It’s been an interesting week. Three conversations this week brought back memories of my days in Vietnam. In many ways it seems like yesterday, but it’s been 47 years since the ramp went down on our landing craft and we splashed ashore.
Two of the people I had contact with this week were friends that I served with. Ken Lee, “Big Lee,” now lives in California and Kurt “Doc” Nagl is from Maryland. We were all in basic training together with the 4th Infantry at Fort Lewis, Washington, and Doc Nagle and I went through medical training together after basic. I’m still Doc Sherpe to them.
The first communication came from Doc Nagl. In Vietnam we were on Operation Hancock I together in April and May of 1967, working with the 3/8 Infantry battalion of the 4th Infantry. The majority of us medics on that operation had trained together and were friends. We first got back in contact several years ago. He had recently posted a lot of photos on the 3/8 website from our days together in Vietnam. He had also posted photos of a 3/8 reunion from a year ago. Time passes and as I looked at the photos, I had to admit we have definitely aged. I still recognized all the guys in the photos from 1966-67. We were lean, mean fighting machines back then. But, who were all those much heavier, old duffers in the reunion photos? It hit me like a roundhouse kick to the gut. We had all grown older.
Doc Nagl seated in foreground, taking a break.
In my mind they were still the young guys I had trained and fought with. But 47 years has fogged those memories. Now it’s like looking through the haze and fog rising lazily from the steaming jungle floor and seeing ghostly images emerging slowly through the fog. This time they aren’t the NVA, they’re a bunch of old vets. Where did the time go? How did we grow so old? I answered my own questions. At least we had the opportunity to age and grow old. There’s a saying I read somewhere, “Do not regret growing older. It’s a privilege denied to many people.” Many of our friends weren’t given the gift of all these extra years that we’ve had.
The second communication came from The Highground, a 140-acre veteran’s memorial park near Neillsville, Wisconsin. They wanted me to know that they’re planning a ceremony on September 14 to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the dedication of the Wisconsin Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. That memorial remembers our 1,244 Wisconsin brothers who gave their lives in that war, a war that most people in this country wanted to forget. I couldn’t believe it had been 25 years since that September dedication back in 1988. Where did the time go?
They asked if I would be the speaker at the 25th anniversary celebration. I wrote back and told them I’d be honored. I was also a speaker during the dedication ceremony in 1988 when we unveiled the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial sculpture.
Looking back, our struggles during the planning and building of that memorial, and making it go from a dream to a reality, were just as painful as the Vietnam experience. At the time, Vietnam veterans were looked down on as losers, and despised by many people in this country. Many veterans, including me, had been in the “Vietnam Closet” for close to twenty years. Even some veteran’s organizations wouldn’t give us the time of day when we started trying to build a memorial. A big city editor told one of our board members, “Why don’t you guys forget it. The war is over.” Another person told me, “How do you guys think you’re going to build a memorial? You Vietnam vets would screw up a one-car funeral.” That statement brought out my “Hothead Sven” gene.
Despite all the obstacles, we didn’t give up. We had a core group of hard-working, dedicated board of directors, all veterans, who turned that one-car funeral into one of the finest veteran’s memorial parks in the entire country. It has become a sacred ground for veterans of all wars, and a place of spiritual and emotional healing for many. It will be good to get together in September and visit with old friends. I wonder if anyone has changed? I guess I know the answer to that question too.
The third communication was from Big Lee. “Hi Doc, how you doing?” He said he and his wife, Nancy, would be visiting her family in Michigan in mid-June and hoped to swing by Westby on their way back to California. I told him we’d have a mini-reunion here with several other guys from Wisconsin that we served with if he comes. He said he’d love to sit in the woods and talk one on one together, just like we used to do in the bush in Vietnam. Maybe we can take a trip to The Highground, take a walk on one of the hiking trails, and find a quiet spot in the woods where we can sit and discuss this journey we’ve been on.
Where did the time go? Time marches on and we’ve been lucky enough to be along on the march. We all may have changed in appearance, but the connection and closeness between those of us who served together will never change. I’ll always be Doc Sherpe to them.
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