LETTERS HOME--21 THROUGH 30
Letter #21
10 Dec 68
Hi everybody!!!
I've been receiving your mail pretty regularly now as they have finished the
air strip at An Hoa. I received a package yesterday from some VFW in
Dorchester. The package was bought at Jordan Marsh and was called,
"Chow Hound." The price tag was $8.00. It had two things of sardines
packed in sherry wine, mackerel packed in port wine, a salami, a box of
cream cookies, and expensive candies like butterscotch, plus more.
Got some bad news. I'm going up in the mountains supposedly for 120 days
or until April. We are going near Laos. We leave in a few days. To make
things worse, I'm carrying the PRC-25 radio. The gooks like to hit the radio
man, but they'll have to be good shots.
Well, Davey Rowe got out of boot camp on the 2nd and is now at Lejeune.
The song, "Drummer Boy" is on now but it doesn't seem like Christmas with
temperature at 80 and no snow. I dread Christmas something bad.
You said ya sent a package. I'm keeping my eyes open for it. I got a feeling
it's coming today.
Well people, got to go; but I'll write later on.
Love, Paul
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
..... More Christmas packages were arriving. Seems I lived from package to
package. Packages were such a relief from the day in, day out C-Rations.
The only problem with the packages was that the goodies that came in the
packages had to be "humped," that is, packed in my pack and carried. Who
needed the extra weight? Not I. But usually this was no problem, as I would
eat whatever was in the package in one day, sometimes in one sitting.
As for going up into the mountains and being the radioman.....
We had been told at first that we would be in An Hoa for Christmas. I was
counting on this. I wasn't looking forward to Christmas but at least being in
the rear would have made it tolerable. Then, overnight, the word had
changed; and we were going on an operation. And I was getting stuck with
the radio. I think I was still the boot in my squad, so I was going to carry
the radio for my squad leader. Again, who needed the extra weight?
Davey Rowe... He was a high school pal of mine, who after I came home
from Parris Island and talked about boot camp in a comical way, joined the
Marines. Many guys I knew back at home joined the Marines this way; a lot
of word of mouth.
Paul O'Connell
1996
Letter #22
16 Dec 68
Hi everybody!!!
Don't mind this letter if it appears dirty, but that is what I'm living in.
Today I received a package from you and letters from Cheryl, Bobby, Sharon
and her parents, the DeLucas, Paul F., Playboy and Congressman Mr. Burke.
The mail was dated all the way back to the 6th of December. The package
was great and the booze was beautiful! I want you to thank Cheryl and
Bobby for their present.
Well, three days ago we were chopper'd onto Hill 500 where we were met
by an NVA battalion. I need not say more except I escaped without a scratch,
but I'm still shaking. I hope I never have to see a dead Marine again. I lost
my best buddy from Indiana, and my other buddy got medevaced as he lost
from his knees down.
I was really shocked after hearing about Jimmy Pettiti. This goddamn war is
taking all my friends. Please find out more about him and call his father and
tell him I'm sorry and all that.
This week has been really bad after hearing about Tommy. I could kick his
ass. I almost cried when I heard about it. I guess he'll learn his lesson
just like me and end up over here fighting for his life. It's too bad people got
to come all the way over here to realize what's going on and to see the light.
I'm not mad about the booze, as I am thinking like a man now and not a kid.
I guess Christmas will be spent here. The other night when everybody was
getting killed, I wished I was back home. Your whole life flies by as every
bullet tears into somebody. I think I grew 10 years older in a minute.
Well got to go, and thanks for the package again. I'm OK and not even
scratched.
Love, Paul
PS. Keep Tommy in the house until I get home.
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
..... This is another letter that had me asking myself, "Who the hell were
you back in Vietnam and what was really going on inside your head?"....
Yes, we were flown in CH46s into the mountains; but we never made
contact with the enemy. Why did I claim we had? Why was I scaring the
shit out of my parents? Was it that I thought they'd think I was some sort of
John Wayne? In my own head, I need some defense to be able to cope in
life.
I know that the day before we were flown into the mountains, we were
briefed about the operation we were going out on. We were told that recon
had spotted at least a battalion of NVA in the mountains. We were told that
we probably would hit a hot LZ. I was going to be aboard the first chopper
to land. In my head, I had us all getting killed. I had choppers bursting into
flames. Some of the guys who had been in country longer than me were
talking some bad stuff, talking about hard core NVA.
So the next morning we got aboard the CH46 and headed southwest
up into the mountains. I remember the chopper rolling to one side so that
the bulkhead window I had been staring out now became the floor, and we
plummeted down toward the earth below. All I could see through the
window opening (no glass in the windows, the sound of the chopper blades
beating through the air louder than hell) was green -- trees, jungle -- until the
chopper seemed to right itself, and the back ramp of the CH46 lowered; and
the crew chief, with his sunshield over his face, gave us the thumbs up and
out we scrambled.
The LZ was nothing more than where bombs from a B52 strike had leveled the
jungle. There were tree trunks everywhere and huge craters and large clumps
of red earth. And we ran to get as far away and as fast from the choppers and
expected to feel bullets tear through our bodies, but none did... and slowly
I grew angry because I became aware of the fear and anger that had built up
inside me because of what I came to perceive was misinformation.
And yet I was to live with the anxiety of thinking I might be torn apart by
bullets and such. The expectations, the thoughts of dying or being maimed were
as much a killer as actually being killed. As for my friend from Indiana ... he
didn't die. No one got hit. No one lost from the knees down. The truth of the
matter ... nothing happened other than we made a combat assault upon Hill 500,
came off the choppers fixed to kill everything that got in our way, fixed to die
if we had to; and yet, nothing happened.
The choppers lifted and flew away leaving us in deep bomb craters, and for the
first time I began to hear the natural sounds of the jungle, including the
"fuck you" lizards...
As for Jimmy Pettiti... He was from Quincy, and he and I had gone through
ITR together, then staging, Okinawa, and had spent our first few days in
Vietnam together. He then went north to the DMZ and somewhere up on
Mudders Ridge, got shot several times in the leg. He was left for dead and
spent more than 24 hours lying there wounded. He would be medevaced to Japan,
then back to the States. I would see him a year later when I returned from Vietnam.
(He works for the post office today and is still a true friend of mine.... One day,
somebody said to him, "What the hell do you know about Vietnam? You were only
there a month?" Jimmy knocked the guy on his ass.
Jimmy might not have known the history of Vietnam, but he knew what it was to
almost die there. Actually, he was a great football player in high school and
could have played college ball, but enlisted in the Marines instead.)
About my brother Tommy... He had stolen my sister Cheryl's car from the
driveway and drove it into a tree no more than a 100 yards from where he
had taken the car, then drove it back to the driveway, parked the car, and
said nothing to no one until my sister went to use the car and found the
front and passenger side all smashed up. My brother was destined for the
Marines, but he was only 15 at the time.
And for the booze... The booze my father sent me was always great. He
didn't send me a bottle like I had asked. Instead, he use to send me mixed
drinks in a can. Whiskey sours. Maybe two in the package; I would down
them right away.
Paul O'Connell
1996
Letter #23
23 Dec 68
Hi everybody!!!
Well, here it is two days before Christmas; and I'm already homesick. It's
really bad when they play, "I'm Dreaming Of a White Christmas" and "Silver
Bells." I've missed two Christmas now but maybe I'll make it home for the
next one.
I got Sharon's graduation picture the other day. It came out real good. I've
got it wrapped in seven pieces of plastic.
I've received cards from Phylis and Gus, Joan and Richard, and also one
from Ma and Grampa, but I think I already told ya. Thank them all for me.
We were suppose to move to a different location yesterday, but the
choppers haven't been able to get in because of heavy rains.
This month's check was for $141 so I'm sending home $120 in check. How
much money do I have now? If you people run into any jams, I want ya to
feel free to use my money.
Tell Cheryl to tell Bobby I'll write to him when he gets to Germany.
Inform me a little more about Cheryl's new job and why she's leaving
Prudential. I'm not nosy, just curious.
Well got to go for now. I'm in good health and still unscratched.
Love, Paul
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
Just pure homesickness which use to sit in the bottom of my stomach. The
mountainous jungles of Vietnam were so much different than New England.
I missed the snow. I missed being a kid. I would have given anything to
have seen a Christmas tree. Instead, I was on Hill 500 living like a
tribesman.
Mike Company was spread out all over the hill. We had cleared the top of
the hill of all its jungle growth by either blowing the trees down
by wrapping "Det Cord" around the trunks and shattering the trunks with
the blast; by chainsaws brought out to the bush in a resupply or by simply
hacking away at the trunk of a tree with a machete, which may have taken
days, but the hard work seemed worth it as we would gather to watch
another huge tree fall so slowly into the jungle...
We built huts and framed them with branches cut from these fallen trees. We
draped our rubber ponchos over these branches. This kept us out of the
rain. We built beds by laying cut branches side by side, then laid the
cardboard, from the sleeves that made up the case that C-rations came in,
over the branches. We slept on top of the cardboard, wrapping ourselves in
our poncho liners...
We built bunkers, reinforced bunkers using the fallen trees. We dug deep
holes. We were wet all the time as it rained often. At night the decaying
jungle matter on the ground glowed. Someone said it was like phosphorous.
It reminded me of the hands on my watch that were made to glow in the
dark. Maybe some sort of radioactive material. We gathered some of the
glowing matter and arranged it to form the letters USMC and our names,
and I remember us making a peace sign; but I think the Gunny made us
destroy it...
So often we would be told we were going to be moving in a day, in two
days, in a week, yet it always seemed like no one knew what they were
talking about (or at least to us low on the totem pole.) We pulled watches
every night. Some nights we went out on LPs or ambushes. Patrols were run
every day. Each day a platoon would go on one of these patrols, so that
every third day you went on patrol. We found nothing, no sign of any
enemy. We got lost often in the thick jungle. The radio on my back was
kicking my ass. The only good thing about the radio was that it was keeping
me from having to walk point and that I had the first say on who got the
plastic that the batteries to the PRC25 came in. This plastic was valuable...
My girlfriend sent me her graduation picture which I treasured. She was a
senior in high school at this time...
I got Christmas cards from my aunts and uncles...
The XO came out to the field one day to go over our pay options of how
much we wanted in MPC and how much we wanted to send home. This
happened once a month...
My sister was changing jobs because of more money and no longer wanted
to drive into Boston...
I was still unscratched...
Paul O'Connell
1996
Letter #24
Christmas Day, 1968
Hi everybody!!!
It's about 4:00 in the afternoon on that most happy and most
merriest day of the year, Christmas. Today was no different than any other
day except, maybe once in a while, someone would remind ya what day it
was.
Don't believe anything ya read in the papers like everybody gets to
see Bob Hope. He wouldn't have the guts to come to Hill 500. His chopper
would get shot down coming in.
The cease-fire lasted about 25 minutes here as some gook thought
he'd play Santa and come through our lines. But by the looks of his head
today, he didn't have a chance.
There hasn't been any mail for a few days, but I'm hoping they'll fly
some in today.
Did ya have everybody up for Christmas? When did ya bring Sharon's
ring to her?
Well, got to go; but I'll write later. I miss ya all, and next Christmas will
be at home.
Love, Paul
PS Happy Birthday, Mom
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
Bob Hope... I always think of a Marine by the name of Gary Heeman when I
think of Bob Hope and the Bob Hope Show. Back when I was in Vietnam,
just before Christmas, the word was passed around that one (it may have
been two ... not sure) man from each platoon would get to go to the rear, to
Da Nang, and see the Bob Hope Show. We had some sort of a drawing
where we put names inside a helmet.
Gary Heeman's name was drawn; and a few days before Christmas or before
whenever Bob Hope was going to be in Da Nang, Gary left the field and went
to Da Nang and the show and had a good time. We loved hearing his stories when
he returned to us in the bush, despite the fact his stories were more about
drinking and eating verses woman and sex. Gary was a faithful married man with
children waiting back in the world for him....
On January 15, 1969, Gary Heeman was shot dead by an enemy sniper. I remember
saying to myself as we wrapped his body in a poncho, "Guess Gary wasn't as
lucky as I thought he was when his name was drawn to go to Da Nang and see
Bob Hope..."
Sharon's ring... Sharon was a girlfriend; and before Christmas, I had my sisters
go and buy her a friendship ring. My sister Cheryl told me the story years later
that the night they brought the ring to her, Sharon was sitting in her living room
with a guy, a guy who she would in time leave me for. I never have seen this
ring. Sharon sent me a "Dear John" the following spring. Sharon had given
me a gold ring before I left for Vietnam. That gold ring lies at the bottom
of the Pacific Ocean somewhere in the middle. I threw it into the ocean while
returning home by ship from Vietnam in 1969...
... My Mother's Birthday is on December 29th. She always says she gets
cheated because it is so close to Christmas. She didn't get cheated the
following year. Her family, including me, was together for Christmas 1969.
Paul O'Connell
1996
Letter #25
28 Dec 68
Hi everybody!!!
How was everybody's Christmas? I bet mom and dad are sure glad
another Christmas is gone.
I just got back from patrol. Patrols in the mountains are real bad.
We didn't have any contact so it was like walking all around the Blue Hills.
I got the postcard you sent me. It sure makes me homesick. I also got
my first Playboy. The January edition is real good.
You mentioned about money. I told you; you can borrow it anytime
you want. I think you're doing just great with the money.
You don't mind if I put in a little order for a package, do ya? Well,
here goes. I'd like some canned fruit, shak'n pudding, malted milk balls, two
more cans of booze, 12 funny books, some damn good paperbacks, and etc.
Thanks.
My hair has grown a lot, and it hasn't been cut since November 1st;
so I'm starting to blend in with the rest of the gang. I haven't washed in 23
days, so you can probably imagine what I smell like. Plus my trousers split
up the seam 10 days ago, so when ya sit down you get invaded by ants.
Other than that, I'm OK.
Last night we got attacked by two monkeys. The monkeys over here
throw rocks. They are called Rock Apes. They are big enough that if you fall
asleep on watch, you'll be carried away by them. It happened to a friend of
mine.
Well, got to go.
Love, Paul
PS I'm up for Lance Corporal
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
The post card... My family use to send me postcards from home. I can still
remember one of Paragon Park which was an amusement park with a great
roller coaster ride. The postcard was an aerial view of the roller coaster
with Nantasket Beach behind it.
Playboy... My family gave me a subscription to Playboy magazine while I
was in Vietnam.
My trousers... I remember our trousers always seemed to be split in the
seam or worn in the knees or ass or had a broken zipper. Ants, particularly
red ants, seemed to love to get inside our trousers and bite the hell out of
us. Personal appearance and personal hygiene were beyond the wildest
imagination of anyone back "in the world." I use to say to myself and my
buddies in Vietnam, "If only our mothers could see us now."
The rock apes... The rock ape story was just that, a story. There may have
been rock apes in Vietnam, but I never saw any. I think the stories were a
way of trying to scare us into staying awake at night while we were on
watch.
Paul O'Connell
1996
Letter #26
4 Jan 69
Dear Family,
I'm sorry I couldn't write on New Year's Day, but we moved from Hill
500 to Hill 734 which is about 20 miles away. Laos is right down the
bottom of the mountain. There is a river separating Vietnam from Laos.
There is a chance 4 regiments of NVA are gonna try and infiltrate into South
Vietnam. So that is what we are doing here. The rumor is we'll be here for
about 15 days and then sweep to the river which will take 10 days and then
get choppers back into An Hoa and get ready for Tet. We've been out of An
Hoa since November 1st, I think. That's more than two months in the bush.
That should give ya an idea of what's been happening.
So how's things on the home front? Well the holidays went by pretty
fast. I sent home $120 a few days ago. Inform me if it arrives.
Bobby leaves for Germany pretty soon, doesn't he. I was wondering if
Steve has heard anything from "Uncle Sam?" It's about time he took the big
step.
Oh, I'm pretty sure I get promoted to Lance Corporal this month.
That's what my squad leader told me. That means a little more money.
Well, got to go for now. I'm in perfect health, and it appears my luck is
running good.
Love ya all,
Paul
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
On New Year's day, we boarded CH46s and were flown deeper into the
mountains into an area I would later on in life learn was known as Base Area
112. It was an enemy sanctuary deep in the mountains. Many fingers of the
Ho Chi Minh trail passed through this area. I remember that, from the fighting
hole I manned with other members of the fire team, I could see the river.
Whether Laos was really on the other side of the river was really only a
rumor to us lower-ranking grunts. Many rumors in a whole world of
speculation. At the rank of PFC, one really had no idea where we were,
what we were doing, and where we'd be going. We lived from moment to
moment, sifting through the many rumors we heard; but, up to this point, the
enemy had not really reared its ugly head.
My brother-in-law, Bobby, was going to Germany with the Army unit he was
with at Fort Reilly, Kansas.
Steve is my cousin. He joined the Navy and ended up on a destroyer which
provided Naval gun fire for Marines along the coast of Vietnam. He told me
he often thought of me when he could see the tracers at night coming up
from Vietnam as they sailed up and down the coast.
Paul O'Connell
1996
Letter #27
9 Jan 69
Dear Family,
Well, it's been a while since I last wrote; but there was no sense
if the choppers weren't coming in to get the mail. It rained for one week
straight and stopped just long enough today for a few choppers to get
in.
Well, the NVA know we are in the area as they fired at one of our
positions the other day and killed one guy. Every night they throw grenades
in at us, but they haven't got close enough to do any harm.
We are moving right down to the Laos border in three days. I guess
the Marine Corps isn't satisfied being as close as we are right now. They
won't be satisfied until half of us are dead. As of now, I've got no idea when
I'll get back to the rear. I hope we are back in by next November.
I haven't received any mail since the 1st because of the weather, but
I'm hoping we get some today. If we don't, it could be a good month. But
keep writing, cause sooner or later, I'll get it. I'll write as much as
possible, but don't worry if you don't hear from me.
Well, got to go; but please pray for me cause I'll need it.
Love, Paul
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
I remember these days. There was constant rain, yet life had to go on --
patrols and observation post (OP) during the day and lying in ambush or
listening posts (LP) at night or standing watch along the perimeter. Never
getting more than a few hours of sleep at any given time. We lived wrapped
in rubber ponchos or if we were lucky enough, we might be able to get
inside a hooch made out of bamboo poles and rubber ponchos.
The Marine killed was in Mike Co. but in a different platoon. It was during
the day, yet it was rather dark because of the heavy clouds and the thick
jungle canopy. There was one short burst of AK fire that echoed through the
jungle. Then, from where I was, I could just barely hear the yell, "Corpsman
up!"
And, shortly after, the word was passed around that one of us had been
killed. Supposedly, the Marine who was killed had been on perimeter watch
but was writing a letter home instead of watching; and the NVA came up on
him and shot him dead, right through the heart. The rest of us still alive
got the word passed to us in some sort of an "ass chewing," to be on the alert,
that the enemy was in our area and expected to probe our positions. He did
every night in the form of chicoms (Chinese-communist grenades.)
Paul O'Connell
1996
Letter #28
11 Jan 69
Dear Family!!!
Well, I've received a lot of mail from you all. First off, I'm in A-1
condition and going as strong as ever.
Cheryl's car sounds real nice. I wish I could be home to drive it seeing
it's new; but, then again, I'll get my chance when I get home. I'll be writing
for a package from you. They always help the situation.
The "Quincy Sun" had stopped coming for awhile, but I've started to
get it again. I received the card from you announcing the relocation of the
flower shop. Tell Joe I wish him the best of luck and to throw $10 in my
bank account, Ha, ha!
You mentioned about having Marines from our area on TV. You said
there was one from Quincy by the name of Julian T? I know him real good
because at one time he hung around the bowling alley. He is getting pretty
"short" and should be home in no time.
Well, the rain has stopped for awhile so I think I'll hear from you more
often. Well, got to go for now; but I'll write later.
Love, Paul
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
"I've received a lot of mail from you all. First off, I'm in A-1 condition and
going as strong as ever....." Amazing what receiving mail from home could
do for my spirit. Letters from home were always a pick me. Yes, I was still
in good shape despite growing weary of Vietnam and living in the jungle...
It was around this time that a Marine in my platoon intentionally shot himself
in the foot one morning. I remember how most of us were awakened by the
muffled rifle shot. At first, we didn't know whether it was incoming or out
going. The muffled sound was new to many of us but not Gunny (the gunnery
sergeant.) He knew what it was and came charging up the trail to see who,
in his words, "the fucking coward" was.
I remember Gunny letting Doc bandage the Marine's foot only after Doc
pleaded for the Marine's well being. I also remember Gunny making the
Marine dig a hole while waiting for the medevac to come and remember the
sound of the Marine's E-tool digging and, off in the distance, the rotor
blades of the medevac chopper coming closer and closer. Gunny told us
"the coward' was going to end up in jail and that not one of us should
get the same idea to try and get out of the bush.
Later on in March when we got back to An Hoa, we were in the mess hall;
and do you know who had a job in the rear serving chow in the chow line...
the Marine who had shot himself in the foot to get out of the bush. He
never went to jail... Made a lot of us look down at our feet on occasion
and think.
Cheryl's car sounds real nice... My father had told me about the new car
my sister had bought which replaced the one my brother Tommy had
demolished. I think she bought a brand new Chevy Malibu.
Julian T... My father had seen on a local Boston TV station, a newscaster
interviewing a Marine in Vietnam. The Marine was Julian T., whom I knew
in high school and the bowling alley where I use to hang out before going
in the Marines... Julian survived Vietnam. I see him several times each
year. We went to a luncheon on Marine Corps birthday this year.
Paul O'Connell
1996
Letter #29
20 Jan 69
Dear Family!!!
We got some mail in today, but they haven't passed it out yet. We are
on Hill 412 now and will be for the next 10 days. Then there is a question
whether we'll sweep to the Laos border or go to the Arizona Territory near
An Hoa for Tet.
The weather is starting to get real hot, and I'm being pestered with
"Gook Sores," which are like impetigo. I've got big open sores on my hands
and arms. They hold about a pint of puss and blood each. Well, that's
enough for that subject.
How's things on the home front? Tommy still getting into hot water?
How's Cheryl's car running?
I've only got about 300 days left. When I get home I'm gonna try and
get stationed at Boston, Portsmouth or Newport. But most likely, I'll end up
at good ole Lejeune.
Well, got to go; but at least you know I'm OK.
Love, Paul
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
As fate would have it, I escaped death in Vietnam for the first time.
I was picked to fill the canteens with water at a stream some ways down
from the top of Hill 412, a job for FNGs; I wasn't happy about having to
climb down the hill and fill canteens while other Marines got to stay back
at the perimeter and sit and rest and write letters and drink coffee and
things and then climb back up the hill weighted down with full canteens.
While I was away from my fighting hole, a burst of AK fire rang out
through the jungle.
From the stream, I could tell the fire had come more from the top of the
hill than where I was. Those of us on the "water run" were quickly
told over the radio to head back to the perimeter. I remember we thought
we might be cut off from the rest of the company, that the NVA might have
been between us and the rest of the company on the top of the hill; but the
"water run" made it safely back to the perimeter.
When I got back to the area of my fighting hole, I heard the screams of a
Marine. Ungodly screams. The burst of AK fire had sent a bullet into this
screaming Marine's knee cap. His leg was shattered. Nothing seemed to quiet
this Marine down, not even morphine.
From the same burst of AK fire, a round found the heart of Gary
Heeman, the Marine who had gone to see the Bob Hope show. I stood
stunned and watched as other Marines wrapped Gary in a green rubber
poncho. I had never seen so much blood in all my life as I did in the
fighting hole I would have been in if it hadn't been for having to go
on the water run.
From the same burst of AK fire, a round hit and shattered the handset from
a PRC25 radio. Another Marine - all of these Marines were in the same
squad I was in - had the handset raised to his mouth when the AK fire
broke out. This Marine was so lucky. The handset deflected the round and
the only wound the Marine suffered was a slight scratch on his arm (and
probably a scar on his soul.) I remember how quiet he was the rest of the
day, how quiet we all became on this day, quiet after the medevac
helicopter picked up the dead and wounded and flew away.
(On the day before this, the point element of Mike Company had been
ambushed by the NVA. A Black Marine whose nickname was "The Judge,"
was hit in the chest and died in the jungle hours later from his wound.
Another Marine, a staff sergeant, was also wounded. We had climbed to the
top of Hill 412 to secure an area suitable enough for an LZ. The jungle
below Hill 412 was too thick to make an LZ or even to get what was known
as a "jungle penetrater" down through the heavy vegetation. "The Judge"
and the wounded staff sergeant were medevaced with Gary Heeman and the
Marine who was wounded in the knee.)
+++++ Remembering PFC Gary L. Heeman +++++
21 Sep 48 -- 15 Jan 69
+++++ Remembering a Marine I only knew as "The Judge." +++++
KIA on or around 14 Jan 69
Hoping that the Marine who was wounded in the knee has found some sort
of peace. I believe he was from Plymouth, MA...
Paul O'Connell
December 1996
Letter #30
21 Jan 69
Dear Family,
Just want to say I'm OK. I'm sending this paper cause it mentions An
Hoa and Operation Taylor Common which I'm on. Read it cause it is real
interesting.
Love, Paul
*******************************************************************
Looking back:
Along with this brief letter, I folded up and sent a copy of what was known
as "The Sea Tiger." It was a newspaper printed by the Marines Corps. In this
particular edition, there were pictures of Marines in the field that resembled
the conditions we were living in -- the mud and filth -- and stories about,
like I said in the letter, An Hoa and Taylor Common -- the world I was living
in, day in...day out.
I think it was around this time, too, that I was wrongly accused of having
fallen asleep on watch. I received a bad ass kicking from a sergeant in
my platoon who was the right guide because of it. What happened (and I
believe this to this day) was that another Marine, Brother Bell, fell asleep
on watch; and, when this sergeant charged upon us, Brother Bell, instead of
admitting it was he who fell asleep, said he woke me and that I was the one
who should have been awake.
The sergeant, despite my trying to tell him no one had woke me up, nearly
kicked me into unconsciousness. I hated this man from then on; and when he
was medevaced a short time later with malaria, I cheered inside my mind,
"Good ridings."
As for Brother Bell, he stuck to his guns that he had woken me. I guess
everyone's opinion of what happened in Vietnam differs; but I never trusted
him again, either.
Paul O'Connell
December 1996
Copyright © 1996 By Paul O'Connell, All Rights Reserved
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