Like most soldiers, Barry had no idea what he was getting into, when he enlisted in the U. S. Army. He knew he wanted to learn how to fly, and knowing he had to be a college grad. before being accepted into the Air Force to be trained how to fly, he took the secondary route to be trained in the Army to learn how to fly helicopters.
When he got to Viet Nam, he learned that he liked the Vietnamese people, and he decided to take the more dangerous and more needed route of flying Medivac helicopters.
He sent me a letter, while I was in the Army in Alaska, not in Nam, because he was already there. He told me to do everything I could not to come to Nam. He went on to tell me that the body bags were put together with mostly body parts, and many times they did not know which body part belonged to which body. In addition, to our soldiers becoming beheaded and dismembered, our soldiers came back to camp with an enemy head or something even more horrible to signify their kill. When I mentioned this to another Nam vet, he just looked at me calmly, and said "that's just war"
I have a photo of Barry after he was over there for awhile, his face was haggard, and he looked fatigued and much older. Finally I noticed he was sitting on the only place he could sit in the packed full helicopter on top of a black body bag. with many more of them scattered outside the chopper.
Warrent Officers, the pilots, were assigned 13 months over in combat, however it was understood that the last month was to be not flown in combat. He piloted his helicopter into a booby trap with only two weeks left. I felt his death, while in the baracks in Alaska. enraged, I started tearing up the barracks, only to be restrained by my fellow soldiers, who were also anti Vietnam war. I only met one soldier who was gung-ho about the war, and he bragged about how much money he made over there.
Three days after I 'felt" Barry's death, a chaplain came to see me to tell me about Barry's death three days previously. I was not surprised. I am tearing up now as I write. Barry was a sweet gregarious young man. He loved to take apart engines and put them back together. He loved to take out the young ladies dancing and partying. He had more friends than anybody I knew. He did not deserve to die that young especially in that type of war - like all the "wars" since WW II! This is why I do not celebrate Memorial Day!
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