Dear America: Letters Home from Vietnam Page #4

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I don't know.

You get out there 50',

you're lost already

in the jungle.

It looks pretty clear

from here, but...

It's just a constant siege

here.

And you don't know exactly

when the incoming's coming.

And you don't know how much

it's gonna be from day to day.

And...

How would you compare it to other places

that you've served in Vietnam?

Well, this is the worst

I've been at.

Most of the time

you can't get anything done

because there's

too much incoming.

You can't get out

much at all.

It's just too dangerous

to get out.

And, um...

it just gets on your nerves,

that's all.

Either that, or just have the B-52s

go up one side, back.

The only thing they hit

is the ground.

"Dear Dad and Mom,

well, they haven't

gotten me yet.

I'm sitting here

in my new bunker underground

with many sandbags and metal skids

between me and the surface.

But the men and I will be

all right no matter what comes.

We are all well

and morale is high.

You know I've never really

regretted coming over here,

even yesterday

when my favorite turd got it,

the little guy with

my platoon sergeant's radiomen.

I really loved the kid.

He was the hardest

little worker,

and never complained.

Do anything for you.

After they had

taken him away,

it almost kicked my ass,

as the saying goes.

I almost cracked."

Ready? Fire!

"But there are 75 others

to worry about

and I snapped myself out of my cheap

civilian bull and got back to work."

"You learn every day

the mistakes you're making

and the biggest one is to get too

attached to any one person.

Over here, at least.

Things happen so quickly. One minute

he's fine and the next he's not.

But old Don is pretty lucky.

Knock on wood.

And home I'll come,

I'm sure.

Maybe after we wipe

them up here

they'll go to the bargaining tables

and we can come home...

all of us.

Love, Don."

"Dear Aunt Fanny,

this morning one of my men

turned to me

and pointed a hand

filled with cuts and scratches

at a plant

with soft red flowers,

and said,

'That's the first plant I've seen today

that didn't have thorns

on it.'

The plant was also

representative of Vietnam.

It is a country

of thorns and cuts,

of guns and marauding,

of little hope and of great faith.

Yet in the midst of it all,

a beautiful thought,

a gesture and even person

can arise among it

waving bravely at the debt

that pulls down upon it.

Someday this place will be

burned by napalm,

and the red flower will crackle up

and die among the thorns.

Yet that flower

will always live

in the memory of a tired

wet Marine.

With American sons

in the field far away,

I shall not seek...

and I will not accept

the nomination of my party

for another term

as your president.

What happened

to you?

Oh, I got kind of

messed up.

My unit was dropping...

caught some, uh...

well, I don't...

exactly, I don't know

if it was a fire base.

They was always shooting.

And then I was out

pulling guard.

And some hot rounds

got too hot.

And they started

getting close.

The next thing I know,

I couldn't hear out of this ear.

They kind of blowed it out. Next thing

I know, I was catching shrap metal.

And then that was it.

Then they started evacuating me out.

This is my fifth hospital

they put me in.

I don't know if they're

gonna send me home or what.

I sure hope they do 'cause I've had it.

I don't want no more Vietnam.

"Dear Mom and Dad,

Peach and Fuzzy,

as I suppose you can see

by my new stationery

this is not

my normal letter.

While walking

down the road one day

in the merry, merry month

of September

my squad got into a hell of a fray

and lost one member.

Mm-hmm. Me.

I'm all right.

I am all right, I'm all right!

Carbine round hit me

where it would do the most good,

right in the butt.

It hit no bone,

blood vessels, nerves

or anything else of importance.

Except my pride.

It was, however,

a little bit closer to my pecker

than was comfortable,

but that's as good as ever.

Although, it's now going through

a year's hibernation."

"So I'm lying in bed here

and it comes time for

that most thrilling event

when the general gives out

the Purple Hearts.

All in all, it was a dreadful

performance by everyone.

But in a way,

a classic stereotype,

one of the large number

of stereotyped characters

and situations I have watched

acted out, much to my growing concern.

They finally left me

sicker than I was before,

and with a medal

I never wanted anyway.

Love, Sandy."

"Dear Mom, it's official.

Would you believe

a Silver Star?

But I'm no hero.

Heroes are for the late show.

I was just trying to help a couple

of guys who needed help.

That's all.

The heroes over here

are the guys trying to do their job

and get home

from this useless war.

Love, Phil."

"Dear Dad,

I've been listening to the Vietnam

radio's news report special

on the assassination

of Martin Luther King in Memphis."

"But now I have

a story to tell.

On Friday March 29

in our A.O. just south of Hue,

we received small arms fire

from a village."

"My platoon leader Gary Scott

and one other man were killed.

I was very close

to Lieutenant Scott.

I was his radio operator.

He was a fine man,

a good leader.

Yet he could not

understand

the whys of this conflict

which killed him."

Ready!

Aim!

Fire!

"They will say he died

for his country,

keeping it free."

"Negative."

"This country has no gain

that I can see, Dad.

We're fighting, dying for a people

who resent our being over here.

Oh, I'll probably get

a Bronze Star

for the firefight.

Lieutenant Scott will get

a Silver Star.

That will help me get

a job someday,

and it is supposed to suffice

for Lieutenant Scott's life.

I guess

I'm bitter now, Dad.

This war is all wrong.

Your loving son, Phil."

"Debbie, my dear honeycake,

my health

is much better now.

The more I dream of the love

we have shared,

the more I love you.

These dreams make feel

as if I'm still with you.

Please keep a full and complete diary

so we can reminisce.

Debbie, I'll surely have

much love and lots of joy

with you in our future.

I'll remember your youthful

and lovely face always.

Please pray for me,

Debbie.

Alan."

"Merry Christmas,

my darling.

Indeed for me

a very Merry Christmas this year.

My values have changed

over these many long years.

I've searched

very carefully

for lasting happiness,

for what life

really means to me,

and I found it.

I found it in a family

in a home,

the dream home we'll soon

build together.

I found it in the beautiful New England

that I love so well,

that I miss so much.

But most of all, Debbie,

I found it in you."

"Dear Mom,

well, I'm spending

Christmas Eve

in good old bunker 110.

I've got

guard duty again.

I always wondered what it

must be like to be at war

and far away from home

on Christmas.

Now I know.

I can imagine how Pop felt

during World War ll.

Love and kisses,

Ray."

Vietnam, this is where it's at.

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