Khe Sanh Veterans Association Inc.
Red Clay
Newsletter of the Veterans
who served at Khe Sanh Combat Base,
Hill 950, Hill 881, Hill 861, Hill 861-A, Hill 558
Lang-Vei and Surrounding Area
Issue 50 Summer 2001
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Notes from the Editor and Board
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Short Rounds Memoirs
In Memoriam
A Sprinkling of your Poetry
Philadelphia Naval Hospital
By Joseph Olszewski,
Alamo, California
On Saturday, June 9, 2001, I heard on the radio that the Philadelphia Naval Hospital was destroyed to make room for a sports complex parking lot. I believe the hospital had been closed for years, as it was first opened during World War II and was already past its prime in the late 60s.
On March 6, 1968, I was admitted to the Philadelphia Naval Hospital as a foot amputee. I stepped on a mine on Hill 558 in late February 1968, was medevac'd to the USS Repose where my foot was amputated and was later transported to a naval hospital in Japan for several days of rest. In the Navy and the Marine Corps if you became an amputee in the 60s you were sent either to the Oakland, California Naval Hospital (called "Oak Knoll" at the time) or the Philadelphia Naval Hospital, depending on your home town. Since I was born and raised in Chicago, I was sent to Philadelphia.
My first day at the hospital was a shock, as the first patient to visit me was Lieutenant Paul Barentz who had lost both legs at the hip. I knew him in USMC Basic School, and we were both Platoon Commanders for 2/26 at Phu Bai. One night in November 1967 he got turned around on an ambush and one of his troops shot him in both legs. I was discharged from the hospital in September 1968, and Paul was still a patient.
I spent seven months at the hospital, as I needed additional surgery. When you have an amputation, the blood vessels on the end of your stump shrink, and it takes time for your blood circulation to improve. Until that circulation improves, doctors will not perform additional surgery, even though in my case it was strictly for cosmetic purposes. The end of my stump had too much side flesh and the doctors wanted to hone it down so it would fit better in the prosthesis, which would give me more mobility. I believe that surgery took place in July, and it took me a few months to get through the therapy and to begin walking with the aid of the prosthesis.
Throughout the seven months of my stay, I experienced both joy and pain. The pain was seeing all the casualties from the Tet Offensive streaming into the hospital, including those who were already experiencing psychological problems. I remember going to the dining room once on crutches and seeing all the patients from the mental ward being lined up in the hallway with corpsmen stationed every ten yards or so to control them. I met one of those patients once at the Naval Base Officers Club bar, and I was shocked to learn yhat he was a Navy brain surgeon who just performed too many surgeries for his nervous system and "lost it." Other painful experiences were talking to patients who were so badly mutilated that they were dead set on committing suicide once they were released from the hospital and no longer under the care of the staff. I remember one sad experience when Veterans Administration officials had to tell patients suffering from schizophrenia that they were unfit for active duty and had to leave the Marine Corps.
But there were also great times. Since we were all on one ward on the twelfth floor, all of us officers used to party big-time at the Naval Yard Officers Club (the hospital was next door to the Philadelphia Navy Yard where the battleship USS New Jersey was retrofitted and eventually sent to 'Nam for sea duty.) The nurses who cared for us during the day would show up at night at the officers club, and we would party until they closed the place. I remember one nurse who taught me how to dance on crutches before I began wearing a prosthesis. Considering that we were both "polluted," it was one great show. On other occasions, all of us would pile into cabs and head for New Jersey, as that's where all the good restaurants were located. Once I remember we had about six nurses with us, and most of the officers were either amputees like me or had other serious conditions that were obvious. We all entered one restaurant and promptly announced that only those who were drunk or crippled were allowed to eat here. Since no other customers left, I guess we plain scared the death out of them.
Every Tuesday morning, there were exercise sessions for the amputees in the hospital, which included stretching and strengthening your weak limb. Being smart-ass Marines, we amputees called these exercise sessions "Stump Rounds." It caught on and even the hospital staff used that phrase. If you had a prosthesis, there were also lessons on how to use and care for it and how to walk properly, as some of us hadn't walked for a long time.
There were also lessons on how to handle crutches. I still have the pair they gave me at the hospital. I once bruised the bone of my stump so badly in the 80s that I was back on crutches for a week. I remember the personnel manager of the company I work for saw me in the elevator one day with these old wooden crutches that had heavy bandages wrapped around the handles for cushioning so I wouldn't bruise my hands (something we learned in "Stump Rounds. ") He took one look at those old crutches and called them my "Gouaches."
In between meals, exercise sessions, and doctor appointments, however, there was a lot of downtime, which was boring. Knowing that I was going to be medically retired and married soon, I began working on my resume and starting sending out letters to corporations in California (my fiance and I had already decided that California was to be our future home.) That took up time for a while, but soon there wasn't much to do except play cards, watch TV, and continuously check the time to see how much longer it was until breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Of course, there were always new patients to welcome; I also had the honor of assisting the liaison officer with awarding Purple Hearts.
Some of the patients who arrived during my stay were those I had known from either USMC Basic School or from my unit in 'Nam. Lieutenant Clebe McClary was one of the fellow officers I knew in Basic School who had since lost an arm and an eye to a "Bouncing Betty" booby trap on a recon patrol. In the 70s, I read a book about Third Recon, and there was a chapter about Clebe and how he gave motivational speeches for a living in places like state prisons. At the KSV San Diego Reunion last September, I met an Air Force Chaplain who also hires Clebe for his speaking ability. Ron Vivona was another new patient who was one of the Marines from my platoon. He lost both legs on April 6, 1968 in a bunker ambush on Hill 700 near Khe Sanh. One of my roommates on the officers' ward was a Navy Pilot named Terry Gomer. He was in jet training at Corpus Christi, Texas, when the controls of the plane he was flying jammed, and he ejected. The problem was he was already going so fast that the wind broke his thighs across the seat when he bailedout. He said he was awake as he parachuted down until he saw the plane crash. That's when he blacked out and the next thing he remembered was a farmer trying to help him in the field where he landed on two broken legs. The doctors inserted metal rods into his thighs to help heal the broken bones. At that time, he was my roommate for about four months. Terry later married one of the nurses we partied with, and he later became the best man for my wedding in October. Last that I heard he was still married to that nurse and living in Atlanta.
During my seven months being hospitalized, either my fianc~ would come to Philadelphia to visit me, or I would take the train from Philadelphia to Washington, DC to be with her on weekends once I became proficient with crutches and later, walking with a prosthesis. My 60-year-old mother flew out once in March to visit me. It was the first time she had ever traveled on a plane. This was during the beginning of my stay when I wasn't even strong enough to have meals in the dining room. When my mother saw the food I was served in my room, she asked me if there was something else I wanted to eat that she could bring to me the next day. I said "a pizza and a chocolate shake," and sure enough, she brought that meal for me. The next day my in-lawsto-be also came to visit me. It was the first time I had met my father-in-law, and I remember not liking him. Today I'm 58 and he's 90 m I still don't like him.
After I married and relocated to California, I had some hospital appointments at the Oakland Naval Hospital and at the Martinez Veterans Hospital. I had new prostheses made at Dan Muth & Company located in San Francisco (which had a VA contract to make prostheses for veterans which lasted twenty years.) None of those facilities came close to the camaraderie and experiences I had at the Philadelphia Naval Hospital. Still, it was a historic place, and I was sad 'to learn that the building no longer exists
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Type II Diabetes Covered
About 200,000 Vietnam Veterans nationwide now qualify for Veterans Affairs disability benefits since Type II diabetes has become a covered condition. The anticipated rush of applications comes at a time when the Veterans Affairs Department is coping with a backlog of claims. More than' 500,000 claims are awaiting decision across the country.
We're already making plans to deal with the increased work load," said Dean Tayloe, director of public affairs for the Denver regional office. To qualify for diabetes benefits, veterans must have served in Vietnam between Jan 9, 1962, and May 7, 1975, and must have been honorably discharged from military service. The VA will review medical records of those who apply and when appropriate, approve the claim without requiring a separate medical exam," Tayloe said.
"Applicants can expect to wait three to six months for a decision," he also said. Veterans whose claims are approved will receive $101 to $2,100 in monthy disability benefits, depending on the severity of their illness. The VA estimates 9 percent of the nation's 2.3 million Vietnam veterans have Type II diabetes. About 16 percent of veterans receiving care from VA medical facilities have this type of diabetes.
The disease, believed to be connected to Vietnam veterans' exposure to the herbicide Agent Orange, derails the body's ability to process hormonal insulin, resulting in high blood sugar levels. Vietnam veterans with questions about Type II diabetes benefits can call the VA at 800-749-8387.
Chicago Sun-Times,
10 July 2001
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