July 1971~

The days are long and hot, wringing wet with humidity. Even as the sun rises, the temperature is in the high 70's--humidity during the rainy season is always 100 percent.

Vietnam is a strange land with an even stranger language. I speak it well, as this is my second tour of duty as a Green Beret.

I keep this journal so that I keep my sanity...my one link to God. He reads this everyday--He told me so.

My hands are trained for war. I train and equip my unit in hand-to-hand combat and weaponry as my official title is, "Weapon Sergeant." with hands that are listed as lethal weapons acquired for military service in the United States Army Special Forces.

Older looking than someone in their twenties and battle scarred; sores on my knuckles that never seem to heal. I concocted a paste made from dirt, eucalyptus leaves and water while I was out on my early morning patrol. I put it all over my hands. It stung like hell when I first applied it, but it began to cool and heal my raw flesh. How will I ever play the piano again, I wonder...?

I was then able to hold my weapon over my head for two hours as I waded through the murky waters of the river making barely a sound. Waters and plant life that contained the toxic herbacide known as Agent Orange. I prayed to God that He would not let that stuff kill me.

My twelve-man detachment is a tight core. We have as Communications Sargent, Lenny Byrd, and he makes the most realistic bird calls I've ever heard. He has so many in his repertoire, and has perfected the bird calls native to Vietnam.

His coded messages, disguised as bird sounds, had given the advanced warnings necessary to stay ahead of our enemy, the Vietcong, on many days. We nicknamed him, The Birdman from Alcatraz. Well, he does look like Burt Lancaster. It has gone to his head, I'm afraid...looking like the famous actor.

Growing up in Louisiana on the bayous, makes him an indispensable asset to our core detachment. He also makes the best dirty rice and gumbo you ever put in your mouth. A man who lives up to his name.

Last night as we ate together feasting on the rice along with some green mango and papaya salad, we talked about the deadly toxin in the rivers, and wondered out loud which would kill us first; Agent Orange or the Vietcong. We agreed-- it was a toss up.

I'm not the only one it seems with sores on their body that won't heal. Constant sore throats plague many.

Late August-1971~

I hope to be home for Christmas in Winter Park, Florida this year. I haven't seen my family in over a year, and it would be nice to spend some time with them over the holidays.

My boys, Steve Jr. and Greg, have grown so much I hardly recognize them from their photos. I miss them so much it hurts. Carol, my wife, is stressed out caring for our young sons single-handedly.

My dad lives there, too. He is retired from the Marine Corps and has remarried. His wife has two daughters; Sally and Suzanne; who love to listen to my stories of Vietnam. They cling to my harrowing tales with eyes as big as pies. They hardly leave me alone when I come over to visit.

It's nice to have step-sisters, especially growing up in a military home with an alcoholic mother and nothing but brothers to tease and torment. I would probably not be on my second marriage if I had experienced more females in my life growing up. Females remain a mystery to me. Maybe I'm too far gone.

Late September, 1971~

Our last mission was the most successful to date--rescuing 10 prisoners of war. One casualty died in my arms as I was carrying him to safety from the shack where he was being held for interrogations. He was beaten and tortured beyond recognition by the Vietcong. He whispered to me and asked if I would tell his young wife how much he loved her. I have to remember him and not forget --that is one of the reasons I fight this awful war.

My tour ends soon and I will be able to be back in Florida as I had hoped for both Thanksgiving and Christmas.

As always, if God is willing---
Steve

************

My stepbrother, Steve, was kind and funny, and my absolute favorite stepbrother. His exposure to Agent Orange ended his life prematurely. He returned to Vietnam one more time, to marry his third wife, Noh, (pronounced, no) and have a daughter. He moved to the west coast and spent time living between Washington and Southeast Asia.

He was diagnosed with advanced throat cancer and had his larynx removed shortly after that. He used a mechanical device in order to speak. The cancer ultimately spread as he fought his final fight.

The last time I saw him he was much altered, very thin and weakened. He smiled and chatted away...telling war stories--even with his hand-held device positioned near his throat. He vividly recalled his memories of Vietnam.

His gravestone reads~The Best Ever. The photo honoring his gravesite is from Find A Grave, courtesy of Chuck Norris. I have recently secured this photo for my family's ancestral records.