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41)  Don Gazzaway
C Battery 8/4 th. Artillery Gun One
Dec 69 - Jan 71

Assigned To Con Thien(A-4)My Whole Tour. Looking To Hear From Anyone From Gun One Who Was There When I Was.

42)  Robert Talley
HHB 2/94th FDC
Jan71 to Dec 71

After two years I finally found this site. It's great and welcome home guys.

43)  Gary Rafferty
A Btry 2nd Bn 94th Arty, FDC
6 May 70 - 10 Apr 71

Nice to see this web site. Thanks to all who made it possible. I was in A Btry during whole Laos Op, saw B/2/94 catch Hell from NVA Arty on 18 March 71. DEROSed from FSB Vandergriff on way back from that particular fiasco. I'm now a retired Firefighter. Welcome Home Brothers!

44)  Chris Cunningham
8/4th  Aug 71-Oct 71        2/94th Oct 71 - Feb 72

I don't remember the battery number. I was on FSB Bastone when we were attached to the 101.

45)  Stanley Duitman                                                           Pics

A Btry. 1/40 Apr. 69-Nov. 69

 C Btry. 2/ 94 Nov. 69-Apr. 70

46)  James D. O'Hara
ABtry  94th Arty  Gun # Four
March1970---  May 1971

Would like to hear from other gun grunts in A Btry. that were in Nam at the same time.

47)  Oliver Bishop
HHB 1st Bn 40th Arty
March 66 to Sept 67

I joined the unit when it formed at Ft. Sill and rode the boat to RVN. I had many fun filled days surveying down Highway Nine and filling countless sandbags.

 HHB  6th Bn 33rdArty
Jan 68 to Sept 68

I joined the unit at Ft Carson and rode the boat to RVN. Spent my tour in the survey section at LZ Sharon.

48)  Paul Lanza   aka "South Philly"
B Btry, 8th Bn, 4th Arty   (Gun 2, "Birth Control"
16Jun70  to 23May71

Looking to conect with anyone from the Battery. I was on the guns for about 7 months, then went to FDC when we did the LamSon 719 gig. Welcome home brothers!!!!!

49)  Thomas Miller                                                     Tom's Pics
SVC Battery 2nd 94th Artillery
2/69 thru 5/70

Humped Ammo out of Dong Ha for most of Tour Also in Camp Eagle for a few months Looking for Hemmelgarn, Llewellwn, Little and anyone else who was there God Bless You all welcome home!

50)  Herman Mellott  any one who served with  my dad
6th -33rd - Arty 2/94th
jan 1968 to jan1969

My dad left ft sill in route to rvn with the 6/33 was in country from jan 1968 with the 6/33 until april 68 when he trans. to the 2/94th please contact him at herman l. mellott 44826 st.rt. Beallsville, OH 43716 

51)  John E. Stonerock
8/4 C Btry FDO , HHQ MRE Off & Motor Off

I served with some of the best men & kids and I say kids because the boys they sent over to Nam were very very young but they did a mans job. They did what they were told some time not so happy about it but did the job. I can understand why some of them for got about their tour for all those years. But this net has bought back some of our friends and we needed that. I know I did, I put it out of my mind for over 30 years. I hope to see and hear from the men I served with. See you guys. Lt (at the time) Stonerock

52)  SFC Michael Gilmartin
HHS/1-39 FA (MLRS) Bn FDC Chief, A Btry/94th
12 May 00 to present

Hello fellow Redlegs. I am currently assigned to 1-39 FA. I am trying to collect as much history of the battalion as possible. The battalion activated on 14 June 00 as a part of the 3rd IN Div at Fort Stewart. I have access to unit crests for the 13th and 39th FA, as well as selected other FA units. Would be willing to e-mail any information I have to anyone wanting it. SPEED IN ACTION!

53)  SSG James K. Elliott
B Btry 2/94 FA
1-71 to 1-72

Was at Lao Bao, FSB Style on 3-18-71, know the nickname of the Gun incident in B Btry - "Farmer" - Please write

54) Charles E. Stephenson                                                                    Charles Pics
Hq Btry/2nd Bn 94th FA/Met
April 1971 - October 1971

I joined the battalion in the fieldthe early April in early April as it moved from the Laotian border toward the coast following
Operation Lam Son 719. My service with the 94th was as Met Officer. The Met Section was re-located to Hill 65, south of
Danang, in support of the 23d Inf shortly after I joined the battalion. The section rejoined the Headquarterts once it moved to Camp
Eagle. I served under the command of LTC Joseph Ganahl and of his successor LTC K. Leslie Kirk.

My Heart's Content

Thirty years of one man's truth are up for reconsideration

by Pat Conroy

The true things always ambush me on the road and take me by surprise when I am drifting down the light of placid days, careless about flanks and rearguard actions. I was not looking for a true thing to come upon me in the state of New Jersey. Nothing has ever happened to me in New Jersey. But come it did, and it came to stay.       In the past four years I have been interviewing my teammates on the 1966-67 basketball team at the Citadel for a book I'm writing. For the most part, this has been like buying back a part of my past that I had mislaid or shut out of my life. At first I thought I was writing about being young and frisky and able to run up and down a court all day long, but lately I realized I came to this book because I needed to come to grips with being middle-aged and having ripened into a gray-haired man you could not trust to handle the ball on a fast break.      When I visited my old teammate Al Kroboth's house in New Jersey, I spent the first hours quizzing him about his memories of games and practices and the screams of coaches that had echoed in field houses more than 30 years before. Al had been a splendid forward-center for the Citadel; at 6 feet 5 inches and carrying 220 pounds, he played with indefatigable energy and enthusiasm. For most of his senior year, he led the nation in field-goal percentage, with UCLA center Lew Alcindor hot on his trail. Al was a battler and a brawler and a scrapper from the day he first stepped in as a Green Weenie as a sophomore to the day he graduated. After we talked basketball, we came to a subject I dreaded to bring up with Al, but which lay between us and would not lie still.       "Al, you know I was a draft dodger and antiwar demonstrator."       "That's what I heard, Conroy," Al said. "I have nothing against what you did, but I did what I thought was right."       "Tell me about Vietnam, big Al. Tell me what happened to you," I said.       On his seventh mission as a navigator in an A-6 for Major Leonard Robertson, Al was getting ready to deliver their payload when the fighter-bomber was hit by enemy fire. Though Al has no memory of it, he punched out somewhere in the middle of the ill-fated dive and lost consciousness. He doesn't know if he was unconscious for six hours or six days, nor does he know what happened to Major Robertson (whose name is engraved on the Wall in Washington and on the MIA bracelet Al wears). When Al awoke, he couldn't move. A Viet Cong soldier held an AK-47 to his head. His back and his neck were broken, and he had shattered his left scapula in the fall. When he was well enough to get to his feet (he still can't recall how much time had passed), two armed Viet Cong led Al from the jungles of South Vietnam to a prison in Hanoi. The journey took three months. Al Kroboth walked barefooted through the most impassable terrain in Vietnam, and he did it sometimes in the dead of night. He bathed when it rained, and he slept in bomb craters with his two Viet Cong captors. As they moved farther north, infections began to erupt on his body, and his legs were covered with leeches picked up while crossing the rice paddies.       At the very time of Al's walk, I had a small role in organizing the only antiwar demonstration ever held in Beaufort, South Carolina, the home of Parris Island and the Marine Corps Air Station. In a Marine Corps town at that time, it was difficult to come up with a quorum of people who had even minor disagreements about the Vietnam War. But my small group managed to attract a crowd of about 150 to Beaufort's waterfront. With my mother and my wife on either side of me, we listened to the featured speaker, Dr. Howard Levy, suggest to the very few young enlisted Marines present that if they get sent to Vietnam, here's how they can help end this war:       Roll a grenade under your officer's bunk when he's asleep in his tent. It's called fragging and is becoming more and more popular with the ground troops who know this war is bullshit. I was enraged by the suggestion. At that very moment my father, a Marine officer, was asleep in Vietnam. But in 1972, at the age of 27, I thought I was serving America's interests by pointing out what massive flaws and miscalculations and corruptions had led her to conduct a ground war in Southeast Asia.       In the meantime, Al and his captors had finally arrived in the North, and the Viet Cong traded him to North Vietnamese soldiers for the final leg of the trip to Hanoi. Many times when they stopped to rest for the night, the local villagers tried to kill him. His captors wired his hands behind his back at night, so he trained himself to sleep in the center of huts when the villagers began sticking knives and bayonets into the thin walls. Following the U.S. air raids, old women would come into the huts to excrete on him and yank out hunks of his hair. After the nightmare journey of his walk north, Al was relieved when his guards finally delivered him to the POW camp in Hanoi and the cell door locked behind him.        It was at the camp that Al began to die. He threw up every meal he ate and before long was misidentified as the oldest American soldier in the prison because his appearance was so gaunt and skeletal. But the extraordinary camaraderie among fellow prisoners that sprang up in all the POW camps caught fire in Al, and did so in time to save his life.       When I was demonstrating in America against Nixon and the Christmas bombings in Hanoi, Al and his fellow prisoners were holding hands under the full fury of those bombings, singing "God Bless America." It was those bombs that convinced Hanoi they would do well to release the American POWs, including my college teammate. When he told me about theC-141 landing in Hanoi to pick up the prisoners, Al said he felt no emotion, none at all, until he saw the giant American flag painted on the plane's tail. I stopped writing as Al wept over the memory of that flag on that plane, on that morning, during that time in the life of America.        It was that same long night, after listening to Al's story, that I began to make judgments about how I had conducted myself during the Vietnam War. In the darkness of the sleeping Kroboth household, lying in the third-floor guest bedroom, I began to assess my role as a citizen in the '60s, when my country called my name and I shot her the bird. Unlike the stupid boys who wrapped themselves in Viet Cong flags and burned the American one, I knew how to demonstrate against the war without flirting with treason or astonishingly bad taste. I had come directly from the warrior culture of this country and I knew how to act.         But in the 25 years that have passed since South Vietnam fell, I have immersed myself in the study of totalitarianism during the unspeakable century we just left behind. I have questioned survivors of Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, talked to Italians who told me tales of the Nazi occupation, French partisans who had counted German tanks in the forests of Normandy, and officers who survived the Bataan Death March. I quiz journalists returning from wars in Bosnia, the Sudan, the Congo, Angola, Indonesia, Guatemala, San Salvador, Chile, Northern Ireland, Algeria.        As I lay sleepless, I realized I'd done all this research to better understand my country. I now revere words like democracy, freedom, the right to vote, and the grandeur of the extraordinary vision of the founding fathers. Do I see America's flaws? Of course. But I now can honor her basic, incorruptible virtues, the ones that let me walk the streets screaming my ass off that my country had no idea what it was doing in South Vietnam.         My country let me scream to my heart's content-the same country that produced both Al Kroboth and me.         Now, at this moment in New Jersey, I come to a conclusion about my actions as a young man when Vietnam was a dirty word to me. I wish I'd led a platoon of Marines in Vietnam. I would like to think I would have trained my troops well and that the Viet Cong would have had their hands full if they entered a firefight with us. From the day of my birth, I was programmed to enter the Marine Corps. I was the son of a Marine fighter pilot, and I had grown up on Marine bases where I had watched the men of the Corps perform simulated war games in the forests of my childhood. That a novelist and poet bloomed darkly in the house of Santini strikes me as a remarkable irony. My mother and father had raised me to be an Al Kroboth, and during the Vietnam era they watched in horror as I metamorphosed into another breed of fanatic entirely.         I understand now that I should have protested the war after my return from Vietnam, after I had done my duty for my country. I have come to a conclusion about my country that I knew then in my bones but lacked the courage to act on: America is good enough to die for even when she is wrong.       I looked for some conclusion, a summation of this trip to my teammate's house. I wanted to come to the single right thing, a true thing that I may not like but that I could live with. After hearing Al Kroboth's story of his walk across Vietnam and his brutal imprisonment in the North, I found myself passing harrowing, remorseless judgment on myself. I had not turned out to be the man I had once envisioned myself to be. I thought I would be the kind of man that America could point to and say, "There. That's the guy. That's the one who got it right. The whole package. The one I can depend on." It had never once occurred to me that I would find myself in the position I did on that night in Al Kroboth's house in Roselle, New Jersey: an American coward spending the night with an American hero.

Pat Conroy's novels include The Prince of Tides, The Great Santini, The Lords of Discipline, and Beach Music. He lives on Fripp Island, South Carolina. This essay is from his forthcoming book, My Losing Season.

Download MS Word .DOC of this essay

55) EDWIN E. ALBERT                                                                                 Edwin's Pics

175mm gun 1st 39 fa b btry 24 corps then 101 airborne. fb sally, nancy, charlie 1 and a few more. looking for any one I served with.

56)  Roger Ables                                                         Roger's Poems
HHB 1/321, 101st Abn
Apr '69- Apr '70

Great Site. I am corresponding with a lady who is looking for anyone who served with the 320th between Nov '70-Nov '71 who might have known her deceased brother Greg. If you were with this battalion then please contact me. Thanks and I am glad we made it home. My best to all.

I was with the 321st Arty, 101st Airborne (Airmobile). By the way, the 321st was a glider Battalion in WWII.  I started off in April of 1969 at FSB Whip which was located in the southern A Shau Valley. Moved around Thua Thien Province a little, FSB’s Birmingham and Bastogne, but spent most of my time at LZ Sally.  I was in Battalion FDC.

57)  Bill Hilling
B Battery 3rd Bn 6th FA; FDC
Jan 1968 - Mar 1969

Looking for members of B btry 3/6th FA during 68-69

58)  Jerry G
K Battery, 4th Bn, 12th Marines

M109's Camp Caroll, Alpha 3, Rockpile, Charlie 2, etc. All the usual places. K/4/12 has a web site All welcome. Keep your powder dry and Semper Fi..

59)  Eddie Boyles  (Baby Face)
Btry C, Unit -1st Batt.,40th Artillery, Sec. 5  8/4 Arty

Hello all-I would like to hear from anyone in my old unit which was 8th of the 4th artillery from jul.67 to jan.68 or anyone that was in 1st of the 40th from jan. 68 to jul. 68. God Bless and will be glad to hear from you!

  "REST IN PEACE "  "In Memoriam"  Maj. Doug Meredith click 

60)  Douglas E. Meredith
Reorganization to Apr 68

One of the first 11 members assigned from 4-28 in May 66 to 2-94 when Bn was organized t Ft. Sill in 1966. Served in Chu Lai, Dong Ha, Camp Carrol, Rockpile and as Bn LNO to 26th Marines in Khe Sanh.


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