Excerpts from

Soldiers Widow…
Soldiers Wife…
Soldiers Mother…

The blue waters of Hawaii came into view as I looked down from the window of the airplane. I could see Diamond Head and Waikiki Beach; my heart began to beat a little faster. In just a few minutes I would be on the ground, the past 3 months were already beginning to fade into the background. It had been a rough 3 months; my husband John had made me leave Hawaii for an extended visit to my parents in California while he was on temporary duty in the Republic of South Vietnam, as a door gunner on a helicopter.

Just 1 week after arriving in California my best friend’s husband was killed in a hunting accident… 22 years old and a widow with a 3-month-old baby! It just didn’t seem possible. Although I was glad to be close to help her through some of the toughest days of her tragedy, living with my parents again had been a struggle.

My parents had been against my marriage to John, and I really dreaded listening to them repeatedly going over and over on what a “mistake” I had made… I was truly glad to be returning to my real home… the small government quarters at Schofield Barracks that I had so loving fixed up for John and myself.

As the plane touched down at Honolulu Airport, I looked into the crowd to see who was waiting to pick me up. It would not be John as I knew he was not due home for another week. Returning early, I was going to clean up our quarters and plan a “welcome home” for my Soldier coming back from the war!

It was a surprise to see the Battalion Commander waiting for me. He and his wife had decided that my arrival in the early evening would not allow me time to shop for any groceries at the post commissary and so, had graciously invited me to their quarters for dinner.

I loved this Army life so much! Everyone helping everyone… like one big happy family. It was always my dream to be part of a family like this.

The dinner was lovely, but my hosts could plainly see that I was anxious to return to my own quarters. Soon the commander drove me home. Thanking him again for being so kind, I said we would reciprocate as soon as John was home next week.

Unlocking the door to our quarters I was surprised to hear the telephone ringing, I couldn’t imagine who it was and hurried to answer it. The voice on the other end was unmistakable with her soft, sweet southern accent… John’s mother. She wanted to know if I had heard from John and if he was alright. Sharing that the last letter I received before leaving California was full of news about going out to the field with the Vietnamese Rangers… this weekend as a matter of fact. It would be his last mission before coming back to Hawaii next week. Mother Irving expressed her relief that I had heard something more recent than the last letter she had received. She told me that all that day she had a terrible feeling that something was wrong. It made her physically ill and given her such a bad headache she had not gone to school. This news surprised me as she had been an elementary school teacher for 30 years and I knew how precious her children were to her. I did my best to reassure her and told her that we would call as soon as John was home next week.

Beginning to unpack my suitcase, I opened the closet door. Hanging there was the shirt John wore to dinner the last night before he left for Vietnam. I took the shirt of the hanger… it still had the faint smell of him. Holding the shirt close to my face I recalled every detail of our last night together… going out for a special dinner in Honolulu, one we could hardly afford on a Lieutenants salary, but we felt the need to make this night a memorable one. As we drove back towards Schofield, in our convertible with the top down, the night was magic! There was a full moon and so many, many stars. We decided to make a short stop at the beach house we rented for the first 10 months we were in Hawaii. With our arms around each other we took a stroll on the deserted beach reminiscing how lucky we were to have had such a beautiful spot for our honeymoon and the beginning of our marriage.

Later, as I lay in John’s arms drifting off to sleep, I softly asked him, “If something happens to you, how will I know?” He laughed and said,

“If you see the Chaplain coming up the walk that means something has happened, but don’t worry I won’t let anything stop me from coming home to you.”

The hour was getting late, and after the long trip from California fatigue began to overtake me. Slipping into the nightgown that was John’s favorite I caught a glimpse of myself in the long mirror on the closet door and smiled at the image I saw. In one week, I will wear this again, I promised myself. The only difference would be that John would be there to admire the body filling out the long, split to the thigh, leopard print gown.

Our government quarters were furnished completely with issue furniture that included two twin beds in each bedroom. As most of the young couples did, we shoved the beds together and turned the mattresses so that the split was not between you! Climbing into the makeshift king size bed I fantasized about how wonderful our homecoming reunion would be in just seven more days…

After thirty minutes of tossing and turning I decided to start on some housework until I was tired enough to sleep. Why was I so restless… was it just the excitement of coming home? Perhaps the call from John’s mother unsettled me more than I would have admitted. Anyway, I could work it off!

Our old wooden, government quarters were notorious for having all kinds of creepy crawlers and being in the tropics the kitchen cabinets were bugs favorite hiding place! After wiping down the refrigerator and stove I emptied the cupboards of all the dishes, pots and pans. After thoroughly cleaning everything, I finally felt tired enough to sleep. Looking around at the mess of stuff piled high on counters and tables I decided to put it all back in the morning, it was too exhausting a job to do now. In the bedroom I noticed the clock as I turned out the light… it was 1:00 AM…

BANG! BANG! BANG! I sat bolt upright in bed! What was that noise? Was someone trying to break in!!? Reaching for the loaded .38 which was always kept in the nightstand drawer when I was alone, I got out of bed… the clock read 4:00 AM.

In the dark I quietly crept toward the glassed-in sunporch. Perhaps I could see who was banging outside my bedroom window. I didn’t think about calling the military police as John had trained me with weapons and I knew how to use a gun and was sure I would not be afraid to do so if the need arose.

As I entered the sunporch, I saw the Battalion Commander on the front step… he was standing under the porch light, and I could see him clearly. There was another man with him that I did not recognize, both were in uniform, which I thought was very strange. What in the world was anyone doing on my porch at 4:00 AM on a Saturday morning?

Unlocking the door, everything began to take on a surrealistic feel… I saw the Chaplain’s insignia… looked at the expression on the Commanders face… I took two steps backward pointing to the Chaplain and said, “You can’t come in here! Why are you here? Please get out of my house!” Gently the Commander came towards me and said, “Norma, please give me the gun… I must speak with you, but first just give me the gun.” By this time the Chaplain, startled by my response, had retreated to the front walk, but there were other people coming into the house. The Company Commander and his wife, with several other people I did not know. The Battalion Commander said, “Norma, you might want to sit down.” “No, I protested, what do you have to tell me.” He answered, “John has been killed in action in Vietnam.”

Suddenly, I knew I was dreaming… it must be a dream… a nightmare! Soon I would wake up and begin to get the house ready for John’s homecoming! This just couldn’t be for real!!

The Company Commander and his wife were good friends, and she saw that everyone was staring at the way I was dressed. She hurried to the bedroom to get me a robe. By now my mind was in a whirl… I knew there were things I would have to take care of… I struggled to compose myself. Someone asked if there was anyone they could call to come and help me. “Yes” I answered, “please get Lt. Dan Deliz and his wife Kathy here.” The Deliz’s were our neighbors for 10 months when we lived in the beach house in Haleiwa and we had become very close. They arrived in minutes.

Next, I called my parents in California. They decided that my mother would fly over to help me pack for my return… she would arrive the next morning. I knew I had to call John’s parents and dreaded having to tell Dad and Mother Irving that their worst fear had come true. Especially since I had just spoken with them a few hours earlier to assure them that everything was ok with John. As I dialed their number, my hands began to shake, and a wave of nausea swept over me… my knees began to crumble, and I felt weak. I leaned against the wall in the hallway as someone went to get me a chair. It seemed like an eternity before they answered their phone. I don’t remember what I said to them, but I know I turned the phone over to the Battalion Commander so he could answer their questions… I could not give them any details because I had not asked how John had been killed; at the time it didn’t seem to matter. He was dead and the words seemed to be like a huge shot of Novocain making me numb to anything else. It was as if time stopped at 4:00 AM on Saturday the 7th of May 1965.

The next few hours saw many people come and go… food was brought in and several ladies from the battalion were in my kitchen trying to make ready for the onslaught on visitors I would have. I was keenly aware of the mess I had left the night before, but someone said, “Oh don’t worry about it, you’ll just have to get it all out again when the packers come on Monday.”

Sometime that day I sat down with the Chaplain to talk about a memorial service. I had already decided to take John’s body to California to be buried but his unit wanted to have a memorial service at Schofield. I was adamant with the Chaplain that the service would not be a religious one as John did not profess to have a belief in God. We settled on a short, non- religious service at the Post Chapel on Monday morning at 11:00 AM.

The minutes turned into hours, and the day passed just as every other day passed, I seemed to be having an out of body experience… standing on the sidelines watching this drama unfold but not really being a part of it. So far, I had not shed a tear, I think I was in too much shock to cry.

Toward evening I went into the bedroom to begin sorting my clothes, what to take with me to California and what could be packed with the household goods. I opened the closet door and there was that damn shirt of John’s! It set of something in me and anger and resentment towards him welled up… how dare he do this to me! He promised nothing would happen!! Why did he have to volunteer for duty in Vietnam anyway!!! I flung the shirt to the floor of the closet!!!!

As darkness approached, I realized that exhaustion was setting in. After a long day of travel yesterday I had only slept for three hours, and it was all catching up with me. I lay down on the bed and drifted off to sleep only to wake up a few hours later to the sound of someone banging on the window! It was the first of many nightmares I would have for years…

Sleep was impossible… sleep meant reliving the moment all over again, the noise outside the window… seeing the Battalion Commander and Chaplain on my porch… the terrible words, “Killed in Action!” I immersed myself with getting ready for the packers on Monday.

Waiting for my flight at the Atlanta airport, I was glad the long day was almost over. My layover had been three hours… I wondered why there weren’t more flights to Columbus, Georgia on a Friday night. On my way to a library dedication in memory of John, on Monday morning, I could not resist taking a walk down memory lane to visit the place where John and I were married and spent part of our honeymoon. On Sunday I would continue on to North Carolina where the Irving’s lived.

In line to board, I noticed the man in front of me was wearing a cowboy hat… he turned and said, “Honey, are you going to Dallas or San Antonio?” “Neither” I answered. “Well, you better not get on this plane!” I grabbed the gate agent and inquired about my flight. He pointed through the low window. I could see the plane sitting there, but to get to it I had to run up the corridor I was in, down the main terminal, then down another corridor! “Please” I pleaded, “can you have them hold that plane?” He picked up the phone and said to me, “you had better hurry, they are going to try to wait for you.” I hiked up my short, tight skirt and started to run in the four-inch-high heels I always wore.

My legs carried me as fast as they could. Disheveled and out of breath, as I climbed the stairs to the plane, I was the last person to get on board. I noticed the bulkhead seat on the right was empty, but there was a man in a green Army uniform sitting in the other seat. I passed that row, looking for another seat on the small commuter hop that would only last about 30 minutes… there were none.

A little embarrassed that I had passed the front window seat, I walked back and asked, “excuse me, is this seat taken?” “No,” he answered as he stood up to let me pass. As I squeezed in front of him, I noticed his rank and nametag… he was a Captain named Donlon. I sat down, buckled up and the flight took off.

Now, where have I seen this name before, I asked myself. Then it came to me… while glancing through a bookstore one day I saw a book about the Vietnam War. Wanting to bring a gift to the library for the dedication, I bought the book and hoped to get it autographed for the library. I actually called him a few weeks ago to see if he would autograph his book. And here he was, sitting right next to me! Knowing he would not recognize me, I decided to introduce myself. I turned, and said, “I’m the widow who called last month and asked you for an autograph on your book my name is Norma Irving.” We shook hands, but he had a puzzled look on his face. Calmly, he answered, “nice to meet you, I’m Roger Donlon.”

As the plane took off, I silently wished I had the book with me so he could sign it now, but it was packed in my luggage. I looked out the window remembering the last time I had flown to Columbus two years ago to get married. There would be no John to meet me this night…

We made some small talk, but the flight was brief so before we knew it, we landed in Columbus. The captain asked me if someone was meeting me. I told him I planned to just grab a taxi to my hotel. Kindly, he offered a ride into town if there was no cab available. Having a good amount of luggage for my two weeks in North Carolina with the Irving’s, I didn’t really want to haul it in a taxicab, so I said, “I’ll take you up on the offer.” “I hope the hotel is not out of your way.” He answered, “no, I don’t live in the barracks, I have an apartment in town that I share with another officer.”

Driving towards Columbus, I was quietly looking out the window, recalling the events of two years ago. Finally, breaking the awkward silence, the captain asked me if I would like to stop to get something to eat before he dropped me at the hotel. Worn out from my day of travel, and feeling very emotional being back in Columbus, Georgia, I wondered if the restaurant would serve me, but I answered, “yes, thank you.”

“I’m taking you to a restaurant with great steaks, but first I’d like to get out of this uniform,” he said. Wary of the prospect of going to his apartment, I thought to myself, well I’ll just wait in the car.

The captain lived in a large apartment complex and told me his roommate was someone he had served with in Vietnam. Pulling up to his parking space, he saw his roommate’s car was there, and invited me in. I hesitated at first, but he said it would not take long for him to change.

As I entered the living area, I noticed that the furniture looked very utilitarian. I sat down on the couch and the captain put some Barbara Streisand music on the record player.

In a few minutes he started downstairs. As I looked toward the stairway, I saw two very big shiny uniform shoes appearing one by one. Next, I noticed that the suit he was wearing was changing color with every step he took… maroon one step, dark green on the next! It was horrible! The suit was almost as shiny as his shoes; must be silk I thought to myself. Oh well, this is only dinner, and I don’t know anyone here so it will be ok, I mused.

The restaurant was a huge Southern looking plantation home. All the customers were leaving when we arrived, so the dining room was very quiet. Columbus was a “dry” county which meant you had to bring your own alcoholic beverages. We had not stopped at an Alcohol Beverage Control (ABC) store, so we drank only sweet, iced tea! I could have used a real drink.

Faintly, I heard what sounded like a piano playing and loud voices trying to sing. The menus appeared; the captain did not even look at it. He must eat here a lot, I said to myself. There was nothing remotely exotic on the menu, so I took the captain’s lead and ordered the same meal he was having. It was a salad, filet mignon, baked potato, and green beans.

We were seated at a small table for two, and as I looked directly at him, I saw a clean cut, boyish looking man with a blonde crew cut and piercing blue eyes. He looked a lot like the boys I had dated in high school. He seemed very socially awkward. The conversation was almost nil, as he was extremely quiet, so I was glad when our dinner arrived, and we could begin to eat.

When we were finished, the captain said, “I’m sure someone brought a bottle tonight so let’s have a nightcap in the bar.” Relieved that I would finally have something to drink, I followed him down the stairs. Asking me what I would like, he went around the room until he met one of his friends who had a bottle of scotch.