They came from hundreds of American cities a half-century ago to a country 8,000 miles away called Vietnam.
Almost 10 percent of their generation, 2,709,918, served in the Vietnam War. Many enlisted out of a sense of duty, but 25 percent of those who served were plucked from their homes by way of a random lottery by the Selective Service, and those draftees accounted for more than 30 percent of combat deaths in the war.
The Vietnam War wasn’t a popular one and it served as a deadly political debate point through much of its duration. It sparked anti-war protestors to demonstrate loudly and sometimes violently. And returning veterans from the war were often shunned and often vilified. It has taken much of the intervening years for Vietnam veterans to gain the respect and honor that the country has given to vets of other wars.
Long Beach suffered the loss of 113 men in the Vietnam War. One hesitates to call them men; most had only a handful of memories when they marched off in the late 1960s: High school dances, hanging out with young friends, partying after football games. Only a few had begun life in earnest before they were killed.
Veterans Day is a day to honor our living vets, but we’re ignoring protocol to honor those who were cut down before they were allowed to become the vets who we salute today with parades and other honors; and to show how they were loved so much by those closest to them, even decades later; and finally the tragic role that war plays not only for the fallen, but for their families and friends.
Today, we’ll look at a few of our hometown boys whose names appear on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington D.C., and at the local Vietnam Memorial in Long Beach’s Houghton Park. The photos and personal remarks from their boyhood friends, their fellow servicemen and their beloved family members are taken from the online Virtual Vietnam Veterans Wall.
Howard C. Bell, 1946-1968. Pat Mitchell: “Howard was my husband and I loved him very much. He was an RA (Regular Army) soldier and would have retired from the Army had he lived. He was proud to serve his country and serve in the Army. A good man was lost the day he died.”
Henry L. Bradshaw, 1942-1968. J.W.: “I remembered Henry because of his friendly smile and those small sunglasses. I was called into the CommCenter at 0115 and was thinking what a peaceful night it was. A few minutes later all hell broke loose as the compound had been infiltrated. I toured the damage at daybreak and saw your bunker where you had been. I saw your glasses and instantly knew who you were. I have never forgotten our short friendship. I remember it as though it were yesterday.”
Paul D. Caramella, 1948-1967. Sandy Stanton-Heckt: “Paul, I remember when you left for Vietnam. You didn’t return. I never saw your sweet face again. You were my first love in high school and I mourn your passing to this day.”
John W. Cook, 1946-1968. David Fraser: “Hi, Johnny. Fifty years ago in January/February 1968 we saw each other for the last time. It was a life-long friendship that started in high school and Civil Air Patrol, then Army basic training, crew-chief school, flight school and Vietnam. There’s not a day that’s gone by I haven’t thought of you. I’ve often wondered how you’d look now. My son has your name; your parents were his Godparents.”
Steven F. Dolim, Jr., 1947-1968. Aunt Ollie: “After all these years, you are still always on my mind. I will always remember the little boy who would run away from his parent’s home and come to our house, knocking on the door, shouting, ‘Gama, Gama, open de door!’ then climbing on our bed and settling down between your aunts Ollie and Patty. You were and still are one of the best things that has happened in my life.”
Michael J. Kiley, 1941-1967. Beverly Hines: “I will always remember the dance at the Terminal Island Officers Club and your great personality and your pride in your brother Pat, who was my date. You really were Mr. Personality and made a first date with your shy brother so much fun. Upon hearing of your death I was so taken aback and saddened. This world lost such a fine young man who had so much to give and was taken far too soon.”
Christopher L. Kurtz, 1949-1968. Regina Roher: I met and loved Chris during our time at Woodrow Wilson High School. He was an old-school gentleman and I am forever conflicted that he was not allowed to live a full life while I have continued to enjoy mine.”
John T. McMahon, 1947-1967. Claudia Wilson: “I went through grade school and junior high with John. I have never forgotten him. Here I am at 67 and he died as a boy out of high school. That dark, beautiful hair and his quiet nature. I am so sorry he died. That war seems so useless to us after all our young men are gone and nothing to show for the war but sorrow.”
Michael J. Mooney, 1951-1969. Michael McDaniel: “You and my dad were best friends and went into the Marines together. My dad told me that when you died over there it was one of his breaking points. He told me that when I was born he named me Michael after you to honor you and it meant a lot to him.”
Gilbert H. Muncy, 1946-1968. Joseph F. Renaghan: “Gilbert was killed in action during Operation Allenbrook on Go Noi Island. He was shot after crawling out of a shallow drainage ditch we were in and getting up on one knee in order to fire his rocket at a North Vietnamese bunker which had us pinned down. I never met a braver Marine. I was his platoon commander and he died at my side. I returned to Vietnam in February 2017 and visited the spot where Gilbert died. It’s quiet now, as he would no doubt want it. The little kids in the nearby school are friendly and excited to see Americans and practice their basic English. ‘Hello. Bye-bye.’ I’m happy that those kids will probably never see war, but I’m sad that Gilbert didn’t live to see his own kids and grandkids grow up.”
Steven C. Owen, 1947-1969. Michele Owen Neher: “You were my big brother who I adored. I think all the time of who you would have married, the children you would have had. I think about the profession you would have chosen. I think about all the years we could have laughed talking about growing up together and knowing each other as adults. I think about how life was never the same for any of us. You would have loved my five children and they would have cherished knowing you. I named my first son after you. Your adoring sister…”
John B. Stevens, 1946-1968. Jeane Stevens Allen: “John was my only child. I have missed him every day since he was called to Heaven. I will always be so proud of him.
Theodore R. Vivilacqua, 1946-1969. John Walling: “Dear Vivi, we shared many memories while at basic school in Quantico. I couldn’t have wished for a better roommate during those six months. God, did we have some good times. I’ll never forget the day of our graduation, when we were having a beer at Major Spooners pub and you gave me your Saint Christopher to keep me safe while in Vietnam. I told you at the time you’d better keep it, that you needed it more than I did, but you wouldn’t listen. Turns out that I should have made you keep it. In October 1998 I found your final resting place. When I went to visit you I left it there for you. God, you were a great friend. May your courage, never-ending smile and love be the joy and memory to all your friends and family. Rest in peace, buddy.”
Michael L. Woodside, 1946-1969. Penelope Woodside, sister: “In my family, even though none of my children and grandchildren ever had the joy of knowing you, each of them, through our family’s oral history, knows your keen sense of humor, your unwavering loyalty, your dedication to family and country. When a monarch butterfly flits through my garden, invariably someone will say, ‘Hi, Uncle Mike!’ Always, always, I miss you.
Elizabeth Ann (Woodside) Vivian, daughter: “To my daddy, I miss you so. Many nights as a little girl I dreamt of you knocking on our door, saying you were really alive, it was all just a mistake. Even though I was only 3 when you died, my mother kept you alive in my memory. I will never forget my wonderful, loyal, brave and loving father. Till we meet again, Daddy.”