The Boy Died In Vietnam

By Don P. Bick

A raw portrayal of Don’s experience during the Vietnam War, dealing with dead and dying children. He exposes his soul discussing events in his life while coping with PTSD issues, not knowing for 40 years that he was suffering from the disorder. As conditions worsen he moves into a tent in the woods. Through treatment he returns to Vietnam and in a matter of a few months his whole life has changed.

Comments from Chet Sunde, Psy.D., Clinical Psychologist

I just read the intro through chapter three. Your book is raw (in a good way) and truthful. It is going to be of great help to others...help combat vets understand themselves better, and help civilians understand them better. It is a success story...like Rocky...beat down round after round...but on his feet, bloodied and bruised, on his feet and an inspiration to others in the end. But most of all...the beauty of your book is the humanity and love of fellow man that already comes through, and I can't wait to read in the chapters to come. And the end of the book will only be the beginning of the story...a story that needs to be published and read by people all over the globe. A story of hope and light out of the darkness of war, and the consequences that echo through the years in the lives of those who serve in war, and those who cross their path.

Includes 24 photos (no graphic photos).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don P. Bick
• Release date: Jan 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465777263

Don P. Bick

Don is a Vietnam Veteran. Recently he spent several months in Vietnam working on his war memoirs - The Boy Died In Vietnam. He has written several novels and short stories. His two favorite topics are love and life after death. Visit his website for more information. Your comments are always appreciated!

Book preview

THE BOY DIED IN VIETNAM

A Marine’s story of PTSD, reunion and love.

By

DON P. BICK

Cover photo taken by Michael Normandin 1968, deceased from cancer 2010.

Electronic edition published by Don P. Bick.

Copyright © 2012 by Don P. Bick

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

To the vet who helped me get into treatment, you know who you are...thanks!

and

Dr. Sunde…thank you for your help and encouragement!

This book is dedicated to all the disadvantaged children in Vietnam and around the world. May you find your way through the darkness and overcome your difficulties, stupendous as they may seem, until you find peace and freedom. Even though you don’t know it, you are loved by millions.

A portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book will be used to help children in Vietnam who are still affected to this day from the horrors of the Vietnam War, or poor children, who through no fault of their own find they are living in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Also, by Don P. Bick

Novels

In the Next Life

The Dragon is Awake

Latitude 37

Lotus Isle: Book I - Key the First: The Vulcan’s Price

Lotus Isle: Book II - Key the Second: The Giver of Life

Memoir

The Boy Died in Vietnam

Short Stories

Ashes

I Await

Time Capsule

New Life - A Collection of Love

Talkin Trash

Essays (Not true essays – all free)

Life after Death?

Evolution? Creation?

Heaven? Hell?

Right Human Relations

Other

In Our Dream

Table of Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 8 (one-third through book)

3. Chapter12 (one-half through book)

4. Chapter 16 (two-thirds through book)

5. Comments from Chet Sunde, Psy.D., Clinical Psychologist

6. Some symptoms of PTSD

Introduction

Well, they tell me I have it - that I have had it for the last 42 years. One doctor tells me I only have a fair chance at recovery. Another says I can learn to manage it, in time, and live a productive life. At this point I don’t believe either of them. I am now 62 years old and the disorder has spent 42 years ingraining itself into the very essence of my physical, emotional and mental wellbeing. And after all these years I am now the product of its work.

Anyway, how do I change a lifetime of personality molding? Even if I believed it were possible, I wouldn’t know where to start. But I don’t believe it is possible. At this stage of the game it isn’t about changing my personality as much as it is about learning to manage this disorder. Something I have done a very poor job of in the past, and I must admit, the present too. Of course, in my defense, I was totally unaware that I was suffering from any disorder, so never, even in my wildest dreams, did I think there was anything I needed to learn to manage. The concept ‘can’t see the forest for the trees’ comes to mind. As I write this, it occurs to me that learning to manage this issue quite possibly is changing my personality, specifically my actions and reactions to stress situations, which is, in part, what the personality is all about. It has been over a year now since I was diagnosed with a severe case of post-traumatic stress disorder, commonly referred to as PTSD.

PTSD is a mental anxiety issue. I never dreamed I had been affected to the extent it now appears obvious has been the case. I exhibit most of the symptoms, and there are a lot of them. I can look back on my life and see it has been a classic case of the disorder since my return from the Vietnam War. Vietnam veterans call it ‘War Sickness’. They suffer from it as well. In fact, many veterans from all over the world who have been involved in war have it. War is hell! If you are sensitive, I believe it is especially so. And I am sensitive.

Of course I have heard about PTSD over the years and I firmly believed only the weak, or what I might refer to as the so called ‘zombie’ war cases, were diagnosed with the disorder, or those trying to ‘work’ the system for personal benefit. I was wrong. I now know I have been in denial for years. I have it. The doctors were correct in their diagnosis, of that I am now certain.

Case in point: one day I went to a crowded supermarket in Vietnam (I am writing this memoir from where it all began.) and although I probably looked calm and normal on the outside, I was anything but on the inside. I was so filled with anxiety I wanted to quickly escape, needed to escape; to get away and hide from everyone and everything. Being around crowds of people is stressful and I don’t handle stress well. I can’t stand people getting right up next to me or behind me. But they were. The market was full of people getting too close, getting in my space. In these types of situations, I may look okay on the outside, but the inside is a different story. In the military I was trained to ignore my feelings and just do my job. I was, and always have been, a good learner.

I am presently receiving treatment from Dr. Chet Sunde, a psychologist I was referred to by the Veterans Administration. I go to regular one-on-one and group therapy sessions to learn about this disorder, and how I can manage it in my day to day life. Let me tell you it is not easy. Trying to break habits that have taken decades to develop, and replace them with new ones, is an extremely difficult thing to do. Those other veterans in my group agree. Sadly, my relationships have suffered tremendously over the years from the habits I have created; my reactions to stressful events that arise in all our lives have affected my social and business relations in a negative way. This is the area of my life I hope to improve the most, my interactions with others. And although I have been getting treatment for over a year now, I still have no desire to be around people. I still have extreme difficulty in my relationships, both personal and otherwise. It isn’t easy to break a lifetime of habit!

Of course, there will always be those who don’t believe the disorder even exists. If you have never been to war; never held a fellow soldier in your arms while he or she died, or never held an innocent child while the life drained out of them from injuries sustained in wartime, don’t for one minute think you can understand the senselessness of war, because that would not be possible! Trust me, it gets to you. It affects the very core of your being. It removes the innocence of youth. And it traumatizes so deeply that the images burned in your memory never go away, are forever near the surface just waiting for an unguarded moment to resurrect themselves, either through heightened mental anxiety or some form of emotional output.

I have a war story I would like to tell you. But it is not your typical story of war. This story is one of reunion, of one Marines attempt to come to grips with the past. It is most of all an incredible story of the love and respect that can develop between people of different cultures brought together during a time of war.

It began 43 years ago…

Chapter 1

back to top

I would spend a lot of time in the village of Dong Ha during my 13-month tour and this small place lies at the heart of my story. And that story is different than others you have heard of or read about in the past regarding Vietnam, and perhaps one that you have never considered a possibility. Although this narrative does have its roots in the war, 1968-1969 to be exact, it is not a story about the young military men and women on either side who courageously fought and died during the conflict. It has more to do with the deep-seated love within the soul of every human being, no matter their race or culture.

It doesn’t matter where an individual is born or where they reside, all over the world people are people. I believe, in the majority, they are innately good at heart. True, governments talk their talk, but when you get to meet the people in any given country and truly begin to understand their life and customs, for the most part they are good people simply trying to live out their lives in the best way possible. They laugh and cry. They work, love, and are constantly looking for that intangible something we all look for, that which will make us happy. They also strive to understand the meaning of their life in much the same way we in America do.

This is a true story and it has been unfolding in a way unimaginable during the closing months of 2010 and on into 2011.

Never in my deepest imagination could I have ever dreamed up this story the way it has been happening in my life.

I am a Vietnam Veteran about to go back to Dong Ha to visit people I met there long ago. And I am about to experience this love that I speak of, this Oneness that lies at the heart of humanity, the ONE family. How do I know this? Because I have been in contact with some of these people recently; and there is no way to understand without first hearing the story from beginning to end. We have all heard many sad war stories about Vietnam, especially those of us that have been around since those days. It is a real rarity to hear something positive that came out of this war. And this is a positive story.

In many families throughout the United States it has always been tradition to serve your time in the armed forces. In my family it was pretty much understood, and expected, that when you reach the age of 18 it was time to join the military. My family and relatives were all about the Marine Corps. So, there was really no thought involved as to which service I would join, I ended up in the Marine Corps.

You have probably heard that Marine Corps boot camp is difficult. I will confirm that it was extremely so. Back then I believe it was more demanding than it is today. Other than a handful of recruits, most of us were just out of high school. The vast majority of those in my platoon had never spent any real time away from their homes or families. Very few had ever traveled anywhere outside of their local communities.

During boot camp drill instructors spent weeks breaking recruits down, mentally, emotionally and physically, in order to instill within them the importance of following orders without question. Many days we were pushed to our limits, and then beyond what we thought we could endure. I was in good physical condition having just finished high school where I participated in multiple sports programs throughout each year. I didn’t drink or smoke. Yet boot camp was still very strenuous for me on all levels. Some in my platoon were not in very good shape physically and as a result many didn’t make the grade. Others were physically strong enough but could not hack it mentally or emotionally. One member of our platoon even tried to kill himself one night by slitting his wrists. He was in my Quonset hut on a bunk next to mine. He was found during a round’s check prior to bleeding out.

During a war situation we had to do our jobs, regardless of the conditions surrounding us. So, the training had to be tough, our lives depended on it. We had to react quickly, ignore the horror around us and do what we were trained to do. I have heard it referred to as suck it up and move on. There was no time during a firefight, or other life-threatening situation when you and your fellow Marines were in danger, to just pause and allow yourself to contemplate, feel, or otherwise become engaged in the terror of the moment. People could die, and you one of them. It is no wonder the training had to be difficult.

After the tough weeks of boot camp were over - Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, California. Infantry training and artillery fire direction control (FDC) school were finished – Camp Pendleton, California. It was late in the year 1967. Little did I know that the next stage of my training would shape and influence my life for the remainder of my term here on earth.

Looking back, it is unbelievable how naive and uninformed I was; probably most of us were back then. And it wasn’t just the fact that we were young, although that certainly was a factor. There were no cell phones, no Internet, and very little TV. So, access to information, especially from around the world, was very limited and dated. It was also much easier for governments, groups and individuals to keep unwanted information from getting to the public, which is hardly the case today.

In early 1968, a couple of months after my basic training concluded, I was standing in line at Camp Pendleton, California being processed for my upcoming tour to Vietnam. The war was in full swing and it seemed the military couldn’t get us across the Pacific and into the theater of war fast enough. That year was arguably the worst year of the war. More than 14,000 service men and women lost their lives in 1968. In many cases training had been shortened and new recruits were being rushed through the system to hurry them overseas. The draft had been initiated and there was heightened military training taking place all over the country. The Marine base at Camp Pendleton was no exception, it was humming with activity. No matter where you looked Marines were busy in preparation for their upcoming tour of war.

There was an anti-war movement going on when I graduated from high school, but this was before the momentum of anti-war sentiment would sweep through the nation, uniting people young and old.

Anyway back to the line, I was waiting my turn to process my orders and even though it may have been rude to eavesdrop on their conversation on this occasion I did and it might have saved my life as a young adult. It certainly set in motion some things that would play out in miraculous ways toward the end of my life. I overheard two guys talking behind me; one was telling the other that when you get to the desk you should ask the sergeant there to send you to language school up in Monterey, California. I think their belief was it would delay your trip to Southeast Asia.

I wasn’t having second thoughts about heading to Vietnam. We all knew when we joined the service we were going there, that was a no-brainer. Still, spending time in a place I had never been was extremely appealing. So, when it came my turn at the desk, I didn’t think it would hurt anything to ask about the school. So, I did.

As I handed my orders to the sergeant, I asked him something along the lines of Is it true that you can send me to language school if I want to go? He, in turn, asked me Do you want to go? I answered Yes, I do. And that was it. Within a couple of days, I was on a bus heading north from Camp Pendleton to DLI (Defense Language Institute) in Monterey, California.

There I spent five days each week, eight hours per day, plus homework, for a total of three months learning the Vietnamese language, before being sent to my new home in Dong Ha, Vietnam. Since this school was a military training facility, it was an intensely concentrated and disciplined course. The instructor was not permitted to speak English in class at all. She was Vietnamese.

It was a difficult language to learn and I will say with all honesty that I didn’t learn it as well as I could have. I wish I had spent more time outside of class studying and less time being social and young. If I had, it is quite possible I could have saved a couple more lives simply by being more fluent with the language. There were a couple of situations while I was deployed in Vietnam where I needed to relay information to Vietnamese civilians during incoming fire, and was unable to do so fast enough or effective enough to make a difference, all because of my language limitations. One of my greatest regrets is that I didn’t apply myself as well as I know I could have in those three months. Still, I was one of the better students, but I suppose in life no matter what we do, we always believe we can do a little bit better.

The late sixties were also the time of the flower children, as they came to be called. It was the era of free love culture spreading throughout the country, and indeed the world. It was a time when the use of drugs became prevalent and openly abused throughout society. I still remember all the VW buses, brightly painted with flowers, camped alongside the roadway between Carmel and Big Sur, California. They were everywhere. The clothes, long hair and music were changing the world forever. San Francisco’s Haight & Ashbury Streets where just up the highway from the school and would become known the world over. This place of demonstration was in the news constantly.

The duty was good in Monterey and I think those of us that were students enjoyed our time there more than expected, I know I did. When we were out of class life was informal and much less military than we were used to. I met some guys that became good friends of mine while we were there. And one, JJ Hess, became a good friend of my family as well. I lost track of them all when we landed in Vietnam and departed for our various units; although I have tried to find JJ a few times over the years I have been unable to do so.

We were