Jet fighters first made an appearance in the German Luftwaffe during World War II, but the technology had come a long way by the time the Korean War started in 1950. At first, the North Korean air forces were flying Soviet-built propeller-driven fighters, and the United States forces were flying American-made P-51 Mustangs and Vought F4U Corsairs. As the war dragged on, both sides got substantial upgrades.
When the Korean People's Air Force started flying the MiG-15, it was clear that the propeller fighters were outmatched by Soviet-built aircraft and Soviet-trained Chinese and North Korean pilots. MiG-15s were very good at intercepting B-29 Superfortress bombers and engaging their fighter escorts. They wreaked havoc on prop fighters. They were faster and more numerous than anything the United Nations forces could muster.
While the F-86 Sabre was sent to Korea to counter the growing MiG-15 threat, they would not arrive until December 1950. Until then, the U.S. Air Force would use its F-80 Shooting Stars against the mysterious new aircraft. The MiG-15 first appeared on Nov. 1, 1950, but it didn't take long for the USAF's pilots to take one down.
That pilot was Lt. Russel J. Brown.
Brown was flying his F-80 Shooting Star while escorting bombers on runs against North Korean cities along the Yalu River between Nov. 4-7. Only one of those targets, an airfield near Sinuiju, had to be aborted due to weather. The attack would be made the next day. Brown and the other fighters would make strafing runs against the North Korean anti-aircraft guns before the bombers destroyed the airfield.
When the time for the attack came, they made their runs and climbed to 20,000 feet to avoid anti-aircraft fire from across the Yalu inside China and cover the other fighters making their runs. As the next flight completed its mission, the flight commander saw a dozen MiG-15s doing barrel rolls and other stunts 2,500 feet below them.
There were also two MiGs coming straight at Brown and his wingman, Lt. Col. Evans Stephens. With the two MiGs bearing down on them, Brown and his commander broke formation to engage the enemy fighters. Brown had just engaged in the first-ever jet-to-jet aerial dogfight in history.
The MiG banked quickly into a climbing turn, but Brown and his Shooting Star stayed tight in the turn while Brown got into a firing position. He had only one gun left, as his other three jammed during his strafing mission. Four quick bursts missed the enemy MiG, but Brown was still on him.
After the enemy fighter went into a steep dive, Brown followed him and got within 1,000 feet before firing off another burst from his remaining guns. The first burst hit home, tearing up the engine section of the MiG, so Brown held down the trigger until the MiG exploded.
Now hurtling down to Earth at 600 miles per hour with just 2,000 feet between him and oblivion, Brown managed to pull the Shooting Star out of its dive and regained his altitude. The total time spent in combat was a mere 60 seconds. It would also be Brown's only kill of the war.
It has been called the most daring raid of the Vietnam War; Operation Ivory Coast was an effort to rescue prisoners of war who had been held by North Vietnam for years. It did not rescue any of the prisoners, but it did change the way U.S. Special Operations planned and executed its missions.
By 1970, the United States not only knew that hundreds of American POWs were being held by the communist North Vietnamese, but they also knew those prisoners were being subjected to torture and mistreatment - and many had been suffering for years on end.
Special operations planners knew the location of where at least 61 of them were being held, a camp near the North Vietnamese capital of Hanoi known as Son Tay. The United States designed a plan to rescue them right out from under the communists' noses.
The mission would not be an easy one. At least six of the prisoners were believed to be near death, and the Son Tay prison was in an area where intelligence planners believed 12,000 enemy troops were stationed. The Americans were about to send a combined joint task force of 138 special operators in to get the prisoners out.
Army Col. Arthur "Bull" Simons, a Ranger and World War II veteran who conducted successful raids against the Japanese at Cabanatuan in the Philippines, was assigned to lead a hand-picked team of volunteers.
The assault force was divided into three groups: "Blueboy," "Greenleaf," and "Redwine." Blueboy was assigned to land on the prison grounds, assault the complex and rescue the prisoners. Greenleaf would land outside the prison and provide support and any reinforcement necessary. Redwine was assigned to the perimeter of the complex and would fight any North Vietnamese who responded to the raid.
There were also 24 aircraft involved. The Air Force was bringing an HH-3E Jolly Green Giant and five HH-53 Super Jolly Green Giant helicopters to carry the raiders and the prisoners. They also had two MC-130s and two HC-130s for navigation and in-flight refueling. Five A-1E Skyraiders would be available for close-air support, and 10 F-4 Phantoms would provide air superiority.
All that was left was a plausible window for the raid - clear weather and a quarter moon at a certain point above the horizon for maximum visibility meant a window of between November 18th and 25th. At 10 pm local time on Nov. 21, 1970, aircraft for the mission began leaving bases in Thailand and South Vietnam.
As the raiders' aircraft entered North Vietnamese airspace, the U.S. launched a massive diversionary attack from the USS Oriskany and the USS Ranger, the largest night operation from carriers during the entire war. Some 44 aircraft caused panic among North Vietnamese air defenses that allowed the raiders to move near Hanoi without interruption.
As they approached the prison, one of the HH-53 Super Jollys began strafing the enemy guard towers, and despite being thrown off by a similar structure, the assault team landed in the prison courtyard shortly at 2 am. Four elements began their assault on the prison as Army Capt. Richard J. Meadows used a bullhorn to announce their presence to the POWs.
The raiders searched the prison room by room, killing the guards as they met them and clearing five prisoner blocks. Meanwhile, Greenleaf was under attack from NVA troops as they poured out of a barracks that planners believed was a school. Within eight minutes, the Greenleaf raiders had completely destroyed the NVA soldiers.
By 2:20 am, all three groups were on the ground, and two complete sweeps of the prison were conducted. Both sweeps found that there were no prisoners being held at Son Tay. With surface-to-air missile batteries firing at the raiders' aircraft, the extraction was ordered. The entire raid had lasted only 28 minutes and only sustained one casualty from enemy fire. By 3:15 am, the entire party was out of North Vietnam.
The raid itself has been called a "successful failure" in the annals of history. It was a perfectly executed tactical raid but an intelligence failure. It turned out the prisoners at Son Tay had been moved in June 1970 to another prison nearby.
The raid might have been criticized in American media, but it also improved the lives of the POWs. All the prisoners were consolidated into one place after the raid, and some later told journalists that morale improved upon hearing of the raid, as did the NVA's treatment of the prisoners.
At some point in their military career, U.S. troops will likely hear the rumor that television's Mr. Rogers, host of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood," was a death-dealing, hardcore Vietnam-era sniper in either the Army Special Forces, Navy SEALs, or the Marine Corps.
Fred Rogers and his past are just one more file to add to the mounting list of military myths and urban legends. It might be fun to think of a man as smart and wholesome as Fred Rogers picking off a North Vietnamese general or Viet Cong guerrilla, but that's just not the case.
In reality, Rogers was a Presbyterian minister before the Vietnam War ever started, and during the war, he was studying Child Development at the University of Pittsburgh. He helped develop his first children's show in 1955, and by 1968, he was the host of the now-famous "Mister Rogers Neighborhood."
Since the show ran on PBS for 33 years, and Fred Rogers was the showrunner, he had little time to pop rounds off at the NVA's most important officers. The only medal he ever picked up was the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2002.
The closest Rogers ever came to military service was when he registered for the draft in 1948 at age 20. Initially, he was classified 1-A, but he was declared 4-F - unfit for military service after his physical.
And no, Jerry Mathers of "Leave It To Beaver" fame didn't die in Vietnam, either. He's actually still alive as of October 2021, although he did serve in the Air Force Reserve during the Vietnam War - and presented an Emmy to Gene Kelly in his dress uniform.
So why is it that there are so many urban legends surrounding some of classic television's favorite personalities? It's likely because it's fun to think about someone's onscreen persona being completely opposite of who they are in real life. But that's only a guess.
There are, however, plenty of wholesome famous actors who were stone-cold warriors during their military service. Television's Mr. Wizard, also known as Don Herbert, spent decades on TV teaching children how to conduct seemingly impossible science experiments at home. In World War II, Herbert flew 56 bombing missions against the Axis out of Italy in a B-24 Liberator bomber at a time when bomber crews were expected to die between their 8th and 12th mission.
Another Army Air Forces and silver screen veteran was Jimmy Stewart, star of "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" and "It's a Wonderful Life." He joined the Army Air Forces in December 1941 and rose in rank from private to major general, serving until 1968. How do you serve for 27 years and make that much rank? If you're Jimmy Stewart, you fight in three wars: World War II, Korea, and Vietnam.
So, sorry to burst anyone's bubble of Mr. Rogers joining the few, the proud, or any other military unit. If he had, he would have been their chaplain.
In 196
8, then-Maj. Colin Powell was a Ranger assigned to the Army’s 23rd Infantry Division. It was his second tour in Vietnam.
Just five years earlier, he was one of the American advisors to South Vietnam’s fledgling army. While on a foot patrol in Viet Cong-held areas in 1963, the 25-year-old Powell was wounded by a VC booby trap.
He stepped on a punji stick, which the VC laced with buffalo dung. The excrement created an infection that made it difficult for him to walk.
“The Special Forces medics cut my boot off, and they could see my foot was purple by then,” Powell said in an interview with the Academy of Achievement. “The spike had gone all the way through, from the bottom to the top, and then come right back out, totally infecting the wound as it made the wound.”
That ended his time in combat. Powell was reassigned to the 1st Army of the Republic of Vietnam division headquarters for the rest of that tour.
On his second tour in Vietnam, he was again behind a desk as the Assistant Chief of Staff for the Americal Division (as the 23rd was known). Though a staff officer, when you’re a man of destiny like Colin Powell, the action comes to you.
On November 16, 1968, the helicopter transporting Maj. Powell along with the 23rd ID commander crashed.
Powell, injured but clear of the wreckage, ran back to the burning helicopter several times to rescue comrades. Though the helicopter was in danger of exploding, he continued to attempt the rescue.
When he found one passenger trapped under the mass of twisted, burning fuselage, Powell tore away the burning metal with his bare hands.
Powell was awarded the Soldier’s Medal for his actions that day. He managed to rescue every passenger from the downed helicopter.
During his deployments to Vietnam, he also earned a Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts.
The Veterans Breakfast Club is a place where history comes alive through the power of individual stories. It has hosted veterans from World War II to the Global War on Terrorism, from American GIs to the German Wehrmacht, and even the Allies who fought alongside U.S. troops in combat.
The group provides veterans an opportunity to integrate their life stories into the history of their wars and of the military experience in the United States. The Veterans Breakfast Club was founded by Todd DePastino, an author, historian, and professor of history at Penn State. He's not from a military family but founded the Veterans Breakfast Club after experiencing veterans' personal history during a book tour.
It was a book about the life of Bill Mauldin, a World War II veteran whose comics about two GIs, Willie and Joe, earned him international acclaim. In writing the book, DePastino learned that the military culture of the time was different from the civilian world, which is still true today.
"As I learned the humor, I learned there was an Army subculture," DePastino told Military.com. "I realized it was a very distinctive one, different from the civilian world, and that it had certain bonds and benefits and burdens but also a language and values. It brought little pieces of that subculture to the homefront and exposed the folks back home to what the infantry was experiencing."
The people who came to hear DePastino speak about the role of Willie and Joe in American culture were mostly veterans, especially World War II veterans.
"I was stunned to learn that the Willies and Joes really existed and that they still do," DePastino said.
In September 2008, DePastino gave his talk and then turned the microphone over to the audience, which began to share its stories from the war. The conversation lasted three hours, but not everyone got to speak. So the author invited them all back to have another discussion. Some 60 people returned to tell any story they wanted.
Afterward, one of the veterans' wives approached DePastino.
"She looked me in the eyes, and she held my hand and said, 'Thank you for doing this. I've never heard any of his stories. And we've been married 60 years,'" he recalled. "There's some part of me that still doesn't understand that, but I knew that somehow we had created an environment where veterans felt free to share whatever stories they wanted, in public to people who were attentive, caring, non-judgmental listeners."
DePastino took that same model and began holding similar events throughout Western Pennsylvania. It came to be called "The Veterans Breakfast Club," and DePastino held 500 of them before 2020.
"I was doing it because I loved hearing these stories, and I loved the men and women who were sharing them," he said. "I just loved them like they were family members. These were people I had just met, and they were telling me pretty intimate stories about their lives and about who they were. There was wisdom, wisdom about the world, about perspective, about personal growth, about aging and about being old in a culture that doesn't really value old age."
When the COVID-19 pandemic forced restrictions on group gatherings, DePastino took the discussions to Zoom, where they still happen to this day. While the pandemic keeps people from meeting in person, it opens the virtual floor to any veteran in the country or around the world.
In that time, the club has heard stories from veterans of all eras and branches and even some of those who fought on the other sides of the war. One guest was a German soldier who fought in World War II. The club recently dedicated an evening to the descendants of Kaiten suicide submariners from the Imperial Japanese Navy.
For veterans, especially those of older generations, it's a gift.
"To have a veteran come up to me and shake my hand or give me a hug and thank me with tears in his eyes for bringing these programs is too much for me to bear," DePastino said. "It's hard for me to accept that kind of gratitude, but it signals to me that there's a real need to be heard. I think the Veterans Breakfast Club is providing that opportunity to veterans who want to take advantage of it."
The Veterans Breakfast Club is no longer just for breakfast. It's open to all who want to join the conversation or share their stories of military service. Viewers can join the call via this VBC Zoom link or catch past discussions on the Veterans Breakfast Club YouTube page.
For more information or to donate to the cause, visit the Veterans Breakfast Club website.
It's time to tell the stories of the 2,355 Pearl Harbor fallen.
Can you help?
Our goal is to have all these stories done in time for the 80th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor this December 7, 2021.
To join this project you need to do four things:
1/ Email sbts@togetherweserved.com to get your free Together We Served membership. You will need this to save your Pearl Harbor fallen stories and use the TWS Forums to communicate with the other volunteers.
2/ Sign up for the free STAR Corps Boot Camp 2.0 where you will learn how to save stories on Together We Served.
3/ Sign up for the free Pearl Harbor Research Aids course where you will find tips and aids to use specifically for the Pearl Harbor Fallen Project.
4/ Let me know when you are ready to start writing stories and I will get you in touch with our Pearl Harbor Fallen Project directors Allison Albert, Coby Crump, and Jackie Menasco. They will get you matched up with some names that need stories. Just email me at don@storiesbehindthestars.org.
For both our Utah pilot project and the D-Day fallen project we had more than a hundred volunteers participating. I hope to see that many volunteers or more for the Pearl Harbor Fallen Project. If we get 120 volunteers, we need to average one story a week per volunteer to get done. Of course, some of you will do many more than this, which is great. It is also okay to join this project and just write a few stories.
When the stories are done, they will be visible at gravesites or memorials using the upcoming smartphone app. This short video gives you a preview of what it will look like. Don't you think it will be great to start using this for the 80th anniversary of Pearl Harbor? We need your help to make it happen by having all the Pearl Harbor stories completed.
I very much appreciate your interest in assisting with this massive undertaking. Our goal is to have all 400,000+ stories done by September 2, 2025, the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II. To do that we are going to need 2,000 people averaging one story a week, so invite others to get on board! Please share this document here with others who may be interested in learning more.
Our Stories Behind the Stars podcast is still moving up the charts. This is where we interview our volunteers about the stories they have written and also share some great stories of the World War II fallen. Listening to this program can get you familiar with what to expect if you join this project. We may even interview you down the road! You can download it on all popular podcast platforms. Our latest episode covers the story of a fallen hero and the letter he left for his unborn son. It's powerful.
If you haven’t kept up with all the great news exposure this project is getting, you can find that here.
Don Milne, Founder, and Director
don@storiesbehindthestars.org
Stories Behind the Stars
I can still remember sitting at the kitchen table in 1967, listening to my parent's AM radio that was sitting on the counter. The newscaster was talking about yet another B-52 strike over North Vietnam. I was 12 years old at the time. My dad. a WWII Veteran was frequently sitting at the other end of the table, listening intently. 
He was 56 years old then. Dad has been gone for many years, and I'm 65 now. I have no memory of him ever commenting on those airstrikes that we heard about on an almost daily basis, not to mention the evening news we watched on our black and white TV with Walter Cronkite recapitulating the same events we previously heard about on the radio. Having lived through the WWII years and serving in North Africa and Sardinia with the Army Air Corps, I now wonder what Dad's thoughts were relative to those B-52 strikes on the North. That said. I don't think I ever once even considered how that war would impact my life in later years. To me, it was just a war in a faraway place, and many American "boys" were returning home in flag-draped coffins. Being raised Catholic and going to a Catholic elementary school and high school, the Nuns or "Sisters," as we called them back then, always had us pray for "our boys" in Vietnam.
Growing up, I always felt that my calling in life was to be a Soldier. Most of my toys and play activities with the neighborhood kids had to do with mock war. I remember each of us assuming the identities of our WWII veteran fathers and vicariously reliving the "glory days" of their collective service to our country. Vic Morrow, the star of the 60's TV series "Combat," was one of my childhood heroes, along with Robert Lansing and Paul Burke from 12 O'Clock High. When cinema movies such as PT-109, The Battle of Britain, and The Longest Day came out, I was totally hooked on the notion of one day becoming a "Military Man." In 1969, at the ripe old age of 14, I became a U. S. Naval Sea Cadet. The following summer, we were sent to Navy Boot Camp at (NTC) Naval Training Center. Orlando.
For an almost 15-year-old kid, that two-week experience was quite the ordeal. They tried to cram a normal six-week training regimen all into two weeks. We survived and returned to High School in the tall, standing out like sore thumbs with those still fresh buzz cuts. I suppose it was like a badge of honor for us Sea Cadets, but we ended up getting an early taste of how "uncool" that Military haircut was, along with being attached to a pseudo-military organization. By 1970 the anti-war movement was deeply entrenched in the hearts and minds of young people, although I'll submit that it really wasn't too bad in small-town USA. At least from what I can remember. During the summer of 1971, we were given two weeks of "Sea Duty" aboard (DD 693) the USS Moale, out of none other than the now-demolished Brooklyn Navy Yard. I will tell you that I had the time of my life during those two weeks at sea, in spite of the fact that the Navy Reservists that were attached to that "Can," as we came to call Destroyers, then mistreated us. I'm sure they must have thought we were out of our minds wanting to do such a thing as becoming seagoing sailors when all they wanted to do was to be done with their Navy obligation - period. The Commander of our Sea Cadet Unit, the Holland Division, told me that upon graduating from High School in June of 1973, I could go straight into the regular Navy as a Seaman (E-3), owing to the fact that we spent the previous four years training and preparing for such a conspicuous honor. As luck would have it, I began considering the option of enlisting in the Marine Corps instead. After making that announcement at the dinner table one evening, my father proceeded to assert that I would never make it in the Marine Corps. I was never one to walk away from a challenge. I made a beeline to the Marine Corps Recruitment Office the following day. Because I was only 17, my parents had to sign for me. That was February of 1973, and I opted for the six-month delayed entry program. I was told that down the road, that additional six months would carry some benefits such as pay and sewing on a four-year hash mark six months early. I don't remember what happened with the paltry three hundred, some odd dollars that we received on a monthly basis, but I do remember sewing on that four-year hashmark in February, as opposed to July of 1977. The Sea Cadet Commander was totally frustrated with me for going to the Marines as opposed to the Navy.
My buddies rode me relentlessly from the time I signed the enlistment papers in February until the time I "shipped out' on 5 July 1973.1 started having second thoughts about the whole deal. I was hoping the recruiter would "let me off the hook," but no dice. I even tried getting in trouble thinking the Marines wouldn't want me then. Very fortunately for me, my misguided strategy didn't work out. At about 0500 on 5 July, the Marine Recruiter pulled into our driveway on Eastern Long Island with his big green bare-bones Chrysler Sedan for the two-hour ride to the Induction Center at Fort Hamilton. NY. I'll never forget the wide grin on my father's face as I got into that car: nor will I forget my mother sobbing all night long. I don't think I got a wink of sleep. The United States had signed a Peace Treaty with the North Vietnamese government back in February, so it seemed quite unlikely that shipping out for Vietnam following Basic Training would be a possibility. That factoid still did little to stop Mom from bawling her eyes out all night. Looking back now, I would never even consider the delayed enlistment option again; I'd simply sign the paperwork and leave the following day.
Because I had previously done that two-week mini Boot Camp with the Naval Sea Cadet Corps in Orlando, I told the Manne Recruiter that I wanted to go to San Diego for my Basic Training. He did keep his word and made it happen. After getting sworn in at Fort Hamilton, we were transported to JFK Airport and boarded a direct flight to San Diego. I made friends with a guy that had previously been in the Army and had done a tour in Vietnam. He said very little about his experience there, and I didn't press him for information. We ended up in the same Platoon (3067) and completed our training together. I never saw him again after that. All of our Drill Instructors were Vietnam Veterans. They were some tough hombre's. Some were a little tougher and meaner than others. As challenging as Boot Camp was, I was almost sad to leave because, based on what our Dl's told us, we were leaving a perfect world for one that would never live up to the same standards. The truth of the matter is they were 100% correct.
My first Duty Station ended up being in none other than Marine Corps Base 29 Palms. California, located near Yucca Valley and Joshua Tree in the hot sands of the Mojave Desert. I was attached to the 1st 8" Howitzer (Self-Propelled) Battery. After completing Motor "T" School, I ended up with a MOS of 3531. I became the CO's Driver when we went into the field for training. Most other times, we'd sit around at the Motor Pool, either "busting tires" or washing the 5 ton and 2.5-ton trucks, commonly referred to as "deuce and a half's, along with "gama-goats" and jeeps. It was an insanely boring job, to say the least. Eventually, I received a tap on the shoulder from the Company Gunny, who bluntly advised me that I would be going to Chaser School. I didn't have a clue what that meant, but I found out soon enough.
You see, back in those days, the Marine Corps had a terrible drug and UA (unauthorized absence) problem. The "perps" were inevitably reconciled to the Military Justice System (UCMJ) by virtue of either being caught in the act or simply by turning themselves in. Chasers, as they were called, were issued a "nightstick" or baton as a graduation gift following the 1 Day Class. We were told to be a walking shadow to our prisoners and never let them out of our sight. The Marines that I was assigned to "chase" while they awaited either their Court Martial or ultimate incarceration in the "Brig" were all from the same outfit that I was in. I continually requested to chase prisoners I didn't know, but that never happened. Some of them got a real complex going about me sticking next to them like glue, but the rumor was that if you lose them, you get to do their time. That just wasn't going to happen. I should add at this point that most of the Marines I chased acquired their drug habits in Vietnam and just couldn't shake it. You had to feel sorry for them and wonder what they experienced that drove them to drugs. The drug problem was so widespread on that Base that we regularly had our Squad Bay's "sniffed out" by Military Police Dogs, and I can still distinctly remember having to routinely stop for a vehicle inspection and "dog sniff" at the Main Gate. The "dopers," as we called them, were pretty smooth dudes. They started sprinkling pepper in their Wall Locker Boxes which caused the dogs to sneeze like crazy. It was absolutely hilarious to watch.
Occasionally a Navy Corpsman would show up to collect urine samples. The dopers figured out a way to defeat that process as well - they engaged in "mixology." The Lord above only knows what became of those specimens. Was Vietnam the culprit here? My curiosity burned inside of me, but outside of a real-life staging of equipment and troops on "the grinder," in anticipation of mobilization for the 6 Day War of 1973 in the Middle East, I was not destined to understand that mystery or experience it first hand. Aside from the remnant left in Saigon, that war was all but a bad memory, or so I thought.
After about a year in "The Stumps," orders came in to report for duty at Henderson Hall in Arlington, Virginia, just down the road a short distance from the Pentagon and right next door to the Arlington National Cemetery. I remained there for the rest of my four-year hitch. It was a far cry from the drug-infested squad bays of 29 Palms, and race relations seemed to be much better there, although the problem didn't completely disappear in either case. I still had my occasional prisoner to chase but nowhere's near what I had in the stumps. Life was good there; heck, I'll take it a step further and submit that we had it darn good. Lots of WM's (Women Marines), great nightlife with Washington, DC a hop and a skip away, the chow was good, and the duty was easy. Somewhere in the grand scheme of things, I made the mistake of running my mouth too much and spewing out the fact that I took typing in High School. That netted me a secondary MOS of 0151 in Admin, commonly known as "Remington Raiders."
The months and years rolled by very quickly indeed. I made it to E-5 (Sergeant) along the way and collected a bunch of vivid memories and a couple of lifelong friends. To this very day, I still can remember a highly decorated Marine that frequented the EM Club just about on a nightly basis. What I recall is the sadness on his face and the despair that seemed to almost drip out of his eyes as he sat there at the bar alone, nursing drink after drink until closing time. When I inquired about him, I learned he was the sole survivor from an L-shaped NVA ambush while on patrol in the "I Corps" sector of Vietnam. You couldn't help but feel his pain. Forty-Five years after, I can still see him sitting there. I can only hope that he got some help and managed to salvage the remainder of his life. EAS (End of Service) came upon me like a thief in the night. I didn't know what to do, so I extended my enlistment for 90 days.
I never saw any combat, nor did I even leave CONUS (Continental United States). I'd been mocked, spat at, and cursed at while proudly wearing my Marine Corps
uniform in public. I can only imagine what it must have been like returning from Vietnam after enduring those nightmares, only to be greeted by an angry and totally ungrateful public. The very thought of it is just mind-boggling to me. I finally got out in October of 1977 and struggled to readjust into the Civilian World.
I had a good career in HVAC Wholesale Distribution and ultimately retired in 2017 and started a second career in Aviation as a Flight Instructor. I'm not quite sure why, but there's rarely a day that passes by that I don't think about the Corps and what it would have been like to serve in Vietnam. On the one hand, I feel blessed that I didn't have to go, then, on the other hand, I feel a strange sense of guilt. I tell myself that it just "wasn't in the cards," and being born in 1955 was simply a small stroke of Divine Intervention. There again, perhaps it's just the sentimental side of me oozing out, reflecting on a lifetime of precious memories.
After all, when we leave this place, that's all we're going to take with us. To quote a saying our DI's chanted while running in formation: "And When I go to Heaven, Saint Peter I will tell, Another Marine Reporting Sir, I Served My Time in Hell." Semper Fidelis, my Marine Brothers, and Sisters. Live Well!
How to Help 'Pin-Ups For Vets' Bring Comfort and Support to Veterans
Pin-Ups For Vets has many missions. From sending love overseas to troops deployed abroad to visiting hospitalized veterans at their bedsides, the organization raises money for veterans in need.
But these aren't a bunch of playboy models who don't fully understand the sacrifices veterans make every day. The models of Pin-Ups For Vets are veterans themselves. They are combat veterans, Blackhawk Helicopter pilots, Navy judge advocates general, Army doctors. They know what it means to deploy and serve. The 2022 calendar pin-ups collectively have 100 years of service.
"One of the things I love about that organization is that it really shines a light on the service of our female Veterans," says Pin-Ups For Vets founder Gina Elise. "It's a way to start telling their stories because people see their pictures in the calendar and want to know more. What did she do? How long did she serve? Why did she join? One of our female veteran calendar models just got a letter from someone thanking her for 'setting an example for young women in this country.' I think that what we do shows that strong is beautiful."
The nonprofit Pin-Ups For Vets produces a fundraising 1940s-style calendar that features female veterans as the models every year. For the ladies of Pin-Ups For Vets, it allows these female veterans to once again embrace their femininity. According to its founder, many of the ladies say being involved gives them a renewed sense of purpose after transitioning out of the military. It has given them a sense of community and a mission to give back.
But the annual Pin-Ups For Vets calendar is just the beginning. Proceeds from the calendar sales go towards providing equipment and facilities for veterans at home and abroad. The Pin-Up veterans send care packages and calendars to deployed troops while purchasing necessary medical and rehabilitation equipment for VA centers.
"We like to impact the military community in multiple ways," Elise says. "From boosting morale for U.S. troops across the globe with care packages to helping veterans in the hospital by donating 'wish-list rehab equipment to physical therapy departments to showing appreciation for ill and injured veterans with our hospital visits and gifts, to helping homeless veterans with things they might need to get back on their feet, to doing pamper days for military spouses, to offering female Veterans the opportunity to continue to do 'service after service' by volunteering with us."
The Pin-Ups are also on a mission to visit every VA hospital in the 50 states and U.S. territories. To date, they have visited over 15,000 veterans in VA hospitals and clinics nationwide. The organization has also donated more than $90,000 that went toward rehab equipment for multiple VA facilities all over the country.
"We are usually on a 50-state in-person VA hospital tour but had to put that on hold due to the pandemic," says Elise. "I love meeting with the veterans in person, but we had to adapt due to the times. We are temporarily shipping morale-boosting care packages instead for the hospital staff to pass out on our behalf. And even though we can't be there at the hospitals in person, I know the gifts are still putting smiles on the faces of the hospitalized veterans. I get really nice emails back from the hospital staff saying how much the patients love the calendars."
Gina Elise and her cadre of pin-ups, which includes calendar girls from previous years as well as volunteers who have yet to be featured in a calendar, also respond to the issues of the day. On the VA campus in West Los Angeles, homeless veterans have built a makeshift city where they can set up their tents without fear of retribution from the Los Angeles Police Department.
The Pin-Ups were there to deliver 
hot meals to the homeless veterans.
"I felt like we needed to do something special for these veterans living on the sidewalk in tents on Veterans Row," Elise says. "I thought that even though it's a small gesture, a hot meal for them would be nourishing. It was nice to see how much they enjoyed it. I think they just didn't expect that was going to happen that day, and it was a pleasant surprise. They expressed so much thanks to us. It was an honor for us to do it. They should not be living in tents on the sidewalk."
The organization also has purchased housewares like dish sets, silverware, glasses, pots and pans, towels, and kitchen utensils to give to formerly homeless female veterans who are getting back on their feet. At a time when the future of many is uncertain, having these small but necessary comforts is a real booster to anyone restarting their civilian lives.
"We take a very multi-pronged approach to give back. We are heading into our 16th year of supporting the veteran and military community. It has become my purpose. It's my mission to help improve the lives of those who have stepped up to serve our country. There's nothing that has been more fulfilling for me. I really connect with the veteran community. I've met the most wonderful people because of my work with this incredible community. I get to see resilience, courage, work ethic, service over self, teamwork, etc., on a very regular basis when I work with the veteran and military community, and it truly inspires me."
"I can't believe it's been almost 16 years. Time flies when you love what you do, that's for sure. I feel really proud of the work we have done so far, and I look forward to what is up ahead!"
Veterans interested in being part of Pin-Ups for Vets should start with the organization's website. Any veterans interested in being part of the next calendar should follow Pin-Ups for Vets on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram and keep an eye out for the next casting call.
Those interested in purchasing the latest calendar or those from previous years can support Pin-Ups For Vets by buying from the organization's fundraising store. You can also make tax-deductible donations by clicking here.
The old adage is true: every Marine is a rifleman. But that doesn't always mean the transition is an easy one. That's what happened to Mike Hearndon, who deployed to South Vietnam early on in the American involvement there. Hearndon's occupational specialty listed him as a truck driver and mechanic, but when there were no more vehicles to drive or repair, he became a rifleman.
"A Marine 3531 to 0311" is his story.
Hearndon enlisted in the United States Marine Corps while he was still in high school in 1963. Like many enlisted Marines, he didn't go to Vietnam right away. After boot camp, he was trained as a driver and mechanic for the M-50 Ontos, a multi-barreled, 106mm, self-propelled set of mounted recoilless rifles, guaranteed to kill anything it wants.
The trouble with being a mechanic for the M-50 Ontos is that fewer than 300 were made, even fewer went to Vietnam, and it eventually disappeared from the war. With no more M-50s around to drive or repair, 3531s like Mike Hearndon became extra bodies. So he was handed a rifle and rechristened 0311.
This, of course, did not happen on paper. Official Marine Corps documents will always list him as a mechanic and driver. He went from supporting infantry with the firepower to becoming one of them.
Hearndon's book takes readers on the journey of a young Marine in the mid-1960s, including stories from deployments to Spain, Okinawa, and of course, South Vietnam. He spent four years in the Marine Corps and discusses in detail what it was like to rotate home, how he was received, and what led him to go back to Vietnam for a second tour of duty.
For Hearndon, his second tour in the country provides the most vivid reflections of his time in the war. He fought throughout the country and worked his way north, all the way up to the demilitarized zone that separated north from south. He recalls the details of transitioning to the life of a grunt in a way that only a United States Marine who has seen combat from both sides of the picture could.
He relates his thoughts and experiences as he traveled across the country, contrasting the life of the two specialties, the progress of the war between his first and second tours, and reflects on the people with whom he served.
"A Marine 3531 to 0311" is an honest memoir written by a man who still proudly calls himself a United States Marine at age 77. The book is a two-year labor of love written by a veteran to help his children and grandchildren understand his life experience and learn a little bit of history. It's a great read for anyone interested in personal reflections by those who fought the Vietnam War.
Interested readers can find "A Marine 3531 to 0311" by Mike Hearndon online at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, Target, and elsewhere for just $14.00.
When the Korean People's Air Force started flying the MiG-15, it was clear that the propeller fighters were outmatched by Soviet-built aircraft and Soviet-trained Chinese and North Korean pilots. MiG-15s were very good at intercepting B-29 Superfortress bombers and engaging their fighter escorts. They wreaked havoc on prop fighters. They were faster and more numerous than anything the United Nations forces could muster. 
When the time for the attack came, they made their runs and climbed to 20,000 feet to avoid anti-aircraft fire from across the Yalu inside China and cover the other fighters making their runs. As the next flight completed its mission, the flight commander saw a dozen MiG-15s doing barrel rolls and other stunts 2,500 feet below them. 
By 1970, the United States not only knew that hundreds of American POWs were being held by the communist North Vietnamese, but they also knew those prisoners were being subjected to torture and mistreatment - and many had been suffering for years on end. 
The assault force was divided into three groups: "Blueboy," "Greenleaf," and "Redwine." Blueboy was assigned to land on the prison grounds, assault the complex and rescue the prisoners. Greenleaf would land outside the prison and provide support and any reinforcement necessary. Redwine was assigned to the perimeter of the complex and would fight any North Vietnamese who responded to the raid. 
As they approached the prison, one of the HH-53 Super Jollys began strafing the enemy guard towers, and despite being thrown off by a similar structure, the assault team landed in the prison courtyard shortly at 2 am. Four elements began their assault on the prison as Army Capt. Richard J. Meadows used a bullhorn to announce their presence to the POWs. 
Fred Rogers and his past are just one more file to add to the mounting list of military myths and urban legends. It might be fun to think of a man as smart and wholesome as Fred Rogers picking off a North Vietnamese general or Viet Cong guerrilla, but that's just not the case. 
So why is it that there are so many urban legends surrounding some of classic television's favorite personalities? It's likely because it's fun to think about someone's onscreen persona being completely opposite of who they are in real life. But that's only a guess. 
8, then-Maj. Colin Powell was a Ranger assigned to the Army’s 23rd Infantry Division. It was his second tour in Vietnam.
Powell, injured but clear of the wreckage, ran back to the burning helicopter several times to rescue comrades. Though the helicopter was in danger of exploding, he continued to attempt the rescue.
The group provides veterans an opportunity to integrate their life stories into the history of their wars and of the military experience in the United States. The Veterans Breakfast Club was founded by Todd DePastino, an author, historian, and professor of history at Penn State. He's not from a military family but founded the Veterans Breakfast Club after experiencing veterans' personal history during a book tour.
"I was stunned to learn that the Willies and Joes really existed and that they still do," DePastino said.
"I was doing it because I loved hearing these stories, and I loved the men and women who were sharing them," he said. "I just loved them like they were family members. These were people I had just met, and they were telling me pretty intimate stories about their lives and about who they were. There was wisdom, wisdom about the world, about perspective, about personal growth, about aging and about being old in a culture that doesn't really value old age."
For both our Utah pilot project and the D-Day fallen project we had more than a hundred volunteers participating. I hope to see that many volunteers or more for the Pearl Harbor Fallen Project. If we get 120 volunteers, we need to average one story a week per volunteer to get done. Of course, some of you will do many more than this, which is great. It is also okay to join this project and just write a few stories.
He was 56 years old then. Dad has been gone for many years, and I'm 65 now. I have no memory of him ever commenting on those airstrikes that we heard about on an almost daily basis, not to mention the evening news we watched on our black and white TV with Walter Cronkite recapitulating the same events we previously heard about on the radio. Having lived through the WWII years and serving in North Africa and Sardinia with the Army Air Corps, I now wonder what Dad's thoughts were relative to those B-52 strikes on the North. That said. I don't think I ever once even considered how that war would impact my life in later years. To me, it was just a war in a faraway place, and many American "boys" were returning home in flag-draped coffins. Being raised Catholic and going to a Catholic elementary school and high school, the Nuns or "Sisters," as we called them back then, always had us pray for "our boys" in Vietnam.
For an almost 15-year-old kid, that two-week experience was quite the ordeal. They tried to cram a normal six-week training regimen all into two weeks. We survived and returned to High School in the tall, standing out like sore thumbs with those still fresh buzz cuts. I suppose it was like a badge of honor for us Sea Cadets, but we ended up getting an early taste of how "uncool" that Military haircut was, along with being attached to a pseudo-military organization. By 1970 the anti-war movement was deeply entrenched in the hearts and minds of young people, although I'll submit that it really wasn't too bad in small-town USA. At least from what I can remember. During the summer of 1971, we were given two weeks of "Sea Duty" aboard (DD 693) the USS Moale, out of none other than the now-demolished Brooklyn Navy Yard. I will tell you that I had the time of my life during those two weeks at sea, in spite of the fact that the Navy Reservists that were attached to that "Can," as we came to call Destroyers, then mistreated us. I'm sure they must have thought we were out of our minds wanting to do such a thing as becoming seagoing sailors when all they wanted to do was to be done with their Navy obligation - period. The Commander of our Sea Cadet Unit, the Holland Division, told me that upon graduating from High School in June of 1973, I could go straight into the regular Navy as a Seaman (E-3), owing to the fact that we spent the previous four years training and preparing for such a conspicuous honor. As luck would have it, I began considering the option of enlisting in the Marine Corps instead. After making that announcement at the dinner table one evening, my father proceeded to assert that I would never make it in the Marine Corps. I was never one to walk away from a challenge. I made a beeline to the Marine Corps Recruitment Office the following day. Because I was only 17, my parents had to sign for me. That was February of 1973, and I opted for the six-month delayed entry program. I was told that down the road, that additional six months would carry some benefits such as pay and sewing on a four-year hash mark six months early. I don't remember what happened with the paltry three hundred, some odd dollars that we received on a monthly basis, but I do remember sewing on that four-year hashmark in February, as opposed to July of 1977. The Sea Cadet Commander was totally frustrated with me for going to the Marines as opposed to the Navy.
My buddies rode me relentlessly from the time I signed the enlistment papers in February until the time I "shipped out' on 5 July 1973.1 started having second thoughts about the whole deal. I was hoping the recruiter would "let me off the hook," but no dice. I even tried getting in trouble thinking the Marines wouldn't want me then. Very fortunately for me, my misguided strategy didn't work out. At about 0500 on 5 July, the Marine Recruiter pulled into our driveway on Eastern Long Island with his big green bare-bones Chrysler Sedan for the two-hour ride to the Induction Center at Fort Hamilton. NY. I'll never forget the wide grin on my father's face as I got into that car: nor will I forget my mother sobbing all night long. I don't think I got a wink of sleep. The United States had signed a Peace Treaty with the North Vietnamese government back in February, so it seemed quite unlikely that shipping out for Vietnam following Basic Training would be a possibility. That factoid still did little to stop Mom from bawling her eyes out all night. Looking back now, I would never even consider the delayed enlistment option again; I'd simply sign the paperwork and leave the following day.
You see, back in those days, the Marine Corps had a terrible drug and UA (unauthorized absence) problem. The "perps" were inevitably reconciled to the Military Justice System (UCMJ) by virtue of either being caught in the act or simply by turning themselves in. Chasers, as they were called, were issued a "nightstick" or baton as a graduation gift following the 1 Day Class. We were told to be a walking shadow to our prisoners and never let them out of our sight. The Marines that I was assigned to "chase" while they awaited either their Court Martial or ultimate incarceration in the "Brig" were all from the same outfit that I was in. I continually requested to chase prisoners I didn't know, but that never happened. Some of them got a real complex going about me sticking next to them like glue, but the rumor was that if you lose them, you get to do their time. That just wasn't going to happen. I should add at this point that most of the Marines I chased acquired their drug habits in Vietnam and just couldn't shake it. You had to feel sorry for them and wonder what they experienced that drove them to drugs. The drug problem was so widespread on that Base that we regularly had our Squad Bay's "sniffed out" by Military Police Dogs, and I can still distinctly remember having to routinely stop for a vehicle inspection and "dog sniff" at the Main Gate. The "dopers," as we called them, were pretty smooth dudes. They started sprinkling pepper in their Wall Locker Boxes which caused the dogs to sneeze like crazy. It was absolutely hilarious to watch.
After about a year in "The Stumps," orders came in to report for duty at Henderson Hall in Arlington, Virginia, just down the road a short distance from the Pentagon and right next door to the Arlington National Cemetery. I remained there for the rest of my four-year hitch. It was a far cry from the drug-infested squad bays of 29 Palms, and race relations seemed to be much better there, although the problem didn't completely disappear in either case. I still had my occasional prisoner to chase but nowhere's near what I had in the stumps. Life was good there; heck, I'll take it a step further and submit that we had it darn good. Lots of WM's (Women Marines), great nightlife with Washington, DC a hop and a skip away, the chow was good, and the duty was easy. Somewhere in the grand scheme of things, I made the mistake of running my mouth too much and spewing out the fact that I took typing in High School. That netted me a secondary MOS of 0151 in Admin, commonly known as "Remington Raiders."
uniform in public. I can only imagine what it must have been like returning from Vietnam after enduring those nightmares, only to be greeted by an angry and totally ungrateful public. The very thought of it is just mind-boggling to me. I finally got out in October of 1977 and struggled to readjust into the Civilian World.
For Hearndon, his second tour in the country provides the most vivid reflections of his time in the war. He fought throughout the country and worked his way north, all the way up to the demilitarized zone that separated north from south. He recalls the details of transitioning to the life of a grunt in a way that only a United States Marine who has seen combat from both sides of the picture could.