Bounds

To understand Staff Sergeant Vanessa Lawicki Vaché, U.S. Air Force, you have to explore her roots. She grew up in Olmsted Falls, Ohio, a small town about 25 miles from downtown Cleveland. She played clarinet in her high school band and loved music. She wanted to go to Baldwin Wallace College, a local liberal arts college with a good music program, but her band director bluntly told her she wasn’t good enough. Worse yet, her guidance counselors told her she wasn’t smart enough to go to college. With her grades, they said, she would never get in.

What the band director, the guidance counselors, and even Vanessa didn’t know, was that Vanessa had Dyslexia, which made high school incredibly difficult for her. But what Vanessa did know was that she loved music, so she set out to prove the naysayers wrong.

Vanessa practiced her clarinet incessantly, auditioned for Baldwin Wallace College, and was accepted for admission. She spent one year there after she graduated from high school in 1977, practicing a minimum of four hours a day in addition to her music classes and band performances. She also took lessons from a clarinet player in the Cleveland Orchestra, who gave her the confidence she needed to succeed. But all of this cost money, and Vanessa’s family didn’t have much. So she worked at a pizza parlor whenever she could and earned just enough money to pay her way through school.

One year later, Vanessa auditioned for and was accepted into the prestigious Manhattan School of Music, and her life changed. Suddenly, she was no longer the girl in high school struggling to get by. Now, she was the young woman respected for her musical ability and for who she was. Needless to say, living in Manhattan was expensive, so Vanessa took cleaning and waitress jobs – anything that would pay the rent. Recognizing Vanessa’s determination and talent, her teachers did everything they could to help her succeed. She did, graduating in four years with a Bachelors degree in music.

While that alone would be an amazing story, Vanessa didn’t stop there. She auditioned for and was accepted by the world-renowned Juilliard School, also in Manhattan. She studied and played clarinet at Juilliard for two years, graduating with a Masters degree in music. No one told her she wasn’t good enough now!

After Juilliard, Vanessa received an offer to play for the National Symphony of the Dominican Republic, so she moved to Santo Domingo in 1984. She was the Symphony’s principal clarinetist and stayed two years until the living conditions eventually got to her. The lights in her apartment went out routinely, the running water was undependable, and she was constantly sick from bad water and bad vegetables. So she returned to Cleveland to come up with her next move.

Wanting to play music and looking for a challenge, Vanessa auditioned for the U.S. Air Force music program. She was accepted and enlisted in the Air Force. In July 1987, she attended Basic Training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, just like any other Air Force recruit.

After six weeks of Basic Training, Vanessa graduated as an Airman (E-3). She then reported to the 541^st Air Force Band at Pease Air Force Base in New Hampshire, where she played clarinet. She spent two and a half years there, but then volunteered to transfer to Europe in return for an informal guarantee that she would get to choose her return orders stateside.

Vanessa’s timing was flawless. She transferred to the 686^th Air Force Band, known as the U.S. Air Force Band Europe, just outside of Ramstein Air Base in West Germany one week after the Berlin wall fell. As if overnight, the Iron Curtain lifted and the Air Force Band was in demand in all of the newly liberated countries in Eastern Europe.

Everyone in the band was excited to see Eastern Europe, but they didn’t know what to expect. During Vanessa’s first trip east, her bus passed empty watchtowers looming over the borders. As the band drove closer to the towns, the world faded into a black and white picture from the 1940s. The landscape was dark and dreary, and every structure was old and needed paint. There were bombed out buildings from WWII everywhere, still with broken windows, walls without roofs, and piles of concrete all around. The air hung heavy with pollution, and even the sky stayed gray.

Vanessa played clarinet in the 60-piece Air Force Europe concert band. One of her first concerts was in Gorlitz, East Germany, near the border with Poland. The people were friendly, but very poor. They wanted to show hospitality to the band, but had no money or means to do so. They served the band soup, but there was barely anything in it. When some members of the band asked about Red Army Street, the town took down the sign and gave it to the band. Vanessa said this trip and others into the former Soviet Block revealed the realities of communism to her. Before it had been just another form of government she studied in school and heard about in the news. Now she saw first hand how people living under communist rule had to struggle to get by.

Vanessa’s most memorable concert was in the city of Pilsen in the Czech Republic. She and the rest of the musicians were loaded into buses outside of Ramstein and, contrary to their usual practice, drove through the night to get there. Vanessa managed to eke out a little sleep along the way, but woke up when her bus arrived in Pilsen.

When she looked outside, she couldn’t believe her eyes. American flags were everywhere! They hung from balconies and out of windows, they flew from flagpoles and the roofs of buildings, and thousands of people waiving small American flags crowded the area waiting for the band.

When the band members got out of the buses, the people from Pilsen swarmed them. They gave the band members hugs and flowers, but most of all they thanked them over and over. As the band marched to its first performance, a woman ran up to Vanessa and asked Vanessa to be in a picture with the woman’s baby. Vanessa gladly stopped and posed for the picture.

Vanessa learned later that Ambassador Shirley Temple Black arranged for the band to play for Pilsen’s Liberation Day, commemorating when Patton’s Third Army liberated the city from the Germans on May 6, 1945. The Russians liberated Prague (about 60 miles away) and the rest of Czechoslovakia, but after the Iron Curtain fell around the country, the Russians required the Czechs to teach that the Russians had liberated all of Czechoslovakia. The citizens of Pilsen never forgot, though, and made the truth part of their oral history.

Vanessa and the Air Force Band were the first American service members to arrive in Pilsen since Patton’s Army left, so the people of Pilsen wanted to show them just how grateful they were to the United States.

Vanessa and the Air Force Band performed at numerous ceremonies over the course of the next two days. She and the others knew they were standing in for the heroes who liberated Pilsen at the end of World War II, and were glad they could play their part in linking the Czech and American people together once again. Pilsen made such a profound impact on Vanessa that she wrote a children’s book about it called The Big Thank You, which Vanessa illustrated herself.

Vanessa returned to the United States in 1992 and completed one more tour on active duty with the U.S. Air Force Reserve Band at Robbins Air Force Base in Georgia. The band traveled nonstop, and actually played concerts as far away as Turkey and Russia. The incessant travel eventually took its toll on her and after twelve years, Vanessa traded in her Air Force uniform for a more stable civilian life.

Vanessa lives with her husband and fellow jazz musician, Allan Vaché, in Florida, where she continues to play and teach music. She admits her Air Force experience came with costs, but she is proud to have served and feels it opened new doors for her. Her greatest takeaways, though, are the friendships she made with her fellow musicians and the many people she met and talked to before and after her performances across Europe. To Vanessa, the U.S. Air Force Band brought people together, one concert at a time.

August 2 2017

Sergeant First Class Herbert Burnett, U.S. Army – “Not On My Watch”

Sometimes when you meet a person, you can tell right away you are talking to someone larger than life. That’s the vibe you get from Sergeant First Class Herbert Burnett, U.S. Army (retired). He knows where he’s going and how to get there. Here’s his story.

Herbert is a native of Urbana, Illinois. He enlisted in the Army on March 26, 1986, to get away from the streets. His MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) was Medical Logistics, making him responsible for ordering, receiving, storing and issuing medical supplies. He practiced his skills in the Middle East twice – once in Saudi Arabia in 1992 after Operation Desert Storm, and later during the Iraq War in 2004.

Herbert deployed to Dharan, Saudi Arabia, in 1992, when he was a sergeant (E-5), although he was promoted to Sergeant First Class (E-6) shortly thereafter. His unit, the 21st Evac Hospital, was already there – he plugged into it once he arrived. He remembers the date he deployed with great clarity – 28 August 1992. That’s because his daughter was born two days after he left, on 30 August 1992. He didn’t get to see her until he returned from Saudi Arabia in December. Herbert stayed at Khobar Towers, near the King Abdulaziz Air Base. This was the same Khobar Towers that was destroyed by a terrorist bomb in 1996. By that time, Herbert had long since moved on to his next assignment.

After Herbert returned from Saudi Arabia, he was assigned to recruiting duty in Indianapolis, where he excelled. In fact, he was the Indianapolis Recruiting Battalion’s top recruiter in 1994 out of approximately 200 recruiters. This achievement earned him 3 years of follow-on recruiting duty in Champaign, Illinois, which is the sister city of his hometown, Urbana. But it was Herbert’s deployment to Iraq that proved to be the defining event of his long and successful Army career.

The Iraq War began in March 2003. Herbert’s unit, the 31st Combat Support Hospital out of Fort Bliss, Texas, deployed to Baghdad in January 2004. Herbert joined his unit in Iraq in April 2004. When he arrived, the unit – which operated a 296-bed hospital – was having serious medical logistics problems. No one was tracking orders, there was no good account of what supplies were on hand, and many supplies were left outside to bake in the hot Iraqi sun.

As a senior noncommissioned officer (NCO), Herbert set out to assess within 72 hours what was working and what was not, and what needed to be fixed right away. Working closely with a Lieutenant Colonel from his unit, Herbert developed a plan of attack to get the unit’s medical logistics operations squared away. Working sunup to sundown, he implemented the systems necessary to bring the logistics situation under control.

The turning point for Herbert’s soldiers occurred in June of 2004. Herbert started getting complaints from NCOs in the operating rooms and the emergency room (ER). They were asking for things and Herbert’s soldiers weren’t being responsive. Herbert contacted his counterpart in the ER and asked him to let Herbert know the moment he got word of any mass casualty situation. He didn’t have to wait long – the next day some seriously injured people were brought into the ER, including a female soldier who had a portion of her leg blown off and a deep cut in her thigh. Herbert mustered all of his soldiers, had them scrub up, and made every one of them observe the casualties so they could see that their fellow soldiers’ lives depended upon their actions. Herbert said that for the first time, his soldiers understood how important their jobs were. They had a “paradigm shift,” and were a different unit from that day forward. They excelled at what they did and were recognized for their performance and dedication to duty.

Over the course of his one-year tour in Iraq, Herbert was assigned four soldiers who had gotten into trouble in their units. Their units had given up on them, so they were assigned to Herbert to see if he could turn them around. One was a soldier who had gone AWOL and was close to being separated from the Army. Herbert worked with all four soldiers, devoting the necessary time and effort to help them succeed. He also gave them confidence by making sure they knew they were valuable members of his team. Herbert was particularly proud that all four of these soldiers completed their tours in Iraq and received awards for their performance – something unheard of for soldiers who had gotten into trouble. Even more impressive, the soldier who had gone AWOL turned out to be one of the best soldiers in Herbert’s unit, despite not having any prior medical logistics experience. Herbert proved that soldiers will follow leaders who lead them to success.

Herbert also served as a convoy commander, making dozens of runs between the Green Zone and Baghdad International Airport. This was particularly dangerous in 2004 because the Humvees they drove didn’t have the heavier protective armor that arrived later in the war. On one occasion, Herbert gave his convoy team some time to visit the Post Exchange. He told everyone to return to the vehicles by 4:45 p.m. because they needed to be back before nightfall. One member ran back to the Exchange to get a fifty-cent candy bar and was late getting back. As a result, the convoy didn’t depart until 5:10 p.m., and it was dark by 5:30 p.m. The convoy took and returned fire on the way home, all because of a candy bar. Herbert has used this story ever since to convey to his soldiers, and now the youth he works with, that the details matter.

Herbert’s tour in Iraq was the crowning achievement of his career – he excelled during wartime and led his 49-person team to successfully complete its mission. If you ask him, he will admit he was a little scared to go to Iraq in that he didn’t want to be killed so close to retirement. He prayed for protection and knew before he left that God would keep him safe. That promise was honored more than once, but most vividly on the night after Herbert moved from his quarters at the hospital to new quarters in another building. A mortar hit the hospital, spraying broken glass and debris over the bed he’d slept in for months until that very day. Herbert knows he was spared because he still has things to accomplish with his life.

Now that he’s a civilian again and the owner of a successful clothing store, Suits by Soouljah, Herbert’s transformed his passion for helping troubled soldiers into helping keep youth from getting into trouble. He’s been an Assistant Basketball Coach at Urbana High School for the past 4 years (and coached a total of 10 years at the high school level), and founded a non-profit organization, “Not On My Watch”, where he stands up for youth and gives them the confidence and the love they need to succeed – just like he used to do for his soldiers. He knows he has to start working with kids while they are young, before they make bad choices. He’s currently working with 40 youth in the community, serving as a stellar role model and giving them a positive message.

There are two more things you need to know about Herbert. First, his military career came with significant personal sacrifice. His time away from home cost him his marriage of 24 years, and his relationship with his son because he was not there when his son needed him most. Herbert’s pain is real – it’s a pain many military families endure. Few families weather a military career without storms.

Second, what Herbert wants you to take away from his interview is that military service changes you, especially wartime service. You won’t ever be the person you were before you served. The key to moving on is recognizing that reality and embracing it. If you do, you will be a better, stronger person for your military service, able to use what you learned to excel for the rest of your life. If you don’t embrace it, you will constantly be looking backwards to what might have been. As Herbert so plainly notes, the choice of whether you move forward or look backward is yours.

Herbert Burnett with Cub Scouts at Kyungbok Palace in Seoul, South Korea.

October 2019
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