THE BOY DIED IN VIETNAM
A Marine’s story of PTSD, reunion and love.
By
DON P. BICK
Edited by Derek Milroy.
Cover photo taken by Michael Normandin 1968, deceased from cancer 2010.
Electronic edition published by Don P. Bick at Smashwords.
Copyright 2011 by Don P. Bick, all rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
* * *
To the vet who helped me get into treatment, you know who you are...thanks!
and
Dr. Sunde…thank you for your help and encouragement!
This book is dedicated to all the disadvantaged children in Vietnam and around the world. May you find your way through the darkness and overcome your difficulties, stupendous as they may seem, until you find peace and freedom. Even though you don’t know it, you are loved by millions.
A portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book will be used to help children in Vietnam who are still affected to this day from the horrors of the Vietnam War, or poor children, who through no fault of their own find they are living in the wrong place at the wrong time.
* * *
Table of Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 8 (one-third through book)
3. Chapter12 (one-half through book)
4. Chapter 16 (two-thirds through book)
5. Comments from Chet Sunde, Psy.D., Clinical Psychologist
7. About the author and his website
Introduction
Well, they tell me I have it - that I have had it for the last 42 years. One doctor tells me I only have a fair chance at recovery. Another says I can learn to manage it, in time, and live a productive life. At this point I don’t believe either of them. I am now 62 years old and the disorder has spent 42 years ingraining itself into the very essence of my physical, emotional and mental wellbeing. And after all these years I am now the product of its work.
Anyway, how do I change a lifetime of personality molding? Even if I believed it were possible, I wouldn’t know where to start. But I don’t actually believe it is possible. At this stage of the game it isn’t really about changing my personality as much as it is about learning to manage this disorder. Something I have done a very poor job of in the past, and I must admit, the present too. Of course, in my defense, I was totally unaware that I was suffering from any disorder, so never, even in my wildest dreams, did I think there was anything I needed to learn to manage. The concept ‘can’t see the forest for the trees’ comes to mind. As I write this, it occurs to me that learning to manage this issue quite possibly is changing my personality, specifically my actions and reactions to stress situations, which is, in part, what the personality is all about. It has been over a year now since I was diagnosed with a severe case of post-traumatic stress disorder, commonly referred to as PTSD.
PTSD is a mental anxiety issue. I never dreamed I had been affected to the extent it now appears obvious has been the case. I exhibit most of the symptoms, and there are a lot of them. I can look back on my life and see it has been a classic case of the disorder since my return from the Vietnam War. Vietnam veterans call it ‘War Sickness’. They suffer from it as well. In fact, many veterans from all over the world who have been involved in war have it. War is hell! If you are sensitive, I believe it is especially so. And I am sensitive.
Of course I have heard about PTSD over the years and I firmly believed only the weak, or what I might refer to as the so called ‘zombie’ war cases, were diagnosed with the disorder, or those trying to ‘work’ the system for personal benefit. I was wrong. I now know I have been in denial for years. I have it. The doctors were correct in their diagnosis, of that I am now certain.
Case in point: one day I went to a crowded supermarket in Vietnam (I am writing this memoir from where it all began.) and although I probably looked calm and normal on the outside, I was anything but on the inside. I was so filled with anxiety I wanted to quickly escape, needed to escape; to get away and hide from everyone and everything. Being around crowds of people is stressful and I don’t handle stress well. I can’t stand people getting right up next to me or behind me. But they were; the market was full of people getting too close, getting in my space. In these types of situations I may look okay on the outside, but the inside is definitely a different story. In the military I was trained to ignore my feelings and just do my job. I was, and always have been, a good learner.
I am presently receiving treatment from Dr. Chet Sunde, a psychologist I was referred to by the Veterans Administration. I go to regular one-on-one and group therapy sessions to learn about this disorder, and how I can manage it in my day to day life. Let me tell you it is not easy. Trying to break habits that have taken decades to develop, and replace them with new ones, is an extremely difficult thing to do. Those other veterans in my group agree. Sadly, my relationships have suffered tremendously over the years from the habits I have created; my reactions to stressful events that arise in all of our lives have affected my social and business relations in a negative way. This is the area of my life I hope to improve the most, my interactions with others. And although I have been getting treatment for over a year now, I still have no desire to be around people. I still have extreme difficulty in my relationships, both personal and otherwise. It isn’t easy to break a lifetime of habit!
Of course there will always be those who don’t believe the disorder even exists. If you have never been to war; never held a fellow soldier in your arms while he or she died, or never held an innocent child while the life drained out of them from injuries sustained in wartime, don’t for one minute think you can understand the senselessness of war, because that would not be possible! Trust me, it gets to you. It affects the very core of your being. It removes the innocence of youth. And it traumatizes so deeply that the images burned in your memory never go away, are forever near the surface just waiting for an unguarded moment to resurrect themselves, either through heightened mental anxiety or some form of emotional output.
I have a war story I would like to tell you. But it is not your typical story of war. This story is one of reunion, of one Marines attempt to come to grips with the past. It is most of all an incredible story of the love and respect that can develop between people of different cultures brought together during a time of war.
It began 43 years ago…
Chapter 1
I would spend a lot of time in the village of Dong Ha during my 13 month tour and this small place lies at the heart of my story. And that story is different than others you have heard of or read about in the past regarding Vietnam, and perhaps one that you have never considered a possibility. Although this narrative does have its roots in the war, 1968-1969 to be exact, it is not a story about the young military men and women on either side who courageously fought and died during the conflict. It has more to do with the deep seated love within the soul of every human being, no matter their race or culture.
It doesn’t matter where an individual is born or where they reside, all over the world people are people. I believe, in the majority, they are innately good at heart. True, governments talk their talk, but when you get to meet the people in any given country and truly begin to understand their life and customs, for the most part they are good people simply trying to live out their lives in the best way possible. They laugh and cry. They work, love, and are constantly looking for that intangible something we all look for, that which will make us happy. They also strive to understand the meaning of their life in much the same way we in America do.
This is a true story and it has been unfolding in a way unimaginable during the closing months of 2010 and on into 2011.
Never in my deepest imagination could I have ever dreamed up this story the way it has been happening in my life.
I am a Vietnam Veteran about to go back to Dong Ha to visit people I met there long ago. And I am about to experience this love that I speak of, this Oneness that lies at the heart of humanity, the ONE family. How do I know this? Because I have been in contact with some of these people recently; and there is no way to understand without first hearing the story from beginning to end. We have all heard many sad war stories about Vietnam, especially those of us that have been around since those days. It is a real rarity to hear something positive that came out of this war. And this is a positive story.
In many families throughout the United States it has always been tradition to serve your time in the armed forces. In my family it was pretty much understood, and expected, that when you reach the age of 18 it was time to join the military. My family and relatives were all about the Marine Corps. So there was really no thought involved as to which service I would join, I ended up in the Marine Corps.
You have probably heard that Marine Corps boot camp is difficult. I will confirm that it was extremely so. Back then I believe it was more demanding than it is today. Other than a handful of recruits, most of us were just out of high school. The vast majority of those in my platoon had never spent any real time away from their homes or families. Very few had ever traveled anywhere outside of their local communities.
During boot camp drill instructors spent weeks breaking recruits down, mentally, emotionally and physically, in order to instill within them the importance of following orders without question. Many days we were pushed to our limits, and then beyond what we thought we could endure. I was in good physical condition having just finished high school where I participated in multiple sports programs throughout each year. I didn’t drink or smoke. Yet boot camp was still very strenuous for me on all levels. Some in my platoon were not in very good shape physically and as a result many didn’t make the grade. Others were physically strong enough but could not hack it mentally or emotionally. One member of our platoon even tried to kill himself one night by slitting his wrists. He was in my Quonset hut on a bunk next to mine. He was found during a round’s check prior to bleeding out.
In the midst of a war situation we had to do our jobs, regardless of the conditions surrounding us. So the training had to be tough, our lives depended on it. We had to react quickly, ignore the horror around us and do what we were trained to do. I have heard it referred to as “suck it up and move on.” There was no time during a firefight, or other life threatening situation when you and your fellow Marines were in danger, to just pause and allow yourself to contemplate, feel, or otherwise become engaged in the terror of the moment. People could die, and you one of them. It is no wonder the training had to be difficult.
After the tough weeks of boot camp were over - Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, California. Infantry training and artillery fire direction control (FDC) school were finished – Camp Pendleton, California. It was late in the year 1967. Little did I know that the next stage of my training would shape and influence my life for the remainder of my term here on earth.
Looking back it is unbelievable how naive and uninformed I was; probably most of us were back then. And it wasn’t just the fact that we were young, although that certainly was a factor. There were no cell phones, no Internet, and very little TV. So access to information, especially from around the world, was very limited and dated. It was also much easier for governments, groups and individuals to keep unwanted information from getting to the public, which is hardly the case today.
In early 1968, a couple of months after my basic training concluded, I was standing in line at Camp Pendleton, California being processed for my upcoming tour to Vietnam. The war was in full swing and it seemed the military couldn’t get us across the Pacific and into the theater of war fast enough. That year was arguably the worst year of the war. More than 14,000 service men and women lost their lives in 1968. In many cases training had been shortened and new recruits were being rushed through the system in an attempt to hurry them overseas. The draft had been initiated and there was heightened military training taking place all over the country. The Marine base at Camp Pendleton was no exception, it was humming with activity. No matter where you looked Marines were busy in preparation for their upcoming tour of war.
There was an anti-war movement going on when I graduated from high school, but this was before the momentum of anti-war sentiment would sweep through the nation, uniting people young and old.
Anyway back to the line, I was waiting my turn to process my orders and even though it may have been rude to eavesdrop on their conversation on this occasion I did and it might have saved my life as a young adult. It certainly set in motion some things that would play out in miraculous ways toward the end of my life. I overheard two guys talking behind me; one was telling the other that when you get to the desk you should ask the sergeant there to send you to language school up in Monterey, California. I think their belief was it would delay your trip to Southeast Asia.
I wasn’t having second thoughts about heading to Vietnam. We all knew when we joined the service we were going there, that was a no-brainer. Still, spending time in a place I had never been was extremely appealing. So when it came my turn at the desk I didn’t think it would hurt anything to ask about the school. So I did.
As I handed my orders to the sergeant, I asked him something along the lines of “Is it true that you can send me to language school if I want to go?” He, in turn, asked me “Do you want to go?” I answered “Yes, I do.” And that was it. Within a couple of days I was on a bus heading north from Camp Pendleton to DLI (Defense Language Institute) in Monterey, California.
There I spent five days each week, eight hours per day, plus homework, for a total of three months learning the Vietnamese language, before being sent to my new home in Dong Ha, Vietnam. Since this school was a military training facility, it was an intensely concentrated and disciplined course. The instructor was not permitted to speak English in class at all. She was Vietnamese.
It was a difficult language to learn and I will say with all honesty that I didn’t learn it as well as I could have. I wish I had spent more time outside of class studying and less time being social and young. If I had, it is quite possible I could have saved a couple more lives simply by being more fluent with the language. There were a couple of situations while I was deployed in Vietnam where I needed to relay information to Vietnamese civilians during incoming fire, and was unable to do so fast enough or effective enough to make a difference, all because of my language limitations. One of my greatest regrets is that I didn’t apply myself as well as I know I could have in those three months. Still, I was one of the better students but I suppose in life no matter what we do, we always believe we can do a little bit better.
The late sixties was also the time of the flower children, as they came to be called. It was the era of free love culture spreading throughout the country, and indeed the world. It was a time when the use of drugs became prevalent and openly abused throughout society. I still remember all the VW buses, brightly painted with flowers, camped alongside the roadway between Carmel and Big Sur, California. They were everywhere. The clothes, long hair and music were changing the world forever. San Francisco’s Haight & Ashbury Streets where just up the highway from the school and would become known the world over. This place of demonstration was in the news constantly.
The duty was good in Monterey and I think those of us that were students enjoyed our time there more than expected, I know I did. When we were out of class life was pretty informal and much less military than we were used to. I met some guys that became good friends of mine while we were there. And one, JJ Hess, became a good friend of my family as well. I lost track of them all when we landed in Vietnam and departed for our various units; although I have tried to find JJ a few times over the years I have been unable to do so.
We were all sent to different units and had different military jobs. I was the only one sent up to Dong Ha from the group of us that had been going to language school. I don’t know if JJ made it back or not but I do know his name doesn’t appear on the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington DC, so that is a good sign. I am unable to look up others that I remember well from school because by the time I returned from Vietnam I had forgotten their names.
I will always be grateful to the two Marines, whoever they are, that I overheard talking behind me in line that day. Regarding that, there is something else I have thought about a few times. It is also quite possible that going to the language school saved my life. I arrived in Vietnam at the tail end of the Tet offensive of 1968, so I missed the height of those battles that claimed so many lives, both American and Vietnamese. I hope those two guys both made it back okay; neither of them went up to Monterey with me.
Language school ended and I was shipped overseas to my new duty station in Dong Ha, Vietnam. We flew out of Travis Air Force Base in the San Francisco Bay area. It was my first time on an airplane and I imagine that was true for the vast majority of the other guys.
I soon learned that Dong Ha wasn’t much more than a wide spot in the road, located in a rural area in the far north of what was then South Vietnam. The village was built up around the junctions of two highways, Highway 1 and Highway 9. Highway 1 continued north up to the DMZ (Demilitarized Zone - between what was then North and South Vietnam) just a few short miles away. Highway 9 continued off to the west, all the way out to Khe Sanh, that place made famous by the Tet offensive of 1968, and beyond.
A good portion of the village of Dong Ha was bordered by the Marine fire base with the same name. It was called a village but it didn’t have grass huts comprising the homes in Dong Ha, which is not true. Most of the buildings were built out of concrete and wood and it was more like a small town.
One gate opened out of the base onto Highway 9 and the other onto Highway 1. The village sat alongside a river with a bridge on Highway 1 crossing over to the north. There was a small dock and warehouse area on the southeast side of the bridge that was used by the military to bring in supplies from the gulf. Fairly large ships were able to navigate up to this docking location.
The bridge in Dong Ha would also become famous later through the heroic act of one man, Captain John Ripley of the Marine Corps. In 1972 he repeatedly exposed himself to enemy fire over a three hour period preparing the bridge with explosives to blow it up. His actions succeeded in significantly delaying the advancing North Vietnamese Army in their march to Saigon, after the withdrawal of American forces from the area. Although there was a small narrow bridge located on the DMZ, the bridge in Dong Ha was the main bridge that allowed access between the north and south. Back in 1968 there really wasn’t much of anything north of Dong Ha those last few miles up to the DMZ.
Today Dong Ha is a fairly modern small city with multi-story buildings, Internet Cafes and markets. There are literally hundreds, if not thousands, of restaurants and small coffee shops on every block scattered throughout the town. The city sprawls out for miles in all directions now, taking in the land encompassing the old Marine base. In fact, it is extremely difficult to find any reference or landmark as to where the base used to be, or where I was stationed on it. Even the terrain has changed. The land has been reshaped with bulldozers and earth moving equipment as section after section of the city was created during its expansion.
Back in 1972 virtually the entire village of Dong Ha was destroyed and most of the people living there had to evacuate south. Still, after all the years of destruction and reconstruction, there is one small section of downtown, about half dozen or so buildings near the marketplace that hasn’t changed in 40 years. The buildings are the same ones I sat in while there in 1968-69. They housed the shops and cafes at the time. And it was this central location within the village, out in the street, where the main market existed. Now only a few yards away there has been a large building erected that houses the main marketplace. It is where you can buy everything from food to clothing to household goods and jewelry.
Dong Ha is located in the central lowlands of modern day Vietnam. It is very hot and humid here most of the year. Much of the town sits up a little compared to the surrounding area and is mostly spared the devastating floods that cover miles of land around the heart of the city. The rain in this country is some of the heaviest I have ever witnessed anywhere in the world. It used to rain so hard we would strip down and shower in the cool water to wash away the sweat and grime.
The DMZ and Dong Ha
Chapter 2
I joined the Marines shortly after finishing high school. It was 1967. At that time the Vietnam War was about to reach its peak in intensity, several years before the utter chaos of our withdrawal. I have no idea how to explain it but I simply knew I was going in the Marine Corps after graduating. No one coerced me into joining, and no one ever tried to talk to me into or out of it.
My parents didn’t actually want me to go since we all knew I would end up in Vietnam. My dad had already been there but neither of them tried to sway me in either direction. It was as though destiny had control of my life regarding this issue and there was never any other decision for me to make. If I had to make the same choice again, based on the same set of life circumstances that I had in 1967, I would again make the same decision to join. If I knew what I know now perhaps not but let me also say that the experience and knowledge I gained was priceless, but I wouldn’t want to do it again.
I was the oldest of five children. Dad (he was actually my stepfather) was a career Marine, mom was a housewife. During the few years before I graduated from Fallbrook High School in northern San Diego County we lived out in the country. We had a garden, animals, fought with each other, laughed and cried together. Although my brother, sisters and I, joke about it now, looking back I think we were a pretty normal family living in the sixties.
As I mentioned before it was an era without cell phones, computers, computer games or Internet and there was very little on television. We had just gotten our first color TV when I was about 14. I think there were only three or four channels then. So we had to read or entertain ourselves in other ways. We created our own games and amused ourselves in ways mostly foreign to young people nowadays.
We moved around a lot as most military families do, however, even though we lived in a lot of different places, we never left the State of California. Finally, we settled into a house out in the country. It was on four acres, only a few miles from Camp Pendleton Marine Base where my father was stationed. I was in the 8th grade. After we moved into this house in 1962, I didn’t have to move again until I left home for the Marine Corps in 1967. Living at this house was the longest time I had ever lived anywhere, and that includes all the years afterward as well. I have never lived at any location longer than 5 years my entire life. Most places have been somewhere between 1 and 3 years, with a long term of residence being somewhere around the 3 year mark! There have been times I moved several times in the same year. Imagine having to move that often? Such has been my life, very unsettled.
I was popular in high school. My grades were well above average. I was also very active in sports and held a couple of track and field records at the time of graduation, and as I understand it, for several years thereafter. I played first string on the varsity football team, dated a beautiful girl throughout my senior year, and received a small scholarship to college on the day of graduation based on personality, academics and sports. I look back and see how personable I was in high school and remember how much I enjoyed being around my friends or socializing with various groups of people.
Now, thanks to PTSD and other issues related to Agent Orange I have to deal with a variety of health issues. I don’t really have any friends and I can’t stand to be around people for the most part. Most adults seem to have an agenda for one thing, rather than just wanting to share time together, and that bothers me. Perhaps that comes with the new age of networking, or maybe I have just drawn the wrong people into my life. Others seem to be focused on things that just have no importance or interest to me. I feel as though most people are not aware of the more important things in life, at least that is my attitude and from my perspective.
My view of worldly things doesn’t involve the obsession with making money or becoming rich, as it seems to be with a great many people in today’s world.
And then there is the religious aspect. I don’t want to hear it and I don’t want people trying to shove it down my throat. ‘Walk the talk’ if you are so religious. Don’t just tell people how great you are because you believe in something others may not.
And then there is politics, I won’t even go there. I have PTSD and get irritated easily, and when it comes to this subject people are more than irritating! Most people are both ‘liberal’ and ‘conservative’ depending on the subject matter. If someone is unwilling to step up and help others in need, especially children, I question their humanity, not their political affiliations.
I had the ‘picket fence’ dream when I was young, you know the one I imagine most people have when they are growing up; that there would never be any major problems in life after school. I was sure I would go on to college, attain a high paying job, marry my high school girlfriend and live a perfect life, on into retirement. I know now that dreams like those seldom come true, at least not in the way we imagine them. They are simply fantasies for the young, and perhaps I should say young at heart. Life has its own agenda and sweeps us along with it, attracting and repelling experiences and sending us down roads never dreamed of when teenagers.
As I mentioned earlier, I am a Vietnam Veteran 62 years old at the time of this writing. I am disabled. Aside from PTSD I have several other medical problems, some of these illnesses and ailments stem from the spraying of Agent Orange during the war, according to the Veterans Administration. I believe them.
After seeing Vietnam Veterans and treating their medical conditions for the past 40+ years they should be the experts on these things, although there are those out there that seem to believe otherwise. So many of us have experienced similar medical issues and that just can’t be a coincidence.
I try to stay in fairly decent shape overall and to look at me I look to be in good physical health. But that is the outside. It’s the inside that is all messed up and seems to be deteriorating at a more rapid pace these past couple of years than it ever did before.
I have been homeless in my life. I have lived in my van and then in a tent in the woods for several weeks. Later, I lived in these same woods with a small trailer for another month. I find it difficult to be around people for very long, so in many ways I enjoyed the quiet and solitude of being on my own out in the wilderness.
Now I live in the same small old trailer in an RV park when I am not in Vietnam working on this book. The main reason I am in the RV Park and not back out in the forest is because it is too far from there to the VA clinic and my doctor appointments each week, for medical issues as well as physical therapy and my PTSD therapy sessions. That, and the fact that the weather in winter makes it difficult to get in and out of where I was – it was down a four mile, four wheel drive dirt road. The nearest neighbor was at least a mile away as the crow flies. He is yet another Vietnam Vet living out in the wilderness away from people. Surely it is not a coincidence that he too doesn’t like to spend much time around others.
Last year (2010) saw the end of my fourth marriage. Actually it ended in 2009 but was finalized at the beginning of 2010. That last marriage was after I had spent 18 years being single, following my third divorce in 1988. I have one daughter from my first marriage. We haven’t spoken to each other in years. The last I heard she was living with her mother, but I have no idea where she is now or what she is up to. Relationships with me are hard to maintain. I have never made much attempt at trying to keep them together, especially when there is a difficulty. I usually just move on and let it go at that. Undoubtedly, that attitude has upset a lot of people over the years.
Years ago I also spent nearly 5 years in prison. It is a sad thing to reveal that perhaps my second or third longest time living someplace was in the same prison cell.
Also, I have always had trouble holding a job and dealing with people during the past 40 years, ever since I returned from Vietnam. Oh, I have my moments when employers and bosses think I am extremely competent and get lots of compliments. But if they were to look back on the situation they will see that those times only lasted a short while and then I was no longer an employee there. Something would come up and I would need to remove myself from that position.