Skyhook: My Vietnam Experience

By R. Carel Byrd

The book is based on his experiences during his tours. Written to give a different view of the war bottom up as opposed to top down and maybe give some insight to the little things that make war unpleasant. The lack of sleep and dreams made this book important to him. His desires are for readers to have the opportunity to read his story from his own views and beliefs and develop their own opinions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664192911

R. Carel Byrd

R. Carel Byrd retired from IBM in 2005 lives in the Calavares County. He has done things backwards since graduating from Pioneer High School in San Jose he did two tours in Vietnam during his three years in the Army. He graduated in San Jose State University in 2010 with Bachelor of Arts in Communication and Minor in Literature. Married with five children and eight grand-children his continues to evolve. He worked as a machinist, development technician, manager, engineering technician, coached soccer for sixteen years, tutored for two, and spends a lot of days taking care of five acres. The last six years, in his spare time, were spent researching information about his tours of Vietnam.

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Copyright © 2021 by R. Carel Byrd.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/30/2021

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Therapeutic Book Writing: The Dreams Are Coming Back

Chapter 2: What I Learn Does Not Always Translate into Understanding

Chapter 3: The Army

Chapter 4: AIT at Fort Dix

Chapter 5: Vietnam, the Trip

Chapter 6: Off the Ship and On the Ground

Chapter 7: A Day on Highways 14 and 19

Chapter 8: Crap and B-52s

Chapter 9: Gun Trucks

Chapter 10: Dak To, November 1967

Chapter 11: Sky Hook

Chapter 12: The Passes

Chapter 13: The Night of No Sleep

Chapter 14: The Guard Tower

Chapter 15: The Convoy, Acey Deucey, and the Move to Quin Nhon

Chapter 16: Home in 1968

Chapter 17: Transfer Back to Vietnam

Chapter 18: Family in Dak To

Chapter 19: Gun Truck White Lightning

Chapter 20: Convoy Attack at Ben Het, June 24, 1969

Chapter 21: Enlisted Men’s and NCO Club

Chapter 22: Ambush on August 23, 1969

Chapter 23: Miscellaneous Things That Happened

Chapter 24: September 1969

Chapter 25: Home

Chapter 26: My Mind, My Body

CHAPTER 1

Therapeutic Book Writing: The

Dreams Are Coming Back

Why the lack of sleep, only I worry

Meeting those that think they understand

Life, with a lot of sorry

Having to remind myself of our stand

S leep is something most people take for granted. Many people sleep eight hours without any problem. For the last fifty years I have not taken sleep for granted, nor have I slept more than three to four hours each night. I got up tired, I went to work tired, and I went back to bed tired. I didn’t complain because my sleep problem was something that I felt only I could deal with.

After retiring in December 2004, my wife Diana and I moved to five acres in Calaveras County to get away from the noise and congestion of city life. I figured the quiet and lack of work pressure would get me some additional sleep.

My sleep did not improve. In fact, at times my sleep was worse. Some nights I got only a couple of hours of sleep. Trying to figure out why I had sleep issues, I started going to the Department of Veterans Affairs. I suspected why I had trouble sleeping, but I needed someone else to say it for me. PTSD was a stigma I did not want to be labeled with, and I stayed away from the VA as long as I could before finally seeking help.

The VA confirmed what I already knew about my sleep. I was hypersensitive to sounds and movement. My mind was constantly in motion, thinking of things I had to do in the future, something from the past, or what I saw on the news. Anything about Iraq was bothersome, not because we were at war, but because of the circumstances in which we entered the war. Because I had served in a war based on lies and speculation, I have a tendency to be sensitive to current lies and speculations. Every time the network news mentions causalities in Iraq, I get a little apprehensive and tend to lose sleep. Although it was Vietnam that developed my hypersensitivity, it was Iraq that set things off again.

I understand that each generation will have wars, but it was the circumstances of our involvement that tweaked me as a veteran. Before the United States went into Iraq, I had conversations about the possibility of going to war. My side of the conversation was focused on the news and lack of factual information. A friend told me we needed to get rid of the Iraq leader; he was bad. I said I didn’t think any American should die to dispose of another country’s leader; it should be handled by the people of that country.

What bothered me the most was that my friend had seen the same news and the speculation about weapons of mass destruction that I had, but we evaluated the same news differently. He bought into the bullshit that the news was feeding him: trailers with possible chemicals for weapons, a warehouse storing chemicals. Watching the same thing, I saw no weapons of mass destruction and only speculations being presented to the public. So what makes a person rationalize justification based on something that is purely speculation with no concrete evidence? I can’t answer that.

My desire to be heard came from those past experiences. I have lived well beyond the influence of the news and speculation. I now watch the news only occasionally, and those past experiences will never leave me.

The effects of my Vietnam experience are isolation and difficulty in making friends. It’s hard for others to understand what war veterans go through during combat. When veterans come home, are they welcomed or asked questions they don’t want to answer? Are they treated as a hero or loser for going to war?

How they’re treated is very important to veterans when they come home. When I got home, I had no one to discuss my thoughts or experience with. Being unable to discuss my experience led to problems that I didn’t have the ability to comprehend or know how to handle. The result was my living isolated in my own country, with others around me having no knowledge of why I got mad or pouted when I watched TV or listened to the news.

Describing why I am the way I am will take some time and some understanding from those reading this. My story is not unusual or different from that of many other war veterans. However, the circumstances of war, the homecoming welcome, the family’s reaction to veterans, the community’s expectation of them, and the details of their stories are going to be different. Coming home to others’ expectations left many of us isolated and delusional. How can others judge us without experiencing what we had been through? is a question that will always puzzle veterans. Although this is my story only, those who read it may be able to relate it to other veterans they have known.

My story does not begin in Vietnam; rather, it begins in San Jose in 1965 and will continue through my high school graduation, my circumstances leading up to Vietnam, then Vietnam, and finally home. My story will be written to move only one person, me. Maybe others as well as my family and friends will find it interesting. The experiences of any veteran are unique to the individual.

During my lifetime I have had many labels: squad leader, truck driver, gunner, manager, coach, team leader, husband, father, and grandfather. But the only one that seems to stick is Vietnam veteran, and all that comes with it. Each of the other labels are colored by the time and pleasure of the accomplishments involved. Vietnam veteran comes with a stigma in the eyes of veterans of other wars and the public. Veterans of World War 1 and 2 received a gracious homecoming. The Korean War veterans could boast about doing a good job of stopping North Korea and communism. We Vietnam veterans were labeled as baby killers, assassins, losers, or worse, but never as proud veterans.

When I got home I was proud to be a veteran, but that changed shortly because of the way Vietnam veterans were perceived and treated. For example, the veterans who complained of health problems or mental issues were given the label of troublemakers or fakers.

Forty years after the war, in 2008, I was going to join the local Veterans of Foreign Wars. While I was waiting for my paperwork, two Korean War veterans who were there drinking started asking me questions. I answered them, but then they started to put down Vietnam veterans. I walked out and have never been back.

I took enough abuse going to college and trying to make sense of everything that I had been through. Those two jerks may have been through a lot, but I know what I have been through too. Respect from other veterans should come automatically. I should not have to explain things to other veterans; they already know what happens in war.

CHAPTER 2

What I Learn Does Not Always

Translate into Understanding

Mom gave the roll call

All eight because of the bond

Only seven would heed Mom’s call

Las Vegas, they were bound

A s children we can’t predict how things will turn out for us. Most parents work and hope for something better for their kids. But the reality is different for many because of their environment. Both of my parents had only an eighth grade education and limited funds for higher education. Though they encouraged me, my parents did not have the tools or the means to help educate me or get me to the next level beyond high school.

School was a constant struggle for each of my brothers and sisters. Out of eight siblings, only three of us graduated from high school and achieved higher education. I never blamed my parents. But this lack of parental help puts children like my siblings and me at a disadvantage. Getting the training, education, knowledge, and solid background to understand what is happening in the world around them is what it takes to be successful. It would have been much easier to succeed at school and future jobs if my parents had had the means to help me.

image1.jpg

Mom and the eight children, 1965.

Each of us has to make hundreds of decisions each day. We try to make decisions that will have the best benefit for us tomorrow; at least this is the way I view my decisions. But when you don’t have the necessary background, those decisions are made by others, often in haste and with no regard for you. Frequently those decisions are made by people who couldn’t care less and have no qualms about sending a young man or woman into harm’s way, such as a failing endeavor like Vietnam.

My parents divorced in 1955. My mom remarried later the same year. In 1959 my mother and stepfather bought a four-bedroom, two-bath home in San Jose’s Cambrian Park subdivision, which was not yet fully developed. When we moved in there were no trees or landscaping. So we started with a blank slate. We were in a much safer and a better community than we had been in Belle Haven, where we lived previously. In Cambrian Park we walked through prune orchards to the store. Most days we walked to school and played outside. Life for me was great, with the only worry being getting through school.

I loved my teenage years. I had gotten my license when I was sixteen and I could go almost anywhere I wanted on a dollar. I liked being in the background; I was not one that craved attention. School was interesting, not because of what I was learning, but because of the friends and the sports that became a big part of my environment. I spent a lot of time playing basketball and baseball. Occasionally a girl would be interested in me, but I never really was a guy that dated. I would only go out with girls who indicated that they wanted me to go out with them.

Sports continues to this day to be very important in my life. For some reason I assumed that these things would be important later in life without thinking of income or a career or, as it turned out, my health. I now have bad knees from the constant pounding from playing sports.

Anything that dealt with authority would be pushed aside or tolerated long enough to pass, and life would go on. Very few of my friends in high school ever talked about Vietnam. If they did, I obviously did not pay attention. There was one history teacher during my junior year, Mr. Womack, who told us, the guys sitting in his class, that we should be paying attention to Vietnam because it would eventually have an impact on our lives. I cannot think of anyone who came out of that class with a picture of what Womack