From Saccharin to GE Seed, Report Profiles Monsanto’s History Peddling Chemicals for Food, Agriculture, War

 

 

 Monsanto has grown into the largest biotechnology seed company in the world with net sales of $11.8 billion, 404 facilities in 66 countries across six continents and products grown on over 282 million acres worldwide. The consumer advocacy nonprofit Food & Water Watch released its report, Monsanto: A Corporate Profile. 

 

“There is a growing movement of people around the country who want to take on Monsanto’s undue influence over lawmakers, regulators and the food supply,” said Wenonah Hauter, executive director of Food & Water Watch and author of the book Foodopoly. “People need to know about Monsanto’s history as a heavy industrial chemical manufacturer; a reality at odds with the environmentally friendly, feed-the-world image that the company spends millions trying to convey.”

 

“Despite its various marketing incarnations over the years, Monsanto is a chemical company that got its start selling saccharin to Coca-Cola, then Agent Orange to the U.S. military, and, in recent years, seeds genetically engineered to contain and withstand massive amounts of Monsanto herbicides and pesticides,” said Ronnie Cummins, executive director of Organic Consumers Association. “Monsanto has become synonymous with the corporatization and industrialization of our food supply.”

 

“Even though you won’t find the Monsanto brand on a food or beverage container at your local grocery store, the company holds vast power over our food supply,” said Rebecca Spector, West Coast Director, Center for Food Safety. “This power is largely responsible for something else we cannot find on our grocery store shelves — labels on genetically engineered food. Not only has Monsanto’s and other agribusinesses’ efforts prevented the labeling of GE foods, but they spend millions to block grassroots efforts like California’s Prop 37 in order to keep consumers in the dark.”

 

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The Rain

The trees were screaming while dying. They never feared the woodsman’s axe. Sure, one or two of them would be killed, but their brothers, millions strong, lived and grew. Their cousins, the bushes and vines, the grasses and the flowers, were always spared. Their friends, the birds and ground animals, would still sing the lullabies, or croon to lovers. Something had changed.

In the thousand years before, it had always been the ax, sometimes, fire. This was different. Nothing was being spared, not even those pitiful, two legged animals wearing green or black.

The trees had seen helicopters before, even losing a few brothers to the sticks of death they fired, but this was different. This was like the gentle rain so many had felt for hundreds of years, on these long-lived creatures of the forest. But this rain was wrong; it burned when it touched.

Their leaves, their fingers in the wind, shriveled and died. The flowers hung their heads and died. Bushes dropped their berries, and anything eating nature’s readymade meal, sickened and died. Great swaths of their brothers were dying, brother trees that had seemed to know Father Time himself were gone - dead, brown, lifeless skeletons with hands stretched towards heaven, as if in a final, unanswered prayer.

The helicopters caused the wind and the rain, a rain of death. Nothing was left on the mountains; they were now just red scars of mud and dirt, jutting up into the sky. Even the bugs were dead, no more songbirds, no more leaves playing in the wind while sunbeams danced with the shadows. Nothing, just a red smear of death. They called the rain Agent Orange.
© Copyright 12/17/2005 by Fred Alvis

Frank Elmore's War

(C) James J Alonzo

It was June, 1967 the monsoon season in the Delta, which produced a hot, humid, rainy night in the rainforest of this particular place in Vietnam. Viet Nam would be the ideal gig for a lazy weatherman reporting the weather, since there were only two seasons in the delta, Monsoon and Dry, and the temperature today, the low is 98 degrees, with the high 100 degrees hot!!

Today's weather; hot, humid, and rain. Tomorrow's forecast, more rain, more humidity, and hot!

This rain didn't slow the seemingly endless firefights Frank could see in the distance.

Frank was 19; drafted out of a Flint, Michigan. He had just started employment at the local Pontiac manufacturing plant out of high school, where he was a star running back, with a GTO Pontiac convertible and lots of friends, mostly women.

Here, he was just another soldier who should have listened to his mom, gone to college and stayed far away from this God-forsaken country. The nearest beautiful and exotic girls were miles away in Saigon.

These were his thoughts as he stood his two hour guard at night watch. His platoon was asleep, while he stood there with rain dripping off his helmet, his thoughts were of home, parents, girlfriends, even his younger sister and brother.

He thought about life, as he wiped the water off his M-16 for the twentieth time in almost as many minutes. His life, mostly: the past, present, and the future.

Was there going to be a future for him, he wondered? War seemed so senseless, however the rich and shameless and their cronies, old men in suits who were country leaders thought these wars up, and sent our nations youth. But not their sons and daughters, the rich don't choose to fight them.

Suddenly, something brought him back to the present, a noise, intuition maybe? He stood erect.

"Who goes there?" (nhung người đi đó?) he called out into the pitch black night.

He wasn't surprised there was no response, but Frank remained cautious, as he had his M-16 trained on the jungle. He gave the alert to his platoon, falling into a prone position, and opened fire on the bush.

Frank heard some (NVA) North Vietnamese soldiers fall out screaming, riddled with machine gun fire. Another VC jumped up and threw a grenade at Frank! The M-16 barked again and he joined the other NVA shot. The whole platoon was in position now and firing, for the enemy had a large force over there in the rain.

The grenade had landed between Frank and his sergeant. As Frank reached to get it, a bullet caught Sgt. Pavlovich in the chest. Frank threw the hand grenade back towards the bushes, but the shrapnel from it hit him in the left arm. Frank bleeding, still managed to field dress his sergeant's wound and carried him back behind the line of fire.

The platoon was able to drive the enemy back into the jungle but the cost was high. There was blood everywhere. Bodies lay scattered, some still alive, some dead, some dismembered.

Dawn was breaking - the rescue choppers were landing in pairs with a third gunship spraying the jungle with gunfire to hold the enemy back. The medic who treated Sgt. Pavlovich credited Frank with saving Pavlovich's life. Frank was put on a stretcher also and sent to the Medivac hospital.

Upon arrival, the doctors thought at first, that he would lose his arm but the doctors managed to save it. However, as Frank convalesced, he found out he would permanently have limited use of it. So he was sent home with a Purple Heart, and the Bronze Star Medal of Valor for saving his segeant's life.

He never heard from SGT Pavlovich and wish he could locate him to see how he has been. The soldiers who had died in this battle were sent home and given proper military funerals.

Frank went to the funeral of one of his buddies from Detroit, Michigan, and as he stood there, listening to the playing of taps and then witnessed the twenty-one gun salute at the funeral's end. That also signaled that Frank's war was over.

*********************************************
© Copyright 2012 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.

A Vietnamese Delicacy

(C) James J Alonzo

When I was in Viet Nam, 1967 & 1968, I had the luxury of being able to speak Vietnamese fluently, compliments of the military language school at Monterey California. After I got to Asia, I liked the culture and tended to learn as much as I could. One way is to learn about the types of food that the people eat, like dog, insects, monkey, and snakes, besides the normal staples of pig, rice and numerous other types of vegetation.

One day my gunner J J Jackson and I took a vehicle and drove to Saigon, off duty assignment-to view the scenery, enjoy a few bars, and find some female company. After parking our vehicle, we started to stroll down TU DO street, where we could find the things we were looking for, passing many bars, restaurants, including small food stands.

"What the Hell is this?", J J said looking at a stand that had assorted snakes, some dead on in jars and some secured but alive! "Jim these !#%*\} people are crazy!"

"Damn J J, that's a delicacy! " I said exited, "Let's try it, that way we can further understand the people and the culture!"

"Jim, you go understand the people and culture, all I want is to get drunk! What's the matter with you white boys? I an't eating anything that has fangs!"

Laughing at J J's discomfort, I walked up to the snake stand. After some hesitation J J followed me. The stand consisted of tables with umbrellas and chairs, next to a make shift grill with racks and a high food preparation tables.

"Xin chao bao nhieu con ran?" (Hello, how much is the snake?") I asked.

She smiled her toothless smile,

"Do do ban noi ngon ngu cua toi" (so you speak my language") mama-San said laughing, then continued speaking,

“You have two ways to buy G I, a whole snake for five piastas or half a snake for 250 piastas the old woman says, “For five, I gut a live snake in front of you and pour its blood into a shot glass. Then you eat the heart while its still beating! Its very good for you! Bam le Ba (beer) is 100 piastas." (one dollar to a hundred piastas)

I told J J what she said, but J J wasn't going to have any part of this,

"Are you f/$&!)%+ nuts!" J J said, more like a declaration of fact, instead of a question.

"Come on J J, it's not just a job, it's an adventure! So try to feel the freedom of adventure,"

I realized that I would not be able to easily convince my friend to indulge in Cobra easily, but I would try to work him. I had tasted grilled garden snake in Hong Kong, and it was delicious.

"Hey J J," i said trying to convince my friend, "Vietnamese snake meat is world famous!"

"No! So %#\!*off!" J J spoke defiantly, as he sat down at the table, “I don’t eat reptiles, or the devil's spawn,” he proclaimed with arms folded, "but I will have some beer."

“It’s delicious, and a great experience!” I chided, as if encouraging him to eat a bug in front of a group of peers on the school playground. “J J don’t be a punk, it will be really cool to do it together.”

" You are so \#%*!ed up on your definition of “cool.” J J replied, I could hear in his voice he was thinking of doing this.

Mama-san was very patient with us as she went about her work. If she didn't understand what we were talking about, it wouldn't be hard to figure out we were debating about eating her food.

"Come on J J, try this, you will thank me years from now for having done this. You'll be able to tell you grandchildren you ate snake."

"Okay, let me understand this", J J asked, " is the eating crushed up ribs and spine followed by a shot of a snake seeped in fish oil your kind of cool?"

“Yeah! Are you going to try it?" I asked, "or you going to wimp out?" I was putting my life on the line saying this to J J, since he was a very muscle bound, 6'2", 200 lbs, and I was only 5'10", 160 lbs.

“Well, if you going to eat it," J J replied, "I will. But if I get sick, your a dead man!"

"Yeah, let's do it dude." I said, wondering if I went too far with J J. I translated to mama-San that J J threatened me, and she laughed.

Mama-San, a small tired looking Vietnamese woman in her fifties reassured us,

“Dont worry G I, the venom is not dangerous if it goes in your stomach, only if it gets in your blood stream.” which I translated into English to J J.

I’ve never been suicidal in my choice for exotic food, but I’ve eaten a number of odd meats in the states and abroad, rattlesnake in Texas, some kind of snake in Hong Kong, bugs in Thailand, dog in Viet Nam We came this far, so I wanted to live to tell the tale of eating cobra.

Mama-san may have been old but she had the reflexes of a cat the way she seized and handled that live cobra! Showing us the live Cobra, she let the snake wriggle in her hands. We decided we only wanted half a snake. Without the blood, without the still palpitating heart, without the potential for mass slaughter and without the half alive wriggling body parts!

Lucky for us, she just happened to have half a cobra in a bucket of ice. Where she got the ice was beyond me, and I didn't ask. The meat appeared limp and gray, like mackerel that rots in the sun. It smelled like the swamps, and the shape made clear that it once was a legless, carnivourous serpent.

So we sat there, drinking our Vietnamese beer, while waiting for the food to be prepared and cooked. We flirted with the young beautiful Vietnamese girls that walked by in their native AO DAIs. (ow yei) We watched and laughed at the jesters of the Vietnamese police officer trying to control the heavy traffic, all in vain, for these cabs, scooters and bikes didn't seem to pay any attention to the police or the traffic signs!

After what seemed like an hour, but only 20 minutes, of mincing, chopping and filleting, punctuated by the occasional shouts, horns blowing, from the street chaos, and our laughter, we heard moma-San ask,

“I’m pulling out the intestines, would you like to taste the nerves now?”

"No that's okay!" J J said, slugging down another beer.

The woman brought out two small dishes. They included spring roll, snake cake, and snake patty, and two more beers.

Cautious, J J and I eyeballed each other to see if either one of us would punk out. Trying each piece with caution, and a huge smile, we listened to moma-San speaking and I would translate for J J.

I asked Mama-San if she had been bitten and she showed me marks on her arm, presumably snake bites. Mama-San explained that growing up around snakes, she has been bitten so many times that the venom is less deadly to her now. But she is still careful because a bite can make her very sick, even if it is not fatal.

We blindly stuffed our mouths. Mama-san kept a close watch to see how much we were enjoying it (or faking it). Mama-san began telling stories, about the snake community before the Vietnam War. As a young girl, she was the fastest to climb trees and catch the snakes so she could earn money for her family.

Later, she learned to cook snake and serve them in many different dishes and spices., She refused to give the recipe, but talked about how Cobra is a favorite of locals who will eat the snake for virility and energy.

Cobra meat is said to be an aphrodisiac, and people who eat the meat or drink the whiskey are believed to take on the snake spirit. Prior to the War, commoners and aristocrats could enjoy the protein of a snake for dinner. Nowadays most snake traditions, especially Cobra eating, is only for the very rich.

Reminiscing on her city, she pointed to the buildings that replaced her jungle trees, illustrious of the dying traditions being replaced by Saigon's growth since the war began.

After about 30 minutes, the snake had been prepared, and was ready to eat. The meal began with Mama-San pouring 2 shots of snake whiskey, one for me and one for J J. Additionally, I asked for a beerto wash down our meal with. I actually thought the snake whiskey was pretty good.

I felt cautious, aware of our power and subjectivity as visiting soldiers. I continued translating, and told J J to smile with every bite, that way we showed respect for the snake eating tradition.

J J didn't look too happy and said,

"If I didn’t know it was Cobra, maybe it would taste good. But I can't stand eating this !*%#}!, the gnashing of bones, and the smelly meat makes me sick!"

"Just drink the whiskey and the beer, and eat the snake spring roll." I advised, "It will help you keep it down."

Being stationed at Ft Campbell Kentucky and Ft Benning Georgia and having visited Thailand for 7 days, I have experienced spirits some home made some commercially made from different places. The snake whiskey was much smoother than I expected, but still retained all the kick of moonshine. Not to brag, but I swallowed mine like a champ. J J, who shall not be named, did not even finish his and the little that J J drank, was sipped in tiny amounts.

Still, I could not get the taste of spine out of my mouth. In a last ditch effort to enjoy the experience and not offend Mama-san. I stored the snake in my cheeks like a cartoon character. I thought I could pretend it didn’t exist, and spit them out later, but Mama-san caught my game. Mama-san asked laughing,

"Are you feeling alright, your face was swelling up?"

I stuffed another mouthful in and said “Delicious!” in Vietnamese, "khaoi tra", smiling with meat clinging to my teeth, my nose running.

After we took pictures of each other eating snake, and toasted each other, we walked away from the snake stand, J J kept complaining about nausea and he may shortly evacuate his stomach,

"When I feel better I'm going to kick your butt for talking me into this adventure!"

I didn't say anything because I concealing two cheekfuls of snake lodged in my cheeks.

*****

“I’m glad I did it, partly because it was worth it, but mostly because I shall never have to do it again”- Mark Twain

© Copyright 2012 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.

My Father Died In Viet Nam He Abandoned Us

(C) James J Alonzo

I had served in Viet Nam, two years,1967 & 1968 as a member of 2/17 Calvary, 101rst Airborne Division, known as the "Screaming Eagles."

After Viet Nam i got into law enforcement and it became my career of sorts. It was 1988, and there were times that some days were rougher than others, so there was this bar I would go to commonly called a "cop bar" for it was patronized by mostly cops.

There was this one bartender that frequently had the late night shift, so she and I became well acquainted. Often it was just her and I at the bar. One night in particular it was about 1:30 am, and we were just talking while I nursed a potent rum and coke.

The bartender's name was Rose, a blonde, had a slender figure and about twenty years younger than me. She had asked me once if I had served in Viet Nam, so she knew I was a Viet Nam vet.

What I didn't know was that her dad had been killed in the war. For some reason this late night she decided to tell me about it.

"You know my Dad was killed over there." she said, as a matter of fact, like she was telling me that it just started to snow. Her statement caught me off guard and I paused to look her in her blue eyes.

It was then I realized Rose had something to get off her chest.

"No I didn't know that." I responded firing questions at her like a machine gun, "I¹m sorry. How did he die, if I may ask? What outfit was he in? Do you know what happened?"

"Yeah, he was an army helicopter pilot." Rose said, "Mom told me that my father flew a Huey and was on a night rescue mission with another helicopter. They had to rescue some soldiers that had been trapped and surrounded by the enemy. My Dad's chopper was shot down as they came in for the rescue. My mother told me he flew a lot of rescue missions."

Even though she was staring somewhere beyond me, I could see she wanted to talk more, so I asked,

"How old were you when he died." I asked

"I was just a baby, when he left us!" she said sharply." he volunteered for a second tour!"

I could hear some anger in her voice, and that maybe she was still mad at his dad for dying and leaving her.

In psychiatry we are taught that this a normal reaction, we all tend to have some anger at those that die. We feel deserted, left alone to drift through life without their support. I could see Rose's anger at her father is still causing her to suffer.

"Can I tell you a story," I asked, as I started to repack my pipe, and lite it.

"I want you to imagine your nineteen years old", I started, "You are away from home for the first time and like many young men, you¹re in the military and in the middle of a war zone."

I paused as Rose lit a cigarette and sat down on a stool behind the bar. Once settled I continued,

"imagine you're out with a patrol, it hot, the mosquitoes are eating you alive, the sweat is in your eyes, trickling down you spine, it's night time, and it's so dark you can't hardly see your buddy in front of you. Suddenly a much larger force of enemy soldiers has ambushed your patrol."

I stopped to take another sip of my drink,

"In mere seconds, a few of your guys are already down, some wounded (WIA's) a couple killed, (KIA's), and your platoon is fighting for its life! You're scared, crazy scared and you hear the radio operator calling in for help, as red and green tracers are flying back and forth,

("Red Dog 2 to Red Dog 1! Red Dog 2 taking fire, overwhelming Victor Charlie, we have KIA's and WIA's, need immediate evac! Will pop smoke!")

"The radio operator is told there is no help available! You realize your platoon is gonna be left out there in the dark to die! You think nobody cares enough about you to save your life. But in truth there is no one willing to make a night evacuation under fire, especially at a hot LZ! (landing zone) Your guts are shriveling into itself in fear. You and your men don't want to die but death is out there in the dark trying to get at you."

Rose clears her throat, and drinks her beer, shaking her head at what she is hearing. At this point she is no longer looking at me or anything in the room. She is seeing what i am seeing, but like me she is living it. Her eyes are glazed with a tear in each eye.

"So there you are and it can't get any worse." I said, my voice starts cracking, I too am having a hard time controlling my emotions.

"Suddenly the radio crackles and the voice that we hear comes out is like the voice of god himself promising salvation! "Red Dog 2, this is White Bird 4 & 5, hang on we¹re coming!" There are two of us and we can get everybody out! Pop smoke, we will verify."

I had to clear my throat, I was choked up a bit, so I downed the remainder of my drink and continued,

"We soon heard the chopping of the air from the rotors of the helicopters. It was the pilot of the lead helicopter and he somehow had heard about us and just couldn't leave us out there to die. I don't know who that pilot was, but I'll tell you Rose, whoever that was, that was your old man."

I Then stood up to leave, slowly placing money on the bar, grabbing my jacket.

Rose looked like she'd been clubbed. There were tears streaming down her cheeks and she seemed incapable of movement. After a bit she turns to me and says,

"I didn't know, I didn't know."

"There was no way you could of known." I said, "I think your dad was a man that placed more importance on the lives of others more than his own"

At the city of Buffalo marina, there is a memorial to the Deceased personel that were from Buffalo of the Viet Nam war and the names are engraved in the granite. Rose told me her dad's name was on the wall and asked that I give him my regards. I did that the next time I was there, and looked his name up. I was glad he got his relationship with his daughter back. A girl needs her father even if it is just the memory.

© Copyright 2012 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.

The Moon Baby VN

Mặt trăng bé

(C) James J Alonzo

Even in war there is down time for the soldiers, so when this down time became available we would secure a vehicle and drive to Saigon. Saigon had the best bars, and brothels, and beautiful women. (At that time in Viet Nam the economy was such that $50 could cover a G I for the whole month. $300 was a good years salary to Vietnamese people)

John Brubaker (from Altoona, Pennsylvania), and I did just that, and when we got to TU DO street, we parked the truck and started to window shop so to speak.

It wasn't long before we were surrounded by the begging kids, and street hustlers, ranging from 7-10 years old, all shouting in broken English! American G I's are known to the Vietnamese as having a generous nature, a desire to help, so are easy victims to scams.

"Hey G I , I shine your boots, 100 P!" (Piestas) said one kid. Another offered dope for sale.

Another young kid offered,

"Hey G I! You want short time girl 300 P!" (equal to $3)

Another just tried to steal your watch by snatching at it, or your wallet. Or another kid would try to reach in a pocket while others were distracting you.

"Hey G I, you number one! You give me money!" shouted one kid while another tried to stick his hand in one of my pockets. Snatching his hand, and twisting his wrist, I spun him around and gave him a boot against his butt, shoving him away.

"Get away from me! Di Di Mau!" I said in Vietnamese.

"Hey G I, you number ten!" said the kid that was discouraged from stealing my money.

Once the kids realize that we were no one to play with, they ran away shouting more insults at us! Laughing we continued sauntering down TU DO street looking at the open shops, girls walking by wearing long dresses called AO DAI (ow yi, Vietnamese)

While trying to decide if we were going to drink at one of the bars, or go to one of the brothels, a young girl about 16 years old, with a devastated expression on her face, approached us carrying a "package" all wrapped up in a blue cloth, trying to hand it to us.

"You take! You Take!", she shouted at us, continuously thrusting the package at us. "you give me American money, you take!"

As she drew the cloth back, it was like a slap to our face, the smell of death hit us as we started to look at the package to see what she was selling. I jumped back after I saw what looked like a baby. Only this baby had a huge head the size of a basketball, and looked like an alien from space! But what was worse was the baby was dead, and decomposing.

"Jesus!", Brubaker exhaled, "What the "&@$/! happened?"

"I don't know!, I responded frustrated, "just give her some money, and let's get the (&$!/! out of here!"

I couldn't then, and never did get that image that dead baby out of my mind.

After Brubaker gave her some money, we quickly entered a bar nearby, and looking out at the girl with the dead baby, we started to tell a couple of other soldiers what we saw.

They too had run into the same girl. As we watched the girl, she handed over the "package" to another Vietnamese lady, and the new lady took up the same procedure as the first girl walked away.

When we got back to base camp we mentioned it to the soldiers in our platoon, and some had seen the same thing. The tragedy of the story was that the baby died, and these women were using it to get money.

Years Later, I realize I may have seen my first Agent Orange baby, but at the same time I always wondered about the real mother and if the baby was ever properly buried.

© Copyright 2012 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.

Ghosts Of Viet Nam

(C) James J Alonzo

When I arrived in Viet Nam in early 1967, on getting off the plane, I felt I had live here before. As a believer of reincarnation, I had lived here in another life. I was overwhelmed with a huge "Da Ja Vu all over again." I saw many things that were so familiar, especially the ghosts.

Ghosts; Viet Nam now is a different Vietnam than in 1967, 1968, 1969. I remember as being an infantryman for the US Army and fighting in the jungles, 1967 & 1968. I remember the smell of napalm, the jungle, the rust smell of blood, the sounds of helicopter blades. I remember seeing some of my friends die, I remember the dangers of the jungle. I remember one of my men dying after being bitten by a venomous snake. At the time I was told that the snake is known as a three stepper snake, because it can kill you after you take three steps. However, he died two hours later at the Evac Hospital. When I was researching years later, the snake was a Puff Adder.

Ghosts; There are Vietnamese stories about the 'tree ghosts of Vietnam'. Legend has it that wandering spirits around the countryside of Vietnam need a place to live and they take up residence in the trees of the jungle. It is said that if you cut down a tree without asking permission, you will be cursed or you will face bad luck. The people of Vietnam have been known to perform a ceremony asking the entities to leave a tree and to move onto another tree before cutting it down. But then, along comes the Americans in their planes spraying defoliant named Agent Orange, to destroy the jungles.

Ghosts; When I left Vietnam, unknowingly I brought back Agent Orange contamination, PTSD, and residuals from being wounded during a fire fight. At nights, I would wake up in a cold sweat as I battled these Ghosts. Ghosts that will always remind me of the jungle. I will always remember the ghosts.

Ghosts; Over a thousand years, Viet Nam has been at war against foreign countries or kingdoms that wanted to conquer or control Viet Nam. With the many wars, came suffering, torture, tragedies that Viet Nam has witnessed and experienced, Vietnam has many, many ghosts.

Ghosts; I fell in love with a lady in Viet Nam. Her name was Kim, and she and her family were killed by the communists during TET Offensive. Kim was 20, full of life, a vibrant, beautiful, refreshing, delicate flower of a woman. Vietnam was her country,
A country that she visualized as paradise. I asked her if there are ghosts in Vietnam and her response was 'many'.

Ghosts; Soldiers in my company, when on guard duty at night, often claimed they saw apparitions staring at them from some trees in the jungle. One soldier even approached a tree, where he saw one but the ghost vanished in front of his very eyes. He was sure he saw the tree ghosts of Vietnam.

Ghosts; After the Viet Nam war, there are many tourists that visit Viet Nam, some claimed to have seen ghosts. In one area of the Delta, where the Australian troops served and fought in during the war, tourists have claimed they encountered a phantom soldier that was wearing a hat that was flipped over on one side. He appeared to be bleeding from the side of his face and holding his neck as if he were trying to stop the bleeding. They could hear the soldier say in English with an Australian accent: "I need help, where am I?" Then the soldier would walk away fading into a thick tree.

Ghosts; Tourists that have explored the tunnels of Vietnam, have made claims of seeing moving figures in the tunnels. There were so many tunnel complexes in Viet Nam, some very elaborate. In Cu Chi the tunnel system is over 200 miles, with many escape entrances and exits. Near Long Binh base Camp, there was a tunnel complex that was three stories deep, and included a mess hall and hospital.

Ghosts; Could some of those ghosts be the dead American soldiers, that were picked because of their short height and small size and called tunnel rats? Could these ghosts be the American Tunnel Rats who bravely crawled into those underground dwellings looking for VC (Viet Cong)?

Ghosts; How many tunnel rats died tragically by poisonous booby traps? Those poisonous booby traps being bamboo viper, venomous Krait and scorpions placed strategically in places of the tunnels by the VC. If these biological booby traps didn't get them, or the shrapnel from a grenade or a discharged projectile from an AK-47 would have made its mark. Those soldiers in Vietnam that went inside these tunnels were facing death. How many ghosts of the Viet Cong and America soldiers are in these tunnels?

Ghosts; Khe Sanh was an area of hills overlooking part of the Ho Chi Minh trail. 5,000 American Marines were surrounded by over 50,000 North Vietnamese soldiers. (NVA) the job of the NVA was to kill and destroy the Marines, but they failed. Many lives were lost, and now tourists claim they see the ghosts of both sides wandering the area.

Ghosts; Vietnam had many wars, over the last thousand years. The American Vietnam War was just one of those conflicts. With all of the tragedies of Vietnam, I believe there are many ghosts. So when Kim told me that there are ghosts in Vietnam, I believed her.

© Copyright 2012 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.

A Conversation In The Viet Nam War

(C) James J Alonzo

As a squad leader there were times I had to check on the guard details at base camp. For the past few days whenever I had to go down to the perimeter at night, i would pass by him, which in it's self was unnerving. He was always at the same place, leaning against the same pile of sandbags. Whenever i saw him, my first reaction was a fear, an apprehension of the unknown.

Part of me didn't want to deal with him, however part of me felt that if i got to know him a little better, the fear would go away.

Throughout my life I had been taught that there was nothing to fear from people like him. But still, I've always had misgivings of people like him. I knew that overcoming those feelings would be well worth the effort. There were too many of his kind around to let my fear and prejudice rule me.

That night was a hot choking humid night, and the mosquitoes were hungry, the jungle outside the perimeter was pitch black. This particular night I walked up and sat down beside him like I'd known him for years. I felt sure he wouldn't mind, i could see he didn't to mind the heat or the mosquitoes.

We looked at each other for a while and then I sort of struck up a conversation. I wanted him to know the reason I'd singled him out was because, in my ignorance he scared me, and I always made it a point to face my fears.

After i had spent a little time with him, I feel some empathy with him. I knew that before my tour in Vietnam was over, we might have a lot more in common than we did now but I hoped not.

Knowing that part of his life was a story similar to my own, there was no reason that in another time or place we could of been friends. I spoke to him about his life and I was assured that he had had known happiness and sadness, love and anger, fear and strength.

I knew as we talked, he too had held a woman's hand at night, watched the moon and stars reflecting off the water, hearing the laughter of children, thinking of how beautiful life was going to be after the war.

It seemed to me that we had a lot in common in our lives and this war. Like me I was assured that he too marveled at a beautiful sunset, and laughed at a silly jokes. and yet we came from different places, a different culture, yet he didn't seem me.

I remember as I was talking to him, thinking he looked like crap! He smelled, but that was expected, and understandable, for this was war. He had messy dirty hair, his skin like dark leather stuck to his thin face, the hollowed look of his dead eyes.

Looking back to that time in Viet Nam, I was glad I'd taken the time to have an imaginary conversation with him. He was dead now, just another soldier like me, who had tried to live his life the best he could.

His life was ended now, but not for me. His death made me want to keep my wits, concentrate on the skills I was taught by the training i had received.

© Copyright 2012 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.

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.

The Laundry VN

(C) James J Alonzo

In Viet Nam, there are places called base camps, and then forward bases. Base camps is kind of like a large area, where the soldiers can rest, clean up his gear, resupply, and general maintenance.

At base camp, in the interest of helping the local economy, women were hired to clean up our tents or hooches, do laundry, clean the mess halls, etc.

I had always had an ability for languages. Being able to speak Spanish and English, it wasn't hard for me to pick up Vietnamese language. Since I was able to understand the vietnamese people, I was often asked to intercede when there was a problem.

Some of the troopers started to complain that they were getting skin rashes. At first there were two or three complaints, and then spread to the others. They referred to the rash as a fungus, and the complaints became an every day occurrence at base camp.

Several of the troopers went to sick call where the medics gave them some kind of salve and were told they must of come in contact with a strange plant in the jungle. One of the medics asked me what I thought about the laundry ladies and maybe the soap. I had a few weeks earlier given Mama-San a large carton of TIDE laundry soap, with instructions that when she needed more to see the supply sergeant, and he would give her more.

We called the older ladies "mama-San" or if she was young "baby-San".  Mama-San's wash tub equipment consisted of three garbage cans. They filled the cans up with water from the local river. One can for washing, with a wash board, and the other two cans, for rinsing.
I went over to observe their procedure, and right away I saw they were using some kind of bar soap, and the soap was black in color!

"Mama-San, what you do?, I asked in Vietnamese.

"Ahh!  Emnoy, I wash G.I. clothes," she answered with her Beatle-nut smile.

(Beatle nut was a wild plant that was a mild narcotic, and it's users would have their teeth eventually turn black from rotting the enamel. There was no pain, and at the same time it tended to stain the lips red.)

"What kind of soap you use?" picking up a bar of this soap I started to smell it and suddenly snapped my head back from the extreme burning! I was sure I had just burned my nose hair off!!

"I use Vietnamese lye soap," she said laughing at my discomfort, " I get at market. Good soap, clean G.I. clothes real good!"

"But I gave you american soap," I whispered loudly, my throat burning, as my eyes continued tearing. "A big box of TIDE soap, good soap!"

"Ahh! Emnoy, I sell American soap, buy good Vietnamese soap, and get money back! Mama-San keep money!"

Clutching my face, I said through my clenched teeth, " Mama-San, lye soap is bad, number 10! American soap, good, number 1!  lye soap, communist! It make G.I. Itchy all over!"

Mama-San was no longer vibrant, but had a confused look on her face. I don't think she understood the rash thing. To her this soap was good enough for her, her family, why not for the G.I., sell the TIDE, buy cheaper soap, and keep the money.

I walked away and went to the supply hooch, and got another carton of TIDE.  Picking up one large box, I took it back to Mama-San, praising the soap, giving her new instructions, and how the G.I.'s would be very happy.

"Mama-San! You use TIDE soap, number 1 soap,,,good soap,,,you like, American G.I. happy!"

Mama-San smiled her black tooth smile, nodding her head in agreement. That took care of the problem. Or at that time, I thought!

A week passed and the rash problem became a plague! When I got back from the field, the problem was staring me in the face in the form of the commanding officer standing there, scratching, pissed at me because of his rash!

So I headed down to the laundry area, only to spot Mama-San and baby-San washing clothes with the damn number 10 black bar lye soap!

"Mama-San! What you do?" I questioned.

"Ahh, emnoy, I use lye soap---good soap! Clean clothes good, lye soap number 1!"

"No!" I said, stomping my boots!  "Lye soap is communist soap! Not good soap! What you do with number 1 American TIDE soap?" I demanded.

"1take Vietnamese black market," she said proudly. " I sell, make bouqoo pietas (money), buy lye soap, clothes for baby-sans, food, make family very happy!"

I stood there and realized what I needed to do. I went back to the supply hooch and got 2 boxes of TIDE. After extracting a solemn oath from mom-San,  I gave mom-San 1 carton soap for G.I. Clothes, and 1 carton for her black market.

(years later I would think that Agent Orange might have been the cause of some of the skin problems)