Showing posts with label Disease. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Disease. Show all posts

Friday, September 13, 2013

HAUNTING LEGACY OF AGENT ORANGE



"I can remember the sensation very clearly - that stuff had a sticky substance and had this sweet smell," Mr Bermingham said.

"I've seen flowers die in hours after being hit with that stuff - that's how quick it worked."

Forty-five years on, and Mr Bermingham is in a rapidly deteriorating condition - he has been diagnosed with prostate cancer, septicemia, and is riddled with bone cancer - conditions he attributes to Agent Orange.
His pelvic bone has all but collapsed, and relies on leg irons to walk.

While the cancerous link to Agent Orange remains unproven, Mr Bermingham's story is just one account among thousands of American and Australian Vietnam veteran's experiencing higher incidents of cancer.

Continue Learning: http://www.latrobevalleyexpress.com.au/story/1770107/haunting-legacy-of-agent-orange/?cs=1462 

Thursday, December 29, 2011

The Concussion And The Worm VN

(mini-TET May 13, 1968)
(C) James J Alonzo

In Viet Nam I was driving in the middle of a 50 truck convoy in the Iron Triangle, going from Long Binh to Cu Chi. On the way through an area that was near the Michelin Rubber Plantation we were ambushed. The area was commonly known as "ambush alley." The enemy tactics was to disable a few of the trucks with road mines, (IED), setting up the convoy to fire small arms, rockets and mortars to destroy the rest of the vehicles.

J J Jackson, 6'3", 200 lbs, african-american, was my best friend and the machine gunner riding in the "shotgun" position of the tractor trailer, (18 wheel vehicle) I was driving. The vehicle was loaded with 155 MM artillery shells, and it was a high explosive load.

Driving through this area we were vigilant, we expected to get ambushed, I just didn't understand, that when it happen, I was still caught completely surprised! As the two lead vehicle were blown up, the small arms firing started, J J Jackson with grim determination on his ebony face opened up with the machine gun laying down heavy grazing fire to suppress the Viet Cong's charge.

Explosions of mortar or rocket fire continued. However, that was the last thing I remembered. Apparently I was near an explosive force from one of these rockets or mortars that landed nearby. My 160 lb. Body was lifted and thrown from the concussion of the blast! I was told later that the force had lifted me and thrown me off the truck landing about 15 feet from the truck.

The convoy commander Lt Best and J J Jackson later told me what had happen; As the fighting started, J J opened up on the enemy with the machine gun, and I was bringing more ammo belts to reload, when the blast occurred and he had ducked down looking back where I was supposed to be. When he saw me flying in the air doing a couple of somersaults and a 1/2 pike before hitting the roadway, landing on my head. Seeing my demise, he knew I wasn't going to be assisting him.

Through the enemy small arms fire and fellow explosions, J J Jackson disconnected the machine gun from the mount on the truck, continued firing at the VC, and ran to my unconscious body to see if I was alive. Having established that I was alive, still carrying the machine gun in one arm, he scooped me up like a baby and ran with me to better cover.

After the battle, I and other wounded soldiers were medivac by chopper, to the 24th EVAC Hospital at Long Binh. I was admitted with concussion of the brain, cuts, and abrasions of my face, hands and arms.

After the doctors finished with me, I was x-rayed, bandaged,and was admitted for 24 hour observation. When I became conscious, I no longer had my clothing, boots and weapons. I found out later that J J Jackson took my weapons back to the my company unit. I was also informed that I had to stick around.

"Ma'am, do I have to stay in bed?" I asked the nurse, who like all the nurses had officer rank, but she was American and pretty and I did stare at the first American women i've seen in long time.

"No, sergeant," the nurse responded, "there's the latrine, and after you clean up put this hospital gown and robe on. Then you're allowed to roam at will. The mess hall is down on 1B, since you can walk, you won't be served. And sergeant,,,,, don't bother the nurses!"

Well that had been clear enough, i just got my orders. As I roamed the other wards that day I heard a lot of laughter and excited talk from the nurse and medic station. Upon approaching the station desk, it became clear that all the attention was focused on a pill bottle that one of the nurses was holding. Seeing me this pretty blonde nurse smiled and said,

"Hey soldier, take a look at this."

The nurse handed me the pill bottle, and I found myself looking at some kind of worm about an inch long, but nothing else that would make me excited like these people.

"I've seen bigger worms in the jungle."

"Look closer, soldier, this is an intestinal worm," she laughed, " I bet you haven't seen one like this with sutures (stitches)!"

Looking closer, I did observe several pieces of knotted thread stitches on this worm.

"Your right, I've never seen anything like this before."

Still excited the nurse said, these are surgical sutures! Can you believe it?"

"Now why would anyone want to suture a worm? I asked puzzled.

"The worm," the nurse laughingly explained, "had been found in a stool sample collected from another soldier that was also wounded very severely in his stomach. We take samples to see if he has intestinal worms as a precaution, since it is common in this country. If he has them we give medicine to make the body evacuate the worms through their stools when they defecate."

"So how did the worm get sutured?" I asked.

"That's what got my attention," she laughed, "we were in surgery, and I noticed the sutures Doctor Johnson had done on the boy's stomach and intestinal area. Doctor Johnson thought the worm was a vessel and had tied it off by mistake. When I showed him the worm, Doctor Johnson was very proud of the sutures!"

She may have thought it funny and that doctor may have been proud, but I didn't see anything to laugh about! All I saw was a big screw up!

"How can a doctor make that kind of mistake?"

"Soldier," she lashed out in defensive tone, " these doctors work long hours in a lot of bloody bodies so they do make mistakes!"

"Right, well I'll see you later," suddenly feeling tired, I was glad that I had only been admitted for a brain concussion. If doctors sew up worms and are proud of this, I didn't want to be operated on.

© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Returning Home to The Village (PTSD Viet Nam)

(C) James J Alonzo

After serving my time in Viet Nam, I was given my 30 day leave prior to following my written orders to report to Ft Hood Texas. I was pissed, I wanted to extend my time in Viet Nam because I only had 9 months left on my enlistment time.

However, when I sent a letter home and explained to my wife, if I extended six months more in Viet nam, I would get an "early out", or a waiver of the last three months. Nanci wrote back that besides her de-nutting me when I got home, she would divorce me!

So I returned to the "world", (USA), without any debriefing or de-sensitizing of any kind. One minute I was in-country, in combat, then 22 hours layer, i'm standing on a sidewalk unarmed, in the USA!

However, the military did give me some "choices" of duty assignments. They asked if I was interested in be assigned to the "Old Guard" at Arlington, Virginia to guard the Tomb Of The Unknown Soldier, and Honor Guard the burials of the deceased soldiers. But I was in no mood to be in such an honor assignment and have that awesome responsibility.

So they gave me a choice of going to drill instructor school at Ft. Benning, Georgia, and then be assigned to a basic training company. I was in no mood in training the "new meat" and send them to that damn war. How was I going to train these kids how to deal with being scared "shitless"! Or how to deal with the stench of death, tagging and bagging the bodies of their buddies, or their buddy's blood on their clothes, the heavy rust smell of blood, treating wounded while under fire, or the heat and humidity of this Asian country. How was I going to train them that if they survived, they weren't going to like the "welcome home" from the US citizens.

Having not picked any of their choices, I received my orders, I was being assigned to Ft Hood, Texas, and I hope Nanci was going to be happy, because I wasn't.

When I arrived in sunny California, standing there in my tailored dress uniform, with my medals, no one prepared us for the American citizens that would be greeting us at the airport! We were greeted by hippy type assholes, screaming accusations, and profanities!

As we walked through the crowd, I saw police officers near by, but they were doing nothing to keep these clowns under control. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing; the insults, the resentment, the terrible comments, all from American citizens towards the military that served their country.

They were taunting us, daring us to assault them, as though they knew the cops on the sideline would arrest us if we attacked.

What have we done to deserve this? Didn't we do our patriotic duty to God, Country, and apple pie? When we were kids, all we heard was when you serve you country, and the citizens will thank you, like they did after World War 2, and the Korean War.

The crowd is angry and hostile, and we had to push back and struggled to make a pathway through these clowns. I am unarmed, however, it is not me that is fearful of being hurt, but my instincts are still razor sharp, and I feel coiled, ready to strike out. Wanting to strike!

Getting to the street curb, I grabbed a taxi, and I feel uncomfortable, for I immediately notice there is no wire mesh over the windows.

"It would be so easy for someone to throw a grenade," I thought, "Never mind, I'm home in the US."

"Take me to the San Francisco airport please." I said.

"How'd you like your welcome?" asked the cab driver, laughing,

"It sucks," I responded.

"Well, I'll give you some free advice. Before you get to the airport, I'll stop at a clothing store, and you get some civilian clothes to wear. There are a lot more protesters at the airport."

"Okay, I don't want to have any run ins like back there."

"It's a good thing there was no fighting," the cab driver said, "If there is fighting the police are ordered to arrest the GI's, but not the hippies."

I followed the cab drivers advice buying civilian clothes, changing into them, he took me to the airport. I went to pay him and he said,

"No son, you don't owe me a thing."

"Thanks again."

"Remember what I told you," he advised, "Don't tell anyone on the plane you served in that Viet Nam war, or you might get spit on!"

As I closed the cab door, I could hear him laughing. I kept thinking, " What the Hell happened? When I left this country, people weren't like this. "

I was in Viet Nam and during that time, Malcolm X, Martin Luthur King,, and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated! Civil Rights riots in the cities! This country has lost it's mind!

I caught the plane to Buffalo by way of Chicago, and there wasn't any further problems. However, i spent too much time in my thoughts, my mind was rapidly scanning through the last couple of years of my life. When I went to war, I was 18 years old, married, a child on the way, and a squad leader in a combat unit. I decided to try and drink away these thoughts, and called on the stewardess to keep the drinks coming.

When I arrived in Buffalo, I was still clear of thought, but yet numb to the strange things I saw. I noted the lack of sand bags, and the fields of fire for these structures.

My family having heard I would be arriving that day poured out of the structure when i arrived. They are in a hurry to greet me outside, but i am in a hurry to get inside, undercover, even though it is now night time, and there shouldn't be any fear of snipers.

Some are people I have known, and some are people I grew up with, and some are family members, however, I feel so detached from all of them. A feeling of shame comes over me with a quick memory of where I had just come from, and I find myself avoiding any conversation.

Besides, I learned that getting to close to anyone means more hurt and heartbreak when they are taken away.

The years have passed as I try to live in my home village of Buffalo, and the fortifications around my home have improved along with the weapons that I keep exceptionally clean and ready to use. The attitude of my fellow citizens has changed to the better, and I associate with others that have been through what I have been through.

We had needed to discuss our memories, or quietly we will meet again when night falls,,,and dream the dreams and walk the walk again,,, here in my home village of Buffalo.

© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

The Monkey Attacks

(C) James J Alonzo

1967-1968, In the Iron Triangle, known as the delta, there in the heavy jungle of Viet Nam are many types of monkeys. There are small Spider Monkeys, some are Gibbons, brown and reddish fur, however some are all black, called "Howlers", for the noise make when ever they'ed spot us. They call out loudly "oooo! oooo!" and point towards us. These howls would echo very loud, and would carry for miles, and this would piss us off!

After all, we are either trying to sneak up on the Viet Cong, or recon patrolling without being seen! Some of the soldiers threw sticks or stones up at the monkeys, but the monkeys instead of being afraid and running away would throw something back at the soldiers. The monkeys if they didn't have something readily to throw back like branches or fruit, they would crap in their hand and throw the turds at you! And shit, they were accurate!
--------------------------------------------------
From the central highlands to the DMZ, in areas known as the Rock pile, the monkies, no matter what they looked like or type, they were call "rock monkies." Slightly different from the Howlers or Gibbons, about 3 1/2 feet tall, but just a nasty.

This particular incident we were pulling security for Army Engineers who were doing land clearing operations for a new forward base camp in the A-Shau valley.

Our platoon leader, a Lt. Best from Hamburg, NY, was sitting in his jeep while his driver, Larry Christy, Chicago, a big Mountain of a man had been messing around behind the jeep, laughingly throwing rocks at the some of the largest rock monkeys I have ever seen!

They were about 60 yards away, were light brown to reddish brown in color, and about half the height of an American. Usually you'd see them sitting on their haunches and picking at themselves, and were active at night, though some reports indicate they trooped in the day as well, and were sometimes mistaken for patrols of North Vietnamese Regulars. Our troops would ambush them and add to our enemy body count.

Maybe they might be classified as chimps or small apes. I guess Christy thought it was funny getting the monkeys throwing rocks back at him. Suddenly, there was a loud thump of a sizable rock impacting Christy's big head!

As we were laughing, hooting, shouting, and jumping up and down at Christy's demise, the apes must of decided we deserve the same destiny, and began to throw rocks at us. Shit! These rock apes were accurate.

Deciding to join the fun, some of the other soldiers picked up some rocks and returned fire, the apes were more than happy to throw them back, and they threw a wicked fast ball!

When Christy came too, he didn't think it was funny anymore, for beside the headache, he had a cut on top of his head, accompanied with a large lump. and when getting to his feet, started hollering mixed curses, growls and various descriptive adjectives to the apes that had bonked him.

"Sir! Let me shoot these f--king apes!" whined Christy.

"At ease!", ordered Lt Best, laughing. "No one is firing a weapon at the apes.

When this rock throwing episode started, no one bothered telling PFC Jimmy Davis from Sweetwater, Tennessee, that he shouldn't be taking a nap in a fox hole within the firing range. Davis was there sleeping through all this noise, but he was tired since he had been on perimeter guard duty the night before.

This newly found rock throwing contest, as all games had some serious mistakes since it wasn't really thought out by the apes throwing rocks or the human idiots that were throwing them back.

One mistake, no one told Jimmy Davis what was happening and that Lt Best said there would be no shooting.

The ape's fatal mistake was hitting Jimmy Davis while he slept.

Davis upon being awoke from the sudden pain of the rocks hitting him, and thinking that an attack from the Viet Cong had started, jumped up screaming,

"incoming!"

Meanwhile grabbing his M-79 grenade launcher, he put a High Explosive round right in the middle of the apes.

Kaboom!!!!! All four rock apes disappear in a bloody rocky mist!

I guess the lesson here is don't mess with a sleepy Jimmy Davis

- The M79 can fire a wide variety of 40 mm rounds, including high explosive, ant- personnell, buckshot, flichette, and high illumination. The M406 40 mm HE (high explosive) grenades fired from the M79 travel at a muzzle velocity of 75 meters per second. The M406 contained enough explosive to produce over 300 fragments that travel at 1,524 meters per second within a lethal radius of 5 meters.-

© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

I Wish I Could Remember His Name

(C) James J Alonzo

Names, I've never encountered a Viet Nam veteran who did not have total and clear recollection of the names of buddies they served with.

Several personal incidents remain imbedded in my mind as clearly as if they had happened only yesterday, and yet, I can't recall this one single name, and yet I remember this incident.

There was a man I am embarrassed to say, if only i could remember his name, and I should have, for I sat with him all night waiting for him to die. I prayed for him to die, wanting him to be at peace. Maybe I was wishing it for myself, maybe I wanted his life to end so I could go back to my unit, close my eyes, and dream about being back home with my family.

As the squad leader of a combat unit, I was responsible for my men, however when you were assigned to a larger group and in the field you job became larger. After fire fights, we would medivac the wounded (WIA) and then the killed in action, (KIA), identifying and recording for "after action" reports, "bag & tag". So it was one of my jobs to observe these young men that were dead, twisted, and torn. In time I had to be careful that I didn't become complacent and detached about what I saw and how I felt.

In mid December 1967, close to Christmas, things were relatively quiet in our area of operations, (AO), of the Iron Triangle, which included Cu Chi, Tay Ninh. Little did we know the Viet Cong were setting up for the TET offensive.

We were on a Squadron (Battalion) size operation, when we ran into a very large enemy force, causing an immediate fire fight that grew into a huge battle, and it lasted all day! When the battle was over we began to medivac the wounded and the killed in action.

I remember being on the chopper with this one casualty, it was 9 p.m. and we were taking him to the Evac hospital. The wounded trooper was a man from another unit, and luckily he was found in the heavy brush. He didn't seem to be in a lot of pain, but he did have a 'through and through' headshot!

After the chopper landed on the LZ of the hospital, the waiting medical staff whisked the trooper on a gurney and to the operating room. I went inside to relax, enjoy the air condition facility, and get a cold soft drink. It was 68 degrees inside, compared to 98 humid degrees outside.

In 93rd Evac hospital, the surgery is a large 'no nonsense' bay, or large room for surgery for multiple wounded surgeries.

It didn't take long for the Doctors to see that he was brain dead even they were amazed that his vitals, (blood pressure, breathing) seemed almost normal. After the nurses had cleaned up the trooper, the doctor instructed the nurses to wheel the trooper in to the critical ward, and await his passing.

"Just leave him in the corner," the doctor said in a low voice, "kill the lighting, do not resucitate, monitor his vitals, maybe he'll slip away quietly. hopefully in peace."

"is he in pain?", asked one of the nurses.

"He can't feel anything," the doctor replied, "The soldier's not aware of his surroundings, or sounds."

After I heard from the nurse on what was planned for the trooper, and his terminal condition, I started to make arrangements to hitch a ride to my base camp, and finish the after action reports. But something made me change my mind. I went up to the ward nurse and asked,

"Is it okay I sit with him?"

"Sure, that would be fine," she replied with a smile, "let me know if he starts to have a bad time."

After all this time in-country i was hardened to most things. However, today I was being sensitive, or maybe thought of the holidays, or whatever, but I found myself hanging back and compelled to check on the dying trooper. I realized that even though he may not be aware I could't leave him alone. It was the Christmas season back home, he was alone, I was alone.

Thinking of him laying there alone in the dark, left to die, it just didn't seem right. I knew I wouldn't want to die that way. So I pulled up a stool, got a blanket to wrap around my shoulders, the steady 68 degree temperature was now cold.

I held his still warm hand, and began "talking" softly to him about my family, about my home town, about the military. Anything I could think of that would be appropriate to tell a dying man. I also told him it was okay to move towards " the light", okay to let go. I promised him that I would let his family know that he wasn't alone. Things that I would want to hear, if I was shot like this.

As the hours went by I dozed off several times, causing me to curse myself for not being more attentive. The nurse or medics would stop and check the trooper throughout the night.

It was around 0600, (6a.m.) when a medic came in and seemed surprised that the I was still holding his hand. Checking the troopers vitals, the medic said,

"Sergeant, why don't you go back to your unit, he's being shipped to the Phillipines since he is still hanging on."

"No," I replied, "not till he is gone, or you take him."

Later that morning they packed him up, and put him on a medical C-130 plane, next stop the Phillipines. When he was shipped out he still had strong vitals.

I always wondered what happen to him. I wished I could of remembered his name.

© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

The Leech VN

(C) James J Alonzo

In southeast Asia, most times the climate is hot, and humid. There is an 8 month monsoon season in Viet Nam, followed by a dry season. Both seasons have one thing in common, it's hot as Hell! If you didn't was a rash or what we called jungle rot of the crotch, you learned to use powder and not wear underware. Because when you sweat so much your underware has high levels of moisture and ammonia. Hence the rash or jungle rot.

The unit I was assigned to patrolled what was known as the "Iron Triangle" and was located in the Delta.

This story is about one day in the Delta the 101rst Airborne was patrolling parts of the Iron Triangle, that was swampy, hot, and humid. As I was crossing a stream of slow moving rotten smelling water, I felt something crawling up my ankle, inside my pant leg.

"Swell!," I thought, "Just what I need, leeches!"

I knew when we stopped, I 'd have to drop my pants, lite a cigarette, and burn the leeche's ass off to get him to drop off. Leeches carried diseases, so it was best to get them off before they filled up with my blood and dropped off on their own. However at this time we had to be careful for we were in a hot area of Viet Cong.

Just as those thoughts were completed we received small arms fire from the VC, and dove for cover. As I was diving for cover, my attention was torn between getting shot or the leech, which despite the gun fire, was crawling up my thigh heading towards my manhood!

The higher we climbed up the hill, the higher the leech climb the inside of my leg, the less I was concerned about getting shot! That leech was pretty high up my leg by the time I got up that hill.

We had spotted a handfull of the Viet Cong who had been shooting at us while taking this hill, returning fire at the enemy, our Platoon Sergeant radioed the company for a artillery fire mission.

During a lull of small arms fire I bent over and desperately dropped my pants, my backside facing our troops as they were climbing the hill. I had lit a cigarette by this time and was in the process of burning the little bastard off. I was in the nick of time for the leech had gotten as close as an inch away from my manhood. Meanwhile the small arms fire started again.

While performing this task, other soldiers had passed me by and were shooting at the retreating enemy, I am sure they were confused at what I was doing when they came in view of my backside.

In true Airborne Trooper spirit under fire, the first trooper to see me fighting the leech, Terry Yater, on spotting my backside, never broke his stride passing me, climbing the hill shouted back at me,

"Jesus! Jim, it is bad enough that I'm getting shot at but do you have to moon me too?!"

Mission accomplished, The leech was finally removed, I pulled my pants up, adjusting my gear, and continued on to the top of the hill. I was pissed, for I knew I wouldn't hear the last of this.

© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Billy Dunn VN 1967

(C) James J Alonzo

The first time I laid eyes on Billy Dunn, I thought to my self, "Shit, now they are sending us California surfers!"

As he walked towards me i saw a 6' tall, blond hair, 18 year old that had the swimmers thin body. He had been sent to me by the first sergeant to replace a man we had lost a couple of weeks ago.

"Dude, you the squad leader?" , he asked.

"The names Sarge, and yeah i am," i said, "your bunk is over there."

"Groovy man!!" he said.

Billy Dunn had the California vocabulary that at times could be annoying to me, using words like groovy, Dude, far out, easy, Coool, etc, etc.

However, Billy Dunn turned out to be a jovial character, singing songs of the 'Beach Boys', and other surfer tunes. He became popular with the rest of the squad, because of his lay back ways.
Also, because he had a lot of girls back home writing to him and even sending him "goodie packages", stuffed with cookies, candy, cakes, and other incidentals that we couldn't get here in the Nam. And he always shared.

Mail to and from Viet Nam took a week each way, so when a goody packaged arrive some of cookies might be a little stale. Letters were another thing, by the time your girl got your letter and responded, you forgot what you wrote her about.

Mail call was always a happy occasion, especially when it involved Billy Dunn, because he got a lot of letters and packages, i couldn't figure out how he kept track of those letters. But it was the photos that really made him popular. He used to get letters and photos from all his girls, this too he shared, especially the photos of semi nude and nude girlfriends.

After he had been in country for a six months he went to Hawaii for five day R & R. (rest and relaxation) some of the men chose Hong Kong, or Australia, or Thailand. Billy chose to meet his favorite gal in Hawaii, and his best friend was coming too.

When he got back he announced that he bought with cash a brand new 1967 Corvette, and that he got married too! A beautiful girl named Maria. We all were in shock, especially how he elaborated on his sudden marriage, purchasing his new vehicle, and giving his new wife his "power of attorney."

"What about your other girlfriends," someone asked.

"I dumped them", Billy Dunn responded laughing proudly, "This is truly the one!" Billy then went back to telling his buddies about his new corvette and his equally lovely wife Maria.

A month later, at base camp, it was the monsoon season, and raining heavy, Billy Dunn got a letter, and they had a name for this type of letter. It didn't matter if your name was Billy, Tom, or Daniel, this letter covered them all. Billy got a "Dear John" letter.

It seemed his new bride decided that being married to Billy was not as great as living with Billy's best friend. Billy's new bride included divorce papers, and a "oh by the way", she sold his new Corvette and is keeping the money.

Billy Dunn was no longer a jovial character, he told no one about his Dear John letter. He just sat around for throughout that rainy day, and kept reading the same letter. One of his buddies saw him sitting in the rain, and asked,
"Dude, what's up? You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm easy man", Billy would respond, "Every thing's cool dude! Just leave me alone."

Billy Dunn went into the latrine that night, and with his squad leader's 45 calibet pistol, blew his brains out!

Billy Dunn's new wife, and war widow, when notified that he died, immediately asked about the widow's benefits, and Billy's life insurance.

(true story, named change to protect the innocent and guilty)

© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Hearing My New Daughter Voice 1967 VN


© James J Alonzo

Back in the 1960’s There was a volunteer group of Ham operators known as MARS, offered to make calls in the USA and connect them by radio (2 way air waves), and the Soldiers could call home. It cost $20.00 for three minutes, which was a lot of money back then, but still there were long lines, to access the phones.

December 1, 1967, The red cross had stopped by at my base camp to inform me on my daughter’s birth and told me I had a child born that day. So the next chance I had, I drove to Saigon, 21 miles away, where the nearest MARS Station was. I waited in line for over two hours.

“Merry Christmas, Nanci? Over.”

“Jamie, is it you? Are you home?”

“You have to say OVER, when you’re finished talking honey. OVER”

“OK, over.”

“No, I’m still in Nam. I’m calling over radio phone from Saigon; they call it the MARS program*. I only have three minutes. I love you, OVER”

“Jamie, I love you too, OVER.”

“How is the family?” I shot off as much sentences as I could, because twenty dollars gave me only three minutes. “Tell them I love them and I miss them. How is the Baby? I am so proud of you. I love you, OVER”

“Oh Jamie,” Hearing the urgency in my voice, “every one is well and I will tell them, OVER.”

“I am so proud of you having the baby without me there. Is She there with you now? OVER.“

“She’s sleeping Jamie. OVER”

“Sleeping, Oh God, I wish I could hear my daughter! OVER.”

“I’ll go get her and bring her to the phone. OVER“

“OK. OVER.”

I could hear Nanci put the phone down and heard her talking to the baby. I was hoping that maybe I could at least hear her coo or something. Then I heard Nanci pick up the phone.

“Jamie, she is in my arms now, but she’s still sound asleep. OVER”

“One minute remaining” crackled the operator over the phone line, reminding us this call was about to end.

“Nanci there is so little time, please wake her up, so I can hear my baby. OVER”

“Come on Sherri, Daddy’s on the phone wake up,” I could hear Nanci trying to wake Sherri, “Jamie, she’s sound asleep, I just shook her a little and she won’t wake up. OVER”

“Oh Sweetie,” I said crying, ”Please wake her up. OVER”

“Ok,” Nanci said, then I heard Sherri started to cry, and I thought my God, what a beautiful sound.

“Oh Baby, she sounds beautiful, and loud! What a set of lungs! OVER”

“I pinched her bottom, I hope she will forgive me. OVER”

“30 Seconds remaining,” crackled the operator.

“Nanci I love you, and I will be home in six months, I promise! OVER.”

“I love you too, Jamie, be careful, ok? OVER.”

“Yeah, I will. I love you! OVER”

“END OF CALL,” said the operator.

*MARS - Military Affiliate Radio System - provided for a fee, ($20.00), unless you were of the Officer Corp, then no charge. Real time contact with families back in the land of the free during the Vietnam war, as it continues to do today for other servicemen and women overseas.

This was pre-Internet days and used HF radio to run "Phone Patches" where the serviceman in Vietnam could 'connect' through a MARS radio station with a MARS station in the U.S., who would then make the connection through a phone line to the family. Thus, 'Phone Patch'.

Mars operators on both sides of the Pacific' who provided the link between servicemen and families. Operators were required to monitor each call, for stuff folks weren't supposed to say, and more importantly flip the transmit/receive switch, a routine where the operator listened to what anybody said, and when they heard, "OVER" the operator would flip the switch. Watching the 3 minute time limit, or translating if the freq was going "down", was more the focus of the call.


© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

What Is A Viet Nam Vet (author unknown)


It is not an easy question to adequately answer because not all Viet Nam Vets will fall into a description given by one person.

Let me begin by stating some facts about the Viet Nam Vet and then you will understand the complexity of trying to accurately describe him or her.

During the height of the war the average number of Americans in Viet Nam was about 500,000. It is said a total of 2.6 million Americans served in Viet Nam.

Of that 500,000 only 50,000 were in actual combat. (Usually about 10%.)
This fact indicates how difficult it would be to give a comprehensive description of a Viet Nam Vet.

So what I will attempt to do is give you some statistics about combat vets and let you draw your own conclusions.

We lost almost 59,000 men and women during the 16 years of Viet Nam. As of 5 years after the war was officially over, we had 150,000 Viet Nam Vets that had committed suicide.

The suicide rate for Viet Nam Vets is 86% higher than the national average of peers of the same age group.

70% of all one car accidents is Viet Nam Vets (was it really an accident).
60% of all Viet Nam Vets have serious emotional problems.

Between 50 and 60% have a history of alcohol and drug abuse.

The unemployment rate for Viet Nam Vets is double the national average.
The divorce rate for Viet Nam Vets is almost 3 times as many as the national average.

About 25% of all incarcerated people are Viet Nam Vets. (Most are non-violent crimes).

56% of all homeless Americans are veterans, 44% are Viet Nam Vets.

These are stats you don't hear about unless you are trying to find them out.

What you do hear is that a Viet Nam Vet is a bearded, motorcycle gang member with psychological disorders and violent tendencies.

They are anti-social and a threat to our way of life. Although this may be true of some it by no means describes 98% of them.

Normally you would never know he was a Viet Nam Vet because he or she would never share that with you.

He or she normally is a man or woman working next to you that does his or her job and goes home. He is in every area of this society and usually out performs others in the same field.

He may have been on the same job 20 years but chances are that he has held numerous jobs and probably will never achieve enough time on one to draw any retirement benefits.

On the surface he looks like anyone else but underneath is a complex man of deep feelings and emotions. He may be physically there but mentally he could be one of the MIAs (Missing in America).

He maybe emotionally isolated and may even be physically removed from the routine of everyday life that most of us endure with ambivalence.

He is a POW of a war that he doesn't even realize is still raging inside of him. He may look good on the outside but there's a numbness inside that doesn't allow him to have feelings like normal men and women. His family witnesses him die daily but when confronted he will deny that he has a problem.

Afterward he feels so guilty that he just gets drunk and stares at the TV for hours and hours not really seeing anything except the recesses of his mind. He usually has difficulty with authority and constantly criticizes the governmental figures.

He may cry a lot or be cold as ice. He can usually handle any crises that comes up with a cool that is never there at Christmas dinner. He may disappear for days without warning and act like nothing happened when he returns.

His sleep is never without labor and it is dangerous to wake him suddenly. He usually is obsessed with guns and weapons of all kinds and is never without protection.

If he meets another Viet Nam Vet it's almost like they automatically connect on a frequency that no one else is privy to. They may talk for hours about the war but he would never mention one word about it to his own family.

Life generally leaves him confused and scared though he won't admit it and he avoids any talk of therapy like the plague. If he does go to therapy it takes Forever to get him to talk because he doesn't trust anyone.

He usually has Great ideas and plans but they never materialize because of his unknown fears
prevent him from carrying them out.

As I said this is by no means a comprehensive view of a Viet Nam Vet but it gives you an idea of what many Viet Nam Vets face on a daily basis. God willing we will be able to reach a greater number of them and help them to make the adjustments necessary to cope with life on much better terms.

If you know a Viet Nam Vet please thank him or her for the sacrifice he or she made and is still making and welcome him or her home at last.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

John And Nancy (VN)


(C). James J Alonzo

They were children, and they were in love, and having met four years prior at the local 4H picnic in rural Iowa. John and Nancy dated all through high school, went to the prom, and graduated from high school. So now John and Nancy were planning on marrying, having a family and working their own family farm.

Unfortunately John got his draft notice, and they decided the wedding was to be cancelled till he got back from serving his country. The Army wanted him, John didn't resist, his country at war was calling him, and many other young men. America was counting on them to fight in a funny little country called Viet Nam.

So he went to train, to serve, to fight, and learn to kill. When he should of been home, loving Nancy, having children, working the farm, and settling down. It just didn’t seem right that his country told him to leave his young sweetheart for the war.

It seemed like a brief moment that took him from the silence of a rural lifestyle to the raging battlefield. A jungle, hot, humid, bug and snake infested battlefield. The fighting in these engagements with the Viet Cong were always fierce and unrelenting.

Day by day John and his buddies patrolled the jungles in the "Iron Triangle" and eventually dug in every night. The tragedy and chaos of war shook John and often he saw things he wanted to forget .

There were no body armor back then, and one day John stopped a bullet as he provided cover fire on the ground for his buddies. He laid there unable to walk, when one of the medics named Decatur Johnson came to his aid. John was bleeding heavily and in a lot of pain as the medivac chopper having been radioed to get him out of there. Decatur's ebony face was wet with sweat and dirt as he hurriedly started working on John's wounds.

Decatur, after provided Immediate treatment to John's wound, realized as bullets hailed down them both, that John needed to be move to a safer area. The enemy fire was too heavy for others to help Decatur.

When the rockets or morters exploded, Decatur would cover John's body with his own. The shrapnel from the explosions was too hot and getting too close, so Decatur lifted John like a father would a baby, carrying John through the small arms fire of the enemy. Getting cover fire from his buddies. From the fire fight to the LZ (landing zone) was over 150 meters, that was as close the chopper could get near the fire fight, so when Decatur and John arrived, they dropped on the ground in a exhausted heap.

Once at the LZ, Decatur gave John some more treatment to his wound as grenades, rocket fire and bullets hailed down. After the chopper arrived, it took John and other wounded to 93rd Evac hospital at Long Binh.

Later on that day Decatur while attending to more of the wounded, caught a piece of shrapnel through his head and neck killing him instantly. No one reported the heroic deeds the medic performed, the soldiers he saved that day, and the other soldiers never mentioned it.

Most times in battles, heroic deeds are so common place, it is more like expected. The medic did his job saving lives, the machine gunner provided at great risk, cover fire, etc. That was our job, kill the enemy, stay alive and keep our buddies alive. In battle " God and country", never really came into the equation.

After Long Binh, John was sent to the Phillipines, and once stable, John was sent back home to an Iowa VA hospital to recover. John would find out years later who had saved his life.

Unable to remove the bullet from inside him the doctors left it there as a "souvenir" of the war, or a reminder, a reminder that John did his time in hell, and John's time in the hell had come to an end.

He was sent home with a severe injury, calling for a long recovery, but John felt he was sent home dead. However he was "alive", still alive to his family and his sweetheart Nancy.

The war came to an abrupt end for John, and he was still concerned for all his buddies who were still over there. John felt also guilt, guilt that he made it back home, knowing some who would not.

It was a lovely spring day, the birds singing as they began building nests for their families. The spring flowers now blooming and bending to the warm spring breezes. John and Nancy were married in a white painted church in the country and afterward moved in a little house on a small farm.

It was a small farm with a little white house, where both families had helped in buying the farm, and fixing the barn.

John found it hard to adjust back into life after the war . He asked his wife to be patient with him . At first he received some help from a few buddies who were also having problems adjusting.

John and his friends met once a week at the local VFW, and had a few drinks .
What they couldn’t face they cut with alcohol .

Without warning, one of his Nam buddies took their own life and suddenly John was thrown back into a battlefield of his mind. While he was still devastated from his friend's loss, his loving Nancy brought him the news that she was expecting their first child.

That seemed to help John stay focused, and when his disability retirement pay came through he planned to begin a vegetable garden on the little farm . He worked hard every day and vented his anger on the land toiling away in the soil.

Each month his produce was brought from the farm to the local city farmer's markets, where he made money selling Corn and carrots , cabbage and beetroot.

Even though things seemed to be going along reasonably well, Nancy didn't know John had disguised his inner war so well. He couldn’t forget the past and still tried to cut it out of his mind with alcohol and sometimes drugs.

News of another child on the way brought some renewed happiness but that was short lived as the great drought followed .

The farm soon was dry and dusty with no crop in the ground .
In despair John and Nancy took their two young children and left the land for the city in the hope of finding work .

John and his wife had noticed a big difference in the city. People were angry, their attitude were different and cold, which was a challenge but one they had to adapt to . John found a job in construction, although the work didn’t suit him he was glad of a job as many had nothing.

Each day John would come home from work but never talked about his work and just sat quietly in his corner, watching TV, especially when the news was covering the Viet Nam War.

Memories still haunted him and he was troubled with regular flashbacks of the awful events that he had experienced during the war. The nights sweats, and nightmares were always his companion every time he tried to sleep.

The children had grown up fast and were now at school, so they were noticing their father's weird behavior.

Some nights John would wake to the sounds of bombs exploding in his head, bullets whizzing by his ears. As Nancy slept John crept out of bed, consciously unchained by the shackles of a nightmare that haunted him night and day.

Bathed in sweat he let the moment pass like a miniature death before returning to bed where he could not move an inch in a relaxed state. And when he drifted off to sleep chained again to the nightmares that he knew so well.

By the time the kids were in high school they had noticed the photographs of their Dad in army uniform. They found an old suitcase with sketches of the war Jack had drawn, however there
were no details of where and when, the children who were now young adults were intrigued.

Each time they asked questions about the war, they were met with silence and a stern warning look. They learned that there would be no information about the men in the photos or the sketches of places and what it was all about. John most times would just walk away and eventually the children stopped asking questions about the war .

The truth of it was John was still in the jungle and still fighting the battles every day of his life. Somehow he wanted to protect his kids from that experience, and by keeping quiet he thought that might help. He stuck to that throughout their growing years.

At times in the past, they didn’t know why their Dad got angry and smashed things around the house . Nancy made excuses for John and yet couldn’t understand herself what he was going through, She tried to get him help but he always said he was ok .

It came to a head one day when John hit her in fit of rage . Nancy was taken to the hospital . Suspicions arose as Nancy, blacken eyed and bruised, she wept in the ambulance. The doctor in emergency room spoke to her and asked some questions about what was going on.

The sad thing was that Nancy had become "the victim of a victim" and that is the worst kind of victim there is, however she still made excuses for John.

As time went on there were more and more angry outbursts and more Nancy visits to the doctor and hospital .

Eventually Nancy did explain to her doctor what was happening at home . At first the police made a visit. This was followed up by local church groups and then the doctor made a home visit and spoke in private to John.

After a brief consultation John agreed to take some medication, the doctor gave John a list of phone numbers and people to contact at any time should he need to speak to somebody. There was also another list handed to Nancy

For a while the medication seemed to help and apart from being drowsy John was more able to cope with things .

When the medication ran out John didn’t bother to renew the prescription and things soon returned to the way they were. He still had refused to go to the PTSD clinics.

Still unable to talk about his experience in the war John tried to cut it with more alcohol and drugs.

He tried, sometimes successfully, to shut the world out, however his wife and kids finally left him. They could take no more and John soon became a recluse, his marriage was finished.
It was too late, his kids and wife had enough of becoming targets for John's abuse and anger.

Alone and afraid John began to question his own existence. One day he stood in front of a mirror and spat at the man looking back at him. Everything he had was gone.

That evening, after careful planning, John stood on a chair under a tree with a rope suspended from its main branch. When He kicked the chair from underneath his feet, the limb broke from his weight! John finally had realized maybe he had been given a second chance.

He had once been a fighter, and knew with each personal victory there often came a cost. John realized he didn't fight hard enough for his family.

The biggest price he ever paid was losing his wife and kids to a war that wounded his body and his mind. He realized that he was a warrior, so he knew he had to make a stand .
His thoughts now focused on his children, wanting to see them and know what would become of them . He realised how much his wife had gone through and slowly but surely John started to get his life together again by going back to VA Hospital and the veterans PTSD program.

He visited the doctor and went back on medication. The doctor gave him some other ideas and contacts for counseling. He started therapy and joined a war veterans group.

With each step to recovery John grew stronger and faced his fears alone, taking on self discipline, showing up to work on time, keeping his cool.

With his new ability to listen to others who had gone through the same experiences as he did, he now realized he was not alone. All this lead to a healing process over time. A year passed and John was feeling more human, more in control and more in harmony with his life.

During this reconstruction period, a few years had passed. He didn't try to contact his wife or children, he wasn't ready, because it was difficult for him. He had questioned himself, 'what if they reject me? do I deserve it?'

One Christmas John received a card from his kids, one from his daughter, who was getting married, and one from his wife. Through his teared up eyes, he read a return address on the envelopes, and John decided he would show up at the door.

Not knowing if his wife and kids would give him another chance, he prayed hoping that it would be the best chance he had. He took a chance, and with a head filled with New Years resolutions and his arms full of presents, he knocked on the door.

“Merry Christmas. “,He said.

Nancy stood there and looked at him for a few moments, trying to read John. During that silence, he felt like a he was being cut in two.

“Are you well John?",She asked.

"I'm much better sweetheart. I love you!"

“The doctor called me a few weeks ago", Nancy smiled, "He was telling me about how well you are doing."

" How are you ?”, he asked.

“I’m doing ok," she smiled, taking John's hand, "There’s talk of a wedding, and we were wondering if you will give your daughter away. So you better come in .“



© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

I Was Told I was Wrong To Go To Viet Nam

(C) James J Alonzo


My step father that raised me was a heavy handed parent back in the 1950's & early 1960's.

In today's times he would of been arrested for child abuse. He also was heavy handed with my mother but that ended when I was 16 years old. He never hit her again. However my mother loved him so in the interest of peace and harmony I did my best.

1978, Some years after I had been back from Viet Nam we did try and find ways to move closer in the last two years of my step-father’s life. He had been diagnosed with cancer, and it was Terminal.

There were few things we had in common. However, One of them was boxing. We both loved the sport, so I would take him to the ‘fights’ when he asked.

He had never served in War, as I did in Vietnam. But we never really talked about my experiences until one day, when we were on our way to the boxing fights at the city auditorium; we stopped at a diner to have a snack.

All of a sudden the conversation became very serious, when out of the blue he said,

“You know you were wrong to go to Viet Nam!!”

“ What?“ I was shocked, “This is coming from the man that was "Joe Patriot" and used to tell me that it was an honor to serve my country?”

“You know,” He continued, “you’re not the Jimmy I knew before. The Jimmy I knew before died in Viet Nam!”

I first ignored his hypocrisy, but I couldn‘t forgive the cruelty of his statement. I told him something I had felt for a very long time but had never said it out loud.

“Fuck you! You’re an asshole! I can't believe the media likes to say you’re from the “ greatest generation.”

He didn't say anything, just looked at me in kind of a very strange way.

" You know yours was the last generation that grew up believing there was a man in the moon, so how great is that?" I said in anger.

His was the last generation that grew up in rural communities untouched by modern technology, unknowing of all that is going on in the world.

I grew up in the information age, knowing everything, seeing everything, watching history unfold in front of my well-worn TV eyes.

His was the last generation that grew up having the full American dream intact; mine was the generation who saw the American dream tarnished by exposed lies, the high taxes, Assassinations, Watergate and other political, and business corruption.

Finally, and this was when it got very serious, I told him that his generation was a generation who was able to come home after fighting in a war not only knowing what you did was necessary but everyone around you knew it too.

My generation; part of us fought in a war we did not understand and when we came home, we were demonstrated against, spit on, yelled at, shunned, and left alone, by the other part of our generation.

We were denigrated by being emulated in movies and other media programs as drunks, druggies, mentally unstable killers.

We had no justification, no heroes, no protection of the heart, and no treatment for the one wound no one could see.

And his generation,,,,not only sent us to this war, they didn't support us when we came back!

We were left on our own to figure it out by ourselves, and many of us, unable to deal with the reality of what we did and what we saw, did the logical thing to survive– the only thing we could do to survive– we buried it.

We buried it in the deep place with in ourselves, inside where no one could see, no one could touch, and no one could hurt. Some buried it so deep they withdrew from the world around us and have never been able to reenter.

It was one of the most interesting and sad conversations I ever had with my step-father.

He argued with me on every point except the last– and when we got to that point, he looked at me and said, quietly, and simply,

“You’re right.”

And there was a very long pause after he said that – neither one of us said anything, nor when we both had tears in our eyes. My stepfather tears, I knew of no explanation, maybe because his stepson had been hurt and there was nothing he could do about it.

Moreover, me, I had tears in my eyes because it was the first time I had admitted aloud to someone I too had been emotionally wounded in ‘Nam. I guess It caught us both off guard. It was one of the few times that I felt kind of close to my stepfather. I am sure it was because we had shared a deep and significantly personal moment.

We never talked about that conversation again, but I remember that moment of sharing, with one whom I had never really shared anything with, my step-father.

© Copyright 2011 James J Alonzo All rights reserved.
James J Alonzo has granted Agent Orange Legacy its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Leaving For Viet Nam


(C) James J. Alonzo
It was a gloomy, gray, rainy morning, which may have accounted for my morbid thoughts. As I recalled that day many years ago, the trip to the City of Buffalo’s airport. We travelled by cab, my wife Nanci, and my step-dad. Which was odd, but my stepfather Ralph insisted on paying for it. He was paying for the cab, a person known as a cheap person, some would call it thrifty. I realize now that he was a poor man, but back then, I was not aware of it as I am now.

My thirty day pre-Viet Nam leave had come to an end, June 1967. During this leave, I had to worked for my brother Ralph‘s roofing and siding business, to raise money for Nanci, and the baby she was carrying. I didn’t know much about roofing and siding, but I was strong, and being in the Army's 101rst Airborne Division, and a paratrooper, i had no fear of heights.

And now It was time to fly to San Francisco, and Viet Nam. We left my mother at home, crying; too upset that morning to even scramble eggs, never less coming to the airport. I felt for her, for she had lost love ones in WW2 and Korean Wars.

Step dad was quiet during the trip, and it was only years later that I thought about what he must have been thinking. I wondered how it would of been if he had ever been sent to war? (he wasn’t) What would his father have thought, or how he would of seen him off to war.

We had arrived at the airport, and entered the terminal. There were many other service men in uniforms, with duffel bags and overnight bags, a lot of mothers and fathers, wives or maybe girl friends, and even kids, probably siblings. There were even sharply dressed Military Police who patrolled through the terminal. I found this to be an unusual sight, for just the year before, you'd never see Military Police there.

The home front during the Viet Nam war is a study of convoluted extreme contrasts: sorrow and joy, partings and reunions, patriotism and cynicism, parades, demonstrations, anti-war protesters, and funerals.

I was flying American Airlines to San Francisco, and I got into the appropriate line, which comprised of mostly soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen, and even some civilians, who looked like hippies, and who strangely looked uncomfortable being in the same line.

My step dad wanted to wait but it was important that Nanci and I spend some private time, so I talked him out of staying.

"Go a head Pop," I suggested, "Nanci will see me off, and then she will get a cab."

He strongly shook my hand, looking down, and in a whispered voice, he said, “Come home son.”

For a fleeting moment, I thought he was ordering me to leave with him, become a deserter like many others had, and forget this idiocy of war. Then I realized he meant " come home alive". I looked him in the eye and said,

“I will. You take care of Mom.”

“Sure. Good luck Jim.” He said, turned and walked away. A few minutes later, as I was talking to Nanci, I caught a glimpse of him some distance away, watching me. We made eye contact; he then turned and walked away, this time for good. I was apprehensive that my step-dad might reappear, and not give Nanci and I time alone.

After I checked in at the ticket counter, Nanci and I holding hands walked down to the gate, where I would discovered that this is where the other military families had disappeared too. In those days, anyone could go to the departing gates. ( before post 911 security)

Despite the large number of military members my own age from the Buffalo area. I did not see anyone I knew. This is going to be the beginning of a period in my life of looking for familiar faces and imaging them on other people. So I stood there holding Nanci’s hand, alone in our own thoughts, nothing being said but the occasional ‘I love you”. Meanwhile people moved around us stood quietly, talked in low murmurs, or cried softly. I have never seen so much sadness, so many people make so little noise, except at a funeral.

There were City of Buffalo Police officers and Two Military Police officers patrolled at the edge of the crowd looking for signs of problems among the young men who were about to leave for points of embarkation and war, and the anti-war protesters.

In retrospect, this whole scene had made me uncomfortable: the MP’s, the mostly unhappy soldiers, the quiet families; the sum total of which was this very un-American feeling of government control and coercion. But it was wartime, though not my father’s generation war, which was as popular as any war could get. And in wartime, even the most benevolent governments get a little pushy.

This was 1967, and the anti-war movement was in full swing in Buffalo, so therefore there were protesters and demonstrations at Buffalo’s airport. There were a more of them when we landed in San Francisco, and even more of them at the Oakland Army Base, urging the soldiers not to go, carrying signs stating, "Killers! Baby killers", "Make Love Not War!"

I looked into Nanci’s eyes, as always, I saw love that day, but at that moment, but I also saw fear in her eyes, and maybe it was reflecting in my eyes too. I remember I felt a sadness, a sadness that if I should die, what would happen to Nanci, who would love and protect her and the baby she was carrying inside her, as I do now?

This feeling never left me, even after all these years, when I had a heart attack in 1991, or when I get angina, I still ask myself today, aware of my mortality and poor health, who would love and protect her.

The announcer’s voice came on and announced my flight was boarding. So I told her, as I placed my hand on her stomach,

“I love you, take care of both my babies.“ (Meaning her and the baby that will be born in December 1967 while I was on patrol in Viet Nam)

“Don’t cry baby, I will be back, " I promised, "So write me every day.”

She looked at me with her tear filled blue eyes, and said.

“I love you too .“

We kissed and held each other tightly, her being brave, not wanting me to leave, and me, sad and scared, but not wanting to show it.

I walked down the ramp afraid to look back, because I knew if I did I would cry, and I had too much pride to make this mistake.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Children of Vietnam Veterans Illness List

At this time, Agent Orange Legacy is gathering information about our members to help us better understand the issues affecting them. It is not known if these illnesses are caused by their parent(s) exposure to agent orange except for spina bifida.
Agent Orange Legacy does not claim that these illnesses are or are not caused by our members parent(s) exposure to agent orange. Our task is to report the facts. To date we have found that a very large percentage of our members suffer from multiple illnesses.
This is the list of birth defects, illnesses, diseases, mental health issues etc. reported by our members as of June 2010.
This list also includes symptoms reported which remain un-diagnosed
Many of the children suffer from symptoms which are unexplained or remain untreated.)
We are still working on the list. More information will be added as it becomes available.
Currently, There are 176 Illnesses on this list.

ADD
ADHD
Addison's Disease
Allergies
Anemia
Ankylosing Spondylitis
Antiphospholipid Syndrome
Anxiety
Aolpecia
Areata
Arnold Chiari Malformation
Arthritis
Asbergers
Asthma
Autism
Autonomic Nervous Dysfunction
Bipolar Disorder
Blindness
Brain Tumors
Bulged discs
Cerebal Palsy
Cervical dysplasia
Chronic Angioedema
Chronic Bronchitis
Chronic Fatigue
Chronic Headaches
Chronic Lyhocytic Thyroiditis
Chronic Sleep Deprivation
Cleft Lips & Palate
Club Foot
Compromised immune system
Connective Tissue Disorder
Conversion Disorder
Cornelia de Lange syndrome
Crohn's Disease
Common Variable Immuno Defieciendy
Cystic Fibrosis
Debilitating muscle spasms
Depression (includes chronic also)
Deformed Fingers (multiple at birth)
Deformed Sinuses
Deformed Toes (multiple at birth)
Degenerative Disc Disease
dextrocardia Deviated Septum
Diabetes Type I
Diabetes Type II
Diagonal Earlobe Crease
Digestive Disorders
Diverticulitis
Double Uterus/Cervix
Double Uvula
Dysautonomia
Ear Infections/problems
Eczema
Endomertil Cancer
Endometriosis
Epilepsy
Familial Tremor
Felty's Syndrome
Fibromyalgia
Foot Deformity
Fragile X Syndrome
Fused veterbrae
Gall Bladder Disease
Gastritis
Gastrointestinal Problems
GERD
Gluten Intolerance
Growth Hormone defficiency
Growths of the Skull
Hashimoto's
Heart Attack
Heart Disease
Heart Failure
Heart Murmur (newborn)
Hemangioma
Hernia
High Blood Pressure
Hip Dysplasia
Hip Dysplasia (congential)
Hylan Membrane
Hypertension
Hypoglycemia
Hypospadias
Hypothyroid/Hypothyroidism
Hysterectomy
IBS
Imperforate anus
Infertility
Insomnia
Insulin Resistance
Interstitial Cystitis
Intestinal pseudo-obstruction
Intracranial hypertension (rare disease)
ITP platlete disorder
Joint & Muscle Pain
Keratosis Pilaris
Kidney Cysts
Kidney Disease
Knee Dysplasia
Lateral Mycrotia
Learning Disabilities
Leukemia
Loss of Skin Pigment
Lung Problems
Lupus of the skin
Lymphatic Tumors
Lymphoma Cancer
Macrodactyly
Major Depression
Malformation of both Feet (Severe)
Memory Retention Problems
Mental Health Issues
Mental Retardation
Migraine headaches
Miscarriages
Missing digits
Missing Limbs
Mitral Valve Prolapse
Mullerian Aplasia
Multiple Sclerosis
Musco-skeletal Problems
Nasal Polyps
Neuralgia
Neuropathy
Night Terros
Numbness of the Hands (chronic)
OCD
Oppositional Defiant Disorder
Osteoarthritis
Osteopenia
Osteoporosis
Ovarian cysts
Pallet Problems
Pancytopenia
PCOS
Poland Syndrome
Primitive Neuro-Ectodermal Tumor
PSOD
Psoriasis
Psoriatic arthritis
Psoriatic Rheumatoid Arthritis
PTSD
Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Syndrome
Renal Failure
Reproductive Problems
Rheumatoid Arthritis
Salpingitis isthmica nodosa (SIN)
Sarcoidosis
Scoliosis
Seizures Severe Chronic Neutropenia
Sinus infections & problems (chronic)
Skin Cancer Skin Problems
Skin Rashes (newborn)
Sleep Apnea
Spina Bifida
Spina Bifida Occulta
Spinal Cord Disease
Spinal deformities
Spondyloarthropy
Spondylolithesis
Spondylolytis
Strange Growths
Subglottal Stignosis
Syndactyly
Syringomeylia
Tachycardia
Tendinitis
Thyroid Cancer
TMJ
Joint Disease
Tourettes
tracheoesophageal fistula
Tumors
Urinary Tract Infections
VACTERL/VADER Association