If you have read my stuff before you may know I spent 22 months in Vietnam from June 1969 to April 1971. I also wrote a book titled, The Saigon Zoo Vietnam’s Other War: Sex, Drugs, Rock ‘n’ Roll (very humorous, unique and informative, if I may say). I had it extremely easy there and actually, relatively speaking, had a safe and often entertaining grand old time in Nam.
I was what is affectionately referred to as a REMFer (rear echelon mother fu***r!
I’m presently reading a book about the war titled, The Things They Carried, by Tim O’Brien. He was a combat soldier with horrific memories from those days and has produced a supremely written memoir. Most Vietnam Veterans are 65-plus years old now and as the years pass, they are dying off in increasing numbers. Like their World War II brethren (estimated to be dying at a rate of 430 a day), it won’t be that long before it will be impossible to get firsthand recollections from the men and women who served in Vietnam.
If you are a male and roughly between the ages of 65 and 73, you either joined the military, were drafted or vividly remember how and why you avoided serving. Between the years of 1964 and 1971, the fear of being drafted and sent to Vietnam was palpable in all able bodied young men. Of course there were those who proudly joined and looked forward to combat, however, that percentage was extremely low.
The reasons for our involvement were muddled at best, creating civil unrest and great friction with the American people. It proved an ill-advised war and informed civilians as well as those serving in Nam knew it! Thinking back I recall only one of my friends or acquaintances who wanted to serve in the military or believed that Vietnam was a just war.
Consequently, the fear of the draft and dying at a young age permeated the country. You have all heard the stories of those who fled to Canada, faked injuries or burned their draft cards as a final effort to avoid the service and perhaps being killed in Nam.
All men/boys were required by law to register for the draft when they turned 18. From that day forward the personal stress level skyrocketed exponentially, especially when cautiously reaching into the mailbox for the daily delivery. A good day was one that included no mail looking in any way “official.” Sundays felt like Christmas or Thanksgiving—no mail delivery.
As the war raged on and President Lyndon Johnson increased troop deployments to Vietnam the draft notices increased. Also, as more young boys were being drafted, more terrified males were fleeing to Canada. And, of course, more young men died in the bug-infested jungles in South East Asia.
My friends and I were in a perpetual state of anxiety wondering which one of us would be the earliest called to duty. I recall that the first to join from Redondo High School was Robert Nardelli. Robert and I had a running joke about our ages. I was two days older than Robert and seized ever opportunity to rag him about that fact. My friend Robert proved the exception.
He was gung-ho and couldn’t wait to join and go to Nam. Robert unexpectedly dropped out of school in 1967, joined the Army and was sent to Nam before I graduated in June. Robert Nardelli was killed by friendly fire (now officially known as accidental homicide) on Feb. 9, 1968. His name is on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall. It can be seen on panel 38E row 57. He was the first to die from Redondo High; however, he would not be the last.
So, the next time you are whining about some petty event or complaining about the state of our country take a moment to remember those who never returned from the jungles of Vietnam, the frozen tundra of Korea or the bloody shores of Normandy. And as you reflect and realize that things aren’t so bad after all, repeat this phrase a few times—“There, but for the grace of God, go I!”