MY VIETNAM—is a new series of stories written by the guys who were there and did that.  While Vietnam was not a fun place to be we are sure at some point there were a few laughs here and there.  That is what My Vietnam is about - something humorous that made the time go faster - We invite you to submit your "lighthearted" story to The Vet Gazette.  Stories will be published in each edition of the newsletter.

  If you were there, you do remember Monsoon season. Basically, it never stopped raining! When we returned from our operations or patrols, we would take off all the soaked stuff, and try and find something that was as close to dry as we had (usually just shy of still dripping) to put on.

Because of the constant soaking, our clothing had a tendency to just rot as soon as Monsoon ended and it was now being cooked in the sun. We had an “item for item” exchange with our supply unit. One day I went to supply and told them all my underwear was now rags and I needed new ‘skivvies’. All they had in stock then was huge and extra huge sizes. Well back in those days, I only weighed about 160 pounds (hard to imagine isn’t it), so these available sizes wouldn’t work. But I had to make a choice, huge or none. I went for the huge.

I took them back to my hooch and punched holes in the waistband and thread comm wire through the holes and then tied a knot in the wire to hold them up. Hey, don’t laugh, it worked! Later on when I finally came home, and was unpacking my duffel bag, I was asked, whose underwear is that and why in God’s name does it have wire in it? And why is it so big? Ya’ know, it’s just difficult explaining how challenging it is (sometimes) to serve America.

  During my tour in Vietnam I was driving down the road approaching the Newport docks. This was a huge port facility located about five miles outside the city of Saigon. The port facility was about forty eight acres in size and I was the Sergeant of the Guard there overseeing about forty men who maintained eight guard towers and four armored personal carriers. Shortly after the TET Offensive in 1968 as I approached the Newport Docks I noticed a soldier walking down the road with a rifle in one hand and a mail bag in the other.

I pulled my vehicle over and asked the guy to hop in as it was a lonely road. As he entered the vehicle and I was driving, a little conversation broke loose with "where you from and what's your name". As I drove on and we were talking, we found out that both of us were from Indiana. The next question was " what part of Indiana"? Then as we both answered Portage, and gave each other a little stare we realized we had been in high school attending some of the same classes together.

How great it was to run into a friend (Bob Kopnicky) half way around the world. Bob was assigned to LST # 424, named Hickman County under the command of Capt. Lept. Come to find out, their LST was involved in a huge battle we were involved in during TET of 1968. So, every time Bob's LST would come up the Saigon River I would receive a radio call from Capt. Lept and Bob letting us know when their ship would dock.

I became friends with Capt. Lept as he would always have a shopping list of items the ship really needed. So as we worked out our barter system, many of my men were able to eat hot meals and shower on the LST. The Capt. also supplied us with steaks and chicken to cook on our homemade grill cut out of a 55 gallon drum.

We had the officers of the ship and our guard personnel together for great nights of beer drinking and plenty of food to eat. This event took place about once a month and Bob and I always had a great time when his ship was in port.

  Here is the web address of my unit in Vietnam, www.allanfurtado.com/alfredkrabbenhoeft. This will take you to pages on this web site that include my pictures while in Vietnam "pages 17 - 22. After that go to the table of contents and go to Rich Morawa's photo pages #53, #54 & # 55. Rich Morawa was my best friend in Vietnam and his photo section contains many pictures of myself, he refers to me as Krabs, which he called my during our tour in Nam.

Rich and I were recently reunited about a year ago, the first time since Nam, and are now in constant contact over the phone and many visits as he lives in the Detroit, Michigan area. This year we will be attending our second unit reunion together in Jeffersonville, Indiana on the week end of Sept 9th.

Let me know if you need more info. Also, near the bottom of page 18 of my photo section there is a picture of Bob Kopnicky on one of the cannons mounted on their LST. Bob is the fellow I picked up along the road and found to be from Portage and attended High School with him.

  “The Fine Art of Burning Feces” First off, the title should speak for itself. That is, if you were one of the fortunate soldiers in ‘Nam who got to be what is known as a “Shit Burner.” Most of us had to take our turn at this but there were some who lucked out.

The rules are pretty simple. Go to the latrine (that is a fancy word for outdoor toilet), open the door on the back side and HOLD YOUR BREATH!!! Be sure to fasten the door so it will not fall down on your head (some of us learned this rule the hard way.)

Caution: Never, ever do this job with a hangover! Reach in (preferably with gloves and a hook) and start pulling out the barrels (remember, they are full of you know what) so pull s-l-o-w-l-y, or else. When you finished pulling out the barrels (and being sick to your stomach), you had to dump the contents of each barrel into one single barrel, if it all fit in there. Make darn sure that all feces is completely out of all other barrels before proceeding.

Remember to push all the empties back in where they originally came from because if you don’t someone will say you are not doing your job. Next take a hand hook and pull the half full or (full drum) away from the latrine area. Get a goodly amount of diesel fuel, kerosene, gasoline or jp-4 (jet fuel) and pour it into the feces barrel.

At this point I got a big wad of newspaper and lit it on fire and threw it into the barrel and then ran like hell. Once the flames die down you will need to get a feces paddle and stir up what is left. You may need to pour a little more fuel on so the fire does not go out. Light another newspaper, throw it in and get the fire going good again. (Don’t forget to run)

Once the fire goes out you have to dump the remaining contents on the ground, and apply lime (if available). There shouldn’t be too much left at this point, if you have done your job well. Drag the barrel back to the latrine and push it into the stall area. Let the back door down. You’re now done. Now you can go eat lunch - and oh, be sure and wash your hands before you eat. Anyone who did not have fun doing this clearly has no sense of humor!

  In 1966, I was the platoon sergeant for the E-1 platoon, H&S Co., 3rd Amtrac Bn., 1st Marine Div. We were operating all around the Chu Lai area of South Vietnam. Our primary mission was to provide direct support to infantry operations. Often we’d find ourselves “up to our web gear in alligators”.

There was no way to be stealthy with Amtracs. The infantry guys both loved and hated us. We were a magnet for sniping from the bad guys. One particular day, we had been out looking for the elusive ‘Charlie’. As it grew dark, we headed back towards the base camp we’d stay at overnight (I believe it was with the 5th Marines). As we approached the camp, we were about half a mile or so out when we broke a track.

By then it was pitch black out (no moon), so we had to stop and repair the track, by flashlight. Our infantry ‘buddies’ were likely using all of their vocabulary to describe us. When repairing broken track, you have to use a sledge hammer to remove steel track pins. You can well imagine the echoing sounds we made hitting steel on steel. As would be expected, eventually ‘Charles’ found the sound and started firing with small arms at us.

Fortunately, for us, they were piss-poor shots. We hurried to fix the track. After a period of time, the bad guys started firing mortars at us. Again (thankfully) they were not good with that weapon either. They would fire, we’d stop hammering and they’d try to locate us again.

Finally, they began getting closer. But we had finished fixing the track. But we still had four men standing guard, when a mortar round landed about ten meters away and peppered our trac with shrapnel. Before I could tell our guys to get back on-board, one of them had bounded in, and in a couple of steps leapt on top of our vehicle (about nine feet high.) It was athleticism I’d never seen before.

As we approached the wire to enter the firebase, we were still under fire, but we were all laughing uproariously at what we’d just seen. Years later, when the movie “White Men Can’t Jump” came out, I knew it simply wasn’t true, I had seen it happen with my own eyes! Yep, we did have a few good ‘ol days in the ‘Nam……………... For those who made it back—”Welcome Home”. For those who didn’t—we will never forget you.~

I recently received an article about the memorial plaque to honor the veterans that gave their lives during the Vietnam Conflict. Several members of my family served our country during the conflict. One of them was my cousin, Joseph Rocchino.

Joe went to Vietnam and served two tours as a gunner. He came home from the war, not to be received in honor, but to criticism for serving his country. His reward for two tours of duty was loss of hearing, PTSD and poisoning from agent orange.

Agent orange is an insidious chemical, it eats you from the inside, slowly and painfully. When Joey left for Vietnam he was a strong, handsome, virile young man with a good life ahead of him. He was proud to serve his country and he gave the ultimate - his life.

Tell me that he is not as deserving as those that died in battle and I will tell you of the battle he fought no only in Vietnam but here in the U.S. as well. Death on the battlefield is often instantaneous, death from agent orange is a s-l-o-w, often torturous process.

His life was cut short, his children raised without a father. In the eyes of our family he is as much a hero as any that died on the battlefield and he should be honored as such. Please, let the government know that these men gave their all for their country and they deserve the same honor as those that died on the battlefield because for them, even though they returned to the U.S. the war never ended.

~ Submitted by Linda Pizza, Public Relations Chair for Chapter 905 ~