On old long syne — 2015

(click on the image above)

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne*?
CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup!
and surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin’ auld lang syne.
CHORUS
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auld_Lang_Syne

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=to1xT93IlUI

Should auld acquaintance be forgot  … ?

Pushing on to 72 years means many “auld acquaintance’s” there behind me, but with fewer coming along with me.

It’s been a good life!  … Easy?  Well in a very broad sense yes it has been easy, but there are those times, in the midst of it all, when it has seemed hard and troublesome.

But then I think on the many “auld acquaintance’s” and I am indeed a very grateful and blessed man. Blessed by God with much family — parents who loved me and raised me with love … a wonderful woman, a wife, as a lifelong companion, lover  and friend  … a wonderful son and wonderful daughter (I love you both!) … three wonderful grandchildren … and two brothers.

And the other family spread out all over this amazing nation and across the world. Father in law, mother in lay, brothers and sisters in law, aunts & uncles – cousins aplenty, both mine and Diana’s. I love and have loved them all.

Friends – some lifelong and some new. Friends across this fruited land and far away places like The Czech Republic, Spain, Germany, Switzerland, Norway, Hungary, Fiji, Zambia, Italy, South Africa.

In 2015 I was amazingly able to renew some truly “auld acquaintance’s.” Old meaning from the days of my youth and  early adulthood:

Here are a few:

________________

Coach Sam Jankovich.

 

You can read about Coach Sam’s storied career at the link above, but let me tell you the story of how he and I are connected and how we became reconnected this past year. 

Sam and I are Butte Montana natives, and after having gone our separate ways following high school, I didn’t give much thought to Sam, and I’m sure he could not have remembered me as an undistinguished skinny high school kid.

But then a few years ago Sam’s son Sam bought the iconic M&M bar in Butte and set out to reestablish it a watering hole in uptown Butte.

A few years ago while visiting Butte we met young Sam in the M&M, had a beer and exchanged pleasantries. Sam brought us to the back of the bar where he had a “Sam Jankovich Hall of Fame” display with many mementos of his father.

While looking at all of this stuff I mentioned to Sam that I remembered his dad from Butte High. Sam, expecting I was perhaps a football jock, was surprised and laughed when I told him that his dad taught me typing.  That’s right … Coach Sam, football legend,  also taught typing, and I am forever grateful for that skill.

Sam gave me his dad’s phone number in Haydon Lake Idaho and said “give him a call. So I tucked the number in my wallet for a couple of years.

Then in August 2015, while walking a trail in Idaho not far from Sam’s place in Haydon Lake, I took that number from my wallet and called:

Coach: Hello …
Me: Hello Mr. Jankovich (you should always address a teacher as Mr. Miss or Mrs.)  This is Don Johnson, you may remember me from your days at Butte High.
Coach: Well the name sounds familiar … (he’s thinking football.)
Me: You’re perhaps thinking I’m one of your players, but actually Mr. Jankovich I remember you as my typing teacher.
Coach: “ … laughter … ”
Me: “ … laughter … ” I’m in your neighborhood for awhile, and it would sure be nice to see you again.
Sam: Well what a surprise. Tell ya what, I’m going to Butte this weekend, and if you are still around next week when I get back why don’t you come on over and we’ll have a drink and talk Butte.
Me: Sounds like a plan, I’ll call next week.
Sam: Ya know I hear from my players now and then, and sometimes we get together. But you are the very first of my typing students to ever give me a call … laughter … laughter.

So the next week I visited Sam at his house and we had a cup of coffee and talked Butte. And as I was leaving he said “next time bring your wife … I’d like to meet her.”

_____________

Major Mark (Foxy) Foxwell

Mark Foxwell was the Air Force Officer in Charge at Tyndall AFB Florida in 1977 when we installed the ACMI range there. We worked with him on an almost daily basis back then and he was one class act and fun to be around, to say nothing about how helpful he was in coordination things we both needed.  The following is the e-mail I sent to him recently, followed by his reply.

Hi “Foxy” It’s been many a year, but we worked together at the ACMI at Tyndall. I was part of the Cubic crew that installed the range back in 1977.
I think of those days every now and then, and they were good times … and I remember working with you with your dedication and good hummer.
Your name came up last night in one of those strange “small world” events. My daughter’s friend Krissy was at our house baking Christmas cookies and they took a break to make some Red Beans & Rice. It smelled really good and I made the remark that it reminded me of my days in Panama City with my old friend Ed Burdik. Krissy perked up and said “you were in Panama City? That’s where I was born … my dad was a F-106 pilot stationed at Tyndall.” And as it turned out we were all there together at the same time.
I don’t know her dad’s name, but when I find out I will send it to you per chance you may know one another.
Another name that came up was Skip Sanders. I knew Skip over the years as I continued working Cubic Air Ranges and we would run into one another on occasion.
I don’t know what you did following Tyndall, but you may be interested in knowing a bit about what happened to ACMI in the subsequent years. You can take a look at http://www.cubic.com and see the latest. The last project I worked, in 2009, was what is called P-5 and handles 72 aircraft and the pretty much the entire battle space (computer technology is wonderful).
And I put together my own remembrances and history of the system and its people at: https://ayearningforpublius.wordpress.com/2015/03/08/interesting-people-i-have-met-cubic-defense-systems/
It’s good to see your face once more.
Regards,
Don Johnson

Mark’s reply:

Wow, Don, what a pleasant surprise to hear from you. Working with you and Cubic on the ACMI helped really propel my career; I got promoted early after that stint at Tyndall, later became IWS Commander, then on to Europe and F-16s. I retired as the Tyndall Base Commander in late 1992. I do not recognize Krissy; but certainly I relished knowing and working with Skip Sanders. Thank You for contacting me. Let’s keep in touch.

________________

Jack Hix

Jack and I were Fire Control Technicians (FTG) who operated and maintained the equipment associated with controlling the five 5” guns we had on board. We served together on the USS Porterfield (DD-682) in 1965-66 and then did our active reserve duty from 1966-69 on board the USS Shields (DD-596) also  a Fletcher class tin can.

We were both married, and had apartments off base and were quite good friends during those years. But as time moved on we went our separate ways and lost contact with one another.

Then in recent weeks I was able to contact Jack via Facebook. Not much conversation yet, but hopefully that will change and I hope to see Jack at the 2016 ship reunion in San Diego where he still lives.

___________

LTJG Adam von Dioszeghy (Mr. vonD)

Adam von Dioszeghy was the ASW (Anti-Submarine-Warfare) Officer during the time I was on the USS Porterfield (DD-682) in 1965-66. Mr. vonD was also the Officer in Charge of IC-Plot during General Quarters, and we spent a good deal of time together side by side, along with Jack Hix,  running the Fire Control Computer. Mr. vonD, being the officer also had the responsibility for actually pulling the triggers which shot our matched set of 5 –  5”/38 Caliber guns.

My normal underway watch station was the Bridge watch where I actually took my turn as helmsman and steered the ship as well as phone talker, look-out and Lee Helmsman where I relayed ship speed to the engine rooms via an Engine Order Telegraph. Mr. vonD was one of the Officers of the Deck, and and we worked together there as well.

The following is the e-mail message where we hooked up again after almost 50 years:

Hello Mrs. Von Dioszeghy,
I hope you get this message, and I hope I have the right people to send this to.
I was in the Navy back in 1965-66 on board the USS Porterfield (DD-682) and at one of my General Quarters stations in a place called IC-Plot was this crazy guy LTJG Adam von Dioszeghy who was the officer in charge in that space and the guy that actually pulled the gun triggers. I was an FT Seaman at the time and made FT 3’rd class on the Porterfield.
If he is the guy, it would b e great to say hello once more after all these years.
My wife and I and another couple from Ridgecrest CA visited Hungary several years ago and enjoyed it very much. We spent a week at Keszthely, and then a week at Budapest. We enjoyed our time in both places very much, and at Keszthely met a couple of Americans that snow bird between Tucson and Keszthely.
Looking at your pictures, it looks like you have a lovely place and a good life.
In recent years, I have rekindled a passionate interest in things Navy and have published a book and put together a video of life at sea. You can see them at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sloZqBsalZc
and
http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/6608466-i-didn-t-want-to-worry-you-mom?class=book-title
The Porterfield has had reunions for 40 years now, and my wife and I have attended the last three and have met and re-met sailors and family going back to 1943 through 1969 — it’s been an amazing experience for me.
I am in charge of organizing the 2016 reunion in San Diego next September, and if ya’ll are the Von Dioszeghys I think you are, we would love to see you there. I know it’s a long shot, but hey if the question is never asked, the answer is always no. Short of that, a greeting from Adam would be most welcomed by the group.

And his response:

Hi Don…yes indeed, I am the one and only crazy guy in IC-plot. As you may recall, everyone called me Mr. vonD. I’d like to keep in touch with you, so here is my e-mail (better than Facebook): xxxxxxxxx@yyyy.com. I also have written a book, which contains a number of Porterfield stories: the link to it has already been sent to you. I will order your book right now….can’t wait to read it. I loved your video about life at sea (and the story of the Murphy which I didn’t know). I have just looked through my 1965 cruise book and found the picture of second division, but I don’t know where you are in it…please tell me the row and the number (I’m sure you have the cruise book). I’m looking forward to hearing from you VERY SOON! Happy New Year! Adam von Dioszeghy

It turns out that Adam was a Hungarian refugee who escaped in 1956 during the Hungarian Revolution. Years later in 2005 he and his wife bought a small farm outside of Budapest and now live there.  Someday I’m hoping they will invite us over to sip a bit of their home made wine and chat a bit.

________________

So there you have it from the end of 2015. I enjoy life, and I enjoy learning the life stories of others. I hope you have enjoyed my time travel with a few of my auld acquaintance’s

Don Johnson – December 2015

 

 

What Course to Make Good 1SD?

That’s Balch with USS Yorktown at Midway.

“What Course to Make Good 1SD?”

Will I ever forget that “interrogative (query)”?  It was early 1965 and I was a young Seaman standing my first bridge watch as the USS Porterfield (DD-682) departed San Diego for local ops.

But that’s not the question from the Officer of the Deck (OOD) I heard that day as the phone talker between the Bridge and the Combat Information Center (CIC) . What I heard was “Ask Combat:  yadayada – yadaompah –nyatnyat?”  Embarrassed to admit I had no idea what the OOD said, I talked into the Sound Powered Phone and said “Combat Bridge: blahblahblay –yadayaday—yada?”

The OOD again: “That’s not what I said!  — Ask Combat: … nyatnyat – yadayada – yadaompah?”

Even more embarrassed, and intimidated beyond belief and still not able to understand, I again opened the mike and blurted out “Combat bridge: nyatnyat – yadayada – yadaompah?”

The OOD again:— “That’s not what I said!  — “. But this time he picked up the handset and said – “Combat Bridge – what course to make good 1SD?” 1SD being the designation of the outermost navigation buoy encountered  when entering or leaving San Diego harbor. The OOD was asking how to steer the ship successfully out of the harbor. (Was he messing with my head a bit?)

Jargon – it’s important!  Details – they’re important!

____

Now these many years later it’s my turn for the “interrogative:”

“What Course to Make Good 1SD?”

We have the 41’st annual reunion of the USS Balch/USS Porterfield coming up in mid September 2016 … and yes it will be in San Diego. So I am asking all you sailors of those two fine ships – families – friends – those just getting out of the cold … “set your course to 1SD”  Only this time that navigation buoy will mark our return once more, and the arrival will be a runway, parking lot or a train station – not a pier.

At the last reunion in Denver I was surrounded by a bunch of mean looking old salts carrying rubber hoses, swabs and coffee cups and was told in no uncertain terms that I was to be the OOD for the upcoming 41’st reunion. 

Well I was just a lowly enlisted guy and had no experience conning a ship, let alone a ship reunion.  For all I knew my job was to swindle a bunch of drunken sailors out of their paycheck (but those rubber hoses still bothered me a bit).

So the first thing I did was find someone a whole lot smarter than me and turn him loose as Quartermaster.

So I quickly found this guy Rob Wallace in San Diego who has been doing this reunion thing for over 20 years and has organized over 700 military (mostly Navy) over that time in San Diego. Rob and I have e-mailed back and forth and did this talker thing several times, me being Bridge and Rob being Combat. Anyway Rob is putting together what I think will be a fantastic and very enjoyable reunion package for us.

The details are still in work, and Diana and I will be traveling to 1SD (San Diego) mid January to check out and pick one of three hotels that Rob has identified.  Following that, I think we will be ready to publish the schedule and details – probably February would be my estimate.

I know some of you have not been to San Diego in many years, and others like myself called it home after our Navy life. But remember this:

All of us have San Diego Navy roots.

		Balch/Porterfield 2016–San Diego VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

 

 

Don Johnson – December 2015

What Ever Happened to the Men of Hawk Hill?

Last fall I wrote of a few experiences I had in Montana and Washington. You can read at:

https://ayearningforpublius.wordpress.com/2015/08/21/heroes/

Now read this follow-up story.

What Ever Happened to the Men of Hawk Hill?

During the Vietnam War, the author reported on a Huey rescue mission. Forty-five years later, he tracked down the crew and the soldiers they saved.

Morton Dean

Air & Space Magazine |

In 1971, during a six-month assignment in Vietnam for CBS News, I hitched a ride on a medevac mission flown from a dusty hilltop known as Hawk Hill. About 60 miles away, three soldiers were wounded and awaiting transport to the Hawk Hill emergency aid station, where they would be patched up and stabilized, then taken to a better-equipped hospital. It was one of an astounding 496,000 ambulance flights made during the war, and our news team—cameraman Greg Cooke, soundman Nguyen An, and I—got to go along.

Four days later, our story about that mission aired on the CBS Evening News, anchored by Walter Cronkite. The segment lasted more than seven minutes (an eternity by TV news standards), and the reaction to it back in the United States was extraordinary. Cronkite telexed the Saigon bureau: “superb…post broadcast phone calls indicate you hit home.”

In a 50-year career as a reporter, including long stints at CBS News and later ABC News, I covered other troubled precincts of the world where Americans were in harm’s way, but that medevac story has stayed with me. I knew I had witnessed something profound—an American ideal in action. Before racing off on a dangerous mission, no one on the crew asked what race the wounded were, what religion they followed, or what neighborhoods they hailed from. The only essential was that a fellow American was in trouble.

Some 40 years later, I discovered that I wasn’t the only one who continued to think back on that day. In 2011, the pilot on the mission, Bob Brady, got in touch with me through Facebook. About a year after that, another pilot we had interviewed—Ken Miller, the medevac unit’s operations chief—contacted me. Miller, who in 1971 had spoken thoughtfully about flying the missions known as Dustoffs, says today that medevac service “erased much of the ambivalence” he and many others felt about the war. “It was easy to say ‘We’ll risk our lives for one of our comrades,’ ” he says. “I didn’t have any ambivalence about that.”

Brady and Miller had called just to catch up, and when I told them I’d recently been to Vietnam, they were eager to hear more. In 2011 and 2012, a cruise line had hired me to lecture about my experiences during the war. I told the two pilots that what I saw would shock them: golf courses, luxury hotels, high-rise office buildings—all vastly different from our earlier experience.

But I was eager to hear how they and the others involved in the rescue had gotten on with their lives. Brady had become a defense attorney; Miller, a psychologist. Medic Delmar Pickett III became an artist, and Brady’s copilot, Dan Stephenson, who, like Brady, was less than a year out of his teens when I first met him, is an osteopath. But like many Vietnam vets, some had lived two lives, handling jobs while struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder.

CBS news anchor Walter Cronkite (left) introduced the author’s 1971 story of the helicopter rescue of wounded soldiers, one of almost 500,000 medevac missions flown in Vietnam. (CBS News)

When I talked to Brady and Miller, I was no longer a reporter—I’d become a writer and lecturer—but I still knew a good story when I heard one. I suggested that I find the men whom the aircrew had saved that day and make a documentary film about what had happened to the small group of veterans who 40 years earlier had shared a life-changing experience.

Miller, the psychologist, was especially enthusiastic. Seizing upon what I had said to him on the phone—“You guys were heroes and nobody knows it”—he responded that at long last, Americans need to learn there were heroes in Vietnam, and that vets who still feel unappreciated also need to hear it. The documentary could accomplish that.

He made another point: Combat vets from Iraq and Afghanistan would likely benefit the most by hearing how vets from the earlier war are handling their lives. “I think there’s going to be a lot of the same stuff [shared by the two groups],” Miller said. “Why did I go? What was it for?

“I don’t think the country has any clue about the lasting impact that [war] has, and for some it’s a nightmare they won’t ever be able to put to bed. You can’t go into a combat situation and come back the same person.”

The starting point for the documentary is the segment that aired in 1971. This is what happened that day.

**********

“That’s life coming,” says Brian Feeheley of the sound an approaching Huey’s rotors made cutting through the air. On January 17, 1971, a booby trap ripped open his legs and wounded two of his buddies while they were on patrol north of Tam Ky, South Vietnam, with a unit of the 23rd Infantry Division, known as Americal.

The Huey’s mission—and every mission to rescue battlefield casualties—had to be carefully coordinated between the endangered units on the ground and the incoming helicopters; not only did the Americans know they could count on the arrival of medevacs, so did the enemy. “One of the most dangerous types of aviation in the ten year long war,” U.S. Army historians concluded in a 1982 study. The casualty count proved it: 470 medevac pilots and copilots killed or wounded, plus 666 other crew members killed or wounded, most by hostile fire or in crashes initiated by hostile fire. Other lives were lost in non-hostile crashes during evacuations, many at night or in bad weather.

The mission that rescued Private First Class Feeheley, as well as Staff Sergeant Jim Kessinich and Specialist 4th Grade William Formanack, from an enemy-infested ravine was a classic example of the dangers medevac crews often faced.

“Hey, something just hit us in the tail!” medic Delmar Pickett III cried out as the Bell UH-1 completed a looping left turn and swooped in toward a detonated canister of white smoke marking the landing zone.

Pilot Bob Brady was unrattled. Only 20 years old but already a veteran of numerous close calls, he calmly ordered: “Okay. Let’s go get ’em.”

Flying the right seat, copilot Dan Stephenson recited a constant flow of data, including airspeed and altitude, to aid his pilot. Brady sat the Huey down in a soggy rice paddy.

And get ’em they did.

Bursting out from their cover, a pack of infantrymen drenched in sweat and blood splashed through the rice paddy, hauling the two most seriously wounded in makeshift stretchers made of black ponchos that bounced and swayed with each laborious step. The third man, although bleeding from his chest, arm, and thigh, was able to walk to the Huey.

The medic and flight engineer scrambled to secure the wounded on board. The extraction took about a minute.

“Charger Dustoff,” Brady radioed to the aid station. “We’ve got three wounded on board.”

On liftoff, the medic spotted several uniformed North Vietnamese soldiers and returned their fire. The pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire underscored the danger faced not only by the rescuers but also by those being rescued.

Many years later, Feeheley recalled the bitter irony of it all: “I was thinking, I get rescued and now I’m going to get shot down and die.”

The tension broke only once: One of the wounded guys, spotting our film camera, announced: “Hey, we’re going to be on TV!”

The three men would live. However, the pilot’s career almost didn’t survive. The brass was livid when word spread that Bob Brady (who would go on to fly over 800 missions during his year-long tour and receive a Purple Heart and a Distinguished Flying Cross) had allowed a news crew on the mission. He had neither asked for nor received anyone’s permission. We’d made our way to Hawk Hill in search of a good story, any good story, and simply asked the pilot if we could fly with him. Brady looked kind of bemused, as if I were a crazy man. “You want to fly with us? Sure. C’mon,” he said.

By the time Brady showed up in Saigon to face the music, the story had already aired, clearly showing Brady and his crew—and by extension all medevac crews—for what they really were. Heroes. Brady suffered no recriminations. “In fact,” he said recently, “everyone was quite pleased.”

After the mission, I interviewed the crew and other airmen in the unit, asking why they’d volunteered for Dustoff duty.(The term was the radio call sign for the first Army air ambulance service sent to Vietnam.) “I saw what it was like to be on the other end,” said Pickett, the medic. When he first came to Vietnam, Pickett had been with an infantry unit. After his unit came under attack and men were wounded, he watched the Dustoff crews operate. Though enemy were still in the area, “they [the medevacs] came in regardless. I was impressed. I was, you might say, flabbergasted. So I just volunteered.” Another young medic added, “This is the most positive thing going on in Vietnam right now.”

**********

In 2013, cameraman Greg Cooke and I headed out to find the men whose lives intersected ours that day. Cooke had been a staff producer at “60 Minutes” and later a cameraman, editor, and producer of “The Amazing Race,” among other hit shows. We traveled across the country on our own dime, without any clear idea if anyone would eventually broadcast the documentary. What came to matter most to us was learning that the veterans valued what we were doing. It validated their service to the country and, more important, their commitment and contribution to one another.

There were a few setbacks. The medic, Pickett, had died of natural causes the day before I called him to set up an interview. The crew chief we flew with couldn’t be found.

Catching up with Brady, the pilot, was a treat. He’d recently uprooted himself, shutting down his law practice and moving across the continent from Pennsylvania to California. Today, he lives in Thailand. With a laugh he’d earlier warned me that he was “really f—– up.” Most of the time he hid it well; he was a warm, charming, articulate guy with a giant personality. We could have done an hour documentary on him alone. The day we met up he was taking a flying lesson to hone his wartime skills. Greg and I, camera rolling, went along. Brady welcomed me with a large grin. “I didn’t kill you the last time you flew with me,” he said. “Let’s see what happens this time.”

Stephenson had also recently moved. An osteopathic physician, he was living in an RV in Washington State while tending to the rural poor at a health clinic. He was a man of many interests: He’d published a mystery novel, traveled the Pacific Northwest on thousand-mile motorcycle trips, and sailed on the ocean.

Both men had been seriously affected by PTSD. Like almost all of the veterans I interviewed, they suffered from survivors’ guilt and experienced flashbacks. They had problems developing and maintaining close relationships. Brady said shutting down emotionally was something he did in the cockpit during the war—“So I don’t die today. It’ll happen tomorrow”—and his emotional isolation intensified in civilian life. Stephenson reported that the unpredictability of combat stayed with him. “You couldn’t plan ahead and I can’t even today,” he said.

Both were divorced and trying to make new relationships work. Brady claimed he couldn’t remember how many times he’d married. I couldn’t tell if he was kidding.

The pilots had never met any of the hundreds of wounded they carried to safety, and were very excited to learn that for the documentary I planned to interview the three men who were part of our Vietnam story.

The problem was how to find them. And it was a big problem. I didn’t know their names or their units. Neither did the CBS News archives, because I hadn’t interviewed them on camera. One of my notebooks had disappeared. And—this is difficult for a reporter to admit—in the chaos of the mission, I don’t think I ever did ask the wounded men who they were. My excuse? The story’s centerpiece was to be the medevac crew.

After months of detective work, I was successful. I was aided by retired U.S. Army General Ray Bell, who discovered the Americal division had been operating in the general area of the rescue, and by Leslie Hines, an Americal historian who found a casualty report that appeared to contain the names I was searching for.

However, I wanted additional proof, and Greg Cooke came up with the clincher. He discovered a few frames of film, which hadn’t aired, of who we suspected was Staff Sergeant Jim Kessinich. An enlargement revealed the word “WAR” on a medallion the man wore. I emailed a close-up photo to Kessinich and asked “Could that be you?” Bingo! When we showed up to interview him for the documentary and introduced him to the pilot and copilot, he had the medallion with him.

Each of the reunions was filled with a sense of wondrous disbelief. Was this really happening? At our first stop, Jim Kessinich’s wife and daughter led the hug brigade. Stephenson, who was reluctant to talk about himself or the war, provided the first hint that what we’d begun was therapeutic. “Jim,” he said with prayer-like solemnity, “seeing you with your great family makes me feel for the first time I did good things.”

Kessinich, an Army lifer with a 26-year military career, frequently choked back tears. We all did. He had retired as a sergeant major, the highest enlisted rank in the U.S. Army, taught combat at West Point, and served in a presidential honor guard. Over the years he flew in many helicopters, and “every time” wondered whether his pilots were those who had rescued him.

For the wounded, the memories of that day in 1971 were still sharply in focus. “Saw the light…heard the boom,” recalled Formanack. “And then you feel like you’ve been kicked by a jackass,” said Feeheley. Formanack remembered that Feeheley, who triggered the device believed to have been a grenade while walking point, had apologized over and over.

Formanack, the most seriously wounded, endured some tough years: drank too much, had numerous surgeries, still has shrapnel in his upper body. Painful leg wounds forced him to give up the bar and restaurant he worked in and partly owned. All that was masked by his enthusiastic greeting; a firm handshake and a broad smile guiding Brady, Stephenson, Cooke, and me into a tidy, rural cottage to meet his wife.

Our reunion, which Formanack called “a very moving thing,” was capped by several deeply emotional, extraordinary moments. He recalled that during the flight, he reached out, seeking comfort, and I held his hand. As a memento of our visit, he asked for a photo of us clasping hands as we had done during that crisis so long ago.

His daughter Allison, home from graduate school to be there with us, told the pilot and copilot: “I just thought of this—I never would have been born if it hadn’t been for the two of you!”

There was something spiritual about the visits to each of the three soldiers who had been wounded that day. Brian Feeheley told us that almost daily he visits a Vietnam memorial in Maryland, etched with the names of war dead: “I just go to let them know they’re not forgotten.”

We filmed Brady and Feeheley at the memorial. Like old buddies, they discussed their problems with PTSD, admitting that, feeling too macho, they delayed getting therapy for much too long.

Feeheley, a longtime postal worker, said that 9/11 had almost “pushed me over the edge,” and that’s when he went to the Veterans Health Administration for help. He talked of having been suicidal. And in a moment of reverie, as the two old soldiers gazed at the names of the war dead, Feeheley said, “I keep thinking…how many more dead there would have been if there were no medevacs.”

The documentary, with the working title Vietnam Medevac, is in production. We’re hoping to find a distributor soon so that people will learn about the work of medevac crews and so that veterans of Vietnam and other wars will experience the brotherhood of this reunion.

 

Don Johnson – December 2015

 

In Hoc Anno Domini

This newspaper classic is reprinted from the Wall Street Journal, where Vermont Royster’s Christmas editorial has run every year since 1949

  ________________

When Saul of Tarsus set out on his journey to Damascus the whole of the known world lay in bondage. There was one state, and it was Rome. There was one master for it all, and he was Tiberius Caesar.

Everywhere there was civil order, for the arm of the Roman law was long. Everywhere there was stability, in government and in society, for the centurions saw that it was so.

But everywhere there was something else, too. There was oppression — for those who were not the friends of Tiberius Caesar. There was the tax gatherer to take the grain from the fields and the flax from the spindle to feed the legions or to fill the hungry treasury from which divine Caesar gave largess to the people. There was the impressor to find recruits for the circuses. There were executioners to quiet those whom the Emperor proscribed. What was a man for but to serve Caesar?

There was the persecution of men who dared think differently, who heard strange voices or read strange manuscripts. There was enslavement of men whose tribes came not from Rome, disdain for those who did not have the familiar visage. And most of all, there was everywhere a contempt for human life. What, to the strong, was one man more or less in a crowded world?

Then, of a sudden, there was a light in the world, and a man from Galilee saying, Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God’s.

And the voice from Galilee, which would defy Caesar, offered a new Kingdom in which each man could walk upright and bow to none but his God. Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. And he sent this gospel of the Kingdom of Man into the uttermost ends of the earth.

So the light came into the world and the men who lived in darkness were afraid, and they tried to lower a curtain so that man would still believe salvation lay with the leaders.

But it came to pass for a while in divers places that the truth did set man free, although the men of darkness were offended and they tried to put out the light. The voice said, Haste ye. Walk while you have the light, lest darkness come upon you, for he that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth.

Along the road to Damascus the light shone brightly. But afterward Paul of Tarsus, too, was sore afraid. He feared that other Caesars, other prophets, might one day persuade men that man was nothing save a servant unto them, that men might yield up their birthright from God for pottage and walk no more in freedom.

Then might it come to pass that darkness would settle again over the lands and there would be a burning of books and men would think only of what they should eat and what they should wear, and would give heed only to new Caesars and to false prophets. Then might it come to pass that men would not look upward to see even a winter’s star in the East, and once more, there would be no light at all in the darkness.

And so Paul, the apostle of the Son of Man, spoke to his brethren, the Galatians, the words he would have us remember afterward in each of the years of his Lord:

Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.

— The Wall Street Journal