Veterans Day 2010

By Col. Paul A. Lucey, USMCR(ret.)

The year was 1945, and I was aMarine aviator on Okinawa, preparingwith my squadron for the mother of allPacific battles: the Battle of Japan.

Okinawa had been secured after abloody battle. In the air, Japan hadexpended her kamikaze pilots in a futileattempt to stop the American advance.

Marine Fighter Squadron 323 waspart of the American forces forging aring of steel around Japan in preparationfor the final assault. Our Corsair fightershad been converted to fighter-bombers,flying missions several hundred mileslong to Kyushu and dropping 500-pound bombs on enemy airfields.

A final indignity was seeing Army AirForce P-47 Thunderbolts weaving overus as our fighter protection. The thor-oughbred Corsairs had been reduced toplow horses. But like good Marines, wesaluted and carried out the missions.

Happily, once we dropped our bombloads and external gas tanks, we revertedto fighter status with our six 50-calibermachine guns at the ready.

At Awasi Field on Okinawa, mundanesquadron chores were assigned to pilotsbetween missions. One ongoing dutywas flight-testing overhauled engines.

Periodic overhauls entailed strippingthe engine and reassembling it with anyneeded replacement parts. Once out of

overhaul, the plane was given a test hop;this involved following a series ofmaneuvers, power settings, etc. to bechecked by the test pilot before return-ing the Corsair to combat.

I was assigned to one such test hop.After completing the necessary tests, Idecided to enjoy a bird’s eye view of theisland when, without warning, oil cov-ered the windshield and canopy. An oilline had ruptured!

This was a terminal malfunctionrarely experienced by a pilot and usuallyhad only one corrective action: para-chute time, open the cockpit canopy andjump.

A pilot would have less than a minute

before the engine “freezes” or binds forlack of oil, and the Corsair glided like astone.

So, since I was flying at about 1,000feet, which was well below a safe para-chuting altitude, I had run out ofoptions.

Enter my guardian angel! Looking tomy right, I saw a small outlying airfieldwith four Corsairs parked at one end.They were on “stand by,” ready to scram-ble if kamikazes were sighted.

Instinctively I turned toward thefield, dropped my landing gear and flaps,dove for the runway, and plopped downin a carrier-style landing right in front ofthe astonished pilots on stand by.

My Corsair rolled about 50 yards, andthe propeller stopped turning. Theengine had “frozen”!

I had landed with perhaps six secondsto spare.

Sixty-five bonus years later, I sit onmy living room recliner and relive thatnear fatal incident. My daughter lives inOld Town. Her two children are OronoHigh School graduates. My son is inHonolulu with his wife and child, andneither family is aware that their veryexistence to due to my priceless gift ofsix seconds received one fateful day onOkinawa, before they were born.

Col. Paul A. Lucey, USMCR (ret.) lives inOld Town.

Joseph W. Edwards, a lifelong resi-dent of Island Falls, graduated fromIsland Falls High School and StrattonCommercial School in Boston, Mass.

In 1942 he enlisted in the US ArmyAir Force as a private first class andreceived his military training in AtlanticCity, N.J. Servicemen lived 10 to a roomon the seventh floor of a hotel. Duringthe war, with so many men to train, theArmy Air Force took over hotels forbasic training.

According to Joe, they marched upand down the Atlantic City Boardwalkwhile singing songs. If they didn’t singsongs, they had to march for hours, sothe men sang their hearts out to avoidmarching and getting sore feet.

The AAF at this time needed a back-log of officers for training pilots, bom-bardiers, and navigators, three veryimportant positions on the B-24 Libera-tor. The other positions were enlistedmen like Joe.

When the Air Forceneeded these men, theywere sent to St. Louis, Mo.for testing to qualify as agunner or radio operator.There was one nose turretgunner; he also droppedthe bombs. Two waist gun-ners stood on each side ofthe plane, just behind thebomb load. The lone tailand ball-turret gunnerseach had twin guns. Theradio operator was in thetop turret, above the pilot;he also with a machinegun.

Edwards was originallya ball-turret gunner in thebelly of the plane; theposition was later elimi-nated so the plane couldcarry more bombs, so hebecame a tail gunner.

Joe was stationed inAltbridge, England, 100miles north of Londonwhere there were foursquadrons. Each squadronput up nine to 10 planes atone time, with severalhundred men flying on amission. Joe remembersflying in the tail and look-ing out to see 1,000 to1,500 planes bombing sev-eral targets. Between 1942and 1945, he flew 30 mis-sions. His last mission wasover Dortmund, Ger-many.

While serving in Eng-land, Joe and anotherMasonic servicemanattended a LondonMasonic lodge, where theyshared dinner with 30

retired English military masons. Duringthe dinner, each Englishman stood andtoasted, “To our American friends,” andwith each toast, Joe and his friend had totake a drink of wine, not once but 30times!

2 | BANGOR DAILY NEWS | Thursday | November 11, 2010

Avery V. Chipman joined the Armyin 1942 and served with the

100th Infantry Division during theEuropean campaigns. He spentthe winter of 1944-45 walkingthrough the Vosges Mountains

from Marseille in France toStuttgart in Germany.

John P. Runden, who lives in Ham-pden, served 4½ years in the Armyduring World War II. He initiallytrained as an aircraft mechanic andthen as a French interpreter.

Runden “was sent to the 69thInfantry Division. Our general wasGen. [Charles L.] Bolte*, and we werecalled ‘Bolte’s Bitching, Bivouacky Bas-tards,’” Runden wrote the NEWS.

“Our division entered France threedays after D-Day and fought throughFrench towns into Germany,” Rundenrecalled.

*Bolte commanded the 69thInfantry Division in 1943 andassumed command of the 34thInfantry Division in July 1944.

Soldier servedas a Frenchinterpreter

Joseph W. Edwards

30 English Masons toasted B-24 gunner

Six seconds made all the difference for Marine pilot over Okinawa

Piloting an F-4U Corsair, a Marine pilot fires rockets at Japanese positions on Okinawa. Paul Lucey of Old Town flew a similar aircraft on

missions against Japanese bases on Kyushu.

NEWS PHOTO BY BRIAN SWARTZCol. Paul A. Lucey, USMCR (ret).

lives in Old Town.

By Christina Fritz

After flying for 25 hours, I had to force myswollen feet into my shoes. We were landing, finally.

The TWA stewardess opened the airplane doorand looked at us with such pity, it took my breathaway. “Good luck… good luck… good luck’’ shekept repeating to each person like a mantra.

Once off the plane, I heard someone say, “Walkquickly and keep your heads down.” What hit mefull force was the heat and humidity and the putriddiesel smell. The seriousness of the situationbecame obvious as we hurried past bunkers into thetent to process “in country.”

I was officially in Vietnam. I was 22, and it wasDecember of 1967, and the war raged on.

We nurses hurried to get finished with the paper-work, and I felt embarrassed by my new fatiguesthat announced my unseasoned status. I was struckby the silence as guys smoked and waited by theirduffel bags for flights. And I saw the “Hundred YardStare”* in the eyes of the soldiers. Their vacantstares and the quiet made everything about theplace feel heavy.

My friend Pat and I met at Travis Air Force Basein Oakland, Calif., as we waited to fly to Vietnam.We had formed a bond in the way that happensbetween military buddies, and she felt like a sister tome.

We hoped to be assigned to the same hospital,but the Army had other plans. We were to be splitup immediately. I would go to Qui Nhon and she toBien Hoa. Five long months would pass before wewould work at the same hospital together at the95th Evacuation hospital in Da Nang.

In those five months, we had changed from naivegirls to women who had seen firsthand the reality ofwar. We both felt old, and we were not even half waythrough the assignment.

In those first few months I learned that countingthe days until one went home was a way of movingthrough the experience. Another was to never men-tion how quiet it was at work. People in a war zoneare superstitious; as soon as someone mentionedhow slow it was in the Emergency Receiving areawhere I worked, all hell would break loose. An end-less stream of fresh casualties from the field wouldfill our ward with men who needed the best care wecould give.

The med evac helicopters** would land just out-side our Quonset hut, and the wounds we treatedwere frequently just minutes old. The injured sol-diers, still in shock, had no idea of what had hap-pened; there had not been time for them to process

any of it.I learned to shut down my feelings so that I

could be totally present for each patient. It led to aschizophrenic split between reality and denial.

With a sea of stretchers before me, I knew towaste no time as our team did our best to savethem. We worked fast. We nurses would cut off thefatigues that hid the wounds and start IVs whilemoving down the line of stretchers, calming thosewho begged us to care for their buddy first.

“He’s hurt much worse than me, take care of himfirst” was often the first thing we heard as they triedto get up off the stretcher to let their buddy taketheir place. I never heard anyone beg for help first,and the bravery I witnessed many times every dayhas stayed with me.

Over and over, I heard, “Where are you from,round eye?” in reference to our Caucasian eyes. Thequestion felt out of place, coming at me in spite ofthe situation, as if we were meeting in a park or abar. I found that any tenderness, like a touch on thearm, made all of the difference in the world to theinjured soldiers. We instantly became mother, sister,girlfriend, and wife to them, taking the place of

loved ones they desperately missed, andthey were grateful for any sign of kindnessand concern, making it an honor to carefor them.

The hardest part was in not knowinghow it turned out. Some days we had timeto try to find our patients on the unitswhere they had gone after we had treatedthem, and some were shipped out rightaway to Japan for longer term care. After awhile I quit looking, and this lack of clo-sure and not knowing how they had faredleft a huge hole in my heart.

The very badly injured patients, whowere not going to make it, were put in theback of the Quonset hut, and when wehad a break in the action, we held theirhands and talked about home, comfort-ing them and staying present so that theydid not die alone.

I never cried, and I never saw any ofthe other nurses or doctors cry. Some of

the patients cried out of grief for a friend or becauseof fear or pain, but no medical person I worked

with did that.We had to shut down, to keep it inside. It was the

only way we managed to do our job. And later, whenwe had time to let loose, we drank too much andlaughed too hard and slept whenever we got thechance. Our goal was to make it through the year,one day at a time.

The country, wildly overgrown with greenfoliage contrasted by the white sandy beaches, feltsinister and strange, the loveliness marred by mili-tary outposts, jeeps, and trucks and that smell ofdiesel that permeated everything. During the dryseason the dust that blew from the beach coveredour beds, and after working all night, we shook aninch of it off our bed covers before falling into anexhausted sleep.

After we had worked all night, the heat woke usat noon, and we moved to the beach to try to getmore sleep. With the 12-hour shifts and the lack ofrest, we moved like sleepwalkers through the days.Some relief came in the fall and winter months withthe monsoon rains, which turned everything tomud, but they also brought cooler temperaturesand some blessed relief from the heat.

The local women from the villages nearby werecalled “mamasans,” a colloquial term we adopted.They were hired to do our laundry and to clean ourrooms, and we listened to their singsong languageas they worked.

We learned that no one could be trusted, andthat even the smiling friendly women we saw every

BANGOR DAILY NEWS | Thursday | November 11, 2010 | 3

Maine nurse recalls the bravery displayed by wounded Americans

NEWS PHOTOS BY BRIAN SWARTZ

The Vietnam Nurses Memorial inWashington, D.C. (left) honors the

American nurses who served in Vietnam. Calais resident Christina

Fritz, RN, (above) spent a year experiencing the horrors of war at

Army hospitals in Vietnam.

Richard Larson of Machias drives a Jeep while stationed in Vietnam with the United States Army.

See NURSES, Page 7


caring for generations

Here’s a well-deserved salute

to all our sons and daughters

of Downeast Maine who have

served our country in conflicts

past and present.

Thank You...for your selfless dedication to

duty and to country.

Serverving all of Eastern Mainewww.jordanfernald.com

Jordan-FernaldFUNERAL HOMES

667-2521 • 244-3183

By Leone Barton Harriman

My father, Leon Barton Jr., is 86 yearsold. He served in World War II, goinginto the Army at age 19 in 1943. He hadseven months of training before headingto Europe, perhaps to die for his coun-

try.Leon joined the 1st Infantry Division,

the first division to arrive in England,the firstdiv is ionto invadeN o r t hA f r i c a ,S i c i l y ,a n dF r a n c e .He toldtales ofbeing onthe beach

at Normandy, of being blown 40 feetacross the Cologne Plains in Germany, ofChristmas in the foxholes, of losing hisbuddies at the Battle of the Bulge; hetold these tales without embroidery oremotion.

Called “Stump Jumper Maine” byGen. George S. Patton, my father wasknown as Pfc. Barton of Co. K, 16thInfantry. He belonged to Patton’s ThirdArmy and distinguished himself in com-bat, but not at the expense of his mod-esty.

How, even at age 86, he still talksabout the time that he served his coun-

try. Even in the early stage ofAlzheimer’s, he still remembers the “oledays.” I am the oldest of his six children,and we are all proud of him as Dad andas a veteran of our country.

I want to say “thank you” not only to

our Dad, but to all the men and womenthat are protecting our country now.May God be with them and their fami-lies.

Leone Barton Harriman lives in Northport.

By Neal Sawick

The military career of my father,Commander Theodore Sawick, spanned32 years, from 1937 to 1969. He was a“mustang,” working his way up from theranks to get his commission in the mid-dle of the war.

He was a machinist mate first class atPearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941. He was onPT-42, which was cradled on board thetanker USS Ramapo along with PTs 27,29, and 30. These PT boats belonged toMTB Squadron One. The Ramapo wasmoored 400 to 500 yards from BattleshipRow at the time of the Japanese attack.

During the war, my father was at theBattle of Midway and the Battle of theSolomons, as well as campaigns in NewGuinea, the Philippines, and Borneo. Ifthe A-bomb had not been dropped, hewould have been part of the first assaultwave on Japan. The American militaryexpected 80 percent casualties if thatinvasion took place.

I’ve heard the stories and have abouttwo hours of audio tape about PearlHarbor, the war, and his naval career. Atthe time of the recording, he was cryingwhile reliving some of those horriblemoments.

When I was growing up in Virginia, I

never appreciated my father until I wasmarried and moved to Maine some 36years ago. I miss my father deeply, andnow that he’s gone, I can’t ask him ques-tions that I didn’t think to ask when hewas alive. I could never know the horrorsof war that he faced on those PT boatsduring the war.

Dec. 7th is coming up, and since myfather’s death, I can’t watch anythingdealing with Pearl Harbor; it hurts toomuch. I think of my father almost all thetime.

Neal Sawick lives in Machias.

Wearing a helmet that sported his captain’s bars, a young RichardEmmert smiles while perched atop a jeep on American Samoa during

World War II. Emmert was a dentist in the Army Medical Corps. He toldhis children about the time when he was “trying to work on a patientout in the compound while a [Japanese] sniper was shooting … from

the nearby jungle. Talk about not enjoying your visit to the dentist!”

Dr. Ray C. Newman of Island Fallswas in the accelerated Veterinary Med-icine Program at Cornell University,Ithaca, N.Y., during WWII.

The Army needed inspectors ofmeats for the Quartermaster Corps.When the program broke up duringNewman’s junior year of college, hewas given the choice of being dis-charged and taking the chance ofbeing drafted or staying on active duty.Choosing to stay on active duty, New-man was sent to Fort Riley, Kansas as amule skinner, where he taught ROTCcadets how to pack mules.

He stayed there until a “mule teammishap”: He was caught with a two-mule team when it was supposed to bea four-mule team. Without explana-tion, Newman was sent directly to theoffice for this mishap. When the offi-cers in charged learned that PFC New-man was a senior veterinary student,he was immediately sent for OCStraining and ended his military serviceteaching field artillery at Fort Sill,Okla.

Sailor fought at Pearl & Midway

Commander Theodore Sawick

Leon Barton Jr.

A Midcoast soldier spent Christmas 1944 in a European foxhole

Veterinarianbecame a

muleskinner

By Rev. Dr. Henry G. Wyman

I entered the Army on July 8, 1943and went to Fort Devens, Mass. andfrom there to Camp Grant, Ill. Afterbasic training, I went to Fort Knox, Ky.,where I joined the 32nd Medical Depot.

All my brothers and I served in WorldWar II. My oldest brother, Walter, heldthe highest rank as a major. Frank wasmaster sergeant. Sam served 42 years inthe Maine National Guard, and I endedup as a private first class.

The 32nd Medical Depot went over-seas in March 1944 and landed in Eng-land on Easter Sunday. Our advancedtraining began at Ashbourne; then wewent to Maidenhead and served on ahospital ship [moored] in the ThomasEstuary.

The night before the D-Day Invasion,I experienced my first bombing andstrafing. At age 18, it was fearful.

We landed in Normandy on D-Day+1. Our first job was to clean up theAmerican dead.

That night the Germans were aboveus, and the [English] Channel was justbehind us. We dug a foxhole, and Ipulled railroad ties over the top. Laterthat night I fell sound asleep.

In the morning, they pulled me outfeet first while screaming at me, “Howcould you sleep through all that?”

I replied, “Once you’ve done all you

can, what else was there to do?”We traveled in medical supply trucks

all the way to the [war’] end in Strubing,Germany. The war ended, and I was dis-charged.

During my seminary training, I was achaplain in the U.S. Naval Reserve andwas attached to the Naval Reserve Center

in Hartford, Conn. My career was short,but interesting.

For me, World War II was veryimportant. We visited Buchenwald andsaw the horror there. I was glad when itended.

Rev. Dr. Henry G. Wyman lives in Bangor.


1 College Circle • Bangor ME 04401-2999www.husson.edu • 800-4HUSSON

For serving with honor, courage and strength of character,

we thank you.

We especially acknowledge ourHusson family of Veterans and

those still active in the military.

Almost 58 years after the fact, Gor-don Greenlaw of Eastport received amedal for participating in the Nor-mandy Invasion.

Greenlaw joined the Army, trainedfor 17 weeks at Camp Croft, S.C., andunderwent additional training at FortMeade, Md. The Army then shippedhim and thousands of other soldiersaboard the liner Queen Elizabeth toGreenock, Scotland.

Greenlaw trained in amphibiousassault landings in England and Walesbefore he “boarded a ship in Liverpool”to sail for Normandy and “the D-DayInvasion on June 6, 1944.”

He was wounded in Labell, Franceon June 14, 1944 and was evacuated byship to the 135th General Hospital inEngland.

“After the operation on my leg toremove the bullet, which I still have, Iwas hospitalized for months,” Greenlawrecalled.

He sailed aboard a hospital ship toCharleston, S.C. “I was honorably dis-charged on Oct. 14, 1945 and sent tomy hometown, Eastport,” he said.

During the war, Greenlaw received aBronze Star, the Combat InfantryBadge, the ETO Ribbon with one Inva-sion Star, the Expert Rifleman Medal, aGood Conduct Medal, and a PurpleHeart.

On Feb. 4, 2004, he received theMedal of the Jubilee of Liberty, whichFrance bestowed on Normandy veter-ans. Greenlaw winters in Florida; hereceived this medal from Florida Con-gressman John Mica.

Harlan Gardner, who lives in Marsh-field, enlisted in the Marines on Aug. 28,1942, completed boot camp at ParrisIsland in South Carolina, and attendedaerial ordnance and gunnery schools inJacksonville, Fla.

Assigned to Marine Torpedo Bomb-ing Squadron at El Toro, Calif. inNovember 1943, Gardner trained as a

radioman and rear gunner on Grum-man Avengers. Sailing from San Diego tothe New Hebrides in early spring 1944,he underwent additional training andthen flew to Guam, landing there onAug. 13, 1944.

In a large Avenger, Gardner “flew off-shore, anti-submarine patrols for eightmonths.” His squadron then deployed to

“Ie Shima, just off Okinawa” onMay 19, 1945 “and commencedflying support missions forground troops and more anti-submarine patrols.

“We lost some planes andcrews who didn’t return fromanti-submarine patrols, and weendured the almost daily, heavykamikaze attacks,” Gardnerindicated.

“During late May and earlyJune 1945, heavy rains made thesupply routes of the 1st MarineDivision on Okinawa com-pletely impassable, and theywere in critical need of sup-plies,” he remembered. “VMTB131 made over 150 parachutedrops to them during this peri-od, over 90 percent on target.”

Gardner’s squadron receiveda Presidential Unit Citation.

Eastport veteran receives D-Day medal 58 years later

Soldier slept soundly despite D-Day noise

A photo printed in Robert Sherrod’s “Histo-ry of Marine Corps Aviation in World War II”shows a Marine-piloted Grumman Avenger

parachuting supplies to Marines on Oki-nawa in late spring 1945.

Avenger crew air-droppedsupplies to hungry MarinesOn March 27, 1997, Howard Welch Jr.

wrote a letter to a cousin, James Welch.In the letter Howard briefly recalled hisArmy service during World War II. Hehad previously received commendationsfor serving in the Normandy, NorthernFrance, Rhineland, Ardennes, and Cen-tral Europe campaigns.

“He never talked about the war, never,ever,” recalled Marilyn Cronin, anothercousin who provided the NEWS withHoward’s letter. “He did say [that] whenhe was in Germany in the winter [of1944-45], ‘That was where I learned todrink coffee.’”

May 27, 1997

Jim —Another day, another mechanized

assault on the English language! Your references to Fort Polk [La.] in

the May newsletter conjured up memo-ries since I was there in the 1940s (CampPolk then). It was the first permanentbase for the newly formed 3rd ArmoredDivision (later known as “Spearhead”),to which I was assigned throughoutWWII and which was structured bycadre from Patton’s 2nd Armored Divi-sion (“Hell on Wheels”) and thousandsof selectees from all walks of life over theUnited States.

We trained for several months in theMojave Desert for later participation inthe campaign in North Africa. However,

when Rommel was defeated by Mont-gomery during the Battle of El Alamein,plans changed, and we trained for sever-al months on the East Coast and in Eng-land in expectation of the upcominginvasion of Europe. Eventually wecrossed the Channel with the Alliedarmada, leaving from several Britishports including Southampton, and land-ed on the beaches of France.

During the ensuing battles and cam-paigns, until contact was made with theRussians in central Germany, the “FlyingInfantry” was indispensable (P-47 Thun-derbolts). Admittedly, the U.S. Shermantanks equipped with “French 75s” (75mm cannon) were outclassed by Ger-man Tiger and Panther tanks givensuperior fire power with their high-velocity 88 mm guns — a fact thatbecame apparent when the 1st ArmoredDivision joined battle with the AfrikaKorps in North Africa. Our tank-

destroyer gun carriages bearing versatile90 mm cannon were a match for the 88s.

Nevertheless, many low-flying P-47Thunderbolts carrying 500-poundbombs permanently deactivated count-less German tanks.

When a P-47 was hit and ignited byenemy antiaircraft fire, there was no freefall possible because of the low altitude.The pilot, when able, would attempt toextricate himself from the burningwreckage sufficiently to pull the ripcordimmediately and allow the parachute towhip him away from the plane — theprocedure often resulted in successful,though rough, landings.

I recall one such pilot, who we hadseen crawl out on the wing and open hischute, as he walked out of a wooded areasome time later and approached our col-umn which had temporarily halted.Ahead of him walked a German soldierwith [his] hands in the air.

The pilot was carrying the German’srifle under his arm and told us that hewouldn’t have known how to fire itunder any situation! The willing captivehad welcomed the unexpected opportu-nity to surrender, and upon seeing thepilot, threw down his rifle and raised hishands.

Needless to say, it’s fortunate he was-n’t one of the SS troops!

Well, Jim, so much for our almamater, Fort Polk …

My best, Howard

WWII vet shared memories in a letter

Howard Welch Jr.


By Brian Swartz

SPECIAL SECTIONS EDITOR

Patrol Squadron 208 traded a Navyseaplane for a Marine aviator — andLester Slate helped save an American’slife.

Slate and his wife, Maxine, live inExeter, but he hails from Chicopee,Mass. In 1942, Slate joined the Navy asan aviation cadet and promptly went toPittsfield (Maine, not Massachusetts) “tolearn to fly in the little Aeronaca.” Hemet a local woman, Maxine Pushor, dur-ing the 10-week aviation school.

Additional training took Slate toChapel Hill, N.C.; Squantum, Mass.; andPensacola, Fla., where he opted for pilottraining on multi-engine aircraft “righton Perdido Bay” on P2Ys and PBYs.After completing another 10-weekschool in Hollywood, Fla., he joinedPatrol Squadron 208 in Key West.

“That’s where we learned to fly thePBM,” a larger twin-engine seaplane,Slate said. While stationed in Key West,he traveled to Boston to marry Maxine,who then joined him in sunny Florida.

The VP 208 crews soon checked outon the massive PBM5 Mariner, a well-

equipped PBM variant. The squadrondeparted for Hawaii in January 1945and, after flying anti-submarine “patrolsout of there for about a month,” crewsand planes “just island-hopped out toSaipan,” Slate said.

After flying search-and-rescue mis-sions in the waters around Iwo Jima fora few weeks, the VP 208 crews shifted toMog Mog, a tree-covered island nearUlithi Atoll in the Caroline Islands.

In mid-spring 1945, Slate’s 12-mancrew sailed by ship to the Kerama Islandswest of Okinawa to establish a seaplane

base. Because they were so large, PBM5Mariners usually moored in harbors orlagoons and relied on Navy supportships, designated as “AVs,” as floatingseaplane bases. The USS Hamlin (AV-15) supported VP 208 in the KeramaIslands.

During a night patrol in mid-May1945, “our navigator goofed up,” herecalled. The end of each patrol shouldfind Slate’s PBM5 about 100 miles fromthe Kerama Islands; as this particularpatrol headed toward “home,” the twopilots (including Slate) realized that “astime passed by, we weren’t picking upthe [homing] signal” broadcast from theUSS Hamlin.

Slate rechecked the navigator’s calcu-lations and discovered that “he had been

using the wind 180 degrees from what hewas supposed to! We were 300 milesoff!” Slate and the command pilotturned their PBM5 toward the Keramas.

The Navy crew soon noticed twoMarine pilots circling their F-4U Cor-sairs near a Japanese-held island. Theywere protecting another Marine aviatorwhose Corsair had crashed into the EastChina Sea. Seated in his life raft, thatpilot did not know that the 20-foot seasand 40-knot winds were pushing himtoward the enemy shore.

“We normally wouldn’t land in seaslike that,” Slate said. “If we didn’t pickhim up, we knew he was a dead man. Ifhe came ashore where he’d just beenbombing the Japanese, they wouldn’t benice to him.”

The PBM5 landed amidst the highwaves about 9 a.m. and “bounced awful-ly” while cracking a tail and “opening aseam,” he recalled. “We picked up thepilot, and he said, ‘Why the hell did youland in this?’ We told him he was headedfor a Japanese island. ‘Another 45 min-utes and you’d be there,’ we said.

“He was grateful,” Slate said.Unable to fly, the PBM5 “taxied away

from the island” until another Marinerlanded nearby in quieter waters about 2

p.m. All occupants of Slate’s plane trans-ferred to the other PBM5, whose crewsank the damaged Mariner.

In August 1945, “we got suddennotice [that] an atom bomb had beendropped” on Hiroshima, Slate said. ThatSeptember, the VP 208 crews sailed intoTokyo Bay aboard the USS Hamlin.

And there the ship moored “just twovessels away from the USS Missouri,”Slate said. He stood on the Hamlin’sbow, “the highest part of the ship,” towatch the Japanese surrender ceremony.

The Navy discharged Slate in Decem-ber 1945. The Defense Departmentrecalled him to active service in 1951,during the Korean War. This time Slateswitched to the Coast Guard as a rescuepilot Stateside; “you name it, I flew it,” hesaid.

The Coast Guard released Slate fromactive service in 1963, but he remained areservist until his 1982 retirement as afull captain. He also flew rescue missionsduring the Vietnam War, but only in theStates.

Slate “started a chain of barbershopsin Maine” in 1963. About 10 years later,he joined Maxine in selling real estate.The Slates built their own home on anExeter hillside.

Three-war aviator helped rescue a Marine pilot from certain death

Lester Slate (left) flew Navy sea-planes (above) during World War II

and Coast Guard rescue aircraftand helicopters during Korea and

Vietnam. Slate lives in Exeter.

day could be giving information to theenemy. Between this distrust and thelanguage barrier, we made little move toget to know them. The beauty of thepeople was lost on us.

I understand why veterans of that warreturn to Vietnam. That year stood outas the best and the worst of my life, andI imagine others who were there feel thesame way. I lived that year knowing inmy heart that I was making a differenceto the patients, and the proficiency ofmy nursing skills was at an all time high.

The friendships I formed with my fel-low caregivers were unlike any I haveexperienced since then. And an aware-ness of how precious life is frommoment to moment has stayed with me,as the year spent with the injured anddying young men taught me to treasureeach day. They taught me about braveryand about loving others, and in mydreams I still see some of their faces. Iwill carry the memory of them for as

long as I live. They are a part of me, likethe marrow in my bones.

The country, beautiful and lush,became a battleground where too manydied. It calls to those of us who werethere to come and see it at its best, to beawed by the beauty of its mountains,beaches, and lovely blue seas.

Sometimes I am curious about how itwould look to me now, 42 years later,and at other times I have no desire to seeit again, feeling the place has been forev-er changed because of what occurredthere.

I wonder if the sadness lingers, almosttangibly, like it does in some other bat-tlefields I have visited, where beauty andpain coexist. While the best it has to offerpleases the eye, the worst lives on in thememories of those who remember itduring wartime.

*In all wars, weary combat veteransoften display the “Hundred Yard Stare”(also called the “Thousand Yard Stare”),especially anywhere near the war zone orfront lines.

**Usually the ubiquitous UH-1Huey.


NursesContinued from Page 3

By Lawrence M. Closson

I was on the flight deck of the USS

Essex (CV-9) on Nov. 25, 1944, as shesteamed near the Philippine Islands. Asan AMM 3/c, I was working on the firstSB2C Helldiver on the starboard side ofthe flight deck.

Japanese kamikazes were attackingthe fleet. One got through the task forceanti-aircraft barrage and crashed justforward of the elevator (H2) on the portside of the flight deck. The plane slidalong the portside catwalk and wipedout the 20mm gun battery and the menstationed there.

The Essex was launching aircraft lessthan one hour later.

Another kamikaze in this flight wentover and started to dive on the heavycruiser USS Reno, an anti-aircraft ship.He was hit by every gun they had, and hejust disappeared in the hail of gunfirebefore he could ever conclude his mis-sion.

Lawrence M. Closson lives in Bernard.He is a retired Air Force senior master

sergeant.

By Vernon A. Worster

As the German enemy retreated from the Saar Valley, theyblew out all the bridges and cut any trees that would reach theroad after falling. We had to wade through mud and wateraround the blown bridges and climb over the fallen trees.

In one little town we captured two Germans. I was chosenor volunteered to guard them until our jeep could get there. Isuppose the engineers were back there helping him (the jeepdriver) get through (the road obstructions).

As Co. G faded from view, I began getting weird thoughts,like we didn’t spend a lot of time searching this town or thewoods around it. I could be outnumbered, greatly! In otherwords, I was scared!

So I got behind a bridge abutment while I ordered theprisoners to stay up on the top where I could see them. I madethem understand that if there was trouble, they would be thefirst to go. I sweated it out there for a couple of hours, whichseemed like a couple of weeks.

I finally heard a motor! Then I sweat that out for a whilelonger wondering if was friend or foe! What a relief it waswhen that jeep came into view with my buddy, Cerpax, at thecontrols!

We sat the prisoners on the hood, and I got in the passen-

ger’s seat. That’s the way we were when we caught up with Co.G.

Shortly after we met a mechanized infantry unit. Theywere glad to see Co. G [and there were] a lot of handshakesand stories. I heard one of them say they had lost a truckloadof prisoners before they met us. Snipers from the woods hadshot their driver and guard. I can still their vehicles: missingfenders, broken glass, and full of bullet holes!

I don’t know where we went from there; it may have beenAlsace-Lorraine. Here ends the saga of the Saar Valley.

Vernon A. Worster lives in Prentiss Township.

Was approaching vehicle friend or foe?

When a Japanese kamikaze struck the USS Essex on Nov. 25, 1944,Lawrence Closson of Bernard was located far right on the carrier’s flight

deck.

Eyewitness to kamikaze strikeon American aircraft carrier

Clark Wolfe served in the AirForce from 1951-1955. His

assignments included an 18-month tour in Morocco, where he

was photographed holding a“grease gun.”


By Brian Swartz


Uncle Sam sent Harold Sprague to war and back again — and inad-vertently introduced him to his future sweetheart.

The years slipped away as Harold Sprague, a Cherryfield native who“has been here all my life, 84 years,” remembered the train ride thattook him to an appointment with Uncle Sam. He and Janet GrantSprague, his wife of 58½ years, sat facing each other across the kitchentable in their exquisitely decorated and well-maintained home onCampbell Hill.

While a junior at Cherryfield Academy, Harold turned 18 on Jan.13, 1944. Despite his educational status, he soon received a draftnotice. “They said, ‘You report to Bangor’ for a physical,” Haroldrecalled.“A bunch of us went to Bangor for physicals. That was my firsttrain ride. I had never been out of Cherryfield, hardly.”

Subsequently reporting to Fort Devens, Mass., he joined the Armyon March 29, 1944 and “went to Camp Stewart, Ga. for my basic train-ing.” Initially Harold trained as an anti-aircraft gunner firing machineguns at aircraft-towed targets; after eight weeks at Camp Stewart, “Ichose telephone communications” as a military profession, “so theysent me to Camp Haan, Calif.,” he said.

Training as a telephone lineman, Harold learned to “lay wire andrepair wire,” how to “climb poles, put up the crossbars, and fastenthem in,” and how to wire a switchboard.

Later, Sprague and another 22,000 soldiers packed into the QueenElizabeth for a four-day transatlantic crossing to Glasgow, Scotland.Raising and lowering his horizontally extended palm, Harolddescribed the liner’s motion as he watched the Statue of Liberty fadeinto the distance; “she was going up and down, and that was the lasttime I ate my dinner,” and “I was seasick after that,” he said.

From Glasgow, Harold entrained for an English Channel port,sailed to Le Havre in France on an LST, and rode in a boxcar to Liege,Belgium to join the 394th Infantry Regiment, 99th Infantry Division.

Following advancing American troops, Sprague’s company main-tained vital, yet tenuous telephone systems. “When they were fighting,we would move from town to town … [and] put new wires up to thefront lines,” he said. “We had three crews that laid lines and repairedlines; I was busy with that.”

Because German snipers would target a lineman climbing a tele-phone pole and winter frost could affect buried telephone lines,Harold and his comrades laid wires along the snow-covered ground.American vehicles, especially treaded half tracks and tanks, could cutphone lines, and “[German] shells would come in and knock out thelines, so we did the repairs after dark,” he said.

A repair team included five men and a jeep “with a roll of [phone]wire on the back of it,” Harold said. Often crawling on their hands andknees, linemen would probe with their gloved hands to find linebreaks. Then the linemen would splice the multi-line phone wirestogether and would use test phones to “ring back to the switchboard”to determine which phones “had been restored,” he recalled.

The 99th InfantryDivision advanced into Germany after participat-ing in the Battle of the Bulge. “In the last of February [1944], a thawcame. We had to hold up for a couple of weeks. Because it (the soil)was so soft, we couldn’t move,” Harold said. “It rained a lot.”

On March 7, 1945, 9th Armored Division troops captured theLudendorff Bridge at Remagen, Germany and vaulted the Rhine River.“I guess I remember crossing the Rhine” on the bridge a few days later,Harold said. “We was in a convoy. We was moving; we moved down-river a little and found a large house” that became a telephone com-munications center.

The 99th Infantry Division advanced into Germany and participat-ed in the April 1945 Battle of the Ruhr Pocket, described by Harold as

“the last battle. I was laying wire; when they moved, we had to movewith them.”

War delayed high school graduation a few years

NEWS PHOTO BY BRIAN SWARTZ

Janet and Harold Sprague of Cherryfield were marriedin 1952, about seven years after Harold returned

from duty in Europe.

See CHERRYFIELD, Page 10

By Brian Swartz


For many Mainers, dawn on Tuesday, Jan. 2, 1968 started a newwork week amidst Pine Tree State cold and snow.

Far away in Southeast Asia, that same dawn ended a hellaciousnight experienced by an Army second lieutenant from Jonesport.Moving amidst combat-caused death, debris, stench, and horror, Gor-don F. Kelley and his platoon’s surviving soldiers concentrated on stay-ing alive after helping thrash two North Vietnamese Army regiments.

Co. C, 2nd Battalion (Mechanized)

In February 1966, 25-year-old Gordon Kelly “was working in Flori-da” when he received a draft notice. By then, the Defense Departmentwas drafting men into the Army and Marines; the Army claimed Kel-ley, who recalled that “if I’d been sitting one seat to the left, I would’vebeen in the Marines.”

After completing basic training at Fort Dix, N.J., Kelley reported toOfficer Candidate School at Fort Benning, Ga. Commissioned a sec-ond lieutenant, he reported to Fort Hood, Texas to command a mech-anized infantry company in the 1st Armored Division. “It was a cap-tain’s slot, but all the captains were in Vietnam,” Kelley said.

In “the last part of 1967,” he arrived in Vietnam to command a pla-toon in Co. C, 2nd Battalion (Mechanized), 22nd Infantry Regiment,3rd Brigade, 25th Infantry Division. The platoon “had [four] APCs(armored personnel carriers) for traveling, rather than just walking,”Kelley said.

The 25th Infantry Division had deployed in the Iron Triangle and “allalong the Cambodian border where the Ho Chi Minh Trail came intoVietnam,” Kelley recalled. “Where I was, it was all flat,” with rice paddies

and rubber-tree plantations creating a kaleidoscopic landscape.“We were in a lot of areas that were defoliated,” Kelley said. “It

looked like being on the face of the moon.”In late 1967, NVA troops and supplies poured into South Vietnam

prior to the planned late January 1968 Tet Offensive. Then Commu-nist leaders proposed a New Year’s 1968 truce, during which combatoperations would cease. The 22nd Infantry Regiment’s 2nd Battalion(Mechanized) and 3rd Battalion deployed in late December 1967 toFire Base Burt, located at Soui Cut “about 5 kilometers from the Cam-bodian border, directly north of Saigon,” Kelley recalled.

The two battalions created Fire Base Burt, which “looked like awagon wheel” with the companies deployed along the perimeter, and“the artillery set up in the middle,” he said. A road bisected the base.

According to Kelley, Co. C deployed its APCs, established soliddefensive positions, and set up fields of fire. A rifle company, described

by Kelley as “a leg unit,” dug in “just to theeast” and failed to create adequate defen-sive positions.

Battle of Soui Cut

Kelley estimated that during the NewYear’s truce, “there was probably 30,000men (NVA) that had gone by us” whileinfiltrating South Vietnam. The truce pre-vented the 22nd Infantry troops fromattacking NVA units passing near Fire BaseBurt; then on Jan. 1, 1968, “some of themsplit off and attacked us, probably 5,000 or6,000 of them,” Kelley said.

Sometime that afternoon, “the firstinkling” the American troops received

about an impending assault “was when a plane flew over with some-thing new [aboard], a ‘people sniffer,’ probably infrared,” Kelley said.The aircraft’s crew radioed Fire Base Burt that “there was either a largeherd of elephants or a lot of people moving around” around the base,he recalled.

As darkness settled, three Co. C soldiers deployed to an OP (obser-vation post) “radioed in and whispered they could hear Vietnamesevoices all around them,” Kelley said. “We told them to come in.” TheAmericans hurried toward Fire Base Burt; two soldiers reached safety,but Jack Miller of Fountain City, Ind. died just as he reached the wire.

“Just after dark,” NVA troops launched a brutal mortar barrage, andsenior American officers “figured they put a couple thousand ofrounds in there,” Kelley said. Then thousands of NVA soldiers chargedFire Base Burt.


“That crazy (Maine) lieutenant is calling napalm on top of himself!”

Gordon Kelley (left) was an Army second lieutenant who fought alongside his platoon’s

soldiers during the night-long Battle of Soui Cut,Vietnam, fought in January 1968. A burned-out

APC (above) attests to the savage fighting.

See BATTLE, Page 12

His company suffered casualties,caused primarily by German artillery.Sprague took shrapnel in his right leg;doctors later removed the metal frag-ments. In September 1945, he sailedfrom Le Havre to New York aboard atransport packed with 8,000 soldiers. “Itwas good to be back,” Harold admitted.The Army discharged him at FortDevens on April 14, 1946.

In January 1947, Sprague returned toCherryfield Academy to complete hissenior year. Janet was a freshman; ifUncle Sam had not sent Harold to warand delayed his graduation, he and Janetmight not have met that year.

“They gave me my diploma” in June1947, Harold recalled.

“I lived downtown, and he lived up

on the ridge (on Route 193),” said Janet,who became Harold’s bride on May 29,1952. She does not recall when she firstmet Harold, but “I probably was a soph-omore before you asked me out,” shesaid, smiling across the kitchen table ather husband.

After marrying Janet, Harold workedat A.L. Stewart & Sons in Cherryfield“for seven or eight years” and thenjoined the Postal Service as a windowclerk and “substitute RFD driver” inCherryfield. Before retiring in 1993 with33 years’ service, Harold became the“full-time RFD driver.”

In 1958, the Spragues purchased ahouse built in 1861. There they raisedtwo sons, Timothy and Terrance; theSpragues now have two grandchildrenand three great-grandchildren. Haroldjoined the Masonic Order in 1946 andthe American Legion in 1960. Hebelongs to Legion Post No. 8 in Cherry-field.

By Phillip M. Gardner

The Army troop transport MarineRaven was the first of the “Marine” classto carry troops. The first and secondvoyages across the North Atlantic withthe lighter weight of troops on boardwere traumatic during the winter of1944, but the ride tamed somewhatwhen upon the ship’s return to theStates, several tons of pig iron werecemented to the bulkheads and deck.

The length of the Marine Raven was520 feet, the cruising speed was 17 knots,and the capacity was 2,439 passengers.

The crew were Merchant Marine, mostlyveterans of the Murmansk Run, severalof whom had been aboard ships sunk byGerman submarines. These sailors hadrefused to quit and were reassigned.

The fated third crossing left from Pier19 in New York on May 12, 1944 andarrived in Gourock, Scotland on May 23,then sailed up the Clyde River to Glasgow.The Marine Raven was shuttled betweenseveral ports in Great Britain until May 28,when we departed for Milford Haven.There troops were embarked, and then wemoved out to anchorage at Swansea,Wales, where other transports and landing

craft were riding.On the evening of June 5, the invasion

of France was declared. The feeling ofimpending fate was great. Thoughtswere short-circuited and forced into thetask of the moment. This became rou-tine as we got underway when alerted bycoded signals flashed from ship to shipin the early hours of June 6.

The turbulent, gale-roughened seasaround us met the horizon interspersedwith the ships of this present-day arma-da. Overhead flew B-17s returning toEngland after their initial bombing mis-sions. The formations were staggered:The patterns of three were now of oneplane, sometimes two planes were miss-ing, with another plane flying below theothers with a stilled engine.

This was our first appraisal of thehellish scenes to be met as we nearedOmaha Beach that evening.

As we approached our unloadingpositions, the thunder and flashes of thewarships’ heavy armament flared thetrailing smoke and shook the ship’s rig-ging. Overhead an enemy plane wouldfly into the steel cable of a barrage bal-loon and pinwheel, flaming into the seawithout striking the deck.

From the enemy positions on thebluff, tracer bullets streamed into thelower shore targets, and flares — nowred, now blue — were suspended in thechaotic night.

There would be no unloading from ourtransport until orders were received.Meanwhile, fully equipped with full fieldpacks, the troops climbed the ship’s laddersto the top of the ventilating structure fromwhich landing nets were suspended. Theypracticed descending into LSTs that woulddock alongside at daybreak.

There was no conversation among themen. These were not the seasoned, rigid-ly disciplined troops of the Nazi regime,but for the most part they were collegekids or youths drafted from the tradesand professions. Many had volunteeredshortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor.

The ship’s decks were wet and slip-pery from a drizzle. The LSTs arrived,and the pack-laden troops descendedthe landing nets into the tossing vesselsthat were riding three-foot seas. Loaded,the LSTs headed for the coast.

We remained in position during thefollowing day. During this time, the shipwas strafed by enemy aircraft that man-aged to get past our 50-mm. anti-aircraft

fire. The Army staff personnel hadremained aboard, observing the landing.They disembarked later.

The Marine Raven was in transit toand on the beaches of France June 6-9.As shown by later citations, the ship washeavily bombed June 8-9. On June 17-18, we returned to the beachheads withreplacements.

After a total of 18 crossings and withthe necessary military discharge points, Iwas discharged at Fort Jay, N.Y. on Nov.6, 1944. I lacked just two months of fiveyears of service in World War II.

Phillip M. Gardner lives in Bangor.


CherryfieldContinued from Page 8

Woodrow Cross was born on a farmin Bradford. As a boy, he took his smallpony with him as he made his salesrounds through the neighborhood; hewould sell anything from garden seedsto Cloverine Salve.

His family built a country storewhen he was 12. When Cross was 21,his father passed away, leaving thestore’s daily operations up to Cross, theoldest of three children. “That was inthe middle of the Depression,” Crossrecalled.

Five years later, Uncle Sam calledhim to duty in World War II. He joinedthe Army and participated in the NewGuinea and Philippines campaign.

Cross spent 37 months in theinfantry, including 15 months overseas.While in the service, he married JanetteBean. After returning Stateside, heoperated the country store for anothereight years. The store provided the fam-

ily with income, but after several yearsin the grocery business, Cross was readyfor a new challenge. A friend intro-duced him to insurance, and Cross“decided to start an insurance agencyfrom my home in Bangor” in 1954.

SS Marine Raven carried a Bangor sailor to the shores of Normandy

37 months in the infantry

Woodrow Cross, who started sell-ing insurance in 1954, served in

the Army during World War II.

NEWS PHOTO BY DEBRA BELLIn October 1939, Donald E.

Moore joined the Maine Nation-al Guard and soon was called

to active duty to serve with the43rd Infantry Division. Late one

night on New Georgia, quietmovement outside their tent led

Moore and his comrades tograb their rifles and listen to

the perceived threat recede intothe distance. Next morning, “wefinally found the footprints of a

caraboa, a water buffalo,” hesaid. “We got a laugh out ofthat, but we were relieved.”

Dennis Boucher of Trentonserved in Vietnam as crew chiefon a Marine UH-34D helicopter.During a flight to help the crewof another downed helicopter,

Boucher was firing his machinegun as “we were getting plas-tered by VC incoming rounds.”The UH-34D crashlanded and

burned; its crew survived athree-day march to safety.

By Philip J. Morneault

Washington, D.C. — July 1988: I amexperiencing an overwhelming flood ofemotions during my first visit to “TheWall” as I feel what I have denied myselffor years.

I feel anger, disgust, sadness, grief,loneliness, annoyance, anxiety, guilt forsurviving, guilt for the lives and land Ihelped destroy, frustration, bitterness forbeing used, fear that it might happenagain, and an urge to go into a rage.

But, at the same time, I feel gratefulfor being alive and being able to visit thismonument that commemorates the ulti-mate sacrifice made by our brothers andsisters. I feel recognized for doing what,20 years ago, I thought was my patrioticduty. I’m grateful also just for having thestrength today to be here.

Up until now during many trips to D.C., I’ve been afraid to come to The Wallbecause I didn’t know how or if I couldhandle it. However, this time I mademyself a commitment to come eventhough it might hurt. My visit is part ofa process to heal and recover from thepsychological wounds of the war.

It’s something long overdue. I hadnever dealt with the lingering issuesfrom my Vietnam experience in ahealthy way. I used numbing techniquesand avoidance as coping tools.

I feel heart-wrenching pain as I slow-ly make the long journey from one endof the V-shaped memorial to the other. Ihopelessly try to hold back the tears; Ieventually give up and allow the flood ofemotion. It hurts, but in a way it feelsgood.

The Wall: I never imagined it is aslong as it is. The images created by pho-tographers and television reduce its size.I contemplate the gruesome conse-quences and terrors experienced bythose whose names are on The Wall. Iremember some of the events I wit-nessed and knew about from my twoyears in ’Nam.

I think about the more than 60,000[men and women] who have died attheir own hands after physically return-ing [from Southeast Asia]. Their namesalso belong here, but aren’t. I think

about fate. Different fate could havereversed the present: My name on TheWall, not me looking at The Wall.

I think of the steps I took and thepeople who helped me in the past fewmonths to have the courage to face TheWall. Coming out of denial in the springof 1988, I finally admitted 1 had unre-solved issues left over from Vietnam.Asking for help was scary for me becauseof a negative experience trying to gethelp from the VA in 1975.

However, I did manage to make thatdifficult call to the Vietnam Vet Centerin Hartford, Conn. For the first timesince I returned in 1971, I felt as thoughsomebody cared — and somebodyunderstood. With counseling, I’ve beenable to work on putting Vietnam in itsproper perspective and gain someunderstanding of what it did to cause meto be who I am today.

I reflect on the past. Although rarely aday goes by during which I don’t thinkabout my Vietnam experience, I’ve nevertalked about it until recently. I wouldn’teven admit that I am a veteran.

When I needed to talk about it in theearly ’70s, I couldn’t. Nobody wanted tohear it. So I did what many other veter-ans did: I stuffed it along with my feel-ings. It’s now time for me to get in touchwith myself, acknowledge what hap-

pened to me and its significance, placethe experience in its proper perspective,and learn how to feel to give my life awholeness that has been lacking.

The darkness of the warm summernight, lights illuminating the three soldiersoverlooking The Wall, and the addedsound effects of planes taking off fromWashington National Airport create a sur-real environment that brings me back toDanang Air Base 18-19 years ago. I think ofthe friends I shared those times with. Ismile thinking of the good times. I shud-der as I think of the difficult ones.

The planes: What were they? Freedombirds? C-141 Starlifters with woundedsoldiers or metal boxes (coffins)? C-123Providers off to spray Agent Orange? F-4s, A-6s, and A-4s off on support mis-

sions? There were so many different air-craft. The familiar roar of jet aircraft tak-ing off reverberates in my mind andbrings me back in time.

As I read the facial expressions onthose three guys looking at The Wall,

they seem to be asking the same ques-tion that I have struggled with for 20years. Why? Why? Why? I don’t think I’llever find a satisfactory answer.

All these emotions and all the intel-lectualizing I’ve done still leave me frus-trated. Why? What did we learn? Whatdid we accomplish with our blood,sweat, and tears and all the resourcescommitted to winning hearts andminds?

I stop at the tent of one of the veter-ans who helps maintain a vigil for thosewho have yet to return from ’Nam. A vetwalks up to me, shakes my hand, andhugs me saying, “Welcome home.”

It’s what I need to hear to know I amnot alone and I’m finally coming home.

Philip J. Morneault of Frenchville was anAir Force staff sergeant stationed in Vietnam


OF BANGOR

A Vietnam vet remembers his first trip to The Wall in Washington

Marine Staff Sgt. William Jonesjoined the United States Marine Corpson Feb. 27, 1984. He graduated from

Parris Island in South Carolina on May17, 1984 and was honorably dischargedafter serving for 15 years.

During his years with the Marines,Jones spent time on Okinawa anddeployed three times to the Mediter-ranean Sea.

His combat tour involved servingduring Operation Desert Storm with the2nd Battalion, 4th Marines, known as“The Magnificent Bastards.” Servingwith the Heavy Machine Gun Platoon ofthe Weapons Company, Jones participat-ed in ground-combat operations againstIraqi forces during the liberation ofKuwait City in 1991.

Currently the commandant for theMarine Corps League, Bangor Detach-ment 1151, Jones lives in Levant.Marine Staff Sgt. William Jones

Marine served in Desert Storm

Philip Morneault (right) was overcome byemotion during his first visit to The Viet-

nam Wall in Washington in July 1988.

By Johnny Friedman

During the 1950s, I was a young boy growing upon outer Ohio Street in Bangor. Often the F86, F100,KC97, and B52 planes were buzzing above our housewhile taking off and landing at Dow Air force Base. Iwas truly inspired; I knew from an early age that Iwas going to join the Air Force some day.

The day after I graduated from Bangor High in1963, I went down to [the Armed Forces InductionStation on] Harlow Street to join the Air Force. Ifound that I had a medical issue; they declared me4F. With my mom as a co-signer, I got a $1,000 loanfrom Beneficial Finance, had my medical issue cor-rected, reapplied to join the Air Force, passed myphysical, and enlisted in August 1963.

The career chosen for me was communicationsspecialist. I was stationed with the 2063rd Commu-nications Squadron at Lindsey Air Station in Wies-baden, Germany for three years.

The communications (traffic) at our comm cen-

ter was highly classified, requiring a “top Secret”Nato clearance. Not long after I arrived in Germany,the ugly business of Vietnam became a major prior-ity for the Air Force. For the rest of my tour, Vietnambecame a major part of our traffic at our communi-cations center.

In 1967, my three years were up, and I was goinghome. I was 21 years old. We were advised not towear our uniforms home; there wasn’t much lovegoing around for the military in the 1960s.

After 9/11, I began to reflect on my own militaryexperience. The U.S. military mission during the1950s and 1960s was to keep communism at bay allover the world. Those efforts required great intelli-gence, communications, and human sacrifice.

I had been part of a team that handled the mostsensitive military communications of the time, atthe highest level, of both the Cold War and the Viet-nam War. In the last few years I have come to realizethat my military experience was of great value. After43 years, I have learned to be proud of those efforts.


“The vanguard of the assault went directly intoLieutenant Kelley’s platoon position,” reports theDistinguished Service Cross citation that Kelleyreceived for his actions during the wee hours of Jan.2, 1968.

“The heaviest portion of their assault went rightinto our unit,” Kelley said. He thinks the NVA actu-ally intended to swamp the adjacent, poorly forti-fied “leg company”; later, senior Army officers “saidif it hadn’t been for my unit down here, we wouldhave been overrun,” he said.

Savage fighting continued all night, with Ameri-cans and Vietnamese often intermingled as the NVA“got through in several places, and some combatwas hand to hand,” Kelley said. Heavy weaponswent silent as NVA troops overran key positions.Kelley led efforts to recapture them, and sometimeduring the night, “they (battalion staff] gave mecontrol over the airplanes and the artillery,” herecalled. “I was talking directly to the fighter pilots.”

He described combat as “like slow motion. Youjust see it happening. I remember standing besidean APC with a .45 [in his hand] and shooting them(NVA) as they ran by.”

With the situation deteriorating, Kelley called forthe supporting artillery to fire horizontally acrossthe Co. C positions. Americans dived into bunkersand foxholes moments before 105 mm. cannonsfired “beehive rounds right over us,” he said.

Each round exploded to release thousands ofmetal darts that struck any object above groundlevel. The next day, Kelley noticed hundreds of dartsembedded in the APCs’ exterior metal walls.

Kelley called in air strikes “to within fifty meters

of his position,” reports his DCS citation. “We useda lot of napalm. I could hear someone on the bat-talion [radio] net saying, ‘That crazy lieutenant iscalling napalm on top of himself!’” he recalled.

The DSC citation indicates that “throughout the… eight hour battle,” Kelley “moved from positionto position to adjust his platoon’s fire, relocateweapons, inspire his men, and supervise the treat-ment and evacuation of wounded personnel.

“Although painfully wounded by shrapnel, Lieu-tenant Kelley refused medical attention and repeat-edly braved the enemy fire,” the citation states.“These [air and artillery] strikes and the well direct-ed fire from his superbly led infantrymen repulsedthe frantic assault.”

Kelley recalled that “I was wounded in the legsand head, just about everywhere” by an explodingmortar round that spewed metal fragments into hisplatoon’s position. “It hurt, but it wasn’t life-threat-ening,” he said.

The NVA troops broke off their assault near day-break on Jan. 2 and hauled away many casualties.The Jan. 4, 1968 Pacific Stars and Stripes reportedthat enemy dead numbered between 351 and 549.The 2nd Battalion lost 25 soldiers, including fourfrom Co. C.

The battle at Fire Base Burt received cinematicrecognition in the Oliver Stone movie, “Platoon.”Stone served with the 3rd Battalion during thenight-long Battle of Soui Cut.

Remembering his men

In autumn 1968, 1st Lt. Kelley “came home toFort Hood,” left the Army, and returned to Maine.Ten days before flying to Vietnam in 1967, he hadmarried Cynthia Renski of Cherryfield; they settledthere to raise a son and two daughters. The Kelleysalso have one grandchild, and Gordon Kelley ownsan oil company and sells peat moss.

He belongs to the American Legion and the Vet-erans of Foreign Wars. Looking back 32 years, Kel-ley still recalls the soldiers whose lives he consideredso important. One such soldier was Jack Miller,whom Kelley remembers as if he had died in earlyJanuary 2010 and not early January 1968. Kelleyexplained that each soldier’s death “meant a lot” tohim. The memory “hurts a lot with the relatives ofthose people when you talk to them later,” he said.

Kelly credited his soldiers for helping him sur-vive warfare in the Vietnamese jungles. “I stayed inthe field a year,” he said. “I had good soldiers withme; they made the difference.”

BattleContinued from Page 9

Ernestine C. Pelletier reports that she is “cur-rently living in Old Town,” her “hometown, afterbeing gone from home for over 50 years.”

That half century took her into the Air Forceand a new career path at a time when service-women were job-limited.

In early December 1958, Pelletier reported forbasic training at Lackland Air Force Base in SanAntonio. On Feb. 29, 1959, she reported to MatherAFB in Sacramento, Calif. to work as an adminis-trative specialist.

In that era, few Air Force career fields were opento women. Pelletier worked at various Air Forceoffices in California, Germany, and England beforea heart problem briefly sidelined her career in early1965.

Returning to duty that March, she continuedworking as an administrative specialist at bases inCalifornia, Germany, and Wyoming, where she wasdischarged from active duty in February 1970.

Pelletier immediately joined the Air Force

Reserve at Tinker AFB in Oklahoma City, Okla.Assigned to the 937th Military Airlift Group, shesoon applied to become a full-time Air ReserveTechnician.

However, the Air Force allowed only malereservists to become ARTs, a position establishedin 1958. Pelletier begged to differ; “citing the CivilRights Act of 1964 and an executive order fromPresident [Richard] Nixon and Air Force Reservedirectives, Sgt. Pelletier built a case for allowingwomen into the ART program,” the Daily Okla-homan reported on May 21, 1971.

Pelletier’s appeal opened the ART program towomen; Pelletier became the first female ART asshe transferred to the 446th Tactical Fighter Wingat Ellington AFB in Texas in spring 1971. Sheserved there as a management technician.

Pelletier completed 21 years of service atCharleston AFB, S.C. in March 1980. She receivedthe Air Force Commendation Medal when sheretired.

Breaking an Air Force gender barrier

American artillery position at Fire Base Burtthe day after the Battle of Soui Cut.

Classified communications in Germany


By Brian Swartz


For 4½ months earlier this year, aMainer “welcomed home” America’sfallen heroes arriving on their finalflights to the Land of the Free and theHome of the Brave.

The daughter of Karla Gamertsfelderand the late Nicholas Gamertsfelder ofPembroke, Staff Sgt. Rachel Gamerts-felder recently completed a deploymentwith Air Force Mortuary Affairs at DoverAir Force Base, Del. Herself an Iraq Warveteran, she served on a team dedicatedto ensuring that fallen service membersreceived a dignified greeting when theytouched down on American soil for thelast time.

After graduating from WashingtonAcademy in 2003, Gamertsfelder joinedthe Air Force “right out of high school,”but “didn’t ship out until November” toattend basic training and the securityforces technical school at Lackland AirForce Base, Texas.

Although stationed at Lackland AFB,Gamertsfelder has “deployed to severaldifferent locations,” including KirkukRegional Air Base in Iraq in August 2005.There “I was a machine gunner” armedwith a 240 Bravo, “a newer version of theM60,” she said. If necessary, Gamerts-

felder could also fire a .50 calibermachine gun.

Duty assigned her to guard posts andto armored Humvees escorting alliedconvoys. Gamertsfelder did fire her 240“a couple of times” as Air Force securitypersonnel encountered IEDs and theKirkuk air base received “a lot of indirectfire: rockets, mortars, nothing toosevere,” she recalled.

In February 2007, Gamertsfelderdeployed to an air base at Al Udeid,Qatar. “I was doing fly-away missions,

when we would get onto a Blackhawkhelicopter or a C-130 [transport],” shesaid.

From August 2008 to February 2009,“I was in Balad, Iraq” as a “machine gun-ner once again,” Gamertsfelder said. “Westill got mortared. We got rocketed veryoften, about every day. We also got someIEDs when we went off base on patrols.”

Then in June 2010 the Air Forcedeployed Gamertsfelder to Dover AFB,Del. She was assigned to the Air ForceMortuary Affairs Operations Center,and Dover AFB “is a high priority basebecause of what’s going on there,”Gamertsfelder said.

She explained that “all the fallen sol-diers, sailors, Marines, airmen, [and]civilian contractors, everybody is sent toDover.” Air Force Mortuary Affairs han-dles the paperwork and other pertinentissues pertaining to “their biggest mis-sion, [which is] making sure that fallenservice members get back to the fami-lies,” Gamertsfelder said.

“I was part of the Air Force DignifiedTransfer Team,” she said.

Incoming transports ferry the trans-fer cases containing fallen service mem-bers to Dover AFB. Each hero receives

special attention once a plane lands andopens its cargo doors.

An Air Force Dignified Transfer Teamenters the plane before the transfer casesare removed. “Every time we had some-one fallen come back, we would go outonto the plane,” Gamertsfelder said. “Wewould replace the American flags on thetransfer cases with new ones. We wouldpre-position the transfer cases” to beremoved from a plane.

Then, depending on the hero’s servicebranch, a transfer team from that branchmoves a transfer case to a waiting “transfercase vehicle. It is completely enclosed. Itcan carry up to six transfer cases,” she said.

“If it was an airman or a civilian con-tractor, we would carry the transfer caseoff the plane and put it on the transfercase vehicle,” Gamertsfelder said. “Wewould carry it off in a very dignifiedmanner, using facing movements and[moving] in step.”

Only an Air Force transfer team haseight members, Gamertsfelder noted.The Army, Marine Corps, and Navyteams have seven members. Air Forceteam members are stationed at DoverAFB; “we were on call 24/7,” Gamerts-felder said.

Gamertsfelder and her comrades alsoperformed “a dignified transfer reverse”when a fallen service member “was beingsent back to their home of record” afterpre-funeral arrangements were complet-ed at Dover AFB. “They are going home”in a casket or an urn, “depending onwhat the family wants” pertaining toearth burial or cremation, she said.

Gamertsfelder, who left Delaware onOct. 15, 2010 to return to San Antonio,remembered that “when I originallywent up there” to Dover AFB, “I did notknow what to expect at all.” Shedescribed the assignment as “verytough,” and with the upturned combattempo in Afghanistan this summer andfall, “too many” planes landed at thebase.

“However, I knew that if I was in their(the fallen’s) situation, if the roles werereversed,” Air Force Mortuary Affairs“would be doing the same thing for me.That made it so honorable,” she said.

Gamertsfelder has returned to “beinga security forces patrolman” and “han-dling the law enforcement at LacklandAir Force Base.” Promoted to staff ser-geant (E-5) in 2009, she extended herinitial six-year enlistment by four years.

A standout experience for me in Viet-nam was observing a most remarkablebird, the greater racquet-tailed drongo.

It happened while we were on patrolin what was supposed to be a rather dan-gerous area of the country. Maybe it wasin Ruoung Ruoung Valley, near NamTruong Nga Hai.

On a bright, sunny day, we weredescending a steep jungled hill in singlefile when we broke into a small, grassyopening surrounded by hills. Across thepatch of bright sky flew the magnificentgreater racquet-tailed drongo, a largeblack-crested bird with a 13-inch longtail streaming behind it. The tail shafts

feathered only at the tips.I was momentarily distracted from

the business at hand: This was a greatplace to be ambushed. We had no way toquickly get back up that hill.

Earlier, onthe same patrol,I saw the scarletminivet. Onother excur-sions I saw ajungle fowl, awater hen, thegreater coucal,the rufous bel-lied malkoha,various king-fishers, the red-bellied roller,the red-whiskered bulbul, the ashy frontedwhite-faced bulbul, the pied wagtail, andthe common mynah.

One bird,maybe a bulbul,emitted a loudsound like the“tock, tock,tock” of a clock,over and overand over, until itstopped. Thisleft you wonder-ing what the

bird had seen. Was there someone there?After a spell, it would do it all over again.

I carried a field guide to the birds ofThailand in my pack. Once I borrowedthe FO’s (forward artillery observer’s)binoculars to ID a blue-winged leaf bird.

The experience wasn’t all bad.The author is a Vietnam veteran who

prefers to remain anonymous.


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Air Force combat veteran greeted America’s honored dead in 2010

Air Force Staff Sgt. RachelGamertsfelder hails from

Pembroke.

Infantryman noticed the birds of Vietnam

Male scarletminivet

Greater racquet-tailed drongo

By Emily Adams

MILO — Every war is so different.In Korea, the enemy was the Commu-

nists and the cold. Hanford “Sonny”Burton survived both, even the Battle ofthe Chosin Reservoir. He is one of theChosin Frozen, the Chosin Few.

Burton was 18 when he enlisted in theArmy in January 1949. He received thehighest score during basic training in thewhole battalion. Upon his arrival inJapan, he was authorized to be a mailclerk because he did not drink or playpoker and was therefore considereddependable. Burton belonged to the Pio-neer and Ammunition Squad, HQ Co.,2nd Battalion, 17th Infantry Regiment,7th Infantry Division.

By the first week in July 1950, the24th Infantry Division had gone aheadto Pusan, South Korea. The 7th InfantryDivision remained in Japan to trainSouth Korean augmentees before goingto Inchon in the wake of the Sept. 15,1950 landing by the Marines.

As Allied forces advanced into NorthKorea, the 7th Infantry Division wasamong the only American forces tomake it to the Yalu River that separatedthe Korean Peninsula from CommunistChina. After Communist Chinese troopsentered Korea in late October 1950, ele-ments of the 7th Infantry Division weresent to reinforce the 1st Marine Divisionadvancing toward the Chosin Reservoir.This is located in the northeastern por-

tion of the Korean Peninsula.Chinese attacks in late November iso-

lated the Allied forces that had reachedthe Chosin Reservoir. Temperaturesplummeted. For the trapped Americans,British, and South Koreans, the onlyoption was to retreat — or as MarineMaj. Gen. Oliver P. Smith put it,“Retreat, hell! We’re not retreating, we’rejust advancing in a different direction!”

During that time, Burton and hismen came upon the bodies of 10Marines in an open area who had beenblindfolded and shot. Being captured orsurrendering meant certain death. Dur-ing their withdrawal, the Allied troops,with many left for dead, relied on them-

selves to make it back more than 70miles toward the evacuation point onthe coast. At one point, Burton and hiscomrades went three days without foodand crawled for miles on their bellies atnighttime in conditions so cold —minus 40 to 50 degrees below zero —they could not dig foxholes.

“After you get so cold, you want tosleep,” recalled the 80-year-old Burton.“That’s part of the battle, to fight thatoff, not go to sleep, do whatever youneed to do to keep awake.” One memberof his company zipped into his blanketsleeping bag and never woke up. As mailclerk, Burton had to write K.I.A. (killedin action) on his mail.

During that November-December1950 period, their winter gear was a fieldjacket snugged over layers of t-shirts.Burton wore four layers of socks thatwould become drenched, get wrung out,and be put back on time and again.

The troops melted snow for water.They did not get real sleep. They shareda foxhole with a buddy and took turnskeeping watch. On Thanksgiving Day,Nov. 23, they had frozen fruit cocktail.When they came upon C-rations left inabandoned trucks, they sat on them tothaw them out. The thrill of a hot show-er would not be felt until Christmas Eveafter the soldiers were evacuated fromHungnam to Pusan.


By Ernest E. Lawford

I remember when I came back fromVietnam, I was so hard with emotion.There was no love, hope, or dreams inmy mind or in my heart. I would notallow myself to get hurt physically oremotionally.

In 1971, after coming home, I met ayoung woman, and the next year we gotmarried. Yet there was no love in myheart for her. I didn’t know what it (love)was or how to feel it. We stayed togetherfor 23 years, and there was never any lovefor her. The only thing that made me feelalive during that period was the twochildren that we had. My closeness tothem became unbreakable. It was mytwo children that showed me how tolove again. My love for them and theirlove for me has been unwavering.

I have had to live my life not reallyknowing if it is real or just a dream.Sometimes I wonder if I really made ithome, or I’m lying in some rice paddybleeding. Maybe I’m just dreaming ofwhat my life could be like if I ever makeit home.

I wonder if my children are a realityor just a dream. I pray to God that theyare real so this life that I have to live hassome meaning, that all I’ve gonethrough is for something worthwhile.

Some people say that I should consid-er the reality of life. Yet in the reality ofmy life it can really be a dream. Wouldyou like to live your life like this?

Just to think that everything I am,that everything I might become could allbe a dream. This life is like a curse, like agame that you can never win.

I know that in my life I have alwaysbeen one step away from stepping overthe edge. I know the only ones that I cancount on to always be there for me aremy children. I know in my heart that I

have felt the taste of love even though itmight only be a dream. It was a love sogentle and kind that all men would envy.

Through that one love I really learnedhow to forgive — and the joy in forgiv-ing, if only a dream!

Ernest L. Lawford of Hampden was aSpc. 5 with the 92nd Assault Helicopter Co.

in Vietnam from 1969 to 1971.

His children’s love taught ’Nam vet how to forgive

Milo veteran fought at the Frozen Chosin

Hanford “Sonny” Burton

By John I. Corrao

In the early 1960s, I was an Air Forceaircraft machinist working on B-52bombers and KC-135 tankers while sta-tioned at Turner Air Force Base inAlbany, Ga. with the 484th Heavy Bom-bardment Wing.

Everything was pretty much routineuntil the Cuban Missile Crisis brokeout. Being young and in my late teens, Ididn’t think much about it except hav-ing to work longer hours at the shop.This was not much different than ourtraining alerts, when we would spend20 or more hours on duty.

That day we had a commander’s call.We were told what was happening, andthat was when we went on alert at Def-con 4 because the Russian ships wereheading for Cuba with their missilesaboard. We went back to work thinkingthe Russians would back off. Next daywe went to another commander’s call,and we were told the Russian ships werestill headed for Cuba with their missilecargoes. We moved to Defcon 3.

We went to our shops and got what-ever we needed and got ready to godown to the flight line. After we gotthere, the alert went to Defcon 2. Boy!That was a bad one! One more alertlevel higher, and we would be shootingnuclear-tipped missiles at one another.This thing was getting serious!

Our bombers and tankers were at

their fail-safe areas or in the air whileawaiting their orders. There weregroups of men standing around, talkingabout what was happening and whatthey thought was going to happen. A lotof us were looking up not only for ourbombers, but for a nuclear attackknown as a nuclear air burst.

I finally realized I might not be alivetomorrow, because a nuclear air burstcan screw up your whole day. Mythoughts went to my family back homein Maine and to my brother and hisfamily in Maryland.

Fortunately the Russian ships turnedaround and headed back to Russia.

Now fast forward about 40 years toan air show at Brunswick Naval Air Sta-tion. Parked there on the flight linewere two B-52 Stratofortresses.

What memories came floodingback! I said to my wife, “Let me showyou about this magnificent bomber.”We were standing in the bomb bay, andI showed and told her about the manydifferent things that I had worked on somany times so many years ago.

I remembered when we were all onthe flight line at Turner AFB in 1962.We were the guys that stayed and stoodour ground and did our job. With theefforts of so many of us in the early1960s and after my time in the service,that was the reason we won that ColdWar.

John I. Corrao lives in Rockland.

High alert during a missile crisis

By Jay Nadeau

I was born in southern Aroostook County as theelder son of Bernard and Iona Nadeau. After joiningthe Army at Bangor on Jan. 25, 1963, I went to FortDix. From there I went to Camp Casey, Korea for 13months.

Later, I was assigned to Ft.Bliss, Texas. While there I wentwith my friends, Spc. CoyHoward of Texas and Spc.Donald Jones of New Mexico,on a three-day pass to Deming,N.M. We went to a barn dancethat was held at a two-roomschoolhouse.

There I met a lovely younglady named Betty. Not longafter we had met, our unit wasshipped to Vietnam.

I spent 66 days on the wateron the cargo ship SS Nancy Lykes. Being a Countyboy right off the farm, this was scary to me. Cross-ing the big water somewhere around Wake Island, Iturned 21. My thoughts were back home about howI missed my three brothers and two sisters andmom and dad. Oh, my gosh! How did Dad get sosmart all of a sudden?

A lot happened in the next six months. Onething that really was a keeper was a story that I’veshared with many people.

We used to have to lay communication wire

between the guns, with the wire sometimes gettingcaught in the tracks and causing disruption. So myplatoon sergeant tells us to bury the wires after eachsetup. Now this is a lot of digging — and this iswhere the farm boy comes in.

I saw a Vietnamese farmer down the road whohad a single bottom plow that he was using in his

rice paddies. The plow wasdrawn by water buffalo. So twoof my buddies took the jeepand paid the farmer a visit. A$5 American bill bought usthat plow.

We took it back to the shopand hooked it behind the jeep;the rest was history for us. Itrolled the sod perfectly to burythe wire.

Five weeks after my enlist-ment expired, I was dis-charged. I thought I’d go to

Deming to say “good-bye” to the young lady I’d metthere. The “good-bye” never came; we got married afew months later, stayed in Deming 18 months, anddecided to load up and head to Maine and makeour home here in Howland. We raised three won-derful children, two boys and a girl, and now wehave eight grand children.

Betty went with me in heart to Nam. When Ibrought her up here, she has never been back exceptto pay visits to her family. She’s loved it ever since.

Jay Nadeau lives in Howland.


By Kevin Melvin

My father, Wayne G. Melvin of Patten, truly sawhis military time and experiences in Vietnam asjust doing his job. That is just another example ofthe humility he has exhibited my entire life.

Throughout most of my life, my daddidn’t really speak about his time as anArmy soldier serving in Vietnam. Heserved in the 52nd Infantry Regiment,2nd Battalion, A Co. from December1968 to December 1970.

Anytime we would ask about hisexperience, he would say, “I heard sto-ries about how bad it was, but I didn’tsee much.” Despite being wounded incombat and receiving a Purple Heart, hehas stuck to that story for 40 years.

Over the past 15 years, he has transitioned froma person who tried to blend into society with thatchapter of his life behind him to a proud Americanwho won’t be seen in public without his VietnamVeteran hat on.

My father has successfully owned and operatedMelvin’s Electric in Patten for the past 30 years andis a well-respected member of his community. OnApril 1st of this year, while visiting me in Califor-nia, my father was diagnosed with inoperable can-cerous brain tumors. His first thoughts were howto make sure his wife and elderly mother would betaken care of.

The second thing he thought of was treatment,and he made the decision to stay in southern Califor-nia where, over the past seven months, he has gonethrough brain surgery to try and remove a tumor. Hehas undergone extensive physical therapy.

Through the entire process, he hasn’t com-plained at all, accepted suggestionsabout treatment, has been willing to tryanything, and has worked harder thananybody would have anticipated.

My father has opened up moreabout Vietnam since he has been sick,and he regularly falls back on hisupbringing as the reason he was able tocome home to his family after his timein the war.

I recently saw his DD214. Heachieved the rank of E5 in 11 months.

He was awarded the Bronze Star Medal while inVietnam. When I ask about it, all he says is, “I’mnot sure why I got that. Maybe it’s something theygave everybody.” Even when confronted about hisheroism, he remains very humble about what hedid for his country.

Despite what he was exposed to in Vietnam,and regardless of the fight he is in now, my father,Wayne Melvin, puts generosity, character, workethic, family, and friends ahead of himself at alltimes. Whether he would accept any accolades ornot, he is my hero!

Kevin Melvin is the proud son of Wayne G. Melvin.

Soldier met his bride in Deming, N.M. Honored to call a ’Nam vet “Dad”

Wayne G. Melvinlives in Patten.

Jay and Betty Nadeau

Veterans Day 2010

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