SASless
22nd Jul 2006, 01:53
Joe Galloway, a newspaper reporter for the Columbus, Georgia paper during Vietnam days recalls his experience with Vietnam War helicopter pilots. I was there when he gave this speech at the VHPA convention one year.
VHPA (Vietnam Helicopter Pilots Association) Reunion
Guest Speaker, Joe Galloway: Co-author of We Were Soldiers Once, and
Young
Thanks to all of you for giving me the honor to speak to you. I have
Got to tell you that looking out across this assemblage I must confess: I
haven't seen this many bad boys collected in one location since the last
time I visited Leavenworth Prison.
When I first learned that I would be doing this gig I asked an aviator
buddy of mine what else I needed to know......and he said, well, most of
you would be bringing your wives along.......that half of you were so damn
deaf that you couldn't hear a word of what I was saying.....the other half
would be so damn drunk you couldn't understand what I was saying..... so I
might just as well talk to the ladies......
I have waited years to be able to share this story with so august a
Group of aviator veterans as this: A few years ago I was at a large official
dinner and I was seated next to a nice lady who was the wife of a two-star
general. I knew the lady had two college-age daughters and I also knew
that one of them had been dating a Cavalry lieutenant.......so I thought
to make some polite conversation and I offered her my condolences at her
daughter's choice of companionship.
"Oh No!" the general's wife said. "He is a fine young man. Nothing
Wrong with him......and at least he isn't a goddam aviator!"
I just wanted you to know that your successors in the business
continue to win friends and influence people in high places. Before I go
along any
further in this thing I need to ask you some questions: --Is there anyone
here who flew with the 1st Cavalry Division? The 229th? The 227th? How
about the old 119th out of Holloway? Any Marine pilots who flew them old
CH-34 Shuddering $hithouses??? Now I know I am among close friends......I
know that old Ray Burns from Ganado, Texas, is here.....and I have got to
tell you a story about me and Ray that goes back to October of 1965. Plei
Me SF Camp was under siege by a regiment of North Vietnamese regulars. I
was trying to get in there.....like a fool......but after an A-1E and a
B-57 Canberra and one Huey had been shot down they declared it a No-Fly
Zone. So I was stomping up and down the flight line at Holloway
cussing......when I ran across Ray. He asked what the problem was and I
told him. He allowed as how he had been wanting to get a look at that
situation and would give me a ride......
I still have a picture I shot out the open door of Ray's Huey. We are
doing a kind of corkscrew descent and the triangular berms and
wire of the camp below fill that doorway.....along with the puffs of smoke
from the impacting mortar rounds inside the camp. Hell.....I can scare
myself bad, just looking at that photo.
Well old Ray drops on in and I jump out....and the Yards boil out of
The trenches and toss a bunch of wounded in the door and Ray is> pulling
pitch.....grinning......and giving me the bird. When the noise is gone
this sergeant major runs up: Sir, I don't know who you are but Major
Beckwith wants to see you right away. I ask which one is the major and I
am informed he is the very big guy over there jumping up and down on his
hat. I go over slowly. The dialogue goes something like this: Who the hell
are you? A reporter. Son, I need everything in the godd_m world from food
and ammo to water....to medevac......to reinforcements.....and I wouldn't
mind a bottle of Jim Beam.......but what I do not need is a godd_m
reporter.
And what has the Army in its wisdom delivered to me? Well....I got
News for you.....you ain't a reporter no more; you are my new corner machine
gunner." Ray.....I want to thank you for that ride.......wasn't for you
and Chuck Oualline I wouldn't have had half as much fun in Vietnam.
Hell.....every story anyone has about Vietnam starts and ends with a
helicopter......you guys were simply fantastic. Thank you all. Thank you
for every thing....large and small.
Now I guess I got to get down to business. All of you know that I have
spent most of the last forty years hanging out with the infantry.....a
choice some folks view as perverse if not totally insane. But there was
always method in my madness: With the infantry things happen close enough
that I can see what's happening.....and slowly enough most times that even
I can understand what I'm seeing. There's just this one little downside to
my long experience with the infantry:
During that time I have personally been
bombed.....rocketed.....strafed..... and napalmed by the U.S. Air
Force.....U.S. Navy......U.S. Marines.....and U.S. Army Aviation......as
well as by the air forces of South Vietnam.....Laos......Sri Lanka....
..India......and Pakistan. Now I don't consider myself an inconsiderable
target.....and wasn't even back when I could fit comfortably behind a palm
tree......but here I am....running my mouth.....nothing hurt beyond my
dignity. Don't get me wrong; I don't hold any grudges against those
gallant winged warriors. But ever since the first time they attacked me
and missed.....I have never ever used the words "surgical bombing strike"
in any story I ever wrote. I had the chance to say some good things about
all of you at the Memorial Service at The Wall on Sunday. I meant every
word of that..... and more. You chopper guys were our heroes in Vietnam.
You were our rides....but you were much much more than that. We were
always either cussing you for hauling our butts into deep kimchi.....or
ready to kiss you for hauling us out of it. I have a feeling that without
you and your birds that would have been a much shorter and far more
brutish war. You were our heroes, though, first last and always. You saved
us from having to walk to work every day. You brought in our food and ammo
and water.....and sometimes even a marmite can full of hot chow. To this
day I think the finest meal I ever ate was a canteen cup full of hot split
pea soup that a Huey delivered to a hilltop in the dry paddies of the Bong
Son Plain in January of 1966. For a moment there I thought if the Army
could get a hot meal out to an infantry company on patrol maybe.....just
maybe.....we could win the damn war. Oh well.
I think often of all that you did for us .....all that you meant to
us:
You came for our wounded. You came to get our dead brothers. You
came....when the fight was over.....to give us a ride home from hell.
There isn't a former Grunt alive who doesn't freeze for a moment and feel
the hair rise on the back of his neck when he hears the whup whup whup of
those helicopter blades.
What I want to say now is just between us.....because America still
doesn't get it.....still doesn't know the truth, and the truth is: You are
the cream of the crop of our generation.....the best and finest of an
entire generation of Americans. You are the ones who answered when you
were called to serve.....You are the ones who fought bravely and endured a
terrible war in a terrible place. You are the ones for whom the words
duty, honor, country have real meaning because you have lived those words
and the meaning behind those words.
You are my brothers in arms....and I am not ashamed to say that I love
you, would not trade one of you for a whole trainload of instant
Canadians.....or a whole boatload of Rhodes Scholars bound for
England......or a whole campus full of guys who turned up for their draft
physicals wearing panty hose. On behalf of a country that too easily
forgets the true cost of war.....and who pays that price....I say Thank
you for your service! On behalf of the people of our country who didn't
have good sense enough to separate the war they hated from the young
warriors they sent to fight that war.....I say we are sorry. We owe you
all a very large apology.....and a debt of gratitude that we can never
adequately repay .
For myself and all my buddies in the Infantry I say: Thanks for all
The rides in and out....especially the rides out. It is great to see you all
gathered here for this reunion. A friend of mine, Mike Norman, a former
Marine grunt....wrote a wonderful book called "These Good Men" about his
quest to find and reunite with all the survivors of his platoon from
Vietnam. He thought long and deep about why we gather as we have done this
evening and he explained it thusly:
"I now know why men who have been to war yearn to reunite. Not to tell
stories or look at old pictures. Not to laugh or weep. Comrades gather
because they long to be with the men who once acted their best.....men who
suffered and sacrificed.....who were stripped raw......right down to their
humanity. I did not pick these men. They were delivered by fate and the
military. But I know them in a way I know no other men. I have never given
anyone such trust. They were willing to guard something more precious than
my life. They would have carried my reputation.....the memory of me. It
was part of the bargain we all made.....the reason we were so willing to
die for one another."
As long as I have memory I will think of them all.....every day. I am
Sure that when I leave this world....my last thought will be of my family
and
my comrades.......such good men. I'm going to shut up now and let us all
get down to the real business of drinking and lying.....er.....telling war
stories.
Thank you. I salute you. I remember you. I will teach my sons the
stories
and legends about you. And I will warn my daughters never ever to go out
with aviators...... Good evening. God bless...
VHPA (Vietnam Helicopter Pilots Association) Reunion
Guest Speaker, Joe Galloway: Co-author of We Were Soldiers Once, and
Young
Thanks to all of you for giving me the honor to speak to you. I have
Got to tell you that looking out across this assemblage I must confess: I
haven't seen this many bad boys collected in one location since the last
time I visited Leavenworth Prison.
When I first learned that I would be doing this gig I asked an aviator
buddy of mine what else I needed to know......and he said, well, most of
you would be bringing your wives along.......that half of you were so damn
deaf that you couldn't hear a word of what I was saying.....the other half
would be so damn drunk you couldn't understand what I was saying..... so I
might just as well talk to the ladies......
I have waited years to be able to share this story with so august a
Group of aviator veterans as this: A few years ago I was at a large official
dinner and I was seated next to a nice lady who was the wife of a two-star
general. I knew the lady had two college-age daughters and I also knew
that one of them had been dating a Cavalry lieutenant.......so I thought
to make some polite conversation and I offered her my condolences at her
daughter's choice of companionship.
"Oh No!" the general's wife said. "He is a fine young man. Nothing
Wrong with him......and at least he isn't a goddam aviator!"
I just wanted you to know that your successors in the business
continue to win friends and influence people in high places. Before I go
along any
further in this thing I need to ask you some questions: --Is there anyone
here who flew with the 1st Cavalry Division? The 229th? The 227th? How
about the old 119th out of Holloway? Any Marine pilots who flew them old
CH-34 Shuddering $hithouses??? Now I know I am among close friends......I
know that old Ray Burns from Ganado, Texas, is here.....and I have got to
tell you a story about me and Ray that goes back to October of 1965. Plei
Me SF Camp was under siege by a regiment of North Vietnamese regulars. I
was trying to get in there.....like a fool......but after an A-1E and a
B-57 Canberra and one Huey had been shot down they declared it a No-Fly
Zone. So I was stomping up and down the flight line at Holloway
cussing......when I ran across Ray. He asked what the problem was and I
told him. He allowed as how he had been wanting to get a look at that
situation and would give me a ride......
I still have a picture I shot out the open door of Ray's Huey. We are
doing a kind of corkscrew descent and the triangular berms and
wire of the camp below fill that doorway.....along with the puffs of smoke
from the impacting mortar rounds inside the camp. Hell.....I can scare
myself bad, just looking at that photo.
Well old Ray drops on in and I jump out....and the Yards boil out of
The trenches and toss a bunch of wounded in the door and Ray is> pulling
pitch.....grinning......and giving me the bird. When the noise is gone
this sergeant major runs up: Sir, I don't know who you are but Major
Beckwith wants to see you right away. I ask which one is the major and I
am informed he is the very big guy over there jumping up and down on his
hat. I go over slowly. The dialogue goes something like this: Who the hell
are you? A reporter. Son, I need everything in the godd_m world from food
and ammo to water....to medevac......to reinforcements.....and I wouldn't
mind a bottle of Jim Beam.......but what I do not need is a godd_m
reporter.
And what has the Army in its wisdom delivered to me? Well....I got
News for you.....you ain't a reporter no more; you are my new corner machine
gunner." Ray.....I want to thank you for that ride.......wasn't for you
and Chuck Oualline I wouldn't have had half as much fun in Vietnam.
Hell.....every story anyone has about Vietnam starts and ends with a
helicopter......you guys were simply fantastic. Thank you all. Thank you
for every thing....large and small.
Now I guess I got to get down to business. All of you know that I have
spent most of the last forty years hanging out with the infantry.....a
choice some folks view as perverse if not totally insane. But there was
always method in my madness: With the infantry things happen close enough
that I can see what's happening.....and slowly enough most times that even
I can understand what I'm seeing. There's just this one little downside to
my long experience with the infantry:
During that time I have personally been
bombed.....rocketed.....strafed..... and napalmed by the U.S. Air
Force.....U.S. Navy......U.S. Marines.....and U.S. Army Aviation......as
well as by the air forces of South Vietnam.....Laos......Sri Lanka....
..India......and Pakistan. Now I don't consider myself an inconsiderable
target.....and wasn't even back when I could fit comfortably behind a palm
tree......but here I am....running my mouth.....nothing hurt beyond my
dignity. Don't get me wrong; I don't hold any grudges against those
gallant winged warriors. But ever since the first time they attacked me
and missed.....I have never ever used the words "surgical bombing strike"
in any story I ever wrote. I had the chance to say some good things about
all of you at the Memorial Service at The Wall on Sunday. I meant every
word of that..... and more. You chopper guys were our heroes in Vietnam.
You were our rides....but you were much much more than that. We were
always either cussing you for hauling our butts into deep kimchi.....or
ready to kiss you for hauling us out of it. I have a feeling that without
you and your birds that would have been a much shorter and far more
brutish war. You were our heroes, though, first last and always. You saved
us from having to walk to work every day. You brought in our food and ammo
and water.....and sometimes even a marmite can full of hot chow. To this
day I think the finest meal I ever ate was a canteen cup full of hot split
pea soup that a Huey delivered to a hilltop in the dry paddies of the Bong
Son Plain in January of 1966. For a moment there I thought if the Army
could get a hot meal out to an infantry company on patrol maybe.....just
maybe.....we could win the damn war. Oh well.
I think often of all that you did for us .....all that you meant to
us:
You came for our wounded. You came to get our dead brothers. You
came....when the fight was over.....to give us a ride home from hell.
There isn't a former Grunt alive who doesn't freeze for a moment and feel
the hair rise on the back of his neck when he hears the whup whup whup of
those helicopter blades.
What I want to say now is just between us.....because America still
doesn't get it.....still doesn't know the truth, and the truth is: You are
the cream of the crop of our generation.....the best and finest of an
entire generation of Americans. You are the ones who answered when you
were called to serve.....You are the ones who fought bravely and endured a
terrible war in a terrible place. You are the ones for whom the words
duty, honor, country have real meaning because you have lived those words
and the meaning behind those words.
You are my brothers in arms....and I am not ashamed to say that I love
you, would not trade one of you for a whole trainload of instant
Canadians.....or a whole boatload of Rhodes Scholars bound for
England......or a whole campus full of guys who turned up for their draft
physicals wearing panty hose. On behalf of a country that too easily
forgets the true cost of war.....and who pays that price....I say Thank
you for your service! On behalf of the people of our country who didn't
have good sense enough to separate the war they hated from the young
warriors they sent to fight that war.....I say we are sorry. We owe you
all a very large apology.....and a debt of gratitude that we can never
adequately repay .
For myself and all my buddies in the Infantry I say: Thanks for all
The rides in and out....especially the rides out. It is great to see you all
gathered here for this reunion. A friend of mine, Mike Norman, a former
Marine grunt....wrote a wonderful book called "These Good Men" about his
quest to find and reunite with all the survivors of his platoon from
Vietnam. He thought long and deep about why we gather as we have done this
evening and he explained it thusly:
"I now know why men who have been to war yearn to reunite. Not to tell
stories or look at old pictures. Not to laugh or weep. Comrades gather
because they long to be with the men who once acted their best.....men who
suffered and sacrificed.....who were stripped raw......right down to their
humanity. I did not pick these men. They were delivered by fate and the
military. But I know them in a way I know no other men. I have never given
anyone such trust. They were willing to guard something more precious than
my life. They would have carried my reputation.....the memory of me. It
was part of the bargain we all made.....the reason we were so willing to
die for one another."
As long as I have memory I will think of them all.....every day. I am
Sure that when I leave this world....my last thought will be of my family
and
my comrades.......such good men. I'm going to shut up now and let us all
get down to the real business of drinking and lying.....er.....telling war
stories.
Thank you. I salute you. I remember you. I will teach my sons the
stories
and legends about you. And I will warn my daughters never ever to go out
with aviators...... Good evening. God bless...