In July, my father, Joseph Wayne Thrower, passed onto his eternal reward after a several-year battle with cancer. Dad and I didn't always see eye-to-eye, and as a matter of fact it is safe to say that we were somewhat estranged, but we still did communicate from time to time. However, Dad did have a lot of things that were admirable about him, including a distinguished Army record he held while he served in the Vietnam conflict between 1966-1972. He and my mother actually met on the island of Okinawa back at that time, as both of them were Army personnel then. That is something I have always been proud of both my parents for too.
In going through his things, the lady who is handling Dad's estate came across a sort of "journal" he kept just a short time before he died, and although there is not a lot in it, he did chronicle some things about his military service that I feel should be shared. Dad had for many years been an advocate for veterans like himself, and he worked with the POW/MIA organization as well as being involved in the American Legion. His veteran status was an important part of who he was, and he made a point of making sure vets were treated with the respect they deserved. In this account, he talks in detail about his early days in the military when he enlisted and went through his "boot camp" experience, as well as his experiences to a degree on Okinawa and later in Germany as both working with the missile program as well as being an MP. Some of the language may be a little coarse in this, so be warned - he is bearing his soul, so he is "keeping it real" in a matter of speaking. Anyway, without further commentary, I will now share his insights here.
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It was May of 1966, one week before graduation from high school. All of us were talking about the draft and going to Vietnam, and most of us were scared shitless at the thought of going off to war. Most of the guys I went to school with had never been any further than the next state north or south of us. I was worried about getting drafted, my grades were not the best, and I had never really applied myself other than chasing after the girls. My friend P.T. and I started talking about going into the Army on the "buddy plan," which my father tried to talk me out of until he was blue in the face. My father had served in the Navy during WWII and knew what war could and would do to you. We graduated in June and P.T. and I went and talked with the Army recruiter who painted such a wonderful picture of all the wonderful opportunities the U.S. Army had to offer; so, we enlisted with a 60-day delayed entry plan to go active in August on the "buddy plan" so we could stay together. I was working then for a roofing company putting on tin roofs and it was hard work with long hours. I went home and told my father I had enlisted, and I thought he was going to cry. He got mad to begin with and told me that I was going to end up in Vietnam and could be killed. I felt invincible then and told him I would get drafted if I didn't join, and at least this way I would get training that I could use later in life (which is what I thought then). It seemed like the next 2 months were gone in a flash.
In August, we went to the recruiter's office and reported in and took us to the bus station along with about 20 other guys. We boarded the bus, and there were people on there from all walks of life - some farm boys, fishermen, college guys - all of them looked very young to be taking this journey into the service. However, we all talked about it and seemed eager to get the physical exams and whatever else we had to do over with. A few of the guys were talking about ways to avoid going in, most of whom had a draft notice. One of the guys started talking about some of his hometown friends who had been killed in Vietnam, and everybody got quiet for a while. We arrived at the exam station which was located at the Naval base in Jacksonville, FL. I never saw so many guys in one place at one time. We exited the bus and a loud mean-looking Marine sergeant was screaming orders at us telling us to get into a formation; there were guys with long hair, beards, weird clothes, and all of them were staring at this short-haired, mean Marine sergeant in a pressed uniform. I believe everyone was scared as hell as to what to expect next. We were marched into this large medical building and were told to take a basket and take all of our clothes off except our socks and undershorts. Now, here we were - it seemed like there must have been thousands of guys in their underwear and socks lined up in front of offices. The first office I entered was where they were taking blood and temperatures. When they finished with me, I came out of there with a bleeding arm and a piece of paper. At the next stop the psychiatrist asked a few stupid questions, stamped my piece of paper, and told me to go to the next office. After a full morning of these exams, we were given a bag lunch and a can of Coke and told to go sit under the trees across the street and eat. After lunch, everybody was talking about how they hoped they would be sent home soon. Thinking to myself, "oh no!", the stern Marine sergeant who greeted us so pleasantly earlier comes back, and this time he is carrying a list. He then called about eight people out and told them they had failed their physical exam and were to proceed to a bus for their return home. Then he read off a list of the draftees and told them which branch of the military they had been assigned. Then our turn came, the enlistees. We were told to go to specific areas that had signs for each military branch. I made my way to the one marked "Army" along with my friend P.T. In a little while an older Army sergeant came to us and told us to get in formation and follow him. We were taken to a barracks used by transit troops containing bunks with mattresses but no bedding. He proceeded to read off a list of names and told us where we would be reporting for basic training. Then, he marched all of us over to a large open building, and there an officer gave us each a sheet of paper and were were told to raise our right hand, facing the flag in front, and recite the words on the sheet. At the end we all said in unison "I do," and the sergeant announced "you are now a member of the United States Armed Forces." We left there and went to the mess hall where we were fed supper, the best food I remember having since I had left home. We then returned back to the barracks and by now it was around 7:30 PM. The sergeant told us that buses would be arriving at different times to take us to the bases we had been assigned to undertake basic training. At approximately 9:30 PM, a list containing my and PT's names was read off and we were to board the arriving bus. Upon boarding, I noticed that the destination plate on the bus read Fort Benning, GA. We arrived at Fort Benning around 2:30AM, and we disembarked the bus while being screamed at by a little skinny asshole Corporal. They herded us into a large room and briefed us, telling us that we now belonged to the Army and everything we did from then on would be done the Army way. Someone asked where the restroom was and had to do 50 pushups for saying "bathroom" instead of latrine. We went to another room where we were asked to disrobe all of our clothes except our underwear. Then we were issued a cardboard box to place all of our clothes into, and told to write our address where to send them. We then proceeded down a line and received three pairs of socks and underwear, then our uniforms, boots, jacket, hats, and dress uniforms, as well as a duffel bag to store them. The next stop in the process was the barber shop, where the long hair of some of the guys was gone and everyone got a very short haircut. We then were marched back to the barracks where we were assigned beds as well as what platoon we would be part of. During all of this going on, the last time I saw my buddy P.T. was when we were in the room sending our clothes home. I looked around for P.T. and could not find him anywhere (so much for our "buddy plan!"). The next morning at 5:30 we were in formation for roll call, after which we were directed to the mess hall for breakfast. After breakfast we went back to our barracks, and made our beds, swept the barracks, and cleaned the latrine. After 6 weeks that seemed like an eternity, we were at the final week of basic training, and I was given orders to report to Fort Bliss, TX for advanced individual training as a Nike Hercules missile crewman. Graduation Day from basic training was celebrated with my dad, mother, and girlfriend coming up to see me and I got to visit with them for an hour or so before leaving for Fort Bliss. It was sad for me to have to say goodbye to the ones I love and then travel halfway across the United States, but I belonged to the Army now. I arrived at Fort Bliss with one guy from my hometown that I went to school with.
Fort Bliss is the sandiest place I have ever seen; not a lot of grass, but just sand. Shortly after I arrived, I got to witness my first sandstorm, and was actually caught in the middle of it. The next morning I woke up and could hardly stand on my feet - I had severe pain in my feet, and went on sick call. The doctor who examined me told me that my arches had fallen, and after I asked what I could do about it, he said nothing except just stopping and resting when the pain got severe. I told the doctor he could send me home but he just laughed at me. The following weekend, we got our first passes, and everyone was planning on going across the Rio Grande to Juarez in Mexico. I didn't know what to expect! In Juarez, it seemed like everything was on the market - whores, bars, and about everything else.. Back then, it cost about two cents to go into Mexico, and three to come back to the US. As it was getting close to time to graduate from the basic missile crewman school, I was given a 30-day leave before my first assignment. Graduation day came finally, and although it was too far for my folks to attend, I still felt a sense of satisfaction. I then found out I was assigned to Okinawa, an island off the coast of Japan, and found no reason to complain because it meant that I had avoided the action in Vietnam thus far. I got to go home for Christmas 1966, when I also got engaged, as well as getting to see some old friends and spend time with my family.
The day came to leave for Okinawa, which ended up being an 18-hour flight. I had never been on a plane before, and it was an experience for a first trip. I arrived on Okinawa, and met this guy who had just arrived from Vietnam. He was a nice guy, and asked me to go downtown with him for a few beers and the check out the local women. I told him I didn't have much money, but he told me he had $2600 as he had just gotten paid and that I didn't have to worry about paying for anything. I drank something called Slo-Gin and it blew me away. The guy, Roger, found him a girl (whore) and wanted me to hang onto his money so she wouldn't steal it from him. He gave me $2400 in cash, and said he would be back in an hour or so. I waited about 3 hours for him, and started to look for him at the whorehouses, but it was getting close to bedcheck for me and I had to get back to base. I managed to get the sergeant to cover for Roger, and the next morning they called my name and said I had been assigned to a missile site and would be picked up by someone from my new company in an hour or so. I still had Roger's $2400, and really wanted to make sure he got it. The "Deuce and a Half" truck from the site arrived and I asked the driver if he wouldn't mind waiting for a little while so I could see if Roger could be located. The driver allowed me about 30 minutes and said he had to get back to the site. I got into the truck and as we were pulling out of the lot I spotted Roger. I asked the driver to stop, jumped out, and hollered at Roger, and hearing and recognizing me he came running. I said, "Man, I have something of yours here," and gave him his $2400 back. He told me he thought he would never see me again and had just lost that money. I said, "Brother, I don't want nothing that doesn't belong to me." Roger then thanked me and we said we'd get together again, but I never saw him after that.
The missile site I was assigned to was in a remote location on the south end of the the island up in the hills close to where Japanese soldiers at the end of WWII had committed hara-kiri by decapitating themselves. Okinawa was one of the most beautiful places I had ever served, as the water was beautiful, the women lovely, and all the bars you could ever want. I was assigned as a Firing Control Panel Operator. We would conduct tests every morning raising the missiles. After that, we painted everything around. It also seemed that every time I looked around I was pulling guard duty there, and always at night. We always had a dog with its handler on duty with me, and after checking the fences, the dog handler would always end up at the guard shack to warm up and engage in a card game.
I began to get somewhat tired of pulling guard duty and decided I wanted a change. Therefore, I re-enlisted for MP duty and was re-assigned to the Armed Forces Police. Armed Forces Police was excellent duty. The Armed Forces police virtually ran the island, writing tickets on all highways, and also did patrol duty in the towns. I worked with a Marine most of the time and we had got a few of the local thieves arrested, and they took out a bounty on us, so we were pulled off the streets and assigned duty at the big stockade as inside guards. This was one bad place and was the place where murderers and hardcore criminals were sent before being sentenced to Fort Leavenworth. We had no shortage of crazies from Vietnam there.
I met a Woman's Army WAC while there and we got married. I left Okinawa after 18 months and was re-assigned to the Edgewood Arsenal in Maryland. My wife could not come home for another 6 months, but after she came home she was assigned to Edgewood Arsenal as well. My wife got pregnant in 1968 and was discharged from the Army. I got orders to be stationed in Germany in 1969. In July 1969 I was assigned to the Big Stockade outside Mannheim. I thought I had seen some bad dudes in Okinawa, but this place had the baddest of the baddest, and tons of people were incarcerated there for illegal drug possession. I stayed in Germany until November 1969 when my son was born, and this was my first child and I tried to get a leave to go home. However, I was advised that the only way I could get out of there was to re-enlist for Vietnam. I stayed up all night that night and drank while doing some serious talking with friends. The next morning, one friend and me went to see the First Sergeant to tell him we wanted to re-enlist for Vietnam (my destiny had finally caught up to me).
- non-dated handwritten manuscript authored by my father, Joseph Wayne Thrower (1948-2020)
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My note: I am thinking that Dad wanted to add more to this, but perhaps his illness had progressed to the degree that he never got around to it. It is really unfortunate too, as I believe that a complete account of his experiences would have given some valuable insight. However, at least this gives some aspect of his legacy, and hope those of you reading it have enjoyed these memoirs of a Vietnam-era veteran and his experiences.
