Standing Out

Collectively we were Currahees; We Stood Alone…together. The unit made us strong and effective as individuals. We were ordinary in our individuality. We were extraordinary together. I never felt safer nor stronger than with my Currahees. Our time in Vietnam sealed that affinity forever.

However, there were certain points of individuality that make a person stand out in your mind. Schaeffer stood out immediately. I trust I have his name spelled correctly. We were primarily known by our last name, yet often differentiated by rank or position. For instance, most guys will check out the new medic…to draw their own conclusions. Schaeffer came up immediately and showed me his arms. I sensed that was a ritual with him.

Schaeffer was square and solid built. I thought he was going to show me  a neat Airborne tattoo. No. He showed me the inside of his arms. His thick arms revealed no of trace veins. His blood ran deep. He would be a medic’s nightmare, if hit. In civilian life, he had been an RC Cola truck driver. I thought he looked like a machine gunner, but I remember him as a rifleman.

The squads would rotate, giving each squad a turn at the front. I remained toward the front of the middle squad. I liked Schaeffer and walked near him on many occasions. We were in a typical firefight one day. Schaeffer bravely advanced and took his position. His head went down behind some cover, but his butt went straight up in the air. I said to him, “Schaeffer, may I suggest you get your ass down man. I don’t want to search for your vein today!” He just laughed at me…like he had an impervious butt or something. We had some mileage on this tour; perhaps he did.

I remember traversing three mountain ridges with him in one day. The brass wanted us to move from point A to point B, regardless of the terrain. We were in great shape, but on the third range I began to question my own personal limits. We were breaking trail on this last one. We took a break near the top. Schaeffer sat down; I dropped my ruck and stood up. I was afraid of showing any kind of weakness. I might look mighty weak trying to get up. I shared my concern with Schaeffer…he just laughed. On the other side of the crest, I slipped and slid on my rear about a hundred feet before regaining my footing. I thought I would be hanging out, but the pants held up! Schaeffer had a good laugh on that too.

I went on R&R with the promise of returning to this platoon. Upon my return, the guys shared that they were in a firefight and Schaeffer was hit.  I asked, “Was he hit in the ass?” they laughed and said, “Yes he was doc. How did you know?”  I know that he was hit, but I wasn’t there. I do know that he was a fine trooper, one of our best. A million dollar wound is one sufficient enough not to return, yet recoverable. I pray this particular trooper had such a wound. I missed seeing him going forward.

Currahees…I write to remember, but I also write to connect. I trust a comment will come that Schaeffer, and men like him, are alive and well today. Someone will tell me his name is spelled correctly, and that they liked him also.

While I was on R&R…the war didn’t stop.