In a Letter to His Parents, L. Cpl. Stephen Daniel Laments the Death of a Close Friend “in a Damn Country Not Worth Fighting for” & SP4 Richard Baltzegar Shares with His Friend Mike Engel His Disgust for the U.S. Army “and the Country It Represents”
Outrage and disillusionment about the war was not confined to the United States. Countless GIs and marines vented in their letters home about being entangled in a conflict that appeared increasingly hopeless. With no clear objectives or perceptible gains, the very strategy they had to follow—“victory by attrition”—was psychologically debilitating. Risking their lives to fight an intractable enemy with a seemingly inexhaustible number of guerrilla soldiers at its disposal was, to many, an exercise in futility. L. Cpl. Stephen Daniel volunteered for the marines in October 1961 and left for Vietnam full of pride and confidence. Only three months after arriving, Daniel began to articulate the sentiments of many demoralized young men in his letters to his parents back in Waco, Texas. The following letter was written on August 9, 1968, after a friend of his had been killed. (“Ralph,” mentioned in the letter, was how Daniel referred to God and fate.)
Mom and Dad:
Well its Friday morning. Last night one more Marine died. No one will ever here or care about it except his parents and us. A good Marine has died and there is no nation to mourn for him or fly our flag at half mast. Yet in one night this Marine did more for his country than any President or Senator ever did. His name was Corporal Lee Clark. He was the guy who took my picture standing in front of the bridge. Hope you have received that picture and if you have it has a name on the back. He was a good marine and a better person. He didn’t deserve dieing in a damn country not worth fighting for. He didn’t deserve diein’ for people who won’t even fight for themselves. But he is dead and those back home who’s freedom he was defending will never know his name. He is just another number. But we will here about it and we will remember. Cpl. Lee Clark is dead but those who knew him and fought with him will never forget him. He had about 38 days left in the Marine Corps and in Viet Nam. 38 days left and he is dead. 38 days to start living again, to see the world, and home, but he will never see it. But besides his parents and those who new him, who will care. After all Marines are expendible so who cares when they get it. It makes you wonder when you see a good man die. When you know that those people in the world will never here about it and could care less. It makes you wonder. 38 days left. All he wanted was 38 days. Ralph cut him no slack. But Ralph had a purpose.
#2 Son
Eight months later, on April 5 (Easter Sunday), 1969, nineteen-year-old L. Cpl. Stephen Daniel was killed by a sniper. Other servicemen lashed out with even more hostility in their letters home. Tiventy-year-old Army SP4 Richard Baltzegar frequently railed against the war in letters to his friend Pfc. Michael Engel, who was serving as an army clerk in Augsburg, Germany. Baltzegar held particular contempt for the United States, which, he argued, had betrayed its founding principles and was therefore worse than the Soviet Union (CCCP).
September 6, 1968
Dear Mike,
I guess it has been quite a while since I last wrote: a lot has happened, but I can’t think of a thing about which to write.
KP has been discontinued, but I was lucky enough to have it the day before it was discontinued. We always had civilians (Vietnamese) who did most of the KPing; we, the KP’s, just had to help them—I guess they (the mess SGT’s) finally decided they didn’t need us after all. I’m glad; I was getting my share.
My brother has decided to put in a 1049 (2496) asking to be assigned to something other than RVN. I finally got through to him—he’s gonna get out of it. (At least he said we would.) Remember how I used to get a letter from him everyday? Now I’m lucky to get a letter once a week. Something else is bothering me now: He apparently likes what he’s doing. He likes being a drill SGT; I can tell. He tells me of how his “men” come to him with their troubles. He tells me of how he is the only SGT who has control of the men. He is the only one the “men” listen to. He stops fights; he gives out passes; he delegates details. He told me of how the “men” cheered him when he walked up after being absent for 4 days. He reprimands them for not calling “at ease.” Is this my brother? I’m rather disappointed in his attitude toward the Army. He no longer criticizes the Army—only talks about his job.
He is a part time company clerk: they (CO and cadre) asked him to be one, since he will be a holdover until he gets his new orders. Damn, his new outlook bothers me. Well, if he is enjoying himself, I should say that’s good. I wish I could be that way. All I see is the corruption of this representative organization of the great US. I see people everyday that I have to salute—people I have no respect for; people who lack the intelligence to be anything other than an Army Major. I see a country equally agressive as (aggressive?) CCCP—more disgusting than CCCP because we (America) is backhanded about the whole deal—using words like “freedom,” “preservation of Freedom,” “heritage of founding forefathers,” People tell me that there is no better country. That may be true, but I plan to find out for myself. I’m going to Sweden, Norway, West Germany, England, Luxomburg, even CCCP, and see if I can’t find something a little better. If the US is the best, then the rest of the world must be in some hell of a shape.
I was disgusted with the outcome of the Democratic convention. Americans are such fools. (I wonder if public opinion had anything to do with the way the delegates voted. I thought McCarthy was very popular.) I was for McCarthy 100%. Need I describe the rage within me? I guess I’ll campaign for Aretha Franklin for President. I was very proud of Aretha Franklin: she sang the National Anthem at the beginning of the convention, and she forgot the words. Words can’t describe the joy I felt. I hate that song—and all it stands for. Oh yes, I’m gonna see what Israel is like, too.
I now have a little war story to tell. On bunker guard two weeks ago my bunker received ten minutes of sniper fire. You should have seen little old me peering over the sandbags trying to see who was shooting at me. No one was shot, though. And the NCOIC wouldn’t let us fire back—thank goodness. (I don’t blame whoever it was who was shooting at me.) (If there were invaders in my country, I would shoot at them, too. What in the hell am I doing here?)
That same night the Bien Hoa Air Base was mortared. All of a sudden a large red ball of fire soared into the sky. The ball expanded, and almost instantaneously emerged into a huge red mushroom cloud. (You can imagine how scared we in the bunker were—we thought the ammo dump had been hit.) From the red mushroom vibrated pink shockwaves, and we could see them (the shockwaves) heading toward us. We gripped the walls of the bunker, but the blast almost tore us loose. We later found out that a rocket fired by a VC hit an RVN bomb storage area on Bien Hoa Air Base. The concussion broke out the windows here at the headquarters. Boy! That was some night to be on the bunker guard.
Every second I was expecting to die; I really was: I regretted everything I had done for the AUS and the USA. I still do. God, I hate the Army and the country it represents. Look at the infamous job I am forced to do. Everyday I am sickened by the gripes of others. “I hate Vietnam.” Hell, no one had to come over here if they didn’t want to (if he didn’t want to). Americans are ruthless and violent: I hate ’em.
I looked up Furlow’s address in the in-country alpha. I wrote to him, and He wrote back. (My typing is getting worse, because I’m running out of time.) He is with G4 of the 25th Inf Div at Cu Chi RVN. He is a SP4. He has KP and other details, too. He asked me to send him DiDio’s address, so I looked it up. Mike, I fear Fearless Didio may be dead. He is not listed, and unless he was called back to CONUS for some reason, he has been killed. I know he arrived in-country, because I saw him when I first got here.
The past week has been one continuous HIGH for me. Everynight I “lose” myself. Like you said, the first few times, I felt nothing. I fear I am becoming a connoisseur. And that’s not all: I went to Saigon two weeks ago and smoked opium. The setting was great. A dark room with an old man lying on a table (his head resting on a wooden block), a lamp with a small red flame, and a Vietnamese woman softly singing some weird song. The withered man cooked the opium over the flame into a long wooden pipe. I rested my head on a wooded block, lay opposite him and quickly inhaled and exhaled the smoke that came from the pipe that he held over the flame. Then a little pot—God, I don’t know how I made it back here to Bien Hoa. The greatest feeling. The guy I was with said that I looked as if I were in a trance. I could have taken it mainlinerly, but I was afraid—my partner wasn’t.
Write to me soon.
Rick
According to the Department of Defense approximately 70 percent of all American servicemen in Vietnam used drugs. Marijuana was the most popular, but amphetamines, opium, and heroin were also common. Government studies also indicated that a majority of all first-time users stopped taking drugs after the war. But many, like Richard Baltzegar, became hooked for life. Although he returned to the United States alive and uninjured after his tour of duty, Baltzegar came home an addict. He died in 1992 at the age of forty-four as a result of substance and alcohol abuse.