Shortly after I returned from Vietnam, an old Colonel quipped that “. . . sometimes peacetime can be harder on you than war.” I scoffed inwardly at the time, but have often pondered his words.
I grew up in Colorado; small family, small town, blue collar. NROTC looked like a door to faraway places and tropical adventures. At the time, I knew little about the Marine Corps. But the Major and the Gunny were by far the most impressive guys on staff, and the upper classmen going Marine were the ones I identified with. When I signed up for The Option two years later, I was afraid I wouldn’t make it through OCS, and also afraid I would. But I knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t give it a shot. My dad had never been in the service. His comment wasn’t helpful: “What did you do THAT for?” In the end, I think his doubt passed more quickly than mine.
A month before the end of TBS I met a girl at Mary Washington College—a blind date courtesy of Rick Karch (thanks, Rick). Four weeks later she and I snuck off one afternoon and got married. I figured that waiting ‘till she got to know me better would not be in my best interest. Craziest thing either of us ever did, but we’re still married. I left for artillery school two days later, and she stayed in Fredericksburg to finish college in January. Had to keep the marriage secret or they would have kicked her out of school.
In Vietnam I was FDO, XO, and then CO of India 3/12. After a brief stint at Wunder Beach, we stopped north of Quang tri and ended up shooting more rounds in less time than I thought possible, and kept at it—actually drafted Marines from nearby units to help break out ammo. Dai Do raged eight or nine clicks to our northeast.
Went to Khe Sanh briefly, then spent ten months opening or re-occupying firebases in northwestern I Corps: Shepherd, Gurkha, Argonne, Fuller, Green and others. Mountainous jungle, sometimes only three 105s would fit on the hilltop. Everything happened by helicopter. Weeks went by without a bath of any kind, or any food except C rats. No more major battles, but we fired lots of rounds, mostly at the Ho Chi Minh trail network. In return, we were frequently shot at, occasionally rocketed, often mortared–sometimes with success—and partially overrun one dismal morning. Not as tough as the grunts out there had it, of course. But they did get to the rear for a shower and a beer more often.
I remained on active duty and was fortunate in subsequent assignments: Marine Barracks 8th and I; CO of the MARDET on the Kitty Hawk; back to the FMF in Hawaii; MOI at the University of New Mexico; a tour with the Wing. Later, with kids in high school and roots firming in CA, I made the difficult decision to change careers. Got an MBA and a job managing the finances of an affluent city (Newport Beach), which I’m pleased to report was still financially healthy when I left, twenty years later (2010).
Jane and I had a daughter while in Washington, then decided to adopt an infant from Vietnam. This turned out to be more difficult, and traumatic, than we expected. While in Westpac in 1974, I actually caught a hop into Saigon to keep the process moving. A strange time—virtually no Americans in sight, and I had never been close to Saigon before. I visited an orphanage, but did not remain in country long.
We finally satisfied all the international adoption paperwork and received a couple small photos and a birth certificate from the orphanage–a six-month old girl who had nearly died twice already. The NVA began streaming south in early 1975. A C-5 evacuating our new daughter and about a 150 other kids from international orphanages crashed shortly after takeoff. We did not know for two days that she was among the survivors.
I like to say that there are two Vietnam veterans in my family. Carly’s start in life was tougher than most. She was a really cute kid; quiet but well liked by absolutely everyone—especially her older sister Amy. Based on early tests, we were told that she would be able to live independently when she grew up, probably, but we should not expect too much.
Things got worse for us. First Amy survived a broken neck, then was diagnosed with a permanent, life altering illness. A son who came along later was lost at the age of 19. Ironically, Carly’s presence meant more to our family during those difficult times than anything Jane and I might have done for her.
Amy proved to be tougher than any father wants his little girl to have to be. She rebounded from her setbacks, did exceptionally well academically, and even participated in athletics. She graduated from my old alma mater (Colorado) with a GPA about 1.5 points higher than mine had been. Ugh.
Carly’s story is almost beyond belief. Therapy quickly became a thing of the past. Special classes gave way to advanced classes. She excelled in gymnastics, art, and academics. She was the smallest person in her high school graduating class of about 500, but she was also the valedictorian. Four years later she received an engineering degree from Stanford.
I’m now retired, living in Laguna Beach. Both girls are married—to guys waaay bigger than me (grumble, grumble). Though they settled in different geographic locations, our daughters remain close friends. Jane and I see them often (to visit our five grandchildren!).
It’s been quite a ride. I am humbled, much blessed, grateful to be a Christian—and grateful to be a Marine.
Looking forward to a terrific reunion in Fredericksburg!