February 28, 1970
Dear Chaplain Miller,

Jim, as I promised in my last letter, I’m going to share with you an experience I had at our brigade briefing.  It was more like a stand up comic session that we had last night at a briefing just before dinner.  I believe it was the Brigade Tactical Briefing.  It took place at 1700 though it was scheduled for 1600.  This ritual of evening briefings has a liturgical form all its own.  It's held in a large room that is half screened around the circumference of the room to let the cool night air blow through.  Most of the time there is no such thing as cool night air.  Humid night air would be more like it.  The entire staff turns out for this nightly show, if they are in base camp.  In firebases, similar briefings go on much in the same manner, but a little less formal.

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February 27, 1970

Dear Chaplain Miller,


This is a continuing part of a very long section about the men in Vietnam. I know I had some flashbacks to the men I worked with in Okinawa. For the most part, they appear to be the same, except the GI's here are in a real war. When I came into Camp Radcliff this morning, I saw one of these men of the bush heading to the chopper pad on his way out to the field. I noticed from a distance that his rucksack must have weighted over 70 pounds. His back was bent over and he was moving or plodding slowly. As he got closer, I could see the sweat running off his face. On closer look, I saw why he was laboring with his load. Strapped under his rucksack was a case of beer. When he looked up and saw me, his free hand gave me the "V" salute. He had his M16 in his right hand. His eyes gave me a big, white-eyed smile and his white teeth were shining out from his dark lips.

The radio broke up our session and Joe had to go to the TOC.

As Joe left, I began to think about my experience with the racial situation in my life. In Morgan Park, Minnesota, where I was born, there was one family of blacks. They were called Negroes back then. The only time I saw one of them was when I went to a high school basketball games to see my brother play; one of the Negroes played on the team. When my family moved to St. Petersburg, Florida when I was eleven, I knew that there was a “colored” town near the city, but since the schools were segregated, I very seldom saw any of those residents; except when I took a bus, then they were seated in the back. In college and seminary, I began to be a little enlightened as to the problems between the races in America, but I didn’t pay a great deal of attention. I was wrapped up in my own life.

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The only women in our area were the Nurses and the USO workers who were often called Donut Dollies. I had only a passing acquaintance with them. The men I got to know well because I lived with them. I bathed with them. I ate with them. I slept in bunkers with them. I went to the jungle with them. I went to the movies with them. I took malaria pills as they did. I counseled some of them. I prayed for and with them. I preached to them. I cried with them. I laughed with them. I feared as they did. I worked alongside of them. I bitched along with them. As much as they would let me, and as much as I dared let myself, I became one of them.

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Monday, February 26, 1970
Dear Chaplain Miller,

Jim, I finally found some time today to write my thoughts and observations to you. The other day I sent you a letter about the women in Vietnam. In this letter, I'll try to talk about some observation about the men in country.

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Doug entered and took a seat. I knew he had gone on R & R for some rest and recreation earlier and had just gotten back. He looked worried as he took a seat. I poured him a cup of black coffee. "Sorry, no sugar or milk" I apologized.

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(This letter has been edited to include later experiences I had with women while I was in Vietnam and how they affected the men and women fighting the war. This is an attempt to pull thoughts and experiences together without regard to dates.)

Monday, February 23, 1970
Dear Chaplain Miller,

I have been in country for a month now. I have seen action, and I have slept in a bunker on a firebase. I have had religious services in the jungle, I have flown in helicopters, I have seen sniper fire, I've tasted new wine, and I've seen dead enemies and dead friends. Most of my association has been with men, boys who had to grow up and become men in order to survive. However, as has been true since Adam and Eve in the garden, women play an important part in man’s actions. Women can be a war within the man.

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