Fordham Veteran's Writing Project - On The Sunny Side of the Street

On the Sunny Side of the Street – Bernie Seiler


“How did you know I was colored?” Zenobia asked as we played in my grandmother’s backyard. I responded with authority, “Because my grandma told me so.” Zenobia, my new playmate, had wandered into my 4-year-old world the day before. She could run fast, knew all kinds of new games to play, plus she could do amazing cartwheels and summersaults. At the time, I had no idea what being colored meant.

A few years later I overheard my parents anxiously discussing a newspaper article from the Muncie Evening Press about Louis Armstrong. After a successful concert at the local college, Louis and his band had gone to a small restaurant near the campus and were denied service. It was the first time I recall hearing about a truly mean spirited, overt display of racism in my hometown. I felt terrible, confused and ashamed about what had happened to this visiting celebrity. How awful he must have felt having his band treated this way, too. On stage or television, he had always seemed so happy and joyous about entertaining us. This was a new, troubling reality for me.


In the summers, I remember being told to always put my bike away, because the migrant workers that came to work in the surrounding tomato fields might steal it. I later became aware of Madison Street, a thoroughfare through town that insidiously divided the town between minorities and lower-class whites on one side and the rest of us on the other side.


Later, when I first arrived at my Ft. Knox basic training unit, it was immediately apparent that I would be living and training with a group largely composed of minorities. I admit feeling fear, unsure of how I would fit in, or if I would survive. It was difficult for me to understand Black idiom, the confusing chatter of the Hispanic groups, the encounter with many deep southern accents, all of which made me feel isolated, as though I had landed on another planet. Not surprisingly, however, it wasn’t long before these strange people, including me, were being equally tormented by trainers. The pushups, groveling in the dirt, the early morning bugle calls, the relentless polishing of boots and brass, plus the terror of the inspection line were all spread evenly among this entire gaggle of trainees.


Following the long introduction to the Army and its leveling influence on race, I eventually graduated from OCS and was assigned as a training officer at Ft Leonard Wood, Missouri. On my first day, I was instructed to report to Captain Boyd, my new company commander in the 5th Army Division. As I was ushered into meet with him, to my astonishment he was a tall, very dark Black man. His demeanor was entirely military, with a no-nonsense air about him. He welcomed me to the unit, but there was little warmth in his voice, as he outlined my duties. For my part during this first encounter, all sorts of unexpected emotions and feelings bubbled up. Why was I being placed in a position of subservience to this man? Would he treat me with respect? Could I tolerate kowtowing to his direction? What did I do to deserve this turn of fate?


As the weeks moved on, I learned that Captain Boyd and I could work nicely together. Although he rarely lost his cover of that upright military demeanor, he was a decent man, a smart man, and determined to do a good job for the Army. Over time, I began to understand the huge issues he faced with regards to his relationships on the post. On several occasions, other junior officers would make negative, sometimes racist comments about Captain Boyd to me, assuming I would think the comments funny. I remember an incident in which a party was planned for several company commanders, the junior officers and their families. My wife and I were invited, but I was asked not to tell Captain Boyd about the planned gathering. He and his wife, Ella and baby daughter Deidra not welcome to attend the event. My wife and I decided that we could not abide by the invitation, made some lame excuse and did not go to the party.


Not long afterwards, Boyd and his wife invited my wife to go on a shopping trip to Rolla, Missouri with them and their daughter. I had to work, but my wife happily accepted the invitation. While in Rolla, Captain Boyd and his wife wanted to make a stop in a store, across from a local park. My wife suggested that she and the baby should take a walk in the park while the Boyds shopped. Taking the toddler by the hand, the two of them walked into the park. Almost immediately, my wife noticed that when passing on the sidewalk, some folks openly glared at her disapprovingly. Eventually, someone driving past in a truck yelled a horrible comment to my wife, something like, “What are you doing with that nigger.” Becoming alarmed and fearful, my wife turned around towards the store where the Boyd’s were shopping, picking up the pace as she moved out of the park. She did not mention the incident to the Boyd’s, not wanting to cause them undue worry. I was angry and upset upon hearing about the story, but ultimately not surprised.


Admittedly, I never mentioned any of the various racial incidents to Captain Boyd because I lacked the courage to be honest with him. I couldn’t bring myself to cross the line of speaking to a superior officer about something so personal as the racial animus that surrounded him. For me, the recognition that had failed to exorcise my own lingering racism was even more frightening.

Fordham Veteran's Writing Project - Starlight

Starlight – Bernie Seiler,br />
It was predicted to be a rare night with no moon, no visible stars due to heavy cloud cover, and no discernible ambient light in this remote part of Tay Ninh Province. The depth of the anticipated darkness made armor units such as ours extremely vulnerable to attack by sappers. Sappers were highly trained operatives from commando units of the North Vietnamese Army or the local Viet Cong. Their individual cells usually included four soldiers, but it was not unusual to have as many as twenty or thirty included in an operation. Having their bodies covered with charcoal dust and grease, wearing only black loin cloths, they were nearly invisible in the dark. Their mission was to penetrate perimeters and then assassinate, destroy and terrorize who/whatever was possible. They typically carried AK 47 rifles, and bags of explosives tied around their waists, as they slipped inside a perimeter. The recent Tet Offensive had produced several sapper attacks in the area, only serving to heighten their reputation as fearsome fighters. The sapper units would take hours to slowly inch toward a target under the cover of darkness, watching and listening for any sign of detection. If successful, near dusk they would slip inside the perimeter to wreck their havoc and then slip back out, carrying any of their own dead.

Earlier in the day, our troop commander met with the four platoon leaders of F Troop to discuss how to protect ourselves that night. There was intelligence confirming that we might be subjected to a sapper attack and he was understandably tense as the four of us gathered around him. We reviewed how the perimeter would be organized in its usual defensive circle. Each vehicle was to have above ground anti-personnel Claymore mines set up in front of them, creating a blast zone out from the perimeter. Taking turns for the entire night, troopers were to stand watch for two-hour periods, during which the primary M60 machine gun on each vehicle was manned. There was to be a total blackout with no flashlights, no cigarettes, no talking, no sounds.

The troop commander then introduced us to a new piece of equipment that had been coptered in earlier that day…the high-tech Starlight Scope. It looked like a stubby, thick telescope and one was to be mounted on each vehicle. Using the smallest source of light available such as moonlight, starlight and any sky glow, it intensified the light source within the Scope and would make a sapper visible for up to maybe 200 yards. With no time to spare, we returned to our individual platoons to explain the urgent plans for the night and what to do with this unfamiliar Starlight technology.

During the night, I took the second watch shift for our track, taking over from the previous trooper at midnight. It was totally dark as I climbed and felt my way into position behind the machine gun. As I listened, I could hear only the sound of crickets, buzzing mosquitos and frogs looking for mates in nearby rice paddies. On edge as I found the on switch for the Starlight Scope, I powered it up. It made a small hum as it warmed and after a moment or two, it revealed in surprising detail the landscape in front of me, viewed as a greenish glow. I scanned the horizon, noticing the tall grasses in our clearing, the tree line off in the distance, the earthen mounds at the edge of a rice paddy and what appeared to be tree stumps dotting the field in front of me. The intensity of the night watch was exhausting as I listened for unusual sounds, and any hint of light or movement. I hunched down uncomfortably looking into the Starlight’s rubber eye piece, feeling the jungle’s heat and humidity while not for a moment taking my eye off the landscape.

At about 01:00 I was starting to cramp up a bit, shifting my position. My eyes were very tired from this non-stop looking into the green glow of the Scope. Although I couldn’t exactly pinpoint why, I suddenly had a sense that there was movement directly in front of the vehicle next to me, but, I couldn’t be sure. In an instant, I was fully alert, intently listening, and scouring the scene provided by the Starlight. After about fifteen minutes of suspense, I was startled to clearly see one of the “tree stumps” stand up. A sapper! My first reaction was to alert the trooper next to me that someone was in front of him at about twenty yards. I got no reaction. I tried the alert again, later learning the soldier on watch had been drinking and was sound asleep. With no reaction coming, I triggered the Claymore mines in front of my vehicle, quickly spreading the realization that the predicted sapper attack had started. The explosion created a flash of light into darkness in front of me, and the enclosed ball bearings of the Claymores spread out like huge shotgun blasts. Without knowing the scope or the direction of the attack, fear quickly escalated as all other tracks triggered their Claymore mines, with tanks blasting their main guns, personnel carriers firing their machine guns and other troopers taking positions between the vehicles with their M16 rifles blazing into the dark.

After some very loud and intense minutes, we were radioed to hold our fire. A Cobra attack helicopter had arrived on the scene and since I was the only one that had identified a sapper’s location, I was told to fire my machine gun towards that location and to keep firing. With flares illuminating the sky, the tracer bullets from my gun pointed towards the direction of the sapper. The pilot repeatedly strafed the area with his rapid-fire cannons.

We were very fortunate that night. Had sappers gone undetected by the Starlight Scope, they would likely have breached our perimeter and killed or injured many. There was no way of knowing how many sappers may have been approaching the perimeter, but if all the tree stumps in the field in front of my location stood up, we could have been facing at least ten sappers. We did find the body of the likely sapper that had been discovered. He was very slight in build and looked like a young teenager. One brave American died, as well. He was a terrific 1st Sargent, the kind of “lifer” whose wisdom and experience we all depended upon. He was one of the first troopers to grab his rifle and take a position next to my track. Recovering from the strain of the night’s events, I gave thanks and prayed for the repose of the two dead soldiers and for their family’s protection. Although I later received accolades for detecting the sappers and avoiding a catastrophe, there was no doubt the hero of that awful night had been the Starlight.

Fordham Veteran's Writing Project - Bronze Star with "V" Device

Bronze Fordham Veteran's Writing Workshop - Star with “V” Device – Bernie Seiler On a hot summer day in 1970, the 11th Armored Calvary Regiment’s F Troop was called to a formation, somewhere in Tay Ninh Province, Vietnam. Surprised by this formation, none of us knew the purpose of this hurriedly called event. As we gathered ourselves into a semblance of order, a helicopter circled overhead and then landed. Carrying the Regimental commander, he jumped out of his helicopter, ducking low to avoid the copter’s rotary, and striding over to our location.

Alongside the company commander, he began addressing this motley group of soldiers, looking every bit as ragged as one would expect for a group of men having been in the field for over 9 months straight. He proceeded to congratulate the troopers on their successful repelling of a sapper attack during the prior week. He talked about bravery, endurance, patriotism, and his pride in F Troop.

At some point during the address, the company commander brought the regimental commander over to where I was standing. I saluted him and to my shock and complete embarrassment, he pinned a Bronze Star with a “V” device on my dusty, smelly fatigues. He thanked me for my dedication to the Army and the part I had played in the previous week in helping to save F Troop from certain devastation. Although I got through the ceremony, I have to say that my most prominent emotion as I looked down at the Bronze Star was fury at being singled out and awarded something that in my opinion, was not deserved. Didn’t he know that during the repelled attack that I was not thinking about protecting the troops, but rather saving my own ass? Didn’t he know that I had chosen to enlist in the Army to select an easier slot in the OCS Armor School program, to avoid winding up as a grunt, slogging through the jungles on foot? Didn’t he know that I did not really support the Vietnam War and was too cowardly to move to Canada or to pursue a deferment by changing my college degree to education to avoid the draft? Didn’t he know there was almost nothing I liked about being in the Army? Couldn’t he see that by awarding me this medal that he was making a horrible mistake?

I recall taking the Bronze Star off, placing it in my storage box and never looking at it until I eventually got back home. As I unpacked my belongings, I saw the Bronze Star and decided to give it to my father, rather than keeping it for myself. I knew he would be touched by the gesture, feeling pride in its possession…unlike my own complicated feelings about receiving the medal. Years later, the Bronze Star was returned to me by my father when he was in a nursing home, along with his own Marine Corp brass, dog tags, pictures and other military paraphernalia. It was a touching moment for me. I think that might have been the moment when my feelings started to change about my Bronze Star and the beginnings of my healing from a bad case of “imposter syndrome.”

Much later I began to volunteer at the FDR Veterans Hospital in Montrose, NY, interacting with veterans and staff on a more personal level. I recall mentioning to a couple of them my struggle with military awards, and they were incredulous that the Army had never given me the medals that I was due, other than the Bronze Star, while in Vietnam. They retrieved the necessary paperwork for me to submit to the Army, so I could rightfully claim my medals. Although about 46 years late, I eventually received a box from the Army with several medals and ribbons for my service inside.

I now have a shadow box hanging next to my computer at home, including my medals, ribbons, patches, dog tags, and Army brass. I look at that small collection on a regular basis now. No longer do I have the extreme sensation that they were somehow a challenge to me, or that I didn’t deserve them. Rather, I look at them with a small measure of pride, but still not completely sure if that young soldier measured up to all that they represent.