It was July 21, 1970, an early summer evening, and I was standing on the bridge with a couple of friends, surveying the river near the flood stage, at the paper mill. Halfway around the world in the Central Highlands of South Vietnam, two OH6 helicopters were falling out of the sky and four young men would die in the crash. One GI, Specialist Walter Joseph Kacsock, a very close, childhood friend and classmate would become forever young.
Two days later, after coming home from work I got a phone call from Chuck’s cousin bearing the news. The conversation was brief, he had been killed in action and she would call with more details as the family was informed. The next two weeks seemed like forever waiting for his body to return home.
Chuck or “Sock” as he was known to his friends, was an only child and his passing was an unimaginable loss to his Mom and Dad. In his home was an extended family with his Mom's sister, her husband, and their daughter, Janet, who was like his sister. He was an avid surfer, and model builder and usually “the life of the party”.
Each night, as we waited for his return, the guys would get together after work. A few of us would go over and sit with the family as it seemed to give his mother great comfort, his close friends being around. She was a great cook and spent hid her grief in cooking these incredible Polish cookies and other desserts. We would sit around and reminisce with his cousin about all of the crazy things that we had done with Chuck over the years.
Chuck served his
first seven months “in country” as a company clerk at a forward helicopter
base, B Company, 7/17 Air Cav Unit, Camp Holloway not far from Pleiku. The Army
may have taken his body but they never controlled his spirit. He was an
adventurous kid that was not content sitting behind a desk. Back home he was an
accomplished surfer and missed his boards. He earned his R&R and chose
Bondi Beach, just outside Sydney Australia.
For seven days he lived his dream beer, women, and the fantastic surf
that he had only read about.
Returning to
Vietnam he wrote of a great time that he had had. But he also expressed he was
concerned that he was changing, he was bored, sitting behind the desk. Anyone
that has ever watched MASH or served in the Army knows the real power a clerk
has. He wrote of a “lifer” that was making his life more miserable than it
needed to be. That NCO spent two extra weeks in Vietnam because his orders got
sent to Germany for some unknown reason.
He had plans to
order his dream car four weeks before his return home. He had extended his tour
a few months to receive an earlier discharge. When he got back to the states he
wanted out of the Army and back to life again. He had the 1971 Pontiac
Firebird, HO 350, all ready to be ordered. He also had a school for automotive
design in Detroit, all picked out to attend when he got back. Despite his plans
for the future, he was not content. Each day and evening he would sit with the
guys an hear the stories passed around by other men in the unit who were out in
the field each day. His company had OH6 helicopters, LOACH, (Light Observation
Attack Helicopters). They would go out each day and look for the enemy. Flying
at treetop level, 50 to 60 MPH they would look for trouble, draw fire, and the
Cobra gunships 1500 feet above would swoop in for the kill. The OH6 was light,
simply made making it hard to shoot down but due to these facts, it was also
lightly armored allowing bullets to pass through it, doing little damage,
unless they struck a crewman. The only armor they had was the flack jacket they
wore and the one they sat on.
It had a two-man
crew, a pilot, and an observer directly behind him. The observer might have his
M16, smoke and frag grenades, and sometimes a few blocks of C4 to mark a target
for the Cobras above. Getting shot down was not uncommon so it took a skilled
pilot. Chuck wanted the observer job.
Bridgewater had
already lost four men in Vietnam and we did our best to discourage him. We
later learned that some of his buddies over there also tried to talk him out of
it but to no avail. He put in for the transfer and with 8 months in the country,
six to go, he made the move. He wrote back that he loved the new job. Back in
the states we held our breath and waited. We all continued our letters on our
adventures back in the states but they were pale in comparison. Two weeks later
I got the call from his cousin.
We were stupid
kids that took chances back then. We had had close calls before cheated the
odds and we all hoped our luck, his luck included would hold. We have no true
appreciation of what he saw over there or what drove him to take that chance.
All we could do is wonder why. It is amazing what such a loss can morph into.
Years later while I was away at college, I sought counseling on the issue. His
loss had become an immense burden as the years passed. The pain of his passing
was on my shoulders like the statue of the Greek god Atlas with the world on
his shoulders. I was mad at myself for feeling angry with him for his passing. He
was dead, his parents had suffered a tremendous loss and I was mad at him for
the whole mess. Something was wrong with this picture. It eventually would pass
but it rears its ugly head every so often when the seeming senseless waste of
the Vietnam war comes up. Recently, I could not bring myself to watch the PBS
documentary on the conflict.
I will never
forget my last moments with him. It was the night before he left, we had been
out on a double date and he was dropping me off at my home. We sat in front of
the house and talked about his pending journey. There was hope that the
president’s recent announcements on the gradual drawdown of troops would bring
him home sooner than a one-year deployment. As the evening came to a close
there was a moment where he became silent and introspective. It was a rare
moment with Chuck, as he always held his cards close concerning personal
issues. "There is only one thing that bothers me about dying over there.
My Dad tells me that he is aware of no other Kacsocks to carry on the name.” I
could only break the following chilling silence with my response, "Don't
worry about it, be careful, your coming back." With that we shook hands, I
wished him luck and I got out of his car. As he drove away, I stood in the
street and watched his taillights fade into the darkness.
The funeral
finally came and was a blur of emotions, grief, and recollections of the good
times. The military honor guard was a formality and impressive but it was only
a symbol of what took him from his family and friends. They took his body but
they possessed his spirit.
To this day, I
have a box full of his letters that I have saved and I have never been able to
reread them including the last one that was returned by the Army after his
passing. A few years later Elton John would produce a song, “Daniel My
Brother”. A portion of it will always remind me of that last night with him
and bring pain to my heart.
Do you still feel the pain of
the scars that won't heal?
Your eyes have died, but you see more than I, Daniel, you're a star in the face
of the sky
Daniel is traveling tonight on
a plane
I can see the red tail lights …….
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