| GROWING UP IN TURMOIL |
| A young man of seventeen must grow up quickly in troubled times. I was one, among many, of America's youth who were struggling to grow up and learn fast. When a young man of seventeen joins the United States Marine Corps, a new life will be learned and long remembered. In a land far off, young men and women were seeing the horrors of war. What no one knew was that it would haunt him/her for the rest of his/her life. We would not be welcomed back home with ticker tape parades, bands and a cheering crowd. We returned to a home of hate and anger. We faced friends and strangers who would destroy our inner selves. There was no glory. Our own countrymen would destroy us. Facing someone in combat is one thing, but to serve your country and return home to find the home changed is another. You are not welcomed back like those before you. Their homecoming and the one you thought of are not the same. Even other veterans turn their backs on you and say, "you lost the war". I was like so many other teenagers. When I became seventeen I joined the United States Marine corps. It was my first trip away. Like those around me I was lonely and scared. Then a man with a hat came into my life - my drill instructor - better known as "The Hat". He was my instructor for thirteen weeks. He would leave an impression on me which is still with me. I could not turn to my mother. The "Hat" molded me into a man. After I left him, I was in a world I had never known. I had seen movies and television shows, but this experience was not like the movies. I found myself on a ship going overseas to a land I did not know. It was so totally different from my homeland. Again, I would not have my mother for comfort and guidance. I was completely on my own. Now completely in the United States Marine Corps. I met people from all over the United States. One day I was told I would join another company. We were to go on a ship. We were informed we were going on a ninety day operation. After we were out to sea for two days, we were told where we were going. It was to a country that I could not imagine. This place was called Vietnam. In February 1965 we landed in Vietnam. We had a mission to do in ninety days. Then came the news we would be there longer. Our original mission would change. We would no longer be just making bunkers, roads and drainage ditches. In July 1965 I became sick and was returned to the States. I spent three months in the hospital at Great Lakes, Illinois. In December 1965 I reported to F Co 2nd Bn 2nd Marines. From December 1965 to June 1966 it was all basic routine. We then went to Cuba for guard duty and I had my first experience with being truly scared. On a rainy night, while on patrol, we came upon a group of Cubans. A firefight broke out and this lasted about fifteen minutes. In September 1966 we left Cuba. When I left Cuba, I had orders sending me back to Vietnam. I volunteered for these orders because I was going to let it be known I had a brother in Vietnam and I wanted to help him get out early. He was my older brother and I felt he should be back home. While on the ship, my orders were changed. I would stay in Okinawa at the 3rd FSR. I stayed there until my brother had served his time. Well, so much for my hopes of relieving him early. In May 1967 I was given orders to return to Vietnam. I was assigned to F Co 2nd Bn 3rd Marines. They were on Special Landing Force duty. My company was assigned to helicopters. They would be used to carry us into the bush. I thought this wouldn't be bad duty. Well, I thought wrong. We spent most of our time in the jungle. If we spent five days on ship we were lucky. It was nothing to spend two or three weeks in the bush. In Cuba, we came back to our barracks the next morning. But in Nam, we never knew where we would stop or for how long. Sometimes we would spend one day in one place, other times it would be longer. We never knew when we would come upon the Viet Cong or the North Army. On July 1, 1967, we were told to pack up because we were going to be a back up for another Marine unit. On July 3 we boarded the helicopters. When we came in sight of the landing zone, I thought it looked familiar. We had been there two weeks earlier searching for the Viet Cong. We finally arrived to set up our position and stay there as a support. On July 8, 1967, our company had two squad patrols out to see if the cong was still around because the night before we had been mortared. On squad was pinned down. Then a platoon and the other squad was sent to help. Later my platoon was also sent out to help. When we arrived, the squad was in an ambush. Before I realized it I was being fired upon. The group I saw was not Viet Cong. We were fighting a North Army Regular Unit. This was nothing like Cuba. The fighting became intense. It was more than rifle fire. They were shooting all types of weapons. I huddled next to a log. I fired a couple of rounds, then my rifle jammed. As I was clearing my rifle, I suddenly felt the most unusual sensation, a warm feeling. My right arm came across my chest to my left shoulder. I looked down and saw blood. That is when I truly knew fear. It was not like the scare in Cuba. This time I was wounded and I did not know the extent of my wound. I began to lose control. Then I recalled the man with the "HAT". He once said, "always keep your mind and never let fear control it". I searched for ways to do this. Then I remembered a bunch of us were going home together after our tour of duty. We had planned to party from California back to our homes in the East. I started to get mad because my party might not take place if I was sent out early. I crawled to a group of fellow Marines who covered me by firing over my head. Then a Navy corpsman dressed my wound. I was with a group of other wounded. We had to go to another location for rescue by helicopter. Those who were able helped the ones who needed assistance. Some walked, some were carried. Approximately halfway to the LZ, mortars began to be dropped on us. Someone with quick thinking guided us to a creek. The plan was to use the foliage as cover. We managed to get to our pick up point. We then met with a small group from our company. They had been sent out to set up the LZ. With our first aid instructions and the help of others our wounds were rechecked. Then came a most welcomed sound, the helicopters. We were finally taken back to our ship which had a small hospital on board. I was made aware of the extent of my wound and was told I was going home. Some may ask why I write my story. It hurts to do this, but it is something I have wanted and needed to do. After so many years, I find myself still fighting the war. My physical wound to my shoulder has healed, but my mental wound still remains. By putting this story on paper, it helps me cope with my depression and hopefully enable me to deal with life one day at a time. This has allowed me to say what I have needed to say for a long, long time. This story was written while I was in the VA Hospital for PTSD, May 1983 SCOTT E. DODSON L/CPL USMC F2/2 F2/3 |