by Doug Stanton
In response, Johnson dug in. The first deployment of conventional U.S. soldiers landed in Da Nang on March 8, 1965. Thirty-five hundred Marines waded ashore from landing craft, ready for battle, and instead were met by local women who placed flowers around their helmeted heads. This anticlimactic landing, however, was followed by increasingly bloody combat.
On November 14, during Stan’s senior high school year, U.S. troops of the 1st Air Cavalry Division were caught in a battle at a place called Ia Drang. The division’s 7th Cavalry Regiment fought a thoroughly prepared North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and suffered deep losses. Ia Drang, the NVA would say years later, was its test of America’s capability to fight in Vietnam.
In the battle, the 7th Cavalry had brought to bear a new idea in fighting: using helicopters to insert men into combat, by which troops could arrive on the battlefield at any place of their choosing. The use of helicopters would change the war that Stan was about to fight. Helicopters made it possible to reach numerous front lines in a single day, perfect for a guerrilla war in which identifying a symmetric front line was impossible. This air capability made it possible to fight without the need to declare that territory had been captured from the enemy. It was perfect for a war that counted dead bodies as a means of keeping score.
Yet it had its drawbacks. When the first cavalry soldiers landed at Ia Drang, they found themselves in an enormous ambush. Some 250 U.S. soldiers were killed; the American command claimed that at least a thousand NVA had been killed. Stan had read about the Ia Drang in the newspapers and, instead of being scared, the apparent adventure of combat had made him want to go to Vietnam even more.
As Stan made his way to basic training, more than 30,000 U.S. soldiers had been wounded and 5,008 had died in Vietnam. Each day, nearly 390,000 soldiers like him woke under the emerald glow of jungle canopy or beside the trembling mirrors of rice paddies to fight another day.
• • •
He and Gervais shuffle into a barracks at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, packed with hundreds of other recruits, many of them looking scared and unsure of what they’d signed up for. Angry drill sergeants patrol the floor, barking, “You, on this side! You, to the other side!”
Half of the crowd will be shipped several thousand miles away to Fort Lewis, Washington, for basic training there; the remaining recruits will train at Fort Leonard Wood. Stan and Gervais stick close together. A sergeant points to Gervais, motioning him to a different side of the barracks.
Stan protests, “Hey, Tom, get back over here.”
Stan explains to the sergeant, “We joined up the Army on the buddy plan.”
This seems to amuse the sergeant. “Really?” he says. “The buddy plan?”
“Yeah,” says Stan, “the buddy plan’s where you join with a good buddy and go through basic together.”
“So,” says the sergeant, “what you’re saying is, you’re queer?”
Stan, confused, says, “What I mean is . . .”
He sees Gervais making a motion with his hands: Drop this, Boots.
The sergeant says, “So where’s your buddy at?”
“He’s over there,” says Stan.
The sergeant asks Gervais, “Here’s your buddy, huh?”
Gervais nods.
“All right, you two, get in the middle.”
Stan and Gervais step forward.
The sergeant, addressing the crowd, says, “You want to hold hands or anything? Something you want to tell us to get out of the Army?”
Stan can’t believe he’s been so naive. The buddy plan? Right.
“No, sir,” he says, “we’ve got nothing to say, except we both have beautiful girlfriends.”
The sergeant isn’t amused. “You want to go to Fort Lewis or stay here?”
“I’ll stay here,” says Gervais.
Stan says, “Me too.”
That’s how they end up going through basic training together. The bullying infuriates Stan, but he keeps quiet. He’s an Army man now, hoping to be a Screaming Eagle. He doesn’t want to do anything that will ruin this chance. He writes home to some high school buddies, warning them, “Do not, whatever you do, join up on the ‘buddy plan.’ It will not go well.”
• • •
Stan discovers that he enjoys the misery of basic training a great deal. The challenges of running, marching, and especially shooting, coupled with the psychological question of whether he can prevail with excellent marks, excites a part of him he never experienced in high school athletics. He graduates basic training with honors and scores at the very top of his proficiency test. (He will find even greater pleasure in the new hardships of Advanced Individual Training at Fort Huachuca in Arizona, practicing map reading and survival skills and how to stay alive in close combat. At Fort Huachuca, however, he and Gervais will be forced to split up. The buddy plan is not to be, just as Stan suspected.) He already feels wiser than the naive kid who’d left Indiana just weeks earlier.
In early September, while in basic training, his father writes to tell him that something is wrong with his mother. She’s been having bad stomach pains. The doctor thinks she probably has a case of gallstones. She’s young, just thirty-nine, and in otherwise good health, his father assures him. She’ll be fine.
A few weeks later, his father writes again. His mother has seen another doctor. It’s not gallstones, his father tells him. It’s cancer.
He tells Stan that he’d better be prepared to come home on emergency leave. Stan finishes the letter, stunned. He’s also worried. The Army, preparing to send more troops to Vietnam, is speeding up its training schedule and all two-week leaves, usually granted to basic training graduates, have been canceled. Stan knows he must find a way to see his mother.
His Basic Combat Training graduation day is October 14. The next day, he’s supposed to take two flights and a bus ride to Fort Huachuca. Stan notices that he’ll have a five-hour delay in Chicago, where his mother is being hospitalized. That should be long enough to pay her a visit.
He calls his dad to ask him if he can meet him at O’Hare Airport the next day, but he can’t reach him. He then calls Maureen, his girlfriend, and asks if she and her mom might be able to help. Her mom, listening in on the other line, readily agrees.
They meet Stan at O’Hare and quickly drive him to Chicago Hospital/Medical Center. Stan and Maureen find his mother alone in her room, asleep. He approaches the bed and leans close, kissing her cheek.
She opens her eyes and looks at him. After a moment, she says, “Troop. Is that really you?”
She gives Stan a long hug. She asks him how in the world he’s been able to visit. Stan is shocked that she looks so sick. They talk for several hours until, finally, a doctor pulls Stan aside and delivers some news. He doesn’t think his mom will survive until Christmas. Stan has to compose himself, then turns back to his mother.
She is smiling, looking so happy. She tells him that his father won’t believe that he’s stopped to see her! She says that he’ll think she’s only been dreaming again!
Stan thinks a moment, then tells her that he’s come prepared. He pulls one of his Army trophies from his bag. He’d like to leave a part of himself that would stay with her forever but this shiny piece of plastic will have to suffice. He places the trophy in her hands. His mother looks at it and starts to cry. She says she has something to tell him. She wants him to know that she’s no longer mad at him, that she’s forgiven him for joining the Army. Stan leans down and kisses his mother good-bye.
Less than a month later, on November 12, he is standing in morning formation at Fort Huachuca when he’s told to immediately report to his company commander. He’s informed that his mother is desperately ill, and that he’s been granted emergency leave. Eight hours later, he’s landing at O’Hare and a family friend drives him to Gary. It’s cold and raining as he stares out the car window, the rambling buildings and smokestacks of Bethlehem Steel sliding past. His mind drifts, and he wonders how long he and Maureen will last as a
couple. Before he left for basic training, she started talking about how maybe they should date other people. Stan doesn’t want to date anyone else. He feels that as long as people like Mo exist in the world, the world has to be an okay place.
He pulls up outside their mobile home and Stan thanks the family friend and steps out into the rain. So many times as a boy, he’d come home after school to see his mother at the kitchen table, ready with a piece of pie and a glass of milk. She wrote him often at boot camp, letters he loved reading. She’d sign off, “Well, Troop, there’s chores to do. I’ll close now. Make us proud.”
Stan walks inside and sees his younger brother Bruce reading at the kitchen table. They greet each other and Bruce explains that their dad has left to pick up more pain medication for their mom. He nods toward their parents’ bedroom door.
Stan pushes it open and finds her in bed, her dark hair fanned on the pillow. Stan looks back at Bruce, who walks up and starts to cry. He mumbles that she’s been unconscious for two days, and Stan drops to one knee, taking hold of her limp hand. He’s holding it when their dad walks into the room. He and Stan embrace and stand beside her bed in silence, searching for any sign of renewed strength. The vigil will last four days.
• • •
On November 15, Stan is sitting by his mother’s bed while Bruce and Joe are still asleep. His dad has gone out for coffee. His brother Dub is due to arrive from Fort Bragg later in the day. Stan is holding his mom’s hand and she takes a deep breath. Silence, and then another breath. Now she isn’t breathing at all. She’s quiet for a few minutes, but Stan can’t be sure for how long. He’s so distraught, he can’t keep track of time. He feels for her pulse and then for a heartbeat. Nothing.
He looks up as his father enters the bedroom and their eyes meet.
“She doesn’t look too good,” his dad says. “How is she?”
“Well, Dad,” Stan says, after a moment, “I think she’s gone.”
Stan watches as his father opens both hands and the white Styrofoam cups of coffee drop to the floor. He runs to the bed and puts his head to her chest.
“She’s not breathing,” he says and starts crying.
Stan has never seen his father cry. He’s always told Stan to fight any hardship, no matter how difficult. Stan feels a hole open within himself, which he decides, without really being aware of it, that he will fill by going to war.
• • •
That night, his father gathers the four Parker boys and tells them that their mother is going home to Texas. Stan’s dad will accompany the body by commercial airline with Stan’s youngest brother, Joe.
Stan, along with Dub, his wife, Shelia, and younger brother Bruce, will drive the family car on the 813-mile cross-country trek to Queen City, Texas, in the state’s hilly northeast corner. Stan’s father grew up in Queen City, population eighteen hundred people, and Helen Laverne had lived in the west Texas town of Muleshoe, near the New Mexico state line. She’ll be buried in the Parker family cemetery.
Arriving in Queen City, they encamp at his grandparents’ farmhouse, where Stan and Dub spent some of their childhood summers. His grandfather W. O. (William Owen) Parker had paid them a nickel for every melon they brought in from the fields. W.O. always seemed to know just how many melons were still unpicked, telling Stan and Dub they’d left one or two behind. He said this even when he knew there wasn’t a stray melon in the field. None the wiser, Stan and Dub always resumed their hunt, always coming back empty-handed. Whether it was cruelty, or perhaps a macabre sense of humor, his grandfather taught Stan to have patience and forbearance and not to complain about situations he hadn’t created or couldn’t control, a lesson that would serve him well in Vietnam.
When his father explains that their mother will be buried on November 20, Stan realizes he has a problem. He’s supposed to return to Fort Huachuca that very day. In order to attend the funeral, he’ll need to extend his leave. He phones his company commanding officer in Arizona, expecting to fix this problem quickly.
The CO doesn’t take long to think it over: No, he says, most emphatically. “And if you’re not back here, Parker, you’re AWOL. So your ass will be grass! And I’ll be the lawnmower!”
Well, that’s clever, Stan thinks. He pleads for more time, believing that reason will win here. But it’s no use. His request is denied.
He tries thinking the problem through, believing that no matter the circumstance, there’s a solution. He walks into the living room, its oak floor covered with a braided rug, its walls bearing pictures of generations of Parkers, and sits down next to his father, who, Stan thinks, has suddenly begun to look older.
A news story on TV catches Stan’s eye. The report is that President Lyndon Johnson will be at his Texas ranch for the Thanksgiving holiday. Stan has an idea—a crazy one, he thinks. But what does he have to lose?
He picks up the phone in the hallway and dials the operator on the local party line. The operator’s name is Sarah, and the Parker family has known her as long as Stan can remember. The party line connects the Parker household to all other houses in Queen City and to the rest of the world.
“Why, Stan Parker,” says Sarah, hearing Stan’s voice. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Sarah. I’m in Queen City.”
“I was sorry to hear about your mother.”
“That’s kind of why I’m calling.”
Sarah asks him what he means.
“Well, I have a strange request. My company commander won’t let me stay in Texas for the funeral. And I need to be here for my dad.”
“You’re kidding me. They won’t let you stay?”
“No, ma’am. And I saw on TV news that the president’s in Texas, and I’m in Texas, and, well, I thought I might talk to him.”
The LBJ ranch in Johnson City sits about four hundred miles southwest, near Austin. Sarah says she doesn’t see why she can’t at least try to connect him.
“You don’t go anywhere. I’ll call you right back.”
Several minutes later, the phone rings.
“Stan,” Sarah says, “you’re on with the LBJ ranch in Johnson City.”
Stan pauses. Is this really working? A man on the other end asks him what he can do for him.
Stan stumbles a bit, then says, “Hi. Yes, this is Private Stan Parker, of the U.S. Army. May I please speak with the president?”
The voice at the other end seems amused. Stan will later discover he’s a military aide. “Perhaps I can help. Tell me what you’d like to discuss.”
Stan explains how his mother has died and that he’d broken her heart when, he, Stan, had signed up for the Army after high school graduation. And now he wants to give her a proper funeral. But his company commander back at Fort Huachuca has forbidden him the time he needs.
There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Stan figures the person is absorbing this news.
“And everything you’re telling me is true. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“Okay, you stay on this line. Sarah,” the aide says, “I’m going to give you a number, it’s unlisted, and I want you to tell them that this call has been directed from the LBJ ranch.”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
“Now, Private Parker, don’t hang up.”
“No sir, I won’t.”
The aide hangs up, and Sarah dials the number, saying, “Stanley, I’m connecting you now.”
After a few rings, a woman’s voice is on the line. Sarah says, “Yes, this call has been referred to you by the LBJ ranch in Johnson City, Texas.”
Almost immediately, a male voice picks up. “This is Robert McNamara speaking. How can I help you?”
Stan is floored. He’s talking with the secretary of defense of the United States of America! He presses on with his story about his mother’s funeral. Mr. McNamara listens and seems to express shock at the company commander’s refusal to extend Stan’s leave. He tells Stan that he’ll take care of things. As unexpectedl
y as it began, the phone call ends.
The secretary remains true to his promise. The following day, when Stan calls Fort Huachuca again, he learns his leave has been extended. He also learns that the U.S. military will pay for his return flight and even provide a military escort from Chicago to Fort Huachuca in Arizona.
Upon arriving at base, his escort, an Army colonel, strides crisply into the CO’s office. The CO looks up in surprise.
“I’ve been sent by the secretary of defense to bring Private Stan Parker back to your command. He’s been at his mother’s funeral. And he is, I repeat, not AWOL.”
The CO turns completely white. Stan thinks the man is going to have a stroke. The colonel says good-bye and strides out the door.
Stan considers saying something clever, but thinks better. He simply salutes and hustles from the office. This, he thinks, is how you survive in the Army: be bold, act swiftly, and keep moving.
February 1–September 18, 1967
Fort Benning, Georgia, to Fort Campbell, Kentucky
On February 1, 1967, Stan Parker completed jump school and received his “blood wings.” It had been two months since he triumphantly walked out of the CO’s office at Fort Huachuca. He was a paratrooper now.
His training over the past seven months had changed him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. First, he realized that surviving anguish and physical suffering was often a mental game. He also realized he was capable of making grave mistakes, especially when it came to knowing how to defend himself in close-quarters combat. At Fort Leonard Wood, his platoon drill sergeant had pulled him aside and told him, “Private Parker, I know that you joined the Army to be airborne and go to Vietnam, and you’re going to need this knowledge on the battlefield.”