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2001

Letters

REALLY END HOMELESSNESS

The VA has appealed the lawsuit filed by the ACLU and VVA to end the use of the West LA VA property by non-veteran groups (see article in March/April issue). The appeal will not be heard before the end of 2014 and quite possibly into 2015, which is when VA Secretary/Defendant Eric Shinseki has promised to end homelessness among veterans.   

If the Secretary is really serious about his promise, he will immediately drop the appeal and declare Los Angeles in a “state of emergency” for homeless veterans. He will immediately construct shelter for tens of thousands of disabled homeless veterans at the Los Angeles National Veterans Home. This city is the nation’s capital for homeless veterans, even though it has the largest VA property in the country.

I ask all veterans to join in demanding the dismissal of the VA’s unwarranted appeal, which is a shameful expense for the American taxpayer and will only extend the misery and suffering of war-injured veterans who are homeless in Los Angeles. 

Please speak up and demand the dismissal of the VA’s appeal to the federal judgment that adjudicates nine illegal “sharing agreements” between the VA and non-veteran entities.

God Bless America and the Veterans Revolution. 

Robert Rosebrock
Los Angeles, California

RED-ALERT PARADISE

The HAWK missile article was the first I read when I received my March/April issue. I was surprised to see it, especially as a cover story. To my knowledge, not much has been written about the Cuban Missile Crisis from the Army or Air Force perspectives.

I was stationed at George AFB, California, and deployed to Opa Locka Airport, Florida, which was temporarily renamed the Opa Locka Air Force Station. The base was a composite of Army and Air Force personnel. The method of getting to Florida was highly unusual to say the least. Getting there as fast as possible was imperative.

Seeing the HAWK missile batteries on the beach was certainly an unusual sight. I recall the civilians treated us extremely well. My wife and I have vacationed many years in the Keys, and about ten years ago I revisited Opa Locka both for nostalgia’s sake and to show my wife where I was. To my surprise, I met an exiled Cuban officer who was employed at the airport, and he was at Opa Locka when I was. We spent over an hour remembering, and we became fast friends.

Thanks for publishing this article. I think it is time for me to get off my duff and write something about the fall of ’62 at Opa Locka.

Paul Decker
Red Hill, Pennsylvania

THE MISSION OF HAWKS

Thanks for the article on the HAWK unit at Key West. While acknowledging the HAWK units around the world, though, I would like to recognize the 2nd Bn./71st ADA, 38th ADA Bde., the forward area HAWK unit in the Korea DMZ area, with battalion HQ on Camp Red Cloud. This was the first HAWK battalion deployed overseas. 

I was there in 1972, and again from 1974-76, in C, A, and D Batteries. As a 24B, and later 24G in Improved HAWK, I was one of the top three Army HAWK radar and fire control electronics maintainers for about ten years. I also served in maintenance at the ADA School at Ft. Bliss and in Germany at Hohenfels in both C 2/57 and C 3/60 ADA. 

HAWK, and other air defense systems, always had a mission, ready for combat, always operational and ready to defend the airspace over the battlefield before the grunts had to go there. The mission of HAWK was to be “First to Fire.” We generally thought more of the system moniker as meaning “Holiday And Weekend Killer” than the official Raytheon motto mentioned in your article. We always served an honorable and necessary role—as did we all, wherever we were. Even though we never fired a missile in combat, Israel proved the definitive effectiveness of HAWK in the 1973 war: They fired twenty-seven missiles and shot down twenty-six planes.
 

I have always felt the decommissioning of HAWK in the early 1990s was a big mistake. Even in its last iteration it would have been a highly effective defensive system now, one that would have quite effectively stopped the 9/11 attacks cold. I am quite proud to be a part of the history of air defense with my roles in HAWK. 

 I’m proud to have served with some great guys in a highly stressful job, including some highly competent warrant officers and good friends such as Sam Pignatella and Charles King, and great commanders such as Bob Huston and Donald Infante. The memories live on.

Dave Spencer
Chariton, Iowa

MISDIRECTION

In “Key West: Red-Alert Paradise” in the last issue, Marc Leepson mentioned that HAWK missile batteries were eventually set up in Vietnam north of Da Nang. That is not correct. I was stationed at Da Nang in an Air Base Defense Battalion role. I observed a HAWK missile battery across the street from our compound. The missiles were inside the air base in Da Nang. This was in 1966, probably March or April. I saw them every day. I was assigned to Comm. Plt.,1st Bn., 9th Marines, 3rd Marine Division. 

Donald Current
By Email

MORE ON HAWKS

Good article on HAWK missiles at Key West in ’62. I was an Air Force A2C stationed at McCoy AFB in Orlando during the crisis. The radar picket planes Mr. Leepson refers to were EC-121Ds from the 966th AEW&C Sqdrn. assigned to McCoy. I was an avionics repairman assigned to the squadron and worked on the old birds. We flew missions round the clock. The squadron was activated there in early 1960 specifically to monitor Cuban activity.

During the crisis President Kennedy ordered the B-52s assigned there to be sent to other locations temporarily. He then had squadrons of fighter aircraft (F-100s, if my memory is correct) positioned there. He let the Russians know he wasn’t kidding. There was also a U-2 launched out of McCoy during that time.

When Mr. Leepson listed the HAWK sites in Vietnam, he failed to mention Cam Ranh Bay. In ’66-’67 I was a SSgt. assigned to the 12th A&E at Cam Ranh working on F-4Cs. I remember the HAWK site sitting on a hill overlooking the air base and the sea.

James R. Robertson
Knoxville, Tennessee

PROUD OF LEADERS

I am a life member of VVA who served two tours in Vietnam. I recently met several VVA leaders here in Anchorage where I live. I met with several state council leaders and thoroughly enjoyed the time we spent together. Shortly after that I had the pleasure of spending more time with President John Rowan, Vice President Marsha Four, and Treasurer Wayne Reynolds in the Nation’s Capital during testimony before members of Congress.

VVA members have every right to remain proud of their leaders. You elect them to represent the organization and advocate for veterans. I stand as a knowledgeable witness to the great job many of them are doing.

I believe that one of God’s greatest gifts to veterans is to have the opportunity to meet and spend time with the leaders of veterans service organizations who devote their time and talents to care for America’s military members, our veterans, and their families. I had met President Rowan before and have always enjoyed our brief time together. Meeting him again with other VVA leaders created extra special moments that I am very grateful for and will cherish as the years roll by.

Ron Siebels, National Commander
Military Order of the Purple Heart

Leaving On A Jet Plane BY DOUG DOBRANSKY My flight to Vietnam was full of fierce anticipation and raw, killer-trained, anxious energy. Non-stop talking, agitation, and inner mental stirrings of what was coming. We sat backward in that C-141 Military Transport, without so much as a window, eyes bulging and not knowing anything about what was in store or where the hell we were headed.??But if I could relive one week of my life, it would be one year later, the first week of January 1968. I would want to walk the base camp with only two or three days left, being very careful not to do something stupid—like get killed at the last moment. I spent long nights lying awake, hearing explosions off in the distance while imagining my plane lifting off the ground out of Tan Son Nhut.  After I said my goodbyes and gathered home addresses, I jumped into the truck that took me down Highway One to Saigon and the airbase. When we arrived at Tan Son Nhut, we grabbed our gear and moved quickly toward the departure area. We smoked and stood there, amazed at what was about to happen. There was little supervision: The NCOs seemed to realize we were golden. We were going home, and no one messed with anyone golden. Those were our last hours in the war zone, and we were righteous.??As the minutes went by, then an hour or so, a buzz rose from the crowd. A large jet was landing far up the long runway. It hit the runway steeply and ran along the tarmac, easing its way toward us. For some reason we all knew this plane was ours. It came to a stop, and some long minutes passed. Then the door opened and out stepped a herd of young, shorn FNGs onto Vietnamese blacktop for the first time. I realized that some of those young faces would not return home. I felt sorry for them: for their fear and their uncertainty, for their hesitation and their ignorance. They had just stepped onto war-zone soil and were helpless. As they passed by, pathetic in their new fatigues and shiny boots, they stared at us and wanted desperately to know what to do to stay alive one more day. They knew we had survived and were going home.??As we walked toward the plane and that beautiful set of metal stairs, I looked back at that busy, crazy airstrip. Just another day for most of them on the ground, seeing off yet another group of lucky young men. I remember thinking how strange it all was that I came to this place a year earlier from a very small town in Ohio, and did what I did, and now I was perhaps going to get out of there in one piece—at least physically.  The beautiful stewardess at the top of the stairs snapped me out of my daze and brought me back to a very thrilling reality. Damn, she was good looking. I think her round eyes made her even more dazzling. But whatever it was, she fixed what was wrong with my head.  As we got seated and the door closed, we remained anxious that something was going to go wrong. They might say it was a mistake and we needed to deplane. There would be some mortar attack on the runway and we would have to hit the floor. Or we would be shot down taking off, since the greatest morale killer of all would be for the enemy to shoot down a planeload of young men on their last day in country. But then the engines revved up and we started to move. The stewardesses made their announcements and prepared to take off. We felt the thud of liftoff and heard the grinding motors of the wheels being pulled into the belly of the plane. The steep angle was nearly vertical, much steeper than any of us had ever experienced. We found out later that planes took off and landed that way to minimize the chances of being shot down. The jet took us east above the coastline of South Vietnam and over the South China Sea. Then the pilot announced: “Gentlemen, we have left South Vietnam airspace.” The plane erupted into vein-popping yells and screams, cheering, and noises. Everyone went nuts, and for the first time we all tried to believe it was true: We were no longer in Vietnam. We were really on our way back to our home. What a moment. The noise continued for a while, and everyone pushed to a window to see the dark blue-green ocean from 33,000 feet. But soon, one by one, we began to settle. I didn’t notice right away, but one man at a time, the plane began to quiet. An hour, then two, then six hours into the flight the darkness came and the reality of the day set in.  The plane was still. No one talked. Some slept, I guess, but when I looked around, I saw young men sitting or reading letters, a few writing something, but mostly I had the feeling of men getting hit with truth, the truth of knowing the next big thing was happening.  We were leaving that long year and those men we had gotten close to. We were going back home. Just hours out of the war zone, that plane with two hundred men was silent. It was very strange, that quiet. The thinking going on. I could feel it. Some large veil settled over us. We were thinking and trying to imagine how true or delusional it all was. Reviewing. Yes, that’s it: Reviewing all that had happened and just how the hell we got so lucky, and recalling the faces and names of those who were not. “Reviewing”: That’s the word that finally comes to me forty-six years later. That was the reason for all that quiet, all eighteen hours of it. Each of us in his own way was reviewing the surreal past year. That kind of reviewing takes some quiet. It was a strange plane to be on, with two hundred young men not making a sound. At least not until many hours later when the pilot again flipped on his PA system to say the greatest words we had heard in a very long time: “Gentlemen, if you look out the left side of the plane, you will see the west coast of the United States of America.” Once again life and youthful thrill filled the cabin. We teared up and began to scream and cheer. We were really home. Sure wish I could relive that week. To this day, I cannot tell this story without annoying tears and an unstable voice, but all that quiet was worth it. There was a reason we never said a word: Reviewing.