A Troop, 3rd Squadron, 4th Cavalry 25th ID - Veterans



   Personal Experience Narratives (War Stories)

  Purple Heart
by Gene Yonke, 1968

Hi Guys,
 
     I was going through my old Viet Nam photos and I found this one.  I'm on the left and Brian Blanchard is on the right.  This is the photo that I said I would tell you about someday when I had a chance.  I've got several photos of myself from that era, but in this particular one, Brian is pictured too and it takes place during a very special event.  This is a special photo.  There's a great story behind it. Brian eventually transferred out to another unit.  He was from Bangor, Maine.  I guess he was a true tanker at heart and wanted to be with an all tank unit.  He wasn't trying to avoid combat or anything like that because he was a pretty damned good soldier.  He just wanted to be in a tank unit.  So they granted him his wish and he moved on to the 34th Armor I believe.......... but not before we were able to get this shot.
 
We had been out in the bush and were involved in several firefights over the previous few weeks.  During one of the firefights, I was grazed in the left arm, around the tricep area.  I didn't even know that I had been hit.  But after all the action was over and things settled down, someone told me that I was bleeding from the left arm.  I took a look at it, and as I recall Gary did, too and each of us said that it was no big deal, and really, it wasn't.  It was kind of like a real bad scratch.  I bandaged it myself and pretty much forgot about it.  After all, we had been in firefights where guys were getting killed and badly wounded all around us.  And my track saw them all!   If someone got hit, we went in after them, so we were always where the action was because someone was always getting hit.  We'd call in for dustoffs as soon as the crap started to fly, very often before Capt. Coomer ever gave the command.  That's why we had such terrific dustoff support.  When the bullets started to fly, we immediately called for support.
 
Back to the story.  I had been hit in the arm and had patched it up and simply went on with what I had to do.  No infection, no fever, no gangrene, it was healing nicely and I pretty much forgot about it and so did everyone else. 
 
Eventually, we ended up back in base camp for a few days for a stand down. When we got to base camp, we were told that base camp had been rocketed lately.  Par for the course, right?  I also heard that some guy, while running into a bunker for cover during a rocket attack, had hit his head on the header of the bunker as he was entering the bunker and knocked himself out and was being awarded a Purple Heart for his efforts.  WHAT ??
 
I was PISSED !! I had been shot for real, not bad, but shot nonetheless, in a real firefight where people where seriously trying to kill me and I didn't get so much as a "sorry for the inconvenience (at the risk of your life) specialist," from anyone.  I was really pissed!
 
So I went to our medic --I forget his name.  It wasn't Langford but the guy before Langford.  Gary and I talked about him the other day.  Gary couldn't remember his name either but told me that he had overdosed on heroin and died while in country.  Well, anyhow, I go to Doc and I tell him that I heard about this guy who got a Purple Heart for running into a bunker.  I also told him that I had been shot, hadn't reported it, bandaged it myself but I sure as hell wanted to report it now cause if some moron is going to get a Purple Heart for running headlong into a bunker, then I should be getting one too for getting shot!!  The Doc said he understood, but there was nothing he could do about it.  The incident was over, his report of dead and injured had been filed already, but the next time I got shot, let him know sooner.  He didn't make me feel a whole lot better.
 
I was still pissed about this whole thing and was telling everyone and anyone who would listen to me about it.  I guess today they would say I was "venting".  Back then I was just "bitching".  So Blanchard says to me, serious as hell,  "that it was outrageous and by God he's going to do something about it!" and he get's up and marches right out of the hooch and I'm thinking to myself, "WOW!  I finally got someone to listen to me, and not only is he listening to me, he's 'going to DO something about it."  I felt vindicated!  
 
Well, about a half hour later someone comes to the hooch and tells me that I'm wanted out by the commo hut right away.  So I head out to the commo hut just the way I was dressed because I figured someone out there needed me for something.  If you'll recall, the commo hut was at the edge of the motor pool, right next to the CONNEX containers. 
 
Well, I go out to the common hut and there stands Brian Blandhard, paperwork in hand.  He tells me that "this is an official awards ceremony," and he issues me an Army unofficial Purple Heart.  It was funny as hell.  I don't remember the wording exactly,  but I remember parts of it.  It went something like this:
 
"By the power vested in me as an official representative of the United Stated Government, stationed here in Viet Nam against my will,  I hereby award Sp4 Gene Yonke a.k.a., the  Professor, the Purple Heart Medal for wounds received in combat, (even though it wasn't a very bad wound,) while defending the safety and honor of his country that the Army should have given him but didn't and maybe this will make him feel a little bit better and quit bothering everyone."
 
Well, I laughed my ass off. He made it sound kind of official but irreverently funny as well.   And I DID feel better.  And I DID quite bothering everyone.  I had my medal and I was amused, proud and satisfied.  That "medal' that he awarded to me meant more to me than any of the others that I got during that whole damned war.  He made me feel good when there wasn't an awful lot to feel good about.  Unfortunately, when I got medivaced to Japan in August, they stayed behind.  
 
 BUT I DO HAVE MY AWARDS CEREMONY PICTURE WHICH I SHARE WITH YOU TODAY.   
 
Its not often that I get to tell that story and am able to share my picture at the same time.  But now that I've got my new scanner, I can share it with YOU.  Now you understand why this 35 year old faded Polaroid photo is important to me.  Thanks for taking the time to let me tell you about it.  It brought back some good memories.   
 
Gene

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