Who's Reality Is It?

Me in 1971 with VVAW


So, in the middle of the night I received an email from a guy, Nic Werle, that says:

"Group started before 1971"

"Are you liar?"

"Or just psych patient?"

Well it's clear to me Nic was referring to my statement of being a co-founder of the Denver chapter of VVAW in 1971 along with national organizer, Brian Adams, and Steve Norris.

I responded by asking Nic if he knew these two, if he had taken part in walking the streets with leaflets and fliers, if he had been at the Aladdin Theater to hand out fliers to movie goers coming out of the movie "Johnny Got His Gun", if he knew former VVAW chapter head, Gary Mundt and if he knew something; where was he during this time? Being a little pissed I suggested he must have been one of many FBI plants that showed up during my time with VVAW.

Nic responded back telling me Gary started the VVAW in Denver in 1969, he had a photo of the banner, Gary had died of AIDS- was I the one who gave it to him, he had taken part in demonstrations during the 1969 time period, they figured out the plant had been "the Spanish guy", Gary had been elected to the national board in 1972-where was I at and was I one who tried to start violence.

Oh, he also informed me "Johnny Got His Gun" didn't play at the Aladdin; it played at the Esquire.

I responded again to Nic to tell him I'd been in Vietnam for part of 1969 and then continued to be in the Corps, I knew Gary had died of AIDS and only knew him after he joined with Pat Schroeder's staff, that there were many suspected plants who we ID'ed as the ones who suggested violence, that I met Brian at DU when he was sent by VVAW HQ to organize a Denver chapter, that I knew a professor at Metro who knew Brian, Steve and I as co-founders at that time in 1971, that I'd been included in an article in the Rocky Mountain News by Craig Barnes about the Denver version of the Winter Soldiers Investigation, that I too had a photo of a banner in DC (during the time vets threw medals over the White House fence), that I knew the movie had been at the Aladdin because I'd seen it there - verified by my girlfriend and now wife-and I'd done memographs at Brian's apartment to hand out at the Aladdin. I have this vivid memory of that because we listened to the Ali vs Frazier fight when Ali was allowed back in the ring for the first time since his draft refusal. He lost that night.

I also told Nic I didn't doubt his information since I knew VVAW had been in existence since 1967. I also knew chapters came and went depending on the vets and in 1971 there apparently wasn't a chapter since Brian was sent to organize. If you worked with us vets then and now too, I suppose, we weren't all that reliable in staying the course of hierarchal organizations. I also told him in 1972 I'd moved to Montana so didn't know who was in VVAW here in Denver.

I realize now the Montana move came later. In 1971 I fell in love with my wife. In 1972 I became disenchanted with VVAW because it had been taken over by a large number of former officers, there were too many suggesting violence and I was in the process of getting ready to get married.

At the end of my second response I told Nic if he felt the need to be angry and attack me, that was fine, "brother". I have a clear conscience about my history in VVAW.

I bring this craziness to my pages to let everybody know the accusation about me and my response.

There were chapters of VVAW in Ft. Collins, Pueblo and other parts of Colorado. I don't know if Gary was in one of those chapters or not. I do know I first met him many years later when he was Schroeder's aide for military affairs.

I don't claim to have been a president of the chapter or any form of a leader. I was a 21 year old grunt doing a lot of leg work to get the word out about our group. We didn't have internet in those days.

We did have memo's that got ink all over body and clothes. I may still have some ink on me. I remember we had a postcard flier that showed a "crispy critter" on the front ...that being a charred body as result of napalm...and words to the effect it was wrong and criminal to continue the war. Back then we wanted to upset folks about the carnage.

I don't know if Nic's email was meant to dissuade me or intimidate me but it will do neither. Oh....he also said the war is over "change the name". Guess he meant VVAW ..not sure.

As someone purporting to be a former member of VVAW, it didn't seem Nic was in the mold of most VVAW folks I've met. The hostility, the homophobic remark about AIDS, the general angry tone and wanting to change the name doesn't fit.

And Nic, if you're still out there. The wars still rage...different name...different generation....different location...same scenario.

I'm a former grunt and always will be. I continue to deal with the memories of 1968-69. I was 18 when I entered Vietnam and 19 when I left. I now know the effects of the violence and horror of war had a damaging effect on my emotions and way of dealing with life.

I was first treated for PTSD in 1981 at a Vet Center program on Gilpin St. here in Denver. My mom was dying and I was having multiple episodes of flashbacks and nightmares. I was screaming and threatening my children. I was yelling at my wife. I pondered suicide every day, every hour.

Those who know me know I resisted doing my duty once I returned from Vietnam. I had several episodes of AWOL and was finally declared a deserter. I was arrested Oct. 8, 1970 when 6 FBI agents raced up in cars from both sides of the block. They had pistols drawn and pointed at me and my father.

I was taken to the Denver city jail and held on a military hold awaiting armed escorts to come get me to take back to my unit in N.C.. I spent over a week in a cell shared by many others. There was one toilet in the middle of the cell for all of us.

An Italian guy connected with the Smalldones became a protector of me when he found out I was a Northsider. The Smalldones were the "mob" in my neighborhood. I went to school with one of the daughters and no one dared go out with her fearing the rep of the family.

Eventually two groups of escorts were sent for me. One group from N.C. and one from California. My mom feared I'd be imprisoned if I went back to N.C. and asked some congress person to intervene. Pete Dominic, I think. He was Republican.

The group of escorts from California was courtesy of the congress person. Still, it would be whichever escort group arrived first that would take me into custody. The group from California arrived just hours before the N.C. group I was told.

During my AWOL's and over one year absence from the Marines I came to know I could never take part in what they did again. I figured I would go to jail for a period of time. And I didn't care.

I did obtain a military lawyer from the Corps but felt he was going to let me hang without me ever getting a chance to speak about my reasons for leaving the Corps after my return from Vietnam.

I went to Oceanside and obtained an ACLU attorney. Very soon after that I was offered a deal. An Undesirable Discharge at the convenience of the military and I was free to go.

The name of the discharge couldn't have been more appropriate. I wanted to be undesirable to the rotten to the Corps, USMC. I was discharged Dec 10, 1970.

All my evals before my return from Vietnam were good to outstanding...including time in Vietnam as a combat infantryman. I was discharged as an E-4 after approximately 2 1/2 years of time in service. I was a Corporal at age 19. This wasn't the norm for obtaining rank. I got rank much sooner than most.

I've never upgraded that discharge. My mom took great pride in it. So do I. It's a symbolic sign of my resistance and continued resistance to the military. If some of you have a problem with it, so be it.

I don't like reviewing my time in the Corps. I was asked to go to a reunion of my old outfit this past year. They wanted me there because the mother of my former squad leader would be there.

I was the last person to see Norman alive. He died on January 30, 1968 as we walked across a rice paddy dike toward a tree line. A village was inside that tree line. We were ambushed by a battalion sized force of NVA. Norm got killed because he stood up on the dike yelling at me to fire my weapon.

It was the first firefight of my life. I became confused and disoriented by the ferocity of the attack. And I couldn't see a damn thing to fire at in that tree line. I did know we had Jim Ghent in the trees and didn't want to hit him firing my rifle at an enemy I didn't see.

I still carry the guilt about Norm. I think it's exacerbated by the fact I hated the fucker because he was a sadistic asshole. He took pleasure at bullying and abusing civilians. He took pleasure at going out of his way to kill them.

So, going to see Norm's mom wasn't in my schedule. I wasn't going to lie to her about Norm being a hero. I wasn't going to tell her I was partially responsible for his death because he was stupid enough to stand on top of a paddy dike to yell at me during an incredibly deadly firefight.

We later called the events of Jan 30-31, 1968 "The Alamo" because we were so badly outnumbered. Late in the night of Jan 30th a large sized force of NVA overran my company's command group position.

I was with a Marine from Puerto Rico in a foxhole at the edge of the paddy where the grass was about four feet tall. We were the first hole in the command group.

After hours of silence except the continual flares from the mortars of our weapons platoon there was a screeching yell and an eruption of AK fire with green tracers coming from a wide area along the paddy. The tracers came directly toward my hole in such volume we had to duck down below the edge of the hole to avoid getting hit.

We put our M16's over our heads to fire short bursts to both sides of the hole. My M16 was literally thrown from my hands as an AK round hit the barrel. I found the rifle that morning after sunrise. A round was lodged directly in the middle of the barrel. The barrel was bent and the AK round was half on one side and half on the other.

After I lost my M16 all I had was a few frags to toss out in front of our position. I waited to throw them until I felt there was an enemy soldier near us. It was almost impossible during the first volley of fire.

RPG's and mortars were also detonating all around us so the audio was extreme loud. After 15-30 minutes of madness, the firefight lessened in intensity. My foxhole buddy's M16 became jammed and inoperable. The M16's of that time were even worse crap than later on.

We later found out the ammo we used wasn't packing the appropriate amount of powder. The lessened explosion of the firing cap created a slowed bolt return of the rifle off the buffer plate and frequent jamming.

Congress later investigated Colt and the ammo manufacturer but it just became one of those "oops, sorry" things.

Their oops became our dilemma. All we had were frags in a very low number. We were pretty much fucked without rifles. So we made a decision. We'd low crawl into the tall grass to see if we could find a dead NVA or two and grab their AK's.

We did find dead NVA and requisitioned AK’s. On our crawl back toward our hole we saw our Lt.’s position being attacked by several uniformed NVA soldiers. We quickly decided we’d split up; one going wide of the position on one side and one of us trying to get to the position from the front.

I was the one crawling from the front. I immediately saw the Lt’s radio man being hit with the butts of rifles as he stood to protect the Lt.. I prepared to use the AK to fire at the NVA from about 30 yards. It took only a millisecond to sight and be ready to pull the trigger.

In that millisecond several more NVA appeared in the disco light of the illumination flares. They were less than ten yards away. They apparently had seen me as I watched concussion grenades floating in the air toward me. Time went into slow motion at that point. I can still see exact details of those few moments in my mind’s replay.

They were ChiCom grenades I’d seen before. Cans on a stick. My mind and body joined to take evasive action. I quickly rose in a low slouch moving backwards to my right several yards. Two more grenades followed the first one. I could see them floating in the strobe lighting of flickering flares.

I thought my time had come. My mind’s panic seemed to calm and I felt a sense of acceptance that it was over. It was just a thought of “oh fuck!” and a flash and bang. I woke up with ringing ears and major headache. I’d survived with ruptured eardrum and concussion.

Much more occurred on my awakening. Body counts, prisoners, our wounded and dead, assembling the remaining members of the company, entering the village decimated by napalm, mortars, RPG’s and rifle fire. We’d killed or wounded a large number of the NVA battalion. A sure victory for us. No one was cheering.

Now I don’t know if Nic was there or not. He may have a different version of my reality he’d like to impart. I suspect he’d say I was a bad, bad Marine because of my absences once home.

I’m sure my initial failure to fire would be a sign of cowardice to Nic…causing a good Marine to get killed. I’m sure he would not believe the happenings of those two days. If they weren’t so firmly imprinted in my mind, I’d not believe it.

I talked with one of the guys in another platoon there that day. He was the one inviting me to the reunion. We got talking about “the Alamo” events. He told me he’s on 100% disability because of what he saw and had to do. He escaped without physical injury but told me,” Alamo fucked me up, brother.”

I told him, “I hear you, brother.” I didn’t want to go there with him. I don’t like war stories with vets. It’s like ripping open a stitched wound stitch by stitch until blood and pus start to flow. It takes days before I can clean it all up in my mind.

So, there it is. Nic and anybody else can dispute my reality if they choose. I go to bed with it every night. I wish they’d take it off my hands if they are so interested in changing my history. Give me whatever so my memory just fucking fails me. Do me that favor and I’ll just shut up.

Until then I’m not going to be quiet. I’m not going to be intimidated. I’m old and don’t care what is said or done that tries to discredit me. I’ve never tried hiding my past with the discharge and all. Nic can call me a “fag” if that’s his implication, he can call me whatever he wants.

Welcome home, brother. Too bad my reality upsets you that way.

Wm. Terry Leichner, RN