Notes from a Veteran's Son

By Robert Wilonsky Tue., Nov. 11 2008 at 10:53 AM

Categories: News

We'd be remiss this Veterans Day if we didn't point out this commentary that aired this morning on KERA-FM (90.1), courtesy attorney and good Friend of Unfair Park Bill Holston, an all-around swell human being. It's especially touching as Bill's father, now 86 and recently hospitalized, served in the Army Air Corps in the South Pacific during World War II. Bill says that his father's memory has begun to slip; as he reminds, "Of the 16 million Americans who served in the military in World War Two, there are about 2.4 million still living. Over 1,000 die every day. All too soon, it will be too late to ask to hear their stories." --Robert Wilonsky

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Terrific story Harvey. I almost spit up my drink about your pneumonia - I caught it during boot camp in San Antonio (Lackland) - IN AUGUST!
Great story Harvey. I heard Jim Lehrer speak last year, he said one of the strengths of the greatest generation was that they had this huge shared experience, that men from all different walks of life were thrown together. It was the first time my dad had ever been around Yankees. He said he felt our country needed a national service program of some type, to help create that sense. As I said my dad's closest friend right now is a 86 year old rancher in Wyoming. thanks for the great story.
This is not your everyday Veterans Day story. But it's one that I know very well. August 11, 1968, Republic of Viet Nam. I was in the back of a duece and a half along with ten other men. There were three in the cab. Fourteen of us in all. We were a single vehicle running to town on a Sunday about noon if I recall. I had arrived in the platoon a couple of days earlier. In fact I had volunteered for the assignment because it involved the 2nd Platoon of the 267 Signal Company. I was an old just turned twenty years old. That's because I had been assigned to the 2nd Platoon of the 267 a couple of years earlier. I landed in country two weeks after my eighteenth birthday July of 66 and was assigned to the 2nd Platoon of the 267. Some people went to Nam and fought the fight. But about eighty percent of us went there and busted our butts doing the things that supported those valiant fighters. My job was a telephone cable splicer. So when they told me I was going to Dong Tam for a temporary assignment I had a snot slinging fit. That was until I found out it was with the 2nd Platoon of the 267. I got brave just for the fun of it. When I got to the platoon in Dong Tam I found out there was only one other person there I knew. We'd trained together and had been in the 267 at the same time 66 to 67, just different platoons. We were about halfway between Dong Tam and My Tho when the driver lost control of the truck at about forty miles an hour. It did a slow roll over on it's top in no time at all. Flying through the air I remembered the truck weighed fourteen thousand seven hundred pounds dry,no oil, fuel, water. I ended up with a fractured pelvis but I was able to be the one to go for help. At the hospital as they brought in the injured I asked if anyone was killed. I was told that the tall black guy had been killed. He was sitting in the middle between the driver and the shotgun rider. His neck was broken. Only one other soldier beside myself was sent out of country. He went home. I went to Japan and then went back to Nam to complete my military commitment. Six or so years ago while surfing on the internet I discovered a website that allowed vets to search the Wall for names. All you needed was the province, date, and MOS (military job classification) and you could find the names of those killed. I entered the name of the province. I then put in August 11, 1968. One name came up. John Calvin Miles, twenty two year old African American Male, Signal Corps lineman, killed in vehicle accident. I had finally found a name for the "tall black guy". I sat on it for a couple of days. Then the part of me that won't leave something be got strong enough to do a search for the home of record for Miles. It was in North Carolina, Burlington, North Carolina. I started calling numbers. I was looking for the family of John Calvin Miles who had died in Viet Nam in 1968. There were a lot of Miles. But there were two zip codes. And it didn't take but a few calls to realize one of them was answered by white sounding voices, the other black. I was just about ready to give up when an older black lady answered the phone. She wanted to know what it was about. I explained that I was there when he was killed and would like to talk to family. In a gruff voice she explained that she had his mother's number. I told her I didn't want my first contact to be with his mother. I asked if she had the number of one of his siblings. She told me it was the mother's number or it was nothing. He had a bunch of brothers, none of them had phones. It took a couple of more days for me the part of me that won't let things be to work me up to calling his mother. A kid's voice answered. I asked for Mrs Miles. The kid told me to hold on because grandma was in bed as she took the phone to her. I told her who I was and why I was calling. I'm a talker. I've had some great conversations. But that one has to have been one of the best. She asked me if Viet Nam was as beautiful as he said it was. Because in his letters he had told her that one of these days when the War was over he wanted to take her there to see it for herself. I told her was right on about that one. For awhile I got to say somethings to his mom about the War that I had never bothered to say to my own. I lost her in 1997. Then a man's voice grabbed the phone and then told me I had no right to bring up things long since gone and hung up. She had given me the number of her daughter. That part of me that won't let things be took over. I called her. Her questions surprised me. The first of course was if he suffered. I told her I didn't think so. I was under the impression that he never knew what hit him. She then asked me if I was sure he was killed in a truck accident like the Army had told them. I told her I was there. That's what happened. She explained that shortly before he died he had mentioned in a letter of being uncomfortable with some racial stuff going on in the platoon. So the family had figured that's how he had died and the Army had covered it up with the story of the truck accident. I sent them a package. In it was VHS tape that was a compilation of movies I had taken while in the 267 in 1967. He wasn't in it of course because it was before his time. But there would be men doing the same work with the same equipment in the same kinds of places. I also sent them links to websites about the 267. I've located some of the men who were in the 267 at the time of the accident. None of them remember any racial stuff about that time. They're all white. That doesn't surprise me. I've learned the black perspective isn't the same as the white one when it comes life in the United States. Maybe if you read this it'll make you think about a black mother in the poor part of North Carolina who lived without knowing for sure how and or why her son died allegedly for his country in a land far far away for almost forty years. His death was all about being in the wrong place at the wrong time I believe. But the real tragedy was what his passing meant back home. http://harveylacey.com/id59.htm
Don you're right about that. I landed in Nam two weeks after my eighteenth birthday. There were five us that rotated into the unit. When I rotated out I was the only one of the five on that ride because the other ones had gotten early rides and I had caught a case of pneumonia about the time to leave. Imagine that, pneumonia in the topics. So I got to go home a couple of days late. My second tour I bounced around so much that I'm sorry to say I can't recall a single name of someone I served with for the most part. I say the most part because I ran into one of the guys I'd went through training with and served with the first tour. The second name I want to write about in another post under this thread.
Good one Bill. Guess I'd better get on the stick and call my Dad. WWII and Korea. And Harvey - unit cohesion was a big deal in WWII. In Vietnam guys were rotating in and out, rarely was a unit taken out of country to go home together. I think it was really weird to be flying home on a plane basically by yourself with a bunch of strangers around wondering how your buddies were going to make out (or make it out). You don't see reunions for Vietnam vets like you do for WWII guys.
Thanks for the kind words. Harvey, thank you for your service to our Country. You have my respect sir. (you do, even without the military service). I sent the npr piece to several veterans I know as well as to a fine young marine serving in Iraq right now. We're still a great country served by brave young men and women. You were once one of them. Best bill
Bill H my friend has done it again. My own father is 82. He served in Europe. His brother served in the Pacific. They joined together but circumstances sent them to opposite parts of the world. I have six hours of so of conversation on VHS made with members of the 18th Field Artillery. They survived D-Day and the Battle of the Bulge. They were also there to liberate one of the concentration camps. They talked about smelling the camp miles before they found it. One of the best stories they all seemed to share was about Christmas 1944. It was about the time of the Battle of the Bulge and then not only had one of the most miserable winters on record to deal with, everything else was screwed up too. But Capt (Bud) Hale had a Christmas present for each of them that morning. Some got a pack of Juicy Fruit, others a Hershey candy bar. But they each got something for Christmas and it was a surprise. Capt Hale had squirreled the stuff away from his care packages back home for when the time was right. The bond the men had even sixty years later blew me away. I served two tours in Nam and I can only recall a couple of names. Lots of memories, but few faces and fewer names. Here sixty years later these men have a bond that passes through to spouses. Yup, some of the faces we could expect to see at their reunion every Labor Day would be wives of men who had passed on their bond with their brothers. I've had some time, forty or so years now to think about some things. One of them was why the men of the Second World War didn't seem to have some of the problems us veterans of Nam did. I think it goes back to a metaphor I use to talk about the experience of War. I like to compare it to marriage, sex and all. If you've been there then you don't have to talk about the mechanics of it. But if you haven't then that's what you seem to want to know about. Think about it. One of the first questions asked or un-asked by the civilian of a veteran is if they killed someone or was there when someone was killed. That's not unlike what the unmarried wonder about a married relationship, the mechanics if you will. Veterans don't talk about that. They talk about the extremes, bad food, good food, etc. They talk about the cold, the heat, the black humor. And some of the humor is very dark, but it worked to get them through. If you are or have been married you know when you talk to your friends you don't have to get down and dirty when talking about it. Sometimes a sigh or a smile goes far enough between friends. It's the same with veterans. The shared experience means the understanding is complete. I think that's why the WW II guys and gals seem to have done better after the War emotionally. There was so many of their neighbors and friends who had the shared experience. Talking about it was easy because you didn't have to talk about it to be talking about it. Again, a sigh or a smile might be all that was needed to have understanding and appreciation. The Nam vets didn't have that. And I believe not having that hurt them sometimes more than the War experience itself.
Bill Holston is one of the most amazing persons I've ever had the pleasure to call my friend. His devotion to his family and his father, as well as his friends, is remarkable. It is a joy to know him and a blessing to have his input, encouragement and support in my life. Kudos to you, Bill. Beautifully done!
I feel fortunate to know some of those WWII vets. They didn't think of themselves as heroes, just young men doing their duty. Also, great thanks to veterans of all wars past and present.