Larry Belcher:
CLASS OF 1964
Linden-Mckinley High SchoolClass of 1964
Columbus, OH
Larry's Story
Before I forget...After graduation, Bill Wolf and I joined the Marines and reported to San Diego, CA bootcamp where we were challenged near our mental and physical limits. Later, he was assigned as an Artilleryman in Camp Pendleton, CA, while I reported to Marine Base, 29 Palms, CA, Public Information Office. (Seems my interest in English...having taken one journalism class, one typing course, working on the school newspaper and yearbook staff at Linden, was enough qualification for an entry level designation as Press Info Man; (numerical classification: 4312). Looking back, it is amusing to remember the only reason the only four guys in the typing class took the course was that is where many of the pretty girls would be.
Bill and I were out of touch after that and I went on to duty at the Marine Barracks, Whidbey Island, WA. While in Washington, I learned that Bill had died in Vietnam, but, it was about two months after the funeral before I learned of his death. Several months later when I visited Columbus, I contacted Bill's mother. Our visit was 'all too real' as we recounted our memories of Bill and I, looking all the way back to McGuffey Elementary, both trying in vain to contain the tears.
To whom it might concern...my home is in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, where I have resided since 1992. Intend to update my story monthly, to include the remainder of my Marine assignments (only the nongraphic); eventual enlistment, experiences, and retirement from the Navy in 1990; as well as civilian pursuits after retirement. Individual emails exchanged through classmates are welcome...hopefully those communiques can be limited to what is happening in our lives now.
Having lost touch with everyone from high school and yet to attend a reunion, it is especially, personally gratifying to share stories, as we look forward to the 50th reunion, when and where I plan, the Lord willing, to attend.
In late Sept., 1966, and with orders in hand to report to the staff, Pacific Stars & Stripes, Tokyo, Japan, I flew to Okinawa, Japan, the staging area for Marines with Asian duty destinations. We were directed to a makeshift terminal with several booths, one of which displayed the sign 'Japan'. The sergeant on duty checked my orders against a list and said, "Your name is not on the Japan duty list. They have been changing people's orders enroute. Go around the corner and check in at that booth," he offered.
I was met with a long line in front of a counter identified, 'Vietnam', and was handed a new set of orders for 1st MAW (First Marine Aircraft Wing) Headquarters, Public Information Office. Should have known that from the 'get go' since they do not issue weapons to Marines stationed downtown Tokoyo.
After a few days' wait in Okinawa to be outfitted with jungle gear and weapons, more than 200 of us flew into Da Nang, Vietnam airfield. When the aircraft door opened, we were greeted with a wall of heat and humidity the likes of which no one on that plane had ever experienced. None of the other Marines were known to me, neither from previous duty locations, nor from Columbus. That would change.
The area where I was to work was on the opposite side of the airfield and to cross to the other side inside the base was prohibited. "No buses, no cabs here buddy," I was told. "If you have to go to the other side and don't have a jeep, you have to hitchhike along the road that encircles the airfield." The more than a mile ride in the back of a 6x6 took what seemed close to an hour because of the number of vehicles and congestion. I recall everything I saw, heard and smelled was foreign and repugnant. Reality set in when a young Vietnamese woman walking on the side of the dirt road suddenly squatted and urinated in full view of several dozen Marines.
After arriving on the airfield's 'Dogpatch' side, I reported to the Administration building, orders, rifle, 45-cal pistol and seabag in tow. I was to work across a nearby field in a building identified as 'PIO' and my supervisors were a Marine Captain and Gunnery Sergeant. No one was there when I arrived, nor had anyone come in by the end of the day. Later I learned the Captain had gone on R&R and the Gunny was temporarily assigned to the 'boonies'. "Just answer the phone (field phone), take messages and direct anyone who doesn't like that to us," the Sergeant-at-Arms said. Both the Captain and Gunny returned a few days' later and for the next month most everything was routine, until...
The Gunny was to head up a 5-man team of writers/motion picture and still photographers for temporary duty with a Marine Helicopter Group located in Ky Ha, 7 miles north of Chu Lai, 60 miles south of Da Nang, along the South China Sea. The Gunny decided he wanted me to be one of his two writers, along with a Staff Sergeant Motion Picture Photographer and Sergeant Still Photographer assigned temporarily from DoD. Our job was to photograph, film documentary footage and prepare press releases on combat strike/medevac/resupply missions which required frequent rides on troop transport copters (CH-46s) and Huey UH-1E Gunships the next three months.
We slept and finished each day's work in our exclusive 'hooch', a plywood shelter with screen walls, metal roof, and drop-down shutters used when the incessant monsoon rains continued for a week or more, day and night. The sound of the heavy rains pounding the metal roof was deafening at first, but, after a while created a curtain of 'White Noise' that blocked out all other sounds. There were three or four community showers in the complex of 'hooches' that dotted a hill that overlooked the helicopter pads. Usually, only one of those showers had hot water on a given day and the key was to find the hot one that day.
Most memorable about those three months were: > First and every subsequent ride in a Huey Gunship as we climbed high into the clouds to begin a figure-eight spiral downward to targets with automatic machine guns and rocket pods firing. (Thought... would not want to be on the other end of this.) The door gunner sat on a doubled-over flak jacket rested atop a filled 5-gallon metal water can for protection. I quickly did the same. > Two forced landings in two different copters in the same day due to enemy fire. > Trapped for more than 2 hours, 1/4 mile from the South China Sea on the beach south of Chu Lai while accompanying a South Vietnamese Army infantry company. We could hear the rounds whiz by and kick up sand around us while hunkered down behind large grassy mounds. The first two attempts to rescue us were driven away by heavy enemy fire. (All I could think was, 'who planned this mission.') The third wave came in with automatic machine gun and rockets firing. We were able to board those choppers and flew several miles out to sea to an aircraft carrier (the name of which I do not remember). >Witnessing the curtain of fire belched from 'Puff The Magic Dragon', a specially equipped C-130 aircraft with several electric machine guns, as it strafed suspected enemy positions at night. >Sporadic mortar attacks that sent us scrambling to sandbag reinforced foxholes throughout the Chu Lai and Ky Ha compounds. > Flying into Dong Ha (6 miles south of the DMZ) on a C-130, landing on a makeshift, dirt landing strip with reinforcements for the Marine unit which had fought off the previous two days a Viet Cong force 20 times their size. > One of several Viet Cong killed while trying to breach the fence that separated the Da Nang U.S. military airfield from the local Vietnamese residential area known as 'Dogpatch', later was identified as having worked on the base as a civilian barber. I remember that same person had cut my hair the previous two months.
Besides getting out of that area of Vietnam without being wounded or worse, the most novel, positive experience came when I was assigned to go to the Chu Lai airfield, to photograph and write a press release on the visit of former General of the Army, General Omar Bradley, who came with his wife to speak with the troops in 1967. I appreciated his visit as he talked to all of us individually and collectively. Gen. Bradley was confined to a wheelchair at that time and we soon sensed why he was known as the 'Soldier's General'. He asked how old I was and I replied, "I'll be 21 in Feb." "What day," he asked. "February 12," I answered. "We have the same birthday young man," he said. "You, I and Abraham Lincoln," I added, as he chuckled. That exchange somehow gave an inexplicable, and unearned sense of pride and still does to this day. I celebrated my 21st birthday on that beach with a couple of buddies and a case of beer. Later in life, while reading 'American Caesar', I learned that General of the Army Douglas McArthur's mother's maiden name was, Belcher, another grandiose self deception that had me thinking, 'maybe I should be doing something greater in life.' Turned out this military occupation I stumbled into served very well my innate interests to see the world, experience adventure and tell about it.
Following that assignment, I was sent to the Combat Information Bureau, Da Nang, (later named Da Nang Press Center) for the last seven months of my 12- month, 3-week in country tour, where the senior Public Information Officer for the Marines in Vietnam was located, across the Da Nang River from where Lt.Gen. Lewis W. Walt, III Marine Amphibious Force headquartered. It was the place to be and was considered a professional right of passage to be assigned to Gen. Walt's staff. I was teamed with a Marine Lieutenant and another Marine Sergeant Combat Correspondent. The Lieutenant, a former Gunnery Sergeant who earned his field commission through the ranks, was by far the best kind of officer one could hope to serve alongside. The other combat correspondent Sergeant was a seasoned veteran who arrived two months earlier.
The Combat I...Expand for more
nformation Bureau, or CIB as it was called, was a loose network of modest, French-style villas surrounded by 10-foot concrete walls on three sides. The rear of the complex backed up to the Da Nang River from where we could see a few hundred yards down shore the navy hospital ship, USS Hope, which docked to take care of the more seriously wounded. Outside the main compound gate, a dirt road led to one of Da Nang's most famous landmarks, the White Elephant Hotel, which served as an Officer's Club for the South Vietnamese Army and gateway to metropolitan Da Nang.
We worked from another one of those plywood hooches, but did sleep on actual beds with thick mattresses in one of the villas, instead of hard canvass cots to which we were accustomed. It was a real treat not to have to eat C-Rats or Ready-to-Eat meals because this place offered a well-appointed restaurant with a south seas theme and featured meals such as streak and lobster for $2.00, omelets to order for $1.25, including drink. We were rationed two beers per person a day which always was plenty and cost just a quarter.
The accommodations were almost stately compared to what we and every other Marine in Nam experienced. It was there to receive, brief and accommodate the civilian correspondents who came from around the world, not for the Marines' comfort, although we did not complain.
I recall eating breakfast one morning (1967) with Robert Stack...you know...the Robert Stack (played Eliot Ness) of the popular TV series, 'The Untouchables'. Robert had served as a gunnery officer in the U.S. Navy for more than three years during World War II and was a sincere patriot who came to visit the troops. He was 48 or 49 years old at the time, yet looked younger, had a full head of hair and was in every way unpretentious. He looked directly into the eyes of those to whom he spoke and it seemed as if he would fit in with the rest of us.
A part of our job was to receive draft reports from other Marine correspondents in the field, rewrite, and prepare press releases for dissemination to Pacific Stars & Stripes and other military and civilian news outlets in the states. Our other responsibilities involved escort of international civilian news media reps to combat operational areas throughout the U.S. Marine region of responsibility. We were to keep them from being killed, liaison with field commanders, satisfy the journalists' need for access and keep them out of the commander's hair. No small feat considering our charges included Pulitzer Prize winners, and required jeep jaunts on infamous Highway I, driving at the fastest possible speed in hopes to avoid sniper rounds and buried explosives along the road.
We did not wear rank insignia, only a name tag that identified us as III MAF Combat Correspondents. We also had in our possession, dog tags, military ID card, and a III MAF Press Pass which could get us into just about anywhere. I had fun (although I never, never misrepresented myself as an officer), much fun with the fact that my name Larry Thomas, was abbreviated as L T Belcher on my name tag, giving most with whom I came into contact the first time a reason to look for my rank insignia, and when not seeing any, assumed my rank was Lieutenant and would salute. Whenever pressed to confirm my rank, I would present my III MAF Press Pass, which stated I was authorized to represent the III MAF Commander in all matters related to news gathering, photography and interaction with foreign correspondents, documentary and movie making efforts throughout the entire region of U.S. Marine activities, including coordination with the government of South Vietnam, and was to be afforded all possible assistance to do so, on a not to interfere with mission basis. That was all it ever took to get the cooperation we needed.
There were also pleasant surprises...like my beautiful wife JoAnn giving birth to our lovely daughter, Kimberly. JoAnn stayed with my parents in Columbus for a while before going back to San Fernando, Calif. to be with her mother in time for Kimberly's delivery. Running into Dick Griffin...you know...tall, basketball-playing Dick Griffin. Dick was in a Da Nang area field hospital as a result of being wounded and I was there for an ear drum perforation and infection inflicted by concussion from 50-caliber machine-gun fire in a confined space.
Post #4...Feb 27, 2011.
I left Vietnam in Nov., 1967 after exactly 12 months and three weeks to the day in country, three months before the start of the 1968 Tet Offensive and shortly before Bob Hope brought his USO Christmas tour to Da Nang on Dec 19, 1967. Although I missed Hope's appearance in Da Nang, that would be made up for in spades 20 years later when he stopped in Hawaii on his way to his final overseas USO tour. (More on that later, much later, in my Navy career.) After finishing a pick-up, outdoor basketball game near the 1st MAW PIO, one of the other players turned to me and asked, "Do you know who that is?", as he pointed to another player walking off the court. Before I could say no, "That was Roger Staubach, the Heisman Trophy winner from the Naval Academy," he continued. Staubach won the Heisman for 1963, volunteered for a year tour of duty in Vietnam and served as a Navy Supply Officer in the Da Nang area. I did not see him again in person.
In reflection, the Vietnam experience was a life-changing roller coaster ride. From my perspective, it had three distinct phases, albeit, all were underpinned by the need to adapt to alien surroundings, when at all possible and in every way to anticipate threats (real & perceived), and to repress anxious thoughts of going home, the entire time in country.
Phase I lasted about three months and was marked by the greatest degree of confusion and adaptation. Within two or three weeks after arriving, when the 'fog of war' somewhat began to fade, foremost was to accept the fact that going home to the 'world' (the 'world' as we called it, was anywhere back in the states...an insinuation that Vietnam was part of some other realm) and to family anytime soon was wishful thinking. It was a time when everyone perceived the need to be extraordinarily cautious, as we tried to assess what we had gotten ourselves into and how day-by-day, minute-by-minute, to understand and navigate our circumstances.
It seems as if an involuntary 'sixth sense' evolved which kept us constantly and quickly scanning our surroundings, hypersensitive to every sound, sight and movement. After a while, it was something a person could not turn off. It was now a part of us...for better or worse. The better part was a means to an end to survive. Those same acquired attributes that no doubt helped us ready for what might come in the way of risks, also would become impediments to readapting to life back home...everyone else seemed to think and move in slow motion. It was difficult to concentrate and a stern, quick-tempered response awaited those who might try to impose their will or judgement.
'Hadn't we done enough, for awhile. We have lived by the dictate of others in every way for years. Doesn't anyone else understand we need to make sense of everything again,' I caught myself thinking time and time again. Unfortunately, most of us did not, or could not articulate who we had become because we did not ourselves know, apart from a superficial sense that our outlook on life had been turned upside down, inside out.
Then came the realization that beyond reasonable precautions there was little we could do to affect whether or not we would see home again. Thoughts of returning home became an emotional burden, a millstone around our necks which reduced our ability to be at our ultimate mental, emotional and physical readiness. Although thoughts of home were our major motivators, daydreaming about home at the wrong place and time could
be too costly. Something had to change, something we could devise. Our options were very limited.
Although I have not discussed this matter with other Vietnam Vets, it is sensible to think I would not be alone to say, we repressed those thoughts and feelings as much as possible, to let them surface only when we were able to write letters and when we needed to give ourselves an emotional lift by envisioning the light at the end of the tunnel.
Phase II was marked by most of us taking a 'don't give a hoot' about threats. If we made it...we made it...but, we could not keep living in such a heightened state of apprehension. So, we became hard, I mean hard, with little regard for ourselves and others, only to fellow Marines & Navy Corpsmen. If you were not one of them...you were nothing much. That is sad, but, true.
Phase III started a month or two before a Marine was to rotate out of Vietnam. We began to think about the fact we were almost out of there, so we reverted back somewhat to our Phase I mindset of increased caution.
I left exactly 12 months and three weeks from the day I had arrived and I can't describe the level of joy and relief those 200 plus Marines on that long flight. We were treated like kings on that flight, but not so on the return for many American servicemen once they reached American soil. I never had to face the disdain and spitting I've heard others had to experience.
I left Marine service on Aug 4, 1968, spending an uneventful nine months at Barstow, Ca., after returning from Vietnam. Looking back, I likely would have had to return for duty in Vietnam twice again. There was no end in sight to the conflict, and considering at the time Combat Correspondent was among some of highest on the occupational causality list, I ended my enlistment, with mixed emotions, feeling a love of the Corps still, but weighed against my perceived needs of the family won over. It was the right decision, it took me 8-10 years to get over the experience. Many never did.
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