Download PDF of this full issue: v45n1.pdf (26.4 MB)

One Monk's Journey

By Jack Klein

Clinic in Quang Tri where Jack has been donating money for years. This was the first time he visited in person.

February 17, 2015

I returned to Vietnam 45 years after having fought there all of 1969. Job description, infantry 0341, mortarman, nickname, Monk. My first four months I was stationed on hill # 190 northwest of Da Nang approximately 15 miles. Our location was the base of a mountain ridge that divided Elephant Valley and Happy Valley. The Song Cu De River was over our northern most operating area, some two miles from our base. We also manned Namo bridge, the northern bridge on route 1 in and out of Da Nang.

Our unit, Delta Co. 1st BN 26th Marine Regiment, was in such a position as to be the 1st line of defense from attacks from north and west of Da Nang. Elephant Valley was where Marie Corps sniper Carlos Hathcock spent 5 days picking off members of an NVA BN. Everything north of the river and west of us was owned by the NVA. We put out multiple nightly ambushes. As those of us who have experienced combat know, 99% is waiting, 1% is an adrenalin filled hell. Most of our ambushes resulted in the killing of Viet Cong. I remember one was an old man (probably my present age, 64) with a British 1905 Enfield with 3 bullets and 2 teenage girls, approximately 14-16 years old carrying baskets of rice towards the NVA.

In February one of our ambushes was hastily set up in a bad position in the bottom of a gully with paths above on both sides. The NVA walked along the paths and easily turned the hunters into the hunted, pitching chicom grenades down into the gully and shooting, killing 4, wounding 7. Against our Captain's explicit orders, my gun team leader immediately had us fire flares over the ambush position. At that point the squad was in a circle, back to back, running low on ammunition. One of the wounded later said when the sky lit up he was looking directly at several NVA soldiers and was able to keep them back. Puff was in the area and within 5 to 10 minutes had filled the sky with its sun-like illumination. We could see them a half mile away. 75 to 150 enemy soldiers scattered in all directions and Puff's ominous sound and tracer fire cut them down.

Hill 190 over Jack's right shoulder. Right before stopping at a roadside shrine and meeting alocal from the village where too many civilians lost their lives.

On another occasion a squad going out at dusk took fire from the closest village. My gun team was given coordinates and I dropped rounds so quickly that the firing of an outgoing mortar round brushed my fingers as I was about to place the next round in the tube. Years later at a reunion a member of that squad congratulated me on my accuracy and speed. He told me an old woman who was trying to escape the raining death by running through the main square was hit directly on top of her head by one of my rounds. Hearing this horrified me. Our regiment was named The Professionals and we were good at what we did.

In the first week of May 1969, our unit went afloat on the USS Iwo Jima and Okinawa. We were to participate in the largest allied invasion since World War II. Korean, Australian, ARVN and American troops were going to assault Barrier Island in Operation Daring Rebel. Long known as a rest and relaxation area for the Viet Cong, the island had been swept many times before, but as in many of the battles in Vietnam the enemy escaped to fight another day.

Mother's Day 1969 our company came across a leaf and palm covered hiding space. In someone's best Vietnamese they were told to come out. It was obvious that it was a group of very frightened women and children wailing and crying. After a few minutes, 2 grenades were thrown in and all was quiet.

I had a conversation with my granddaughter before going back to Vietnam about war. I tried to explain as best I could about the horrors and the mistakes. She point blank asked me if I killed little girls like her. While I hadn't thrown the grenades, I said, "yes, I did." Thirty years later I began the "would have should haves." I should have done something! Pull back the palms and try to "talk" face to face.

A week or so later we were in a huge fire fight, pinned down from a tree line 200 feet away. While a mortar is very accurate at a quarter mile or more, you must have an excellent working knowledge of your weapon, ammunition and location at close distances. I had fired a number of rounds directly in to the tree line when one of the rounds I dropped made a disgusting thud, it was a bad round. Our furthest Marine was about 150 feet away and it landed on top of him, killing him instantly. In the heat of the battle, with deafening sounds, muzzle flashes and yelling, no one, least of all the man farthest away, could have heard my pleading voice, "DUD!"

I carried his death with me until I returned to Vietnam. We had a reunion 15 years ago and the Marine's sisters were to be given the flag during a eulogy that weekend. A few days before this we were in the hospitality room having a good time. One of the guys said, "who was that asshole that dropped the round killing (anonymous)?" I said I was that asshole and the round was a dud. You could have heard a pin drop.

The night before the flag was to be presented I was with some of my fellow mortar men and through my tears told them I thought I should tell the sisters what really happened. They told me that it wouldn't change the facts. He was dead. I did not manufacture that round and it was not my fault. They had been told he was killed by enemy fire, awarded another medal to the many he had already received and had long accepted his death.

As I got closer to going back to Vietnam I was more frightened the 2nd time than the 1st. I had come home in December 1969, with a full sea bag. I knew the ONLY way to lighten my load was to go back.

I was struck by many things upon my return. One of my first aha moments was how much the country has changed. A metaphor for how much I had changed. I had long known I wasn't the same person I was 45 years before, but I had to walk through my fears. I had to literally re-trace my steps. It was the only way I was ever going to care about the reflection in the mirror.

While I had traveled there on my own I wasn't on my own. I had met a fellow Marine who had served at the same time, same area, on a military Facebook site the year before and we agreed to meet up in Saigon. While there we met an expat who I would see 2 more times during my 30 days in country. My Facebook Marine had a family emergency and had to leave after 8 days. But before leaving I had a large group, a huge group, of friends that understood what I was embarking on and I felt were all around me the entire trip. More importantly I have come to believe in a power greater than myself. That power was in front of me, cutting the trail, covering the exits and entrances, guiding me to the inevitable.

I spent a few days in Saigon, a few days in Nhe Trang, and then my destination, Da Nang. I had unknowingly booked my flight so I was to arrive in country 2 hours before the beginning of Tet. So for the first 10 days there were great celebrations and everyone I met was helpful and kind and in festive spirits.

When I reached Da Nang I went to a woman, Tam, I had heard about in guidebooks, and my new expat friend knew and highly recommended. She has a small restaurant, rents surfboards and motor scooters. Tam works with an American in his mid 30s who served in the army stateside, Jeremy. He owns 3 war era jeeps and gives tours. He has lived there 2 or 3 years and is a walking encyclopedia of the Vietnam War. I told them what I wanted to do. One day we took the jeep out to hill 190. We stopped at a small Buddhist shrine outside the village where my round had killed the woman.

I had started writing a list, weeks before, of the many things that troubled me over the years. The guilt, the shame, the disbelief, that I could have ever been the person I once was.

Jack making amends to local woman.

I had brought some fruit, flowers and incense as an offering. I lit the list and prayed that all of these burdens would be lifted along with the smoke of the incense to the heavens. When I turned around, Tam and Jeremy had produced a woman out of the rice paddies from the village. Tam explained why I was there. I told the woman that I was sorry for what I had done to her village and her country. I gave the woman and her son a few gifts, shook their hands, and looked in to her eyes and knew in my heart she had no malice towards me.

A few days later we took another jeep ride, this time to Barrier Island. We drove about 10 miles and I asked them to stop. I walked over a brilliantly white sand dune and knelt under a beautiful pine tree. I said a prayer holding my unit challenge coin for all who had died there and all over the country. I placed the coin deep in to the sand at the base of the tree. While kneeling I listened to the soft China Sea breeze brushing against the pines and my face. I remembered the beauty I had seen and felt 45 years earlier. More importantly I had made a huge step towards burying the horror with the coin.

I didn't go back to Vietnam to change the past, for that is an impossibility. I went back to reconcile the past with the present.

Today the man in the mirror ain't a half bad guy.

Jack J. Klein retired from the city of Milwaukee in 2010. Father of a 25 year old daughter and Grandfather to a 6 year old granddaughter. Happily committed to a wonderful woman. Primary residence for most of my life has been Milwaukee, WI. Enlisted USMC 8 days before my 17th birthday, inducted 12 days after. Member of VVAW since 1971.

Da Nang Dragon Bridge during Tet 2015.