Frequent surges of emotion came over me when I saw the Vietnam War movie We Were Soldiers. The film itself was based on war correspondent Joe Galloway’s book We Were Soldiers Once . . . and Young. Seeing the young actors on the screen sent jolting reminders of that long-past time in the 1960s. The men portrayed in the film wore Army uniforms, while others of us were in the Navy. But we were all on the same team, and thus I could readily identify with the plight of those soldiers from nearly 40 years ago.
The movie brought to mind something else—an exchange of e-mails I had last year. Even before I opened up the message, I saw its title, “You were there on November 24, 1968!!” The first thought that flashed through my mind was that it couldn’t be, because that day I was on board the USS Washoe County (LST-1165) off the coast of Vietnam. Then I clicked open the message and discovered that experience with the ship was precisely the point of the communication. It was from a once-young gunner’s mate named Joe Ponder, who had been grievously wounded in 1968 and was evacuated from our ship by helicopter so he could be treated at medical facilities ashore. He had gotten a list of e-mail addresses for the LST’s former crewmembers and had written to say, “Each of you had a part in saving our lives that day!”
On that late November day in 1968, the Washoe County was a support ship for boat incursions into the rivers and canals of the Ca Mau Peninsula at the southern tip of Vietnam. This was part of Operation Sealords, an aggressive new campaign initiated by the Navy’s theater commander, Vice Admiral Elmo Zumwalt. 24 November was a Sunday, and the ship was preparing to send our flock of Swift boats into the Bo De River. During lunch in the wardroom that day, I sat and chatted with Lieutenant (junior grade) James Harwood, skipper of PCF'72, one of the Swift boats. For most of us, it was a meal like any other; for Lieutenant Harwood it was the last he ate while he still had two feet.
That afternoon, five boats entered the mouth of the river under the command of Lieutenant Bob Brant, who was on board PCF-93. The plan was to mount a three-hour cruise up the river and tributaries to attack Vietcong headquarters and storage areas. But the boats had been in the Bo De before, and this time the Vietcong sprang an ambush. On board PCF-31, Joe Ponder was manning a twin .50-caliber machine gun when a .51-caliber machine gun bullet tore into his right knee. He screamed in anguish because the pain was so intense. On board the 72 boat, Lieutenant Harwood and Quartermaster Bob McGowan were hit as well. The Americans had run into a trap, so they aborted the mission.
On board the LST, we heard frantic messages telling of the need for medevac, which we summoned by radio, and then the boats came alongside. Harwood was hurt the worst, shot around the ankle, so he was the first to be brought aboard. Then the two enlisted men were hoisted up. Washoe County sailors such as Seaman Stanley Parkinson went unflinchingly about the business of moving the wounded from boat to ship. I remember looking down at the main deck from the ship’s bridge and seeing what was left of Ponder’s right knee. The joint looked as if a shark had taken a giant bite from it; his thighbone was clearly visible, as was a lot of raw flesh. Soon the helo came and took the wounded to an Army evacuation hospital in Binh Thuy, South Vietnam.
As Ponder’s e-mail described the scene: “Lt. Harwood and I were rushed into the same operating room together. But before the anesthesiologists had the opportunity to put us under prior to surgery, I will never forget the awful haunting screams of Lt. Harwood pleading with the doctors to try to reattach his leg ... . Tears are coming to my eyes this very moment as I write this, remembering those screams of Lt. Harwood. I imagine when people see tears running down my cheeks during the playing of our National Anthem, they must think something is terribly wrong with me, but not so! I’m just silently remembering the sacrifices made for this Country!"
Joe Ponder wrote in his e-mail that he also might have lost a leg that day. He still has it, though it is no longer nearly as functional as when he began that fateful Sunday sortie. He wears a full leg brace and uses crutches to walk, but quickly added, “I certainly am not complaining though! I consider myself very lucky to make it home alive from Vietnam!”
I was deeply touched that someone who experienced what Ponder did in November 1968 would make such an effort to thank a group of men whose lives he touched only so very briefly on the worst day of his life. As with the men depicted in the movie, we were all on the same team. Many who went to Vietnam did not have our opportunity to come back, grow old, and reflect on those days of our youth.