Jerry: Night Attack

While in Vietnam, I was stationed at Cam Ranh Bay, a huge, secure, Air Force Base that had all the amenities for comfort, and while there, it felt very safe.

But on August 7th of 1969, at approximately midnight, while most on base were sound asleep, myself included, a team of Viet Cong sappers (military demolition experts), infiltrated the north side of this high security base, with the help of some North Vietnamese sympathizers that were employed (locals were trucked in everyday,the first thing that they did each morning was check the garbage cans) within the perimeter of Cam Ranh Bay.

When the alarms went off, everyone knew that something was going on.  The sky was lit with flares, which would light up the entire base, and you could hear explosions. . .tracers could be seen in the air.  The base had been attacked before, but by mortars that hadn’t hit their mark, but it was nothing like this.

While inside the base, the VC tossed explosives into the base hospital, opened fire with machine guns, and were able to destroy several other buildings, and after accomplishing their mission, left the way they came without a single casualty.

We had 3 squadrons of F-4 on our base and other aircraft as well.  These planes were involved in numerous missions over North & South Vietnam with heavy damage tolls.  This certainly was a thorn in the enemies side and whatever damage that they could accomplish in that attack would be a score for the North Vietnamese. 

We later found out that 2 Americans G.I.’s were killed, 98 wounded, and severe damage was done to 19 buildings. The enemy seemed to be telling the United States that as secure as you may think you are, we can and will infiltrate. This attack was an eye opener for the United States, and for all of us who were stationed there who had became lax in our security thoughts.

Back home, Carole had heard about the attack on the news and tried in vain to call the base, but she only got as far as Saigon, how she did that, I have no idea.  I don’t think that she remembers either.

Pete: Monsoon

This is one of the many memories of my Viet Nam War experiences. It was the monsoon season early in 1967, it's been raining for 57 days, at least it certainly seemed that long. This had me thinking back to a comment that my Dad (Dad was a Navy, WWII Vet), said to me after learning I enlisted in the Marine Corps. "Peter", he said, "the Marines are never guaranteed a roof over their heads, or 3 square meals a day. In the Navy, you can count on it, but the Marines, well, they certainly can have different housing arrangements all together".

This brings me to my story. . .Our squad team, named "BREAKER", consisted of the team leader (who’s name escapes me right now); a demolition man, Jesus Rodriguez; an expert rifleman, Jimmy Lane; a compass man, Ron Niles; along with Cpl. Kenny LeCastri, an expert in multiple weaponry, and of course myself. These Marine's were and still are the heroes of my life, the bravest men I have ever known for what we lived through in our daily lives in Viet Nam. Getting back to the monsoons, it was a hot, rainy, dark night, we couldn't see our hands in front of our faces. We all decided to dig in for the night in an area with banana trees for some cover, which really didn't give us much at all, but we thought it might. As it goes we made a circle sitting back to back with a couple of poncho's over us. We tried to stay dry as much as we could in our make shift shelter, but every time someone would move, the rain that accumulated on the poncho's came gushing in and got us drenched before the one of many evenings ended.  During that time and under those conditions for so many nights, made me think of what my Dad said to me about comparing the Marines with the Navy, which gave them at least a roof over their heads and 3 square meals a day, comparing that to the shit hole we were in that night. When does a son ever listen to Dad's experiences, one has to live through their own lives before we learn.

We Remember. . .

Paul Evans

LCPL. United States Marine Corp.

Vietnam Casualty

Robert Polniak

Capt. United States Army

Vietnam Casualty

Robert May

SP4 United States Army

Vietnam Casualty

Timothy Bogdan

United States Army Service, Vietnam

David Loncz

United States Army Service, Vietnam

Jerry: Mischief. . .

One Saturday afternoon in 1957, when I was 10 years old and living on Kelburn Street, I was upstairs in our attic gym.  I happened to hear something outside so I looked out the window.  There in front of our house was a squad car. . .right then I was glued to the window.  Then I saw a cop bring my brother, Tom, to the back door…..’Oh MAN...this is going to be good!’, I thought.

I hurried down the stairs because I just had to see what was going on, I don’t even know if they saw me. The cop was in our back hallway with Tommy and my Mom. He told my Mother that they caught Tommy and a couple of his friends, Gary Mruk, who had already been dropped off at his house, and Ray Motyka, who was still in the squad car with the other cop, at the construction site where the Thruway was being built. . .they were on the heavy equipment. ‘Holy  Cow...how cool is this!!’, I thought.  He told my Mom that it was off limits and they didn’t want to see anyone get hurt.

My Mom noticed that the officer’s pants were all muddy, and like my Mom, she offered to wash them . . .can you just see it...Tommy standing in our kitchen, scared shitless and wanting this to end. . .the cop sitting at the kitchen table without pants. . .my Mother washing them. . .and you know my Mom would have made him a sandwich!!!!  That’s all that I kept thinking about was that this was so good, no one would believe it!! 

Finally, the cop left with a word of warning, and my Mom promising not to let them go there again. . . ‘yeah, right’.  This entire thing didn’t phase my Mom at all...she knew that boys would be boys...she was more concerned that the officer go home nice and clean.

I looked at my brother, Tommy...gave him a wry little smile and said. . .’wait ‘till Pa comes home!’.

Jerry: Going Away Party. . .

In March of 1966, the guys decided to have a going away party for Mark Romey (a.k.a. Harpo), since he had joined the Coast Guard and would soon be leaving for basic training. And of course, we’d have it at Wiechec’s.

 

The party was well on it’s way, and was really crowded, when a group of neighborhood girls walked in.  My brother Tom nudged me and said, “look who just walked in. . .Carole Bielat”.  I didn’t notice her at first, and I don’t think that she noticed me either.  My brother asked her to dance...but I wasn’t going to have any of that, and decided to cut in.

 

Carole and I grew up on the same block, went to the same grammar school and high school...we knew the same people, and were even kind of sweet on each other in the 7th grade.  We never dated in high school, but sat next to each other in a study hall, and Carole let me copy her math homework, and although we were friends for as long as I can remember, we just never dated.

 

As the party wound down, we decided to leave, and went to a bar in South Buffalo, where we did more dancing, and talking, and just getting to know each other all over again.

 

That evening was pretty much the beginning of our life together, since we’ve been together ever since…..that was 45 years ago, and we’ll be married for 41 years.

 

There we were, at a party for a friend who was leaving for the service...at a favorite neighborhood bar...who would have ever thought where that would lead...not us for sure.

 

In the months ahead, one by one, each of us left for our Military Duty.  That August of 1966, I left for four years in the Air Force, and when I came home, Carole was waiting for me.

Remember?

Ralph. . .a.k.a: Rotten

During the 1960’s, summer weekends in Kaisertown were either spent on a date, playing sports, or hanging out with your friends at Wiechec’s Tavern, the favorite local watering hole.  On this particular warm, sunny day just prior to the 4th of July, a group of us were doing just that, hanging out. . .having a few beers and more than likely talking about getting drafted or joining up. But the conversation soon turned to the type of fireworks that we’d buy from our neighborhood ’contact’, who, if I remember correctly, lived on Pontiac Street.  That must have triggered something off in Rotten’s mind because he decided that we needed to celebrate the ‘4th’ with a little noise, not to mention the fact that he was in possession of a few ‘M-80s’. 

 

What happened next is one of those ‘lessons’ you tell your kids never to do.  Rotten lit the M-80 while still inside the bar, with the intention of throwing it out into the street.  He ran to the door and pushed it open...only to find out at that point that you had to PULL the door open. . .little to say, he just wasn’t quick enough...the M-80 went off in his hand...Rotten yelled, ”OH SHIT”, as the tip of his finger was blown off.  Of course you know that we were all laughing hysterically as we ran to him to see if we could help.  The bartender gave us a towel, we wrapped his hand, and were off to the emergency room.  At the emergency room, we were worried about what would happen to all of us for having illegal fireworks. . .and of course what was going to happen to Rottens’ hand and finger.  We considered just leaving him there, but how could we do that to a buddy?

The emergency staff asked a lot of questions regarding how this ’accident’ happened. . .Rotten was on his own at that point.  They stitched him up, minus one fingertip, and he was no worse for wear...then we headed back to Wiechec’s to finish our warm beers, and something new to talk about.

Then & Now. . .