In at 17—USAF.
All he wanted to do was fly; got his wish.
Big old C-130A aircraft.
Trained as a jet engine mechanic,
first stop after Tech-Okinawa-Naha.
Ah, Ah, excuse me, Airman 1st Wangard.
Need guys to go to Nam for a 90-day TDY.
Will you?Don’t worry you don’t have to go.
Nobody says no to a Master SGT!
Air Force guys never get ordered; they get asked!
Word has it you can get in the air over there!
Bags packed next day and gone.
Now 18 and still green as bright grass—
brighter than the jungle!
May ‘69—one of my first missions to go fix 
a broken bird and I am flying!
 
Wait, one over! 101st big battle! 
Need medivac; divert OVER!Drop load!
We land on dirt several clicks south of Hamburger Hill.
The Hueys landing were stacked in the sky.
Medics rush out to help blown-up bodies 
and carry the dead.
A poor soul, his mind shattered, 
walks into the rotor blade of a Huey.
I am 18 and frozen as the load-master Staff SGT
puts his arm around me and says,
“Come on, Airman, we have work to do!”
120 guys later on my aircraft; we stack body bags last.
Guys crying, guys screaming, no medics as we fly 
for the hospitals. 
We the crew and specialists are the medics!
All five of us for the 120!
 
Now repeat 150 times!A jet engine mech,
who by the time he was medivacked out of Nam,
and after two 90-day TDY’s and a PCS, 
all of which he was always asked and volunteered for,
he too left with a shattered mind. 
The Air Force knew what he did—full retirement 
at age 20 as a SGT. 
The only thing in the world that meant anything to him at all 
was that little Vietnam Service Ribbon 
with the little silver star in it. 
It meant that out of the thirteen distinct, separate 
Vietnam campaigns—
he served six of them before breaking!
 
He would not leave on his own!
Not after that April 1970 leave back to the States 
before going back PCS to Nam for the third time.
WHAM!The rotten fruit and veggies hit us all 
as we got off the plane in California!
We all walked a gauntlet of protesters 
got spit on, called vile names and humiliated!
Never finished the leave!
Dad said, “Rich, don’t wear your uniform.
Never share Hamburger Hill with any family!”
The only thing I ever shared was my love 
for the woman 
who saved me, now working on 48 years’ worth.
My, my, what that poor woman has been through.
 
Lost count of treatment sessions, lost count 
of how they tried to dope us all.
We had to hie-lie to find jobs. Perfect one!
Sixteen years as a Recreation Specialist in prisons,
working all alone with up to 100 of the baddest 
of the bad!
And I didn’t care!Take weapons away?No problem!
Bust for drugs? No problem!
Get in someone’s face? No problem!
Never a scratch in 16 years until Agent Orange 
caught up with me!
Lost count after operation number 20.
 
What’s wrong with Rich? Why is he so so loud!
Why does his house look like an armed camp?
Set perimeters!No filters, no sugarcoating
after all the treatments!
Go ahead and crawl inside my head! I am 71.
What’s wrong with Rich?