S E E D E D C O N T E N T
Other than the images, the casualty counts and enemy KIA (killed in action) counts streamed over network television nightly, I didn’t know much about the Vietnam War until my brother Joey came home from the war. (Tripwire Joe to the Delta Rats 101 st Screaming Eagles – How far ya going? All the Way! RIP Brother.) I try to use his words when telling his part of the story.
His army brothers gave him the name Tripwire Joe. No, he didn’t trip over them. He had an uncanny sense and ability to spot them on the trail or figure out where on the trail ahead was a likely spot for their placement. His brothers loved him because of this but platoon commanders soon figured out his best placement was at the head of the herd. His thick Army issued horned rim glasses only enhanced his spotting reputation. He came home with two Purple Hearts, neither given because of a Tripwire. He said he’s pretty sure he shot the SOB that threw the grenade that got him some shrapnel souvenirs in the back of his legs. Even then, it wasn’t a “million dollar wound,” good for a one-way ticket back to the states. He got patched up and a bit of R&R back in the world, but then, back to the war. He did come out alive. At least a part of him did.
He had trouble adjusting, shall we say, when he walked back into life in the world, which for him meant the Rocky Boy Indian Reservation and the border towns. A few of the habits that made life in the Vietnam War tolerable trailed him home. The one habit was just a generational part of life on the rez, but exacerbated by more intense imbibing over there and the toking that went along with it. Unfortunately, the one that allowed him to avoid sleep and the nightmares that came with it, is probably the one that destroyed the organs and eventually took his life way to early.
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Along the way, after he was back in the world, he eventually got to the point where he knew that there was something better in life for him than constant sickness. He sobered up and got clean with the help of some traditional people and counselors as well as a wife that stood by him through a lot of shit. He married and fathered and raised some beautiful kids and lived humbly in the middle of one of the roughest, drinkingest towns in Montana. He used to joke that Butte was the asshole of the earth and it needed an enema. Eventually, he became a CDC Certified Counselor and worked at the state hospital with addiction patients. The sweat lodge at the center and the one behind his home became a healing point for many. His Butte neighbors just got used to his firing up the rocks and seeing cars in the driveway without some loud party going on, as would have been standard for the area. They probably came to like the sound of the water drum he and buds would tie from time to time and singing they heard from the little lodge in his backyard. I like to think that many may have gotten a start behind that little white house along the road to sobriety. The older men who would come from the rez to his sweat, with names like Aaron, Joe, Baptiste and Ozzy, would stay for supper and visit and exchange stories for hours. Sometimes they would be there for breakfast too. Joe’s Indian education never stopped.
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Joe wouldn’t talk much about the Vietnam War when he was sober, but if he got a little stroked up he might, usually out of the blue, start telling about something he did or saw. He said a lot of his nightmares were not about getting shot or blown up, but rather about the snakes and spiders and other crawly things that happened. For a time, he slept with that .45 Pistol so we were always instantly alert when he’d start thrashing and we’d be hollering “Joe, your home, your home in your own bed” and then he’d say, “aw shit, I’m sorry you guys-nightmare” and go back to sleep or get up to smoke. He talked about getting separated from the platoon during a fire fight and crawling and hiding for a couple days in the bush by himself. I never knew if that one was a nightmare or did happen.
The only time I remember him talking about the Vietnam War much was when he and I went hunting. I had bought an AR-15 with 30 and 70 round clips and 500 rounds of surplus reloads. It had a post scope that was pretty accurate at a couple hundred yards. I invited him to fire off a few rounds, which he did in pretty rapid succession, making a rock roll with each hit. He handed it back to me and said “Jeezus-flashbacks.” He talked about how they had shot up a farmer’s cart just to be assholes and burned what was probably half of his rice crop. He said villagers would sometimes ask “why are you doing this, you are like us.” His dark skin, hair, dark eyes and slim build giving away his indigenous origins. He said that, yeah, he questioned it in his mind, but survival was the primordial instinct that governed every day.
There was one thing I always regretted not doing with my brother Joe and that was taking him on a trip to D.C. to see the wall. In 1992 I had, quite accidentally, attended the 10 th Anniversary of the Vietnam War Memorial , as I was in D.C. on some other matters. It was a rainy day and I had come out of a meeting at the Interior Department and could hear drumming and singing in the distance. It was coming from the Mall area. I had noticed that there were vets walking towards the Mall, some in wheelchairs, some accompanied by women and kids. As soon as we cleared the buildings that obstructed the view of the open areas of the Mall, I saw teepees with men standing around it, many with red berets or green bush hats with Eagle plumes or feathers. It was surreal to see these Indian men and women, some with shawls, standing with an Eagle Staff in front of the memorial.
As I made my way toward the crowd which numbered in the tens of thousands, I found out later, I found myself on the edge of the walkway that leads down into the part of the wall that has the names of those killed in action etched into stone. It looked impossible to get through the crowd. I started inching my way in, thankful for the raincoat I’d thrown on at the hotel (I thought I probably looked like a Fed, except for the pony tail.) as it was raining in a steady mist, not hard, but enough to make it wet and slippery on the grass. I found myself at the memorial of the three soldiers in field gear, with one that has his rifle swung across his shoulders behind his head. One of them looked like an Indian. I stood there looking at that statue for a few minutes and then put some tobacco down at the base (I smoked at the time.) and said a prayer for the vets who were there alive that day, thinking of my brother Joe pretty much the whole time.
As I turned back to the crowd, I heard the drums again and saw the Eagle Staff rise into the air on the far side of the wall and then it moved as if magically on its own over the heads of the crowd starting down into the apex of the wall. I could see that it was held aloft by one of the vets in the red beret and he had an escort of several other red berets as they danced down to along the wall. I made my way down the opposite side until I stood behind a group of war mothers in their shawls, my hair standing up as they did their lulu salute to the veterans coming down the walkway. When the processional escorting the Eagle Staff got to the apex of the wall, the Eagle Staff was planted into the ground and a smudge of sweetgrass, cedar and sage was made and lit. As the vets smudged themselves, many non-Indian vets were invited to come and smudge themselves which many did. Some began to see buddies that they had not seen since the war and they embraced, many with tears. There was not many a dry eye in that circle as the tears mixed with the rain slid down the faces, including mine. I wished upon heaven that my brother Joey could have been there to witness this. I’m sure he would have found some Delta Rats in that crowd. The war mothers also were meeting and hugging the non-Indian vets that came forward. The entire area took on an aura of sacredness that I’m sure many, if not all, could feel. That ground and the names on that memorial were consecrated that day with the presence of those men and women who had been to the jungles, highlands, rivers, deltas, tunnels and villages of Vietnam and many had left their blood and limbs, as well as their mental and physical health behind in service to America. Such is the sacrifice of real patriots. Hie! Hie!
Harold Monteau, is a Chippewa Cree Attorney and Consultant. He can be reached at hamlaw@live.com .
I posted this article some months back, but today seemed like it should be posted again.
To my brothers that came back to the world with me, I salute you...To my brothers that didn't make it home I will mourn for you...
A great story, Kavika. Joe had an amazing life, although, it was filled with all the memories of the living Hell he endured, mentally and physically.
RIP Joe.
Thanks RW, Joe was a hella guy.
Great story again Chief!! My two brothers were in Nam, and ,to this day they never talk about it. Thanks for posting this wonderful piece !!
Thanks Nona, and a salute to your brothers.
Another deep and thought stirring story.
The damage that is done to the human mind/spirit is sometime not repairable dave. It is these warriors that we must do our all for, they are us my friend.
You are right Kavika. You are right.
So very true, Kavika. While they may have managed to return home in good physical condition, many did not return home on good mental condition. We need to understand that their mental wounds are just as serious as any physical wounds, often more so, as a physical wound can be more easily healed than mental and emotional wounds.
Good seed kavika!
I’ve experienced it many times through the eyes of many relatives and friends. From WW-2 through the sandbox. The toughest was an uncle who made it back from a meat grinder named Pelelui. To the day he died he could not look at any person of Asian descent without getting visibly upset. It was tough to watch but understandable considering the hell he survived over there. Really bad juju.
i was lucky. Experienced nothing even close in my time in. My undying gratitude goes out all who had to experience anything like that. My hat is off to all those who went thyrough shit like that. There is no way to ever repay them for it. No way!
This year I get to honor one such friend. I’m his escort for Honor Flight to DC. Air Cav Vietnam Vet who is terminal. Not sure how well i’ll Be able to handle it but I will for him. A good friend who deserved better that he will get. I’m tearing up just thinking about it.
For those of you that are not familiar with the Honor Flights here is a link to that wonderful organization.
I'm sure you'll do fine for your friend. He's depending on you, and you'll come though for him.
Take some photos and post them on NT..I'm sure that many on NT would love to see him in D.C. A salute to your Air Cav friend.
Just tell him, "thanks"... That's all us vets want... We all gave a lot, some gave it all. Just say thanks...
I was too young for Vietnam. RIP Joe. I did serve, and was in Desert Storm, but it was nothing like Vietnam. They were the hero's, they were the real shit. My hat's off to all that served, in all conflicts... Thank you all for your sacrifice, may the winds be always at your back.
So, short story...
I got out of the Marines in 1992, I was "involuntary" extended by three months... Anyway...
I get home, drove to Camp Pendleton to return my gear and check out, etc... Came home and my dad asks me to come over for a BBQ.... Fine...
So I get there and my dad pulls me aside and asks me....
"So, did you kill anyone?"
My answer isn't important, the conversation that ensued is...
"Dad, you were in WWII yes?"
"yes I was,..."
"So, what happened with you?"
"I drove a truck.."
"Where?"
"All over really, but Omaha beach as well.."
"You...were on Omaha Beach???!!!!"
"I was..."
"Dad, that's amazing, how did you survive???!!!!"
"Son, you miss understand..."
"Dad, you were on Omaha beach, how the fuck can I miss understand, that's amazing!!!!!!! You are so brave!!!"
"Son, calm down..."
"HuH????!!!!" But dad, I have seen the video's, it had to be hell!!!!"
"Oh, it was, it really was, I lost a lot of friends there...."
"Then I don't get why you are downplaying your roll in the D-Day invasion..."
"Son, do you remember when I told you I drove a truck?"
"Well, yea..."
"I drove a TOW truck....I was on Omaha beach D-Day +1, helping pick up the dead, and towing trucks off the beach...."
I hugged m dad.... Understanding that it takes all of us, to accomplish the mission.... Cooks, tow truck drivers, admins....it takes all of them to win a war.... I am proud of my dad and at 97 years old, he is my hero....
A very great and moving story Mr Frost. Thank you so much for sharing it with us. It does indeed take all kinds to win a war, some, like your Dad, that may never get mentioned, but, the part they played was also very important, the unsung heroes.
Thanks Raven... He is a good guy, I love him and while he wasn't, "that guy", that won the war...he was there, and he didn't run away.... His brother was a pilot in the, "famous" Black sheep squadron.....but that's another story..:)
There is no such thing as 'the guy who won the war', as no one person can win a war by themselves. It takes a 'team', and no matter what part one played on that team, it was an important part to winning the war.
And I would be proud to serve along side anyone who was willing to fight for this country and its people, no matter what uniform they wore, or the political party they chose, or their religious preference. It is only the end results that matters.
True, my brother says whenever he asked dad what he did when he was in Europe he shrugged and, said, "I did my part".
And that is all that's necessary. It takes everyone on the 'team' to do their part to achieve a victory. No one member of the team is more, nor less, important than any other. And your Father is a winner. (smile)
Ok, so, pretty sure I will get flagged, or beat up for this but.....
My wife is telling me to post my picture... She is a retired Army nurse, (and Marines....well, we love banging Army nurses...)... Anyway... She is insisting I post my graduation picture.... So....here it is... This is my boot camp picture, 10/23/1987.
I wouldn't wanna fuck with that guy!
Lenny, calm down Brother... LOL
Great photo Mr. Frost.
Thanks, but it's just me....long time ago. Today is about those that we lost, not me.
Semper Fi Marine!
Now that's true Marine!
This young Marine is ''Bright Star'' and is my son. The photo was taken by the AP in Beirut 1983. A short time later the suicide bomber hit the Marine barracks. He survived but is 100% disabled.
Semper Fi.
I lost some brothers I served with there kavika. Glad your son was not one of them.
Semper Fi all day long brother!
A fine young man Kavika hope he's home for good now and, safe.
Yes he is and lives only two miles from us. Life is rough when your 100% disabled but he keeps on keeping on.
I'm damn proud of him.
Semper Fi brother.
Oorah!
Reading this story it made me think of my father. Marvin J. Ross, he served in WWII in the 82nd Airborne, I know for sure he fought in Anzio, landed at Normandy and, fought his way to Northern Germany by the end of the war. It was hard to get him to talk about that time in his life, you had to get him really drunk to do it, I achieved that twice in my life and, after the second time I wish I hadn't, that is when he broke out his foot locker he kept all of his Army memories in. I remember seeing one Bronze Star, a Purple Heart with two smaller versions, glider wings, paratrooper wings, a European Combat Ribbon with four jump stars on it, a green canvas satchel with pictures and, a camera in it, his class A uniform with all the brass polished and, a jeweled scabbard with a dagger in it that had a gold handle. The dagger he said came from an Arab tribe in North Africa, one of the purple hearts was from that time and, another was from Anzio, he rode a glider into Normandy and, then fought the rest of the way from there, the last purple heart came at a bridge he and, the 82nd had to take and, hold, that is also were he got the Bronze Star. The pictures were of his buddy's in the 82nd, some of whom never made it past Normandy, the rest were of prisoners he saw when they entered Germany and, the camps they found, (need I say more about that?). Anyway, my mom said he was a different man when he returned from the war, she divorced him when I was a toddler, 1959 was the year of the divorce, I was three then.
An old Airborne saying....How far ya going, all the way, Airborne.
A salute to your dad.
Thank you Kav, he walk on over in 2012.
Kavika, my birthday is today and, my brother posted a picture of my dad in uniform, the only one I have of him, in uniform.
What a great photo Galen...You sure can be proud of your dad.
A salute to a 82nd Trooper. If your not aware of it the 82nd with the double AA in their shoulder patch stands for ''All Americans''...
A Happy Birthday to you my friend.
Thanx Kavika, one question though, does my dad remind you of Humphrey bogart? I always thought he did.
Today, June 6th was the date of the invasion of Normany...kind of a interesting fact that it's your birthday and the invasion of Normandy which your dad took part in.
When I was looking at this photo I thought that he looked kind of familiar. Yup, it could be he looks a bit like Bogart.
Happiest of birthdays! May you enjoy many, many more in peace and good health.
I always think about that, especially when it comes to my dad, what must it have been like to celebrate my birthday and, remember that day in Normandy at the same time.
Thanx Ark, it's been a good day. It's hard for me to believe I made it to 62.
Yep , It's his mouth.
and Happy B day !
Thanx Steve, it's been a good day today.
Good everyone should be so fortunate as to have an enjoyable birthday. Personally I have one rule on my birthdays. That rule is If I find myself doing something I really dont want to do, I stop and find something I do want to do. Unfortunately that's not always 100% possible, but I get as close as I can one day a year. my birthday. I recommend doing that to everyone who has them.
main rule in our house on birthdays is the birthday person does nothing and, is served hand and foot all day, luckily my daughter is staying with me now so, she did everything today.
Happy Birthday.
I'm sorry about your family splitting up after your father returned. I can only imagine what he's seen and told you about. There is no way to "unsee" any of that. All you can do is to be there and help if/ when he wants to vent and get it out.
I recently retired from the 82nd. When I retired I had 82 jumps. But will FOREVER salute the Paratroopers like your father. They made the jumps that mattered and set the stage for what units like the 82nd have become. He will always have my respect. As will your family for what you have sacrificed.
If you ever want to replace the medals I'd recommend contacting the 82nd Airborne Association. ( ). They have chapters all over the country that may be able to help look into his records and let you know what awards and maybe where you can get them. In addition, they may be able to get your father in contact with others he fought with. As I'm sure you are aware, they have a bond that cannot be erased.
Yes, we were able to get in contact with them and, they have all of dad's old records and, medals, he was even featured in the VFW paper once. My dad passed away in 2012, he had wanted to make one last trip to Normandy but, his health was failing him.
By the way thanx for the birthday wish, I didn't mean to ignore that part of your comment, I thought the part about my dad took priority.
I'm sorry for your loss. I'm glad you were able to get his records. He made history. That is something to brag about.
Both were important. Important to recognize you as well as your father. It's not easy opening up about something like that, especially the way you said it went down. Hope you had a good birthday.
Thanx again Jeremy.
Great seed Kavika.
So many lives given to war.. and as the years go by, people just forget, except those whose lives these people impacted on.
I keep one WWI solider close to my heart.
Alphose DeNatalie.
He was 17 when he died.
I never knew him.
He was not my family until I found his war memorials in a thrift store. Then we adopted him since...
He was Thrown away by his actual family.
He hangs on my wall.. two memorials, one from President Wilson and the other from the President of France.
So now we remember him.
Truly a very sad story that has a happy ending because of the goodness of your heart and that of your family, to let him live on in Spirit and know that he is still remembered, and his life was not given away only to be thrown away by those who should be the ones to forever hold him close.
Thank you for giving him a 'forever home', where his will always be remembered.
And now he has a home...Beautiful sister.
Very classy Perrie, very!
I don't know if they are still providing them, but, my Father was a WWII disabled Veteran, and when he walked on he was eligible for a Letter of Honor from the President, who was Barack Obama at the time.
Every Veteran that walks on is eligible for this letter. All that is needed is that you send a copy of deceased persons discharge papers and their death certificate and they will send a Letter of Honor for them. I have one for both my Father and my Brother, who fought two tours of duty in Vietnam during that war, and was also a disabled Veteran. The Letter of Honor looked like the one below. However, as I said, I am not sure if they are still providing them with the new President.
So for those who have Veterans in your family that have walked on, you can contact the Veterans Administration, or the local VA office and ask them if they are still available.
I appreciate the gesture here, I really do but, I know my dad well enough to say he was one of the last true Republicans, to him the last good Republican president was George H. W. Bush, if he knew that he had received a Letter of Honor from someone like Trump he would meld his ashes back together and, walk to Washington to throw the letter in Trumps face and, tell him were in the hell to go. It's just the way he was.
I fully understand. My Father was not Republican when walked on, but, he had been for most of his life. However, he would have a reaction as you described your Father would have reacted. But, wait a year or so and then get a letter from a new President that your Father can be proud of. Hopefully, one who never had bone spurs.
Happiest of Birthdays to you Galen. I hope that your Birthday wish will come true.
I'll know when Mueller finish's his probe.
And that your wife won't find out about it!
Happy Birthday buddy.
If Gloria was still with me, she would be my wish and, she is anyway, I really wish she was still with me.
Ok guys, I appreciate the wishes but, this is Kavika's seed about Tripwire Joe and, other vets, lets put it back on track now. Thanx.
Oops!
No worries Galen....The story of your dad was an inspiration to some of us old Troopers...
Plus your birthday is always good for a dozen or so comments...
Just give a nod or salute to Tripwire Joe, there many from Vietnam that came back in a bad way...They deserve to be honored as well.
As a side note, my cousin was KIA at Bastogne with the 101st Airborne during the Battle of the Bulge.