I was born an Army brat. My father had served in WWII and Korea before I was born. I was twelve years old when he left our family in Odenton, MD to serve with the 11th Armored Cavalry in Vietnam. I remember vividly watching his plane taxi away from the terminal in Baltimore and thinking I might not ever see him again. I remember many times over the next eleven months the fear that would grip our family as news of a soldier losing his life in combat was announced. In 1966-67, the immediate access to news that we have today was non-existent. When we would hear the location of the battle, we would compare it to his last known location and then wait.
As regimental sergeant major, Dad flew many hours in a helicopter with the regimental commander. He took thousands of photos that would be developed as slides. He would send the film back to Momma to have it developed. By God’s grace, he returned. He bought a projector and screen. We would spend hour after hour viewing those slides. There were photos of mud streets in camp, lots of soldiers, beautiful Vietnamese countryside, HUGE centipedes and one photo of a seat in a helicopter with a hole in it. He had been sitting in that seat, had gotten up to take some pictures out of the other side of the helicopter and a round from the Viet Cong had ripped through the helicopter seat. The first time I heard this story, I thanked God for bringing my Dad home to me. Every time I think of it I get chills.
He was a humble man. When we asked what his medals were for his response would be “well this one was for guarding the perimeter and this one was for shining my brass and this one was for brushing my teeth”. He served thirty plus years in service to his country.
Longview, TX
