A time to pause and reflect

Monday, May 25, 2009

By Sarah Thompson
Staff Writer

PART 2 OF 2 PARTS

I’ve never experienced combat.

For me, Memorial Day is a time for gathering with and remembering the people you love.

I marched in parades as a high school band student. My grandfathers served in the military and my husband is a veteran; however, I have not experienced the hardship of battle.

After interviewing three Madison County veterans - I’m thankful I’ve never made those sacrifices.

The Vietnam War

Eugene Reed, 63, spent 1967-69 running through the jungle during the Vietnam War. He received his draft card at 19.

“You get a letter saying, ‘Your friends and neighbors have selected you for two years of military service,’” he said. “I just got out of high school in 1966, drafted in 1967.”

The London native said he was “pumped up and ready to go.” At least, until he arrived in Vietnam.

“I arrived Nov. 13, 1967. We were flying in and that night, the Viet Cong were mortaring the runway. We had to fly around an extra couple hours until they could fix the holes,” he chuckled. “That same night, Big Red 1 was massacred on the hill. I told my buddy, ‘I’m glad I’m not going to Bloody Red 1. Ten days later, guess where I was!”

Reed was a member of the 1st Infantry Division. He trained in Ft. Jackson, S.C. and served as a Long Range Reconnaissance Control (LRRP).

“We worked in teams of no more than five; usually teams of two. We moved with the Viet Cong,” he explained. “We reported salute — size, activities, location, unit, time and equipment. We moved with them in the night and called in the information. We’d get their maneuvers. If you didn’t report in at (6 p.m.), they considered you missing until they got that radio report.”

As he described his experiences to me, I observed Reed’s mannerisms. His hand would tremble slightly when he mentioned a particularly uncomfortable subject. His eyes would brim with tears, and yet, he continued in detail.

“I did’t used to be able to talk about it,” he said.

Reed said the conventional wisdom was if a soldier survived through the first 30 days of combat, “you’d be OK.” Most men didn’t make it through the first 10 if they were brand new. He said if a soldier survived with three months left in his time of service, they would likely make it home.

“A lot of people got killed with only two or three days left,” Reed said.

His description of the war reminded me of the board game Clue. He wasn’t sure who he could trust — including women and children.

“You’d have a little kid come up and throw up a hand grenade. That made him a hero to kill two or three GIs. You learned not to trust anyone that approached you when you were in a group,” he said. “We had people walk up on us with grenades or kill you when they shine your shoe.”

Reed also spent time as a prisoner of war. His account was frightening and captivating.

“I was a prisoner of war for thee months,” he said softly. “I was 20 and we went into Cambodia. We were up in a tree. We’d followed Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Regulars, gathering information.

“All the sudden, I felt something cold in my ear. It was a P-10 pistol. Now, I speak fluently North and South Vietnamese. He told me, ‘You can either killroy (surrender) or I’ll blow your brains out.’”

Reed pantomimed raising his hands in the air, laughing.

“I said, ‘Yes, sir.’” he said. “We were on an ounce of rice a day. We had to drink nasty water. They had 13 guards on us and they was moving us north. Every night we’d go in and they’d tie us to a tree. They sat around the camp fire and take their AKs and click them at you. You didn’t know if it was going to be a real thing or not.

“The night we escaped, I heard them talking. They were going to kill us,” he said.

Reed devised a plan. When the guards released him to relieve himself, Reed waited until the guard turned his back. Then, he sprang into action.

“I grabbed him and broke his neck; grabbed his AK-47 and killed the rest of them. One of them got away,” Reed said. “We were on the run for 10 days through the jungle without our boots.”

When they made their way to the Marine stronghold in Pleiku, Vietnam, Reed and his friend were nearly killed by their fellow Americans. There was some confusion because the two men were not wearing dog tags.

“I had a top secret clearance for 14 years. I was not allowed to wear dog tags because if I got caught, I wasn’t there,” he said.

Reed said he didn’t really care because “I was happy to make it home;” however, he came home amidst riots and protests calling for the war to end.

“When I came home, things wasn’t good,” he said sorrowfully. “The people treated you like the devil. I was having bad dreams of some of the things I’d seen and some of the things I did or had to do.”

Reed’s efforts earned him three Purple Hearts, a Silver Star, a Bronze Star with Valor Medal, an Army Commendation Medal with Valor, a National Defense Medal, a Vietnamese Service Medal and a Vietnamese Campaign Medal. He was a Master Sergeant when he retired from the military in 1984.

Thank you

Lindsey, Davis and Reed are truly American heroes.

They served their country — putting their lives on the line — so that I can write in a free press, worship my religion of choice and speak my mind. My way of life exists due to the sacrifices they, and other military personnel, have made.

Hopefully, I will never know the horrors of battle.

Lindsey said, “I never dreamed we’d have as many wars.”

We live in a world where power often corrupts and people are too often oppressed. The sacrifices of people like Lindsey, Davis and Reed allow us to celebrate Memorial Day freely.

And for that, I thank you, veterans of Madison County.

Sarah Thompson can be reached at (740) 852-1616, ext. 14 or by e-mail at news4@madison-press.com.

Harold “Gene” Lindsey, Icle Davis and Eugene Reed left their homes and served their country valiantly during three very different wars. Each man put his life on the line so you and I can enjoy the freedoms we cherish.

These are their stories; I’m merely the reporter who gets to share them with you.

World War II

Gene Lindsey, 87, lives just outside Mt. Sterling. He’s a kind, well-loved man with a thin frame and twinkling eyes. You’d never guess he was a prisoner of war.

Lindsey joined the United States Army-Air Force on Nov. 14, 1942.

“I tried to join the Air Force; I wanted to be a pilot,” he said. “I had a depth perception problem, so I couldn’t do it. I only have one good eye. But, they said they had a place in the Air Force for me, so I became a radio operator and gunner.”

He was assigned to the 96th Bomb group, based in England. Lindsey said he initially spent a lot of time on the west coast and thought he would be deployed to the Pacific Theater.

When he arrived in England, Lindsey said he started running missions in a B-17 bomber. He described grueling hours in dangerous circumstances.

“The average mission length was eight to 10 hours. When I first started, you didn’t have an escort,” he said. “The fighters didn’t want to get caught in the flack from the bomb.”

He said the crew would take the large planes in toward the target, drop the bombs and leave. And sometimes, “there were some rough” missions.

“I was on a mission to a ball bearing plant; we lost 60 fortresses and 600 men. I counted 60 parachutes floating down with men that never came back,” he said.

Eventually, he said the squadron had P-51 escorts that would “fly in circle formation” around the B-17 for protection.

“If any fighters came in, they would fight them off. That was a relief to me,” Lindsey said. “Unfortunately, they couldn’t follow us all the way to the target - their fuel wouldn’t let them. They had to develop a belly tank.”

Lindsey said everything changed on Jan. 29, 1944. His plane was shot down 30 miles from the French border.

“We were bombing Frankfurt that day,” he said. “We were leading the group. We were hit with flack and it knocked an engine out. When we went over the bomb run, we could no longer maintain our air speed. We dropped down and our backup continued toward the target. We took a heading to France. Then, seven fighters ganged up on us.”

At 18,000 feet, Lindsey and the other nine men in his plane bailed out. All ten men were captured and taken to a prisoner of war (POW) camp.

From my observations, Lindsey’s experiences still haunt his memory. His voice softened and he shuddered in his seat when recalling some of the memories. There were some things we simply did not discuss.

“A lot of things stick out (in my memory); some of them I just don’t want to remember, but I can’t help it,” he said softly.

He did describe a march between two POW camps. In February 1945, Lindsey and 2,000 other American prisoners were taken on a forced march, along with armed guards and dogs. They arrived in Hollee on April 28.

“Along the way, they stole food from farmers and slept in barns, in potato patches and on the bare ground,” he said. “When we arrived in Hollee, we were rescued, put in planes and flown to France. We were kept there for two months and we boarded a destroyer and then were on the water 10 days before arriving in Newport News, Va.”

All 10 men returned safely to the United States. Lindsey said of that group, only two men are still alive.

“We used to have reunions every two years,” he chuckled. “Our whole crew was just like brothers. You become just like a family. We were very fortunate. The average number of missions was three to five; we completed more than that. We had a wonderful pilot.”

“While I was in prison camp, President (Franklin D.) Roosevelt died. Then we got a new president. Harry Truman took over and he really shortened the war when he gave the OK for the atomic bomb on Japan. We’d been fighting a long time if it wasn’t for that,” he said.

Lindsey left the military on Nov. 14, 1945. For his service to his country, he was awarded a Purple Heart, a Distinguished Flying Cross, a Prisoner of War medal, an Air Medal with four Oak Leaf Clusters and a Good Conduct Medal.

The Korean War

Icle Davis was drafted May 10, 1951. He left his family’s farm in London for Ft. Knox, Ky., and eventually “the far East.”

“I was sent to Koje-do Prison POW Camp on Nov. 15, 1951,” Davis said. “I remember the first time I saw it. It was surrounded by water and reminded me of Alcatraz.”

Davis was a member of the 156th Military Police. As a private first-class, his said he was “a company clerk” — he drove a truck with supplies to the various compounds on the island.

“We went to the gate and backed up to drop off supplies. The prisoners weren’t allowed to touch the supplies until they were off the truck,” he said.

There were 170,000 prisoners on the island. 38,000 were Korean civilians pressed into the Red armies; 21,000 were Chinese POWs; and 111,000 were North Korean POWs.

“When I got there, they were in separate enclosures,” Davis said. “Each enclosure was a seven- acre field with 6,000 people in it.”

In addition to the prisoners, Davis said approximately 50,000 civilians were scattered around the island. He said they “would communicate through the fence” with the POWs.

Davis said there was “a catastrophe” on May 7, 1952. The commanding officer of the island, Brigadier General Francis T. Dodd, was captured by a group of POWs.

“He took over Feb. 18. His philosophy was to go to the prisoners when they wanted to talk, rather than have the guards bring one of them to him,” Davis said. “That was his policy until he got captured.”

In a frank tone, Davis described the scene he watched more than 50 years ago as if it happened yesterday.

“The Colonel was talking to the prisoners through the gate. The prisoners demanded to talk to the United Nations. Colonel said he didn’t have the authority to do that. He called for (Dodd) and (Dodd) came to talk to the prisoners.

“I was in my truck, watching this happen. Some of the prisoners on honey-bucket detail (the removal of human waste in 60 gallon drums) wanted to come through the gate. (Dodd) ordered the gates open. Those prisoners parked the buckets in the middle of the road, creating a road block.

“I turned and looked out and heard a whistle blow. They had planned to ambush (Dodd). About 20 to 30 of them jumped on the general. The colonel tried to get away, but they captured him too,” he said.

Davis said that is when things really “hit the fan.”

“They sent more troops and another general,” he chuckled. “They wanted to do whatever it took to clean the mess up.”

Davis said another riot occurred during his 16-month tour “on the rock.”

On June 10, 1952, an effort to transfer the prisoners into new compounds triggered a riot.

“They started with the meanest compound — number 76,” Davis said emphatically.

He said one American solider was killed “when the dust settled.” Forty-one prisoners were killed and 274 were wounded.

“It was a sad day,” he said. “Sometimes, you have to use force.”

The Vietnam War

Eugene Reed, 63, spent 1967-69 running through the jungle during the Vietnam War. He received his draft card at 19.

“You get a letter saying, ‘Your friends and neighbors have selected you for two years of military service,’” he said. “I just got out of high school in 1966, drafted in 1967.”

The London native said he was “pumped up and ready to go.” At least, until he arrived in Vietnam.

“I arrived Nov. 13, 1967. We were flying in and that night, the Viet Cong were mortaring the runway. We had to fly around an extra couple hours until they could fix the holes,” he chuckled. “That same night, Big Red 1 was massacred on the hill. I told my buddy, ‘I’m glad I’m not going to Bloody Red 1. Ten days later, guess where I was!”

Reed was a member of the 1st Infantry Division. He trained in Ft. Jackson, S.C. and served as a Long Range Reconnaissance Control (LRRP).

“We worked in teams of no more than five; usually teams of two. We moved with the Viet Cong,” he explained. “We reported salute — size, activities, location, unit, time and equipment. We moved with them in the night and called in the information. We’d get their maneuvers. If you didn’t report in at (6 p.m.), they considered you missing until they got that radio report.”

As he described his experiences to me, I observed Reed’s mannerisms. His hand would tremble slightly when he mentioned a particularly uncomfortable subject. His eyes would brim with tears, and yet, he continued in detail.

“I did’t used to be able to talk about it,” he said.

Reed said the conventional wisdom was if a soldier survived through the first 30 days of combat, “you’d be OK.” Most men didn’t make it through the first 10 if they were brand new. He said if a soldier survived with three months left in his time of service, they would likely make it home.

“A lot of people got killed with only two or three days left,” Reed said.

His description of the war reminded me of the board game Clue. He wasn’t sure who he could trust — including women and children.

“You’d have a little kid come up and throw up a hand grenade. That made him a hero to kill two or three GIs. You learned not to trust anyone that approached you when you were in a group,” he said. “We had people walk up on us with grenades or kill you when they shine your shoe.”

Reed also spent time as a prisoner of war. His account was frightening and captivating.

“I was a prisoner of war for thee months,” he said softly. “I was 20 and we went into Cambodia. We were up in a tree. We’d followed Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Regulars, gathering information.

“All the sudden, I felt something cold in my ear. It was a P-10 pistol. Now, I speak fluently North and South Vietnamese. He told me, ‘You can either killroy (surrender) or I’ll blow your brains out.’”

Reed pantomimed raising his hands in the air, laughing.

“I said, ‘Yes, sir.’” he said. “We were on an ounce of rice a day. We had to drink nasty water. They had 13 guards on us and they was moving us north. Every night we’d go in and they’d tie us to a tree. They sat around the camp fire and take their AKs and click them at you. You didn’t know if it was going to be a real thing or not.

“The night we escaped, I heard them talking. They were going to kill us,” he said.

Reed devised a plan. When the guards released him to relieve himself, Reed waited until the guard turned his back. Then, he sprang into action.

“I grabbed him and broke his neck; grabbed his AK-47 and killed the rest of them. One of them got away,” Reed said. “We were on the run for 10 days through the jungle without our boots.”

When they made their way to the Marine stronghold in Pleiku, Vietnam, Reed and his friend were nearly killed by their fellow Americans. There was some confusion because the two men were not wearing dog tags.

“I had a top secret clearance for 14 years. I was not allowed to wear dog tags because if I got caught, I wasn’t there,” he said.

Reed said he didn’t really care because “I was happy to make it home;” however, he came home amidst riots and protests calling for the war to end.

“When I came home, things wasn’t good,” he said sorrowfully. “The people treated you like the devil. I was having bad dreams of some of the things I’d seen and some of the things I did or had to do.”

Reed’s efforts earned him three Purple Hearts, a Silver Star, a Bronze Star with Valor Medal, an Army Commendation Medal with Valor, a National Defense Medal, a Vietnamese Service Medal and a Vietnamese Campaign Medal. He was a Master Sergeant when he retired from the military in 1984.

Thank you

Lindsey, Davis and Reed are truly American heroes.

They served their country — putting their lives on the line — so that I can write in a free press, worship my religion of choice and speak my mind. My way of life exists due to the sacrifices they, and other military personnel, have made.

Hopefully, I will never know the horrors of battle.

Lindsey said, “I never dreamed we’d have as many wars.”

We live in a world where power often corrupts and people are too often oppressed. The sacrifices of people like Lindsey, Davis and Reed allow us to celebrate Memorial Day freely.

And for that, I thank you, veterans of Madison County.

Sarah Thompson can be reached at (740) 852-1616, ext. 14 or by e-mail at news4@madison-press.com.