Revisiting Locations of my Father's Military Service | Que Son Mountains, Vietnam

1969

2009

My father enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps in 1969. He served as an infantry rifleman during the Vietnam war—in an area southwest of Danang, which is about 15-20km from the town of Hoi An, where we were staying during this trip to Vietnam. He was able to line up a tour guide who specializes in taking Vietnam Veterans to the areas they served.

My father fought in the Que Son Valley and Que Son Mountain area and we were able to visit most of the spots he was located during his tour of duty. This first photo is of my dad when he was 19 years old in 'Happy Valley' (which is what the Marines called it back then). He had redder hair, black plastic-framed glasses and a rifle in his hand—instead of the camera pictured in the second photo, which was taken in the same location in 2009.

Overall, during our visit, I think he was pretty surprised at the amount of development Vietnam has seen since he was there. But then again it has been almost 40 years. Actually, as mentioned in some earlier posts, and after having lived in Cambodia for a year, Will and I were surprised at how much cleaner and more modern and organized the country felt as soon as we crossed the border, which was interesting for us to witness.

Anyhow, my dad was amazed at how many new roads, buildings and signs of modern technology that exist now, even in the most rural areas…where there wasn’t anything but a small, dirt, footpath only 40 years before. I mean, it seemed as though every other house had digital satellite TV dishes, and as I mentioned before, we rarely spotted a thatched house with a grass roof. (Let me explain that kitty-corner from the house we’re living in now, exists a row several thatched, grass-roof homes.)

I think he was satisfied with the tour and felt good about having the opportunity to revisit some of these areas. Only he knows what happened then and there at that time, and I know he was able to reflect and pay respects in the way that was most appropriate for him.

As we stopped at each location, he knew the exact names of each hill and mountain top, whether named by their elevation on the map—or sometimes for a person who died there. Other areas were given informal names such as Happy Valley, Antenna Valley, Que Son Valley, Pagoda Valley, LZ Baldy, LZ Ross, LZ Ryder. He pointed out the areas where members of his squad, his friends, were injured or shot and killed. He showed us the areas where there were larger battles. He told us the exact dates of them. He pointed out the place that they carried him to a river to cool his fever prior to getting med-evac’d, the first time he got malaria. (He had it twice). And the area in Antenna Valley that got so flooded during the monsoon rains that no helicopter was able to bring in food—leaving them without any for three days.

Even the tour guide commented on his memory of the names of locations. My dad has always been one for history and seems to have an encyclopedic memory for things of importance or interest to him. Sometimes it amazes me, the facts that he is able to rattle off on one topic or another, whether it be baseball or the history of Constantinople. He's typically been pretty open to talking about the war and his experience. He gave presentations in my high school history classes whenever we got to that chapter in history. I guess don’t know what other soldiers’ experiences were in comparison to his—I’m sure a lot varied depending on their job and I’m sure many of them were rather horrific. But I do know, that at the time he decided to join, he did it because he strongly believed in stopping the spread of communism—and didn’t think it was fair for him to be sitting in a college classroom at 19, and avoiding the draft, when people were dying for a cause that he believed in. So. That’s why he went.

He reflects that later on, after he returned home and was in college, that his perspective changed on whether or not the U.S. should have been fighting there.

Regardless, he was always proud of his military service.

. . .

For me, it was just really interesting to see all of these locations in person, in true, live daylight, and color. All I’ve ever known for imagery of his story—are from his two rolls of film with photographs that have the tinted 1970s colored photograph look. The 'vintaged' Instagram filters of today.

—But there we were, in broad daylight in this absolutely stunning mountain valley soaking it all in. It truly was gorgeous. Some of the areas we were in were sooo picturesque. Dark blue and purple mountains jutting up out of nowhere, from the land down below that was a mix of many hues of bright green. The small farms and the way the plots of land were laid out, in small diagonal shapes with small hills scattered here and there. The topography made for an amazing contrast of colors, and textures of gardens and plants, your eyes didn’t know where to look first. It was so quaint. Like out of a storybook.

There we were soaking all of this beauty in, and I remember thinking to myself I cannot even fathom what it was like when he was here before. I can’t imagine walking through this place, carrying a pack with a few hand grenades and claymore mines in it, c-rations and canteens, wearing the only clothes you have, and an M16 in your hands—moving ever so cautiously and quietly, from this location to that location. Climbing up and down these hills and mountains and valleys, always … and I mean always having a constant fear in the back of your head. Every moment of every day. And not to mention, being only 19. I could not even begin to imagine what it must have been like…as I stood in this remarkably beautiful, and peaceful place.

My dad did say, “I remembered thinking that this place would be really pretty—if I hadn't been so scared all the time.” And well, it truly was. It’s sort of odd thinking, that Will, my mother, and I were in awe of the sheer beauty of this place—in the way that any tourist would gawk at any amazing site. But I'm sure my father was embracing it in a very different way, …with many layers of complexity. One in which I cannot begin to understand.

After a while, we went down to a very small village and a family came out of their house. Our tour guide explained to them that my father was a vet from the war. A man, maybe in his late 50s or early 60s, approached and showed us this dog tag he found using a metal detector. The man only had one leg, spoke no English…and through actions and miming told us that he had lost his leg from a landmine or booby trap. The dog tag was from a Marine, one who served prior to my father’s service. My father mentioned, if this person is alive, he probably would like to have that dog tag back. But we didn’t feel it would be appropriate to ask to take this token away from that man, so we took a picture and called it good. Later when we got back to our hotel, my dad checked a Vietnam Veteran site online and learned that the person whose dog tag belonged to, did not die in the war. So it was either lost or purposely left there.

After that particular spot, our guide took us to this new restaurant in the mountains near the top of LZ Ryder (Landing Zone Ryder) as my dad knew it in '69-70. Today, it is a nice place. The restaurant had open-air seating built in a multi-level fashion, into the side of the hill, with tables on different levels of platforms and decks. Kind of a neat location. We had some soda pops, roasted chicken, rice porridge and to finish, some fresh watermelon for dessert. I suppose 40 years ago, a restaurant like this would’ve been hard to imagine while you’re crouched on the side of a hill, trying to catch some sleep in the middle of the monsoon season, as you shiver with rain pelting you in the head at 4 o’clock in the morning. Nonetheless, it was a good lunch, with a great view.

My dad, front row, and center.

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We made a few more stops before we called it a day. ….

Caught this of him, taking a pause, and looking over the horizon. 

I know that I can’t sum up a visit like this in maybe the most appropriate way. Especially since the reason for this part of the visit was because of a time and era that happened long before I was born; and I shouldn’t even try to pretend to capture what it was. I guess what I do want to say is that I hope my father was able to get what he was hoping for out of returning here. And I hope that he was able to take away some sort of contentedness seeing that it is now a peaceful, beautiful place and that in this day and time Vietnam has a functioning, and in some places very modern, society. Certainly more so than in some other parts of the world.