River Cruise. . .

Mark: 362 days to go. . .

I was sent to Cat Lo, Vietnam in the fall of 1969 as a Gunner’s Mate attached to US Coast Guard Squadron One. My first day I arrived I was told I would be flying out the next morning so I got on the bus to go to temporary quarters for the night. On the bus I was greeted by calls of ‘what are you doing here Coastie”. The next morning I was put on a C123 to Vung Tau then driven another 30 miles up river to Cat Lo, a Navy Swift boat base. I reported in to HQ and was assigned a boat and by about 3 in the afternoon I was walking aboard my boat when the Gunner’s Mate I was relieving walked off and said “good luck”. The “skipper” (CO) welcomed me then told me we were leaving at eleven that evening for a SEALORD Operation. Since I was responsible for the weapons on the boat, (5 - 50cal.,MG; 1- 81mm mortar; 2- M60’s and misc. small arms). Needless to say I was puckered up pretty tight. The Skipper put me on the helm as we were leaving, he wanted to talk to me on what I should expect. I couldn’t have slept if I wanted to. We rendezvoused with the two other boats around 7 am. We were going up a canal off the Co Chien river on a “maximum destruction raid” where anything was fair game. The Skipper put me on the roof with a M79 and told me to watch for bunkers and “willie -pete” any hootches. I was sweating bullets, this was my third day in country, I’m the FNG, trying to learn the ropes. I was given a flack jacket and helmet and was told by some of the crew “relax“; “you should see your face“; “good luck“. I didn’t know all they’re names, I was spooked! The rpm’s of the engines kicked in with the Skipper saying ‘here we go“.

About 200 yards up the canal the boats started to recon by fire. I fired several rounds to relieve the tension. The canal was small enough that we couldn’t turn around, we were supposed to go through the canals and comeback out into the river. About a mile up the canal, the lead boat started picking up small arms fire. Being on the roof I could see the lead boat. I saw a geyser ahead of the lead boat then I heard the report, then another one, then I heard the lead boat on the radio saying he’s receiving mortar fire and that they had the canal registered. Then I seen this cloud of smoke off to the side of the middle boat, my first B-40 (RPG) and it’s only day 3 only 362 to go. Things were getting intense, I could hear all the radio traffic. We started to receive automatic weapons fire. Then the first boat started to tell all boats to turn around. The Skipper turned the boat hard and ran the bow on the bank and pivoted the boat around, I was scared but impressed, I would learn this maneuver over time. Once we were turned around I was glad to hear the sound of increased rpm’s from the engines. Then a B-40 went high over us and the auto fire picked up. I went through all the M79 rounds I had, I climbed off the roof and started shuffling .50 cal ammo to the guns. We were out of the canal and things settled down. I was in aw. The skipper said ’welcome to SEALORDS”, he said that was the second or third time the boats been chased out of there. He said we were suppose to have overhead air support but they were called away. Some of the crew came over and gave me a pat on the shoulder for taking the initiative for getting them ammo without being told, made me feel better. The chief engineman said “hey guns, only 362 to go“. That was a long day! The Skipper said to me “day 3 and a combat action ribbon, that was quick”.

Bogie: the Black Flag

I complain about the heat here in Tennessee, but I can handle it.

I remember a funny boot camp story. The DI (Drill Instructor) told us that when the black flag goes up on the parade deck, the temperature was over 95 and that we would not have any PT (physical training) or running out side, so we were all praying to see that black flag fly. . .Well, the DI's didn't lie, we didn't have PT or run outside. . . they ran us in the squad bay where it was about 130 degrees! Now we were praying NOT to see the black flag again, but we did see it, 2 more times.

Right now, the flag temperature stands at 90 here. . . Oh, changing times. . . Pussies! 

Jerry: Lost Power

One early morning in April 1969, my NCO in charge asked if I would like to take a flight in a C-47 (the 12th TAC wings ‘Sandblower Airlines’ as it was called) to drop off and pick up supplies at Phu Cat Air Base. I said, “sure, it would be nice to see some of the Viet Nam country side”. We left at 7 am and  would return around 8pm the same day. It certainly was a beautiful day for flying and we did get to see the country side.

The pilot pointed out to us a few things that we passed over in our flight. . .some blown out roads and a bridge that was just taken out by some F-4 fighter jets, I really don't know if the F-4’s were from one of our squadrons or not, but they surely did what their intentions were, to make traveling for the Viet cong a little more difficult to say the least.

There were only 6 airmen on this flight including myself, the pilot, and co-pilot. . .and we were served box lunches.  The flight went well and we dropped of the supplies we needed to and picked some other items for our return flight.

The return flight to Cam Ranh Bay was just before dusk. Everything seemed to be going well until we were making our approach to land. At that point I noticed fire trucks on the tarmac with their emergency lights on.  As we landed, they were following us down the runway. I'm thinking that something must be going on if they have all these emergency vehicles ready. . .could this greeting be for us???  After landing, I found out that one of our engines wasn't working and the greeting on the fight line was indeed for us.

I never really found out what happen to the engine, just kind of glad the pilot had enough experience to fly, and land the aircraft safely the way he did. I was happy and relieved to make it back to base camp, especially after knowing that we were flying with only 50% of what it took to fly a C-47.

All in all I did get to see Viet Nam from a birds eye view. 

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. . .