Huntley Vietnam Vet reflects on those who gave all

Fred J. Wilhelm stepped off a military transport plane into a mortar attack 40 years ago.

He was 20, a draftee from Chicago who had just arrived at the U.S. Army base in Cam Ranh Bay, South Vietnam.

"The guys there were our age, but looked much older, like something out of a movie," said Wilhelm, now 60, of Huntley. "They were tan, dirty and had muddy boots and uniforms. We were still in our new (Army) greens. We didn't know what to expect, we hadn't even been assigned weapons yet. From the time I arrived, I never thought I'd get back."

Wilhelm did make it back, but 58,000 American service men and women did not. The Huntley veteran shared his story because he wants to make sure no one forgets those who made the ultimate sacrifice for this country, including two soldiers who held special importance to him and his wife, Marilyn: Charles Hicks and Raymond J. Kiesler.

Hicks was a "fun-loving" Californian who served with Wilhelm as a military police officer and was killed in action in March, 1970. Kiesler was a tank driver in the First Infantry who was Marilyn's fiancé. A nice guy and good singer, he was going to marry Marilyn when he got home.

It would only be later that Wilhelm would come to know who Kiesler was. But he, like all who serve in war zones, knew well the toll of combat.

It's a toll which, four decades later, still carries impact.

Wilhelm journeyed to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial last year on the 25th anniversary of the Wall to pay his respects to Kiesler, Hicks and the thousands who did not come home. He penned an essay after that emotional journey, in part to process his own feelings as well as to further honor those who gave their lives for their country.

As time passed, he decided to share it in the hope others will gain further appreciation of all veterans.

"For Veterans Day, most veterans don't want to be forgotten. After the war is over, you move on," Wilhelm said. "We don't want to be heroes, but it's nice to be know people appreciate what we did."

Homecoming silence

Wilhelm, a 1966 graduate of Carl Schurz High School, was still living at home and was a tool and die apprentice when he was drafted into the Army in May, 1968.

The United States had more than 500,000 troops on the ground as both the war and protests against it escalated.

He wrote another essay about his journey to the war zone: "As we are sitting in a large group on the St. Louis airport terminal floor, a man walks by carrying a guitar case. We instantly know who it is: Chuck Berry. He stops and wishes us good luck. He knows where we are going."

By October, Wilhelm was in Nah Trang, Vietnam, where he spent the next 15 months with Military Police Company 272, First Field Force. He was out of the worst of the fray, knows others were not as fortunate.

Then one morning in January, 1970 Wilhelm said goodbye to his unit and boarded a jeep bound for Cam Ranh Bay. A few days later, he was home. "For Vietnam veterans, we went from the jungle to city streets within 48 hours," he said.

It took Wilhelm a couple of years to transition completely to civilian life. Certain sights, sounds and smells instantly triggered memories of Vietnam. But by 1972, he'd married Marilyn, who he met on a blind date - "Our friends thought we'd have something in common" - and began a career at Illinois Bell.

The Wall

He rarely spoke about his service until he joined the Vietnam Veterans Association of Des Plaines and met others who had experienced what he had. It was his involvement with that group that took him to Washington D.C. in November, 2007.

There, he and thousands of other Vietnam vets were honored with a parade and speeches. The celebration also included a marathon reading of all the names inscribed on the Wall.

Wilhelm took his turn reading 30 names, 30 of the 58,000 Americans killed in Vietnam.

As he stood in front of The Wall meant to honor them, he was nervous, worried he would mangle the names of those who had made that ultimate sacrifice.

Gilbert Solano Salazar. Albert Willard Santos. Keith Francis Sharp. He tried to look out at the audience after each. Michael Francis Shea. Manford Dalvis Stewart.

Jack Edwin Telling, Fredrick Lamar Thrower, Lawrence Daniel Torrez.

They would have been his age. He could have been a name on the list. But he's there reading their names because they didn't make it home and he did.

The reality hit him hard. His emotions took over, the lump in his throat and tears in his eyes slowing him.

"I stop for air, no longer able to look up, fearing I won't be able to continue; I do not want to let them down," Wilhelm wrote in his essay.

"I catch my breath. Charles Hartsell Gobble, Thomas Patterson Hanson. I feel like the whole area around The Wall is listening as I breathe in again, closer to the end, William Eugene Hargrove, and George Ward Henry Jr. My voice cracking, tears in my eyes, I say "God Bless you all" as I turn and salute The Wall."

As he heads down the steps, a fellow veteran gave him a hug. "Welcome home," he said.

Later that night, the Wilhelms returned to the Wall, where the reading continued. "It was eerie. There were spotlights on the Wall but everything else was dark," he said.

A man in his forties and a boy of about 10 approached the podium. "The man started to read, but then he stopped. It was clearly very emotional for him. So the boy took over and read the names for him," Wilhelm said.

Were they the son and grandson of a soldier who never returned? Wilhelm can only speculate. Just as he sometimes wonders why he survived when so many others didn't.

"You see that wall of 58,000 names and think about how many of those people you ran across, who died and you never even knew," the veteran said. "It was just the luck of the draw."

It's a draw that, for many, means their loved ones are no longer here. For others, it means they will forever carry the toll of combat be it from World War II, Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf War, Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan.

On this Veterans Day, Fred Wilhelm hopes people will remember all who have served this county, no matter where or when they served. He knows he, for one, will sure never forget.

History of the holiday

A 1918 armistice between the Allied Nations and Germany that essentially ended World War I at the eleventh hour of the 11th day of the 11th month is the basis for Veterans Day.

In 1919, President Woodrow Wilson declared November 11 as Armistice Day, to commemorate that historical moment. In addition to parades and speeches, early Armistice Day celebrations included a brief interruption of business at 11 a.m.

The day was declared a legal holiday in 1938.

It continued unchanged until 1953 when a Kansas businessman began to promote the day as a celebration of all veterans, including those who served in World War II and Korea.

Al King enlisted the help of his state representative and in 1954, Congress officially renamed Armistice Day, "Veterans Day."

The Monday holiday law passed in 1968 moved Veterans Day to the fourth Monday in October, but many states and veterans groups opposed the move and continued to observe the day on November 11. In 1975, President Gerald Ford returned the holiday to its original date.

This year, Veterans Day will mark its 90th anniversary. Even if you can't make it to a parade, take a minute - maybe around 11 a.m. - to thank a veteran.