36th Evacuation Hospital

POETRY WRITTEN BY OUR NURSES, DOCTORS AND PATIENTS

PEACE AND WAR---Vietnam Revisited,

(36^th Evac. Hospital, 1967, Capt. Erling Kloppedal, MC, aka Earl Kendall)

RETURNED WARRIOR

by Marvin Nichols

Of peace, now I tell you, you don’t start first there. Go back with me here to these scenes of despair, And you’ll see why I say that it’s so hard to bear, And witness the gore and the pain that was there.

The broken and maimed of young men in a war, Is seen by too few, and just what’s in store, For that innocent crew, that was sent through that door By me and our leaders, who go down in our lore…

As wise or so foolish….What’s easy to miss Just how one will feel, when our worlds reminisce. In macho contempt do we warnings dismiss, And later the widows and children to kiss.

You think you know death by your grandpa’s demise, Until you have looked in that one soldier’s eyes, Whose wounds are all gaping and you tell him those lies. He’ll be home "in short Order," and then as he dies…

You wonder in silence just how much he’s worth, Having spent just two decades upon this fair earth, As he lies there in blood, and I think of his birth, And the time of his life filled with joy and some mirth.

The practice of doctors to attend to the sick, Entails with the job, seeing dead and the quick. Those dead… they are different, when life’s burned its wick. Often victims so ill, when time comes to pick.

But the young we have chosen to go in our place. What an awesome decision we make in this case. Can’t we look in a mirror, see the whole human race? What more will we do and our country disgrace?

Have you seen how a mine can arrange a new face? How bones, blown to bits, on the x-rays they trace… New paths through the flesh as the shrapnel did race, Through that beautiful body all over the place.

The back, I could see, of his kidneys was bare. Forgive me… they’re not out there, looking for air. So exposed as I saw them, a case, yes quite rare, But in one still half living, I knew he would care.

And who should decide to pay such a price, with other men’s lives, not their own sacrifice? And how can we tell them of virtue and vice, Of hideous outcomes when men roll the dice?

In checking the dice, don’t our x-rays tell all? Square blokes, full of lead, they are weighted, and fall, Like the cubes on the craps table, thrown like a ball, And landing… unfairly?… who now makes the call?

*** His thigh had been shredded by a mine in that war. Like tendrils of mop, tissues dragged on the floor, From the stretcher on wheels we pushed through that door, And droplets of blood from each one… wait... there’s more…

We cut off his fingers and then his right hand, Torn arteries sewn, no pressure could stand. And on his left arm did those fragments so land, As if someone had stopped all his blood with a band

There remained on his left just a moveable thumb, And a pin in his index, still a ride he could bum. And thirteen or more times, the surgeons did come, To explore and repair, his intestines to plumb.

Some wars seem to prove to be properly needed. But then there are those where we wish we had heeded, The pleas and the protests, by friends caution seeded. By many around us, that bounds we’ve exceeded.

What kind of example do we set for the world, When not that united, our flags we unfurl? And fists in the air to our neighbors we hurl, And as dogs in the street with our lips that we curl…

Shout "traitor" and "wimp," some "fine" epithets. With thoughtless abandon do we hurl our war threats. We’re as safe as can be, we’ll never be vets… When gold ropes, in grave low, your only son sets.

And as taps play, we cry now, alone in our grief, when more than just seven, no visit by chief. Were we robbed we might think, who then is the thief? For year upon year now, just pain, no relief.

.....Here is to all of us: .....

we who have borne

the terror,

the exhilaration,

the power,

and the sadness,

of the heat of battle.

Here is to us:

we who have survived

unscathed,

paralyzed,

now at peace,

and still haunted,

by the heat of battle.

Here is to all of us:

we who have fought

for politics,

for ideals,

for beliefs,

and for loved ones,

in the heat of battle.

Here is to us:

we who have learned

that peace is transient,

that war is not the answer,

that we all bleed red,

that we all laugh,

that we all cry,

that we all need to be free,

of the heat of battle.

Here is to ours:

those who love us,

care for us,

support us,

and stand by us,

despite the heat of battle.

And here is to yours:

those who love you,

care for you,

and pray with ours,

for the quenching

of the heat of battle.

Marvin Nichols was our patient May 8th 1969 and especially remembers Candy Curley Otstott..his nurse

Sandy Black McKenzie sent this poem she wrote, written on 36th Evacuation Hospital Stationery

With fair hair and eyes of blue

Standing straight and tall

My brother, a soldier in Viet Nam

Fights to save us all.

Yesterdays child, now a man

and clutched in hand a rifle that stands

for death and war in this jungle land

Among many is his name

Just another face

But honor and pride he brings to me

from this far off place.

With fair hair and eyes of blue

Standing straight and tall

a pilot also here in Viet Nam

Fights to save us all

Yesterday - A friend of mine

Now a love so dear

He's in my heart and in my mind, I'm

wishing he were here

With love in my heart for both

I'll do my job here

For I am a nurse in Viet Nam

Serving for one year

In each patients face I see

A soldier - a man

I'll think of a brother and my love

In this foreign land.

God keep them safe while they're here

In this combat zone

For a certain girl down in Vung Tau

Wants them both at home.

With fair hair and eyes of blue

standing straight and tall

Love to a pilot, a brother and

American Soldiers all.

VungTau 1967

Sandy's brother was serving in Vietnam at the same time as she was. He visited us once.

Potty Park was across the street from the Villa. Dr. Joe Ferlisi wrote this poem

to memorialize the park

OF NURSES

THE DOODLINGS OF A DIGGER

IT'S PICNIC TIME IN POTTY PARK,

WE FROLIC THERE UNTIL IT'S DARK.

A WONDROUS PLACE FOR EVERYONE,

WITH SCATTERED PRESENTS SO NICELY DONE

AROUND THE GROUND

IT'S SO MUCH FUN ...DON'T STEP ON ONE

IN POTTY PARK

IN POTTY PARK IT'S PARTY TIME

WE EAT AND DRINK TILL HALF PAST NINE,

AND THEN, MY FRIENDS, WE'LL HAVE A SING

WITH BAWDY SONGS, WE'LL HAVE A FLING AND

YOU WON'T NEED TO HAVE A BAG, SUMMER, FALL, WINTER, SPRING...TO DO YOUR THING IN POTTY PARK

IN POTTY PARK NO FLOWERS GROW

CAUSE THAT'S THE PLACE WHERE ANIMALS GO,

AND WHEN WE'RE HOME WE'LL BE SO GLAD TO TAKE A WALK WITHOUT GETTING MAD AND WE WON'T EVER FORGET IT WAS REALLY SAD,

IT SMELLED SO BAD

IN POTTY PARK

Dr. Joe Ferlisi Vung Tau 1969

Heartbeat of Hell

How do you get away from all this?

What do you do with the pain?

YOU RUN SIDEWAYS TRYING TO ESCAPE

TRIGGERS CAUSE YOU TO FLOOD WITH SORROWFUL MOMENTS THAT LEAD TO UNKNOWN TEARS.

WHEN DO THEY STOP?

To take a breath that doesn't taste of blood or smell of sweat and fuel of the wounded.

Who was most wounded the patient or nurse?

Pain cares not who it touches or destroys.

And yet,pain must come to the surface to begin the grieving process and healing.

My soul reaches out and yet it goes unnoticed unless you know the heartbeat of hell at war

LT Brenda Looper Jansons Tet 1968 Vung Tau, Vietnam 36th Evac. Hospital Reunion Memorial day weekend 2000

Written after sobbing my heart out with my war sisters , Dorty, Mary Faye and Gayle

Thank you Gert and Annie for insisting I put my tears on paper and then on line

Don’t forget the nurses

That toil here day and night,

I wish that you could see them

As they’re a lovely sight.

There are blondes and redheads

And some with dark hair,

But regardless of the colour

All the diggers stare.

Most of them are Lieutenants

But there are higher ranks too,

And what a fantastic job

These lovely ladies do.

Firstly we have Fitzgerald

She’s only a small lass,

But in looks and confidence

She really heads the class.

Then there is the tall girl

Her name’s Lieutenant Blye,

And when she tends the wounded

You can hear them sigh.

And then the other one

In the service of Uncle Sam,

I’m talking of that lovely girl

Of course I mean Miss Mann.

And of course Miss Nerison

She does her quota,

This gorgeous blonde girl

From the State of Minnesota.

Don’t forget the male nurse

The good job he has done,

Don’t think we don’t appreciate it,

Mr. Boyson.

So when the war is over

The last bullet shot,

And you’re talking of Vietnam

Please don’t forget this lot.

They really are a first class crew

There’s nothing they can’t fix,

I’m talking of the Nurses

Of the good old 36.

36 Evacuation Hospital

Vung Tau Oct 1966

Derek was a patient at the hospital in 1966

36TH EVAC

FOUND STILL LOST Hospital History

THE HOSPITAL MEMORIES

1966-1967 1967-1968 1968-69

AGENT ORANGE LINKS NOW

VUNGTAU REUNIONS OLD GUEST LOG

PATIENT COMMENTS OUR PATIENTS

POETRY

36thevacauthors

THE OTHER THINGS WE CARRY Ron Leonard

      It's been 35 years since a Huey's whine
      And midnight missions in the nick of time
      It's been 35 years since a claymore mine
      And ground attacks so clear in your mind.
      And only yesterday it was '69
      We carried Ammo, and Rockets, and beer, and mail
      We carried body bags that would make you wail
      We carried friends in our arms, as we turned pale
      We carried buckets of water to wash out blood stale
      We carried medals of valor for feats un-believed
      We carried purple hearts for wounds we received
      But most of all we carried each other
      Today we carry other things, some real, some imagined
      We carry cancer of every kind known to man
      Agent Orange poisoning,
           and Malaria,
           and Lymphoma,
           and Diabetes,
           and Hepatitis C,
           And many still have PTSD.
      We carry arms with no hands,
           and legs with no feet,
           and scars both mental and real.
      We carry crutches and walkers,
           and wheelchairs and canes,
           with honor it's no big deal.
      We carry horror stories of the Veterans       Administration,
           of six months waits,
           and lack of funds,
           and shoddy care,
           of indifferent employees,
           and crummy food,
           and broken promises
           and downright lies.
      But we still carry each other
      We carry memories from the past,
           and pictures of our youth
           and through it all still have our dignity.
      For many it is all we have.
      Now and then, there are times when panic will set in and we have hideous dreams,
      And people squeal,
           they twitch and make moaning sounds,
           and cover their heads and say "Dear God",
           and hug the pillow and cringe and beg for the dreams to stop,
           and make stupid promises to themselves and God and their wives,
           hoping they will all go away,
           but they don't.
      But we still carry each other.
      We carry the weight of shattered dreams,
           and broken marriages,
           and deformed children with insidious wounds,
           and twisted faces,
           and deformed legs,
           and broken spines,
            lost for all time.
      We carry the thoughts of the future,
           of honor and duty,
           and pride,
           and tradition.
      We carry fear for our children in far off lands,
      The outcome can only be in Gods hands
      The midnight runs as the Huey whines,
      The rescue missions in the nick of time,
      The muffled blast of a claymore mine,
      And only yesterday it was '69.
      But we still carry each other.