I was born in Volga, South Dakota, on May 18, 1946. I was the oldest of seven children. I lived in South Dakota my first years and then relocated to St Louis, Missouri, when I was about 10 years old. Our family lived at Pruitt-Igoe housing units during my 4th, 5th and 6th grade school years. Our family was one of three Caucasian families that lived there. I experienced prejudice and discrimination and physical attacks when we lived in this heavily populated, low-income community. As a skinny 10- or 12-year-old kid, I experienced fist fights in the classroom, hallways, school grounds and in the housing projects.

words + photographs GRANT TOWNSEND

In February 1958, our family moved into an old house that had not been lived in since the 1940s. Hobos had sheltered there and often showed up surprised anyone actually lived there. My mother gave birth to her seventh child in March 1958. Today, the house would be classified as uninhabitable.

I graduated from Southwest High School (St. Louis) in spring of 1964. I had just barely made it through high school. My parents divorced when I was 15 1/2 years old, and I was unsupervised my teenaged years. I worked part time at a Phillips 66 gas station, which provided my livelihood. I was not motivated to participate in school activities and was pretty much a street kid. I smoked, skipped school often and was not a good student. Upon graduation, I spent the summer hanging out with my friends. I was raised Catholic but had discontinued my faith.

Basic Training

Beginning Sept. 14, 1964, a friend and I volunteered for three years in the U.S. Army. I was 18 years old. During my service, I attained the rank of Specialist 4th class. The same pay grade as a corporal. I was offered E-5 Sergeant to reenlist, which I refused when discharged. At this point in life, I had no plans or life goals. We did our basic training at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri, and I also did my advanced training as a heavy equipment operator there at Fort Leonard Wood. I learned disciplines I did not have in my life and benefited greatly from this training. I had been raised in extreme poverty and came from a dysfunctional home life. I do not remember any emotions or fears. My home life had been destroyed with my family’s divorce situation, so leaving home was not an issue. Curiosity about life was more of an issue than fear or being scared.

Upon completion of basic training and AIT training at Fort Leonard Wood, I was assigned to the 84th Engineer Battalion at Fort Ord, California. I was there for a few months before we were deployed to Vietnam. As an 18-year-old boy recently out of high school, I was not prepared for the experiences coming my way. I got to know the men in my Company in one environment and then experienced the same men in a war zone. I had to reevaluate my perception of these people as they acted differently in California than they did in a war zone. In California, Corporal Jim* was a person I thought was awesome. He had a red convertible, pocket money, street clothes, pretty girls calling on him, and he lived a partying lifestyle. Private Arthur*, age 19, was skinny, buck toothed, wore glasses, and lived conservatively. He was the one we played pranks on and made fun of.

In April 1965, we were assembled and were told we were going to Vietnam. I had never even heard of that place much less knew where it was. We departed Oakland-San Francisco Bay on May 13, 1965, by ship and was at sea for 31 days. From that point on, everyone only wore military clothing and everyone was pretty much on the same status except by rank. Your money – you could save it, gamble it, buy cigarettes and that was pretty much all you could do. There was no Internet, no cell phones or communication of any kind with home other than postal mail.

The ship we were on was a restored troop carrier from the Korean War era. It broke down in the middle of the ocean, and we were adrift at sea for several days before tow boats were dispatched and arrived to get us. We were towed 500 miles to Midway Island and then reloaded onto another ship, then on to Subic Bay in the Philippines, and then on to Vietnam. The power, balancing pumps and the ventilation systems were out of service. Had there been any stormy seas, we would have capsized. Looking back, it was a very vulnerable time.

Vietnam

When we arrived in Vietnam, all of our social economic status dramatically changed. We were in a war zone, everyone wore the same clothing and gear, and our social life no longer existed. Soon after arriving in Vietnam, Corporal Jim was sent home with a nervous breakdown. Private Arthur was solid, and you could depend upon him to cover your back no matter how difficult things got. This has had a life-long effect on how I evaluate people. Character is essential. Anyone can cut it when good things are happening to them, but when you get into life’s difficulties, not everyone has what it takes to survive.

We arrived at Qui Nhon in June of 1965, but it was September before the American public was told of the conflict in Vietnam. Our battalion camped in a sand field near the China Sea. This location had been the latrine for the Vietnamese village for years. They would publicly use this area for their toilet needs, then cover their excrement with sand. Our battalion set up our pup tents, worked long shifts from early morning to dark, got up in the middle of the night for guard duty and existed in these conditions for a season. We existed in primitive conditions at best. We had C-rations for our meals. Our drinking water was treated with some type of sanitation tablets. To this day, I do not drink much water. The temperatures were 100-110 degrees daily. Initially, we had no shower facilities. Over a period of time, we did get kitchen-prepared food and showers. For the showers, water was pumped to overhead tanks, which were gravity fed. The only privacy was a bamboo privacy shield surrounding the facility, otherwise we were totally exposed for our bathing needs. I recall how cold the water was, as it was ground temperature until ambient temps heated the water.

We worked long hot work days with C-rations to eat, and then had to perform guard duty at night. We slept in pup tents and had substandard accommodations for several months. Fatigue set in, and life was difficult. I operated heavy equipment as my duty there.

When the 101st Airborne Division made a beach landing, they were armed and ready for combat. As soon as they arrived, the night was filled with flares and machine gun fire. Body bags appeared in the mornings. We had been oblivious to the eminent dangers we were in. David* was in our platoon and was walking by himself. Three soldiers from the 101st Airborne attacked him and beat him with their steel helmets. David was hospitalized for several days with his injuries. David was married and had received a picture of his wife. The picture was torn in two and had a man’s hand on her waist. Later he was asked for a divorce. Witnessing all of this was traumatic.

On July 9, 1965, our platoon was working at Qui Nhon, preparing a building site for a tent hospital. Production was behind schedule so several were assigned to work the midnight shift. During the darkness of night, Spec 5 Sherman* was operating a bulldozer that rolled over on him, crushing him to death. Sherman’s death was a shock to our entire platoon. I knew Sherman from California and was shaken by his death. This underscored the danger of our work plus the reality of being in a war zone, where the enemy was not apparent until they attacked. There were continuous threats of death in Vietnam. We witnessed fighter planes and helicopters being dispatched with their armament. We heard howitzer guns being fired. We observed night flares and heard the machine guns, then saw then body bags being transported and laid out on the tarmac in the morning. In Vietnam, you soon realized you were in a place where some of the people hate you and will kill you if they get a chance. You do not know who is who, so everyone became suspect. In a war zone, you observe and experience things that are not the normal in the civilian world. Death was a constant threat from an unknown enemy, as were trust issues and uncertainty of character. You did not know who the enemy was until they fired upon you; therefore, you became hyper-vigilant and questioned every person’s every move. As heavy equipment operators, we often worked in remote places and were vulnerable to enemy aggression. Hyper-vigilance became essential for survival. You were often vulnerable and had to keep your awareness up. I remain hyper-vigilant to this day. Knowing there were enemies out there that would kill you dead if given a chance resulted in lifelong, underlying anxieties.

Duck Dynasty’s Si Robertson, a Vietnam veteran, said, “When you come to realize there are those out there that would kill you if given the chance, you become hyper-vigilant.” You are always aware of those around you and what they are doing. To this day, I still have an unconscious tendency to watch everyone around me to ensure all is well.

As heavy equipment operators, we worked in remote locations. What I am going to describe is one of my most memorable events. On one occasion, we traveled all night in LCD boats. When we landed early the next morning, the location was beautiful. The temperature was cool in the morning. The sky was blue, and the beach and palm trees were that of a tropical resort. The ocean water was asa calm as a sheet of glass. Our lieutenant had a boombox none of us had ever seen before. Nancy Sinatra was singing, “These boots were made for walking.” Our boat was still in the shadow of the mountain, but the sun had already arisen above us. Suddenly, airplanes were dropping napalm bombs. We could hear machine guns firing their rounds. Nancy kept singing. The pieces just did not fit. A beautiful resort setting, perfect temperature, Nancy singing her heart out with the bombs and napalm exploding, and machine guns blazing away. Our boat continued towards shore to drop us off on the beach. This location was remote and was a dangerous place to be. Howitzers exploded in the middle of the night. Viet Cong prisoners were being maintained in barbed wire enclosures. They had some type of substance placed upon them, and it tattooed them as they sat in the hot sun. When released, if ever caught in enemy activity, they would be executed if they had the tattoos upon them. We were in a very active war zone, and it was a spooky place.

We worked all week at that location building a Perforated Steel Plank (PSP) airplane landing strip. On Friday morning, I was instructed to go to the worksite and clean up any debris left on the road. My equipment was out of gas, so I was delayed and arrived at the jobsite late. Every other morning there were armed guards on site to protect us from the enemy. That morning, there were no guards, and I was there working by myself for about an hour. When I finished up, I returned to camp. Upon arrival, it was disclosed there had been an ambush and people had been wounded. In the excitement, they forgot they had me down there working by myself. Had I not been delayed, I would have gotten to the jobsite when the ambush occurred and would have been a target in the middle of everything. My M-14 rifle was dirty from the dust generated from the heavy equipment; therefore, after firing the first round, I would have been unarmed and defenseless.

On another occasion, we were transported by helicopter out to do guard duty on our equipment. The equipment had been left on a dirt road surrounded by rice patties on each side. We took turns walking guard duty around our equipment during the night in this remote location. Every noise and movement were potential threats in that environment. Walking by the equipment with so many possible places for ambush was a long and scary experience.

We were told we could not fire until we were fired upon. We hoped they would miss. There was a lot of dust as we worked. We carried our rifles in the cab with us but excessive dust and grime always covered our weapons. I figured I could get one round off before the weapon jammed. I am thankful I never did have to shoot at anyone during my time in Vietnam.

As a heavy equipment operator, my job was to operate an earth mover called a scraper. We stripped a mountain of soil and covered the sandy beach with about 18-24 inches of soil to create the base for military operations and a large hospital complex. When this was completed, we moved inland and did the soil preparation for PSP airstrips, heliports and outlaying base camps.

Agent Orange would be sprayed to kill the vegetation, and then we would bulldoze the foliage to clear out an area around the military camps in order to have a kill zone surrounding the bases. No protective equipment and limited hygiene facilities resulted in many lifelong consequences. I have a friend I worked with there who has neuropathy, who has lost the use of his legs because of paralysis and has much body pain. I have had skin disorders all of my adult life but treat it with various meds. My dermatologist recommended an over-the-counter medicine called Niacinamide, which has really helped.

We worked hard and were under duress in a war zone for the 13 months I was there. I did not realize the under lying anxiety I was in until I was departing Vietnam. When our flight was airborne and we were no longer under threat of gunfire, an unanticipated sigh of relief overwhelmed me. It took me by surprise because I did not realize the tension I was under until we were out of gunfire range. I have remembered this often over the years.

Honorable Discharge

Upon returning to stateside duty, I served at Fort Riley, Kansas, and finished up my time at Fort Leonard Wood. I received a 90-day early out and was released from active duty in June 1967.

I never realized how the Vietnam war has had such a major impact on my life. Many years after being discharged, I am addressing some of these issues, and it is hard. The book Recovering from the War: A Guide for all Veterans, Family Members, Friends and Therapists has helped me remember and resurface my emotions regarding these experiences. I am not sure what to do with all the baggage of grief, anger and sadness; however, as a Christian, prayer and our Lord have helped me.

Upon returning to the States, I was surprised by the American attitude toward the Vietnam war and how soldiers returning were being treated. We were called “baby killers” and treated as if we had done something wrong. I learned real quick to zip it up and not disclose my involvement in the war. People I served with, their lives were altered by conflicts and fights at home. Expelled from college for these issues changed the direction of their lives. I look back and see young men going to a place in a far-off land and sacrificing their lives physically and emotionally, and for what? Many lost their lives and many other lives were ruined and or forever scarred by what happened in Vietnam. War is an ugly business and should not be engaged until everything else has failed. If you must engage in war, do it and be done with it.

Over the years I have not allowed myself to reflect upon Vietnam and all I experienced and saw. Upon returning to the States, I drank excessively. I did not allow myself to think about Vietnam, even when it was plastered all over the news all the time. I had no one to discuss the issues with, so I kept them to myself. I simply stuffed my emotions and went on with my life.

Over the years, I have avoided Vietnam veterans. I stayed away from them because I was uncomfortable with the discussions about Vietnam. Only in recent days have I started walking up to these veterans and visiting with them about the war.

PTSD

About 10 years ago, I attended a play at a local high school one of my grandkids was part of.  I intentionally approached a guy directing traffic with a Vietnam cap and told him I had been in Vietnam. I told him I was only now addressing some of the emotions I had stuffed. He said loudly, “Welcome Home, Soldier.” His remark surprised me, and I was overcome with emotion. I had to go sit down and regain my composure. I realized then I was still carrying lots of baggage from the war. I was evaluated and diagnosed with moderate to severe post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD was not even a diagnosis until years after that war.

I appreciate how America treats soldiers today. When we came home from Vietnam, it was an entirely different experience. Emotional detachment has been an issue for me. I do not allow my emotions to interfere with my analytical reasoning.

Hyper-vigilance, distrust, being aloof, emotional detachment, alcohol abuse, workaholic tendencies and relocating numerous times affected me and my family. My wife, Bobbie, and I have been married 54 years (in May 2023). We have two daughters, two sons-in-law, five grandchildren (three are married), and six great-grandchildren.

We have been blessed in so many ways, yet life has been very hard emotionally. When I discuss these issues, people look at me like I’m crazy.

I have sleep disorders. I use a CPAP machine and try to maintain regular sleep cycles.

My wife says I am too defensive. I interpret criticism as aggression and immediately resort to defense mechanisms before I can process the situation. This is unacceptable behavior. I struggle with this constantly. Retreat and regroup is my strategy. When my emotional response spikes, I have to regroup.

I have difficulty with concentration. Much is from my neurological issues associated with the brain aneurysm I had in 2002. The doctor I had at Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis attributed it to the cellulitis I had in the military. During basic training, when I was 18, we went on a march before daylight and returned after dark. A blister on my foot became enflamed, and my ankle swelled so much, my boot had to be cut off. I developed acute cellulitis, then blood poisoning. Thirty-eight years later, I was having memory issues. My doctor in Springfield ordered an MRI, ordered it to be re-checked and discovered the aneurysm.

When I am interrupted, I have to reconstruct what I was doing and where I was at. I have difficulty multitasking, and I get frustrated when I am unnecessarily interrupted.

Hyper-vigilance is an ongoing concern. I am continually and unconsciously assessing who is in the area and what they are doing. Often, in conversation, I will look at someone who has approached and the person I am speaking to will look to see what I am looking at.

The symptoms vary. On a good day, it is not bad; however, when I am stressed, I am much more vigilant and more easily provoked. When I first returned from Vietnam, I resorted to alcohol abuse and experienced outbursts of anger and profanity. I felt rejected and unaccepted for being a Vietnam veteran.

Hope

I became a Christian in 1973, partly because of the persistence of a co-worker who became a friend. Bobbie was raised Baptist, while I was raised Catholic. We got married in a Lutheran church as a compromise. As adults, we did not attend church except at Christmas and Easter, even that was unfaithfully. Four years into our marriage, we had a blow up. Bobbie moved out with our two daughters, and we decided to divorce. We had attended Easter services at a Baptist church and was invited to a Sunday School party by Art Bilkey, a gentleman I worked with. To be polite, I said we might if I did not have to work. Later, Art called and reminded me about the Sunday School BBQ. I told him Bobbie and I had a big fight and were getting a divorce and would not be going. Art tried to get me to talk to his preacher, but I did not want to tell my problems to a Baptist preacher. We hung up the phone. I was out of beer and cigarettes, so I got ready to go to the store. The phone rang, and it was Art again. He said he had talked to the preacher and encouraged me to go talk to him. I decided to go. The preacher was Norman Hixson at Van Dover Baptist Church in Fenton, Missouri. He heard me out. Then he shared the Gospel message with me. I realized I was a sinner, and I needed to repent and turn away from my sins. I prayed to receive Jesus as Lord and Savior. I was overwhelmed by the experience but did not fully understand what had just taken place. I was ignorant of anything like this.

It was three years until I was baptized. I had to unlearn much and relearn what the Bible teaches. Pride was an issue. Ignorance was an issue. But it is a testament of the importance and power of prayer. People were praying for my soul, even when I was more interested in buying beer and cigarettes.

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I believe the hardships I experienced in my youth and living in a war zone prepared me for this mission work.

After I became a Christian, I discontinued the use of alcohol; however, I still struggled with profanity for many years after. James 5:16 states, “Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” I prayed about this and did my best to contain this problem, yet it continued. When it happened, I confessed to our Lord and prayed for forgiveness. Yet it continued to persist. Finally, one Sunday morning as I taught Sunday school, I confessed my sin and struggle with profanity, several gasped, and I was healed. Profanity is no longer the problem it once was.

I have read the Bible through many times. I am ordained as a deacon. I have been truly blessed and give our Lord praise and thanks for His mercy, grace, forgiveness and many blessings. All of my family members are professing Christians.

Unknowingly, workaholism and busyness has been my method of dealing with my underlying anxieties. I worked full-time shift work on the BNSF Railroad for 34 years, acquired four college degrees, along with a master’s degree in business administration from Drury College in 1990. I retired from the railroad industry as a supervisor, having worked responsible management positions. In addition, I have a drawer full of certificates for specialized training. My wife and I have built five houses and renovated every home we have lived in. I have moved and relocated 20 times since Vietnam.

Over the years, I have been emotionally detached and have only recently allowed myself to experience feelings of anger, depression and sadness. I have been described as “aloof.” I do not trust my emotions and am very careful regarding negative emotions. My underlying anxiety does flare up when I am agitated and or threatened.

Mission

Since my retirement, I have had the privilege of going on 32 mission trips to Guatemala and Costa Rica, and 30 trips to the Huichol-Wixárika people group in Jalisco, Mexico.

I believe the hardships I experienced in my youth and living in a war zone prepared me for this mission work. The Huichol people live in adobe huts with dirt floors, no bathrooms, no electricity, no running water, no kitchens or laundry rooms. It is filthy, unsanitary living conditions. Many Huichol people live in extreme poverty. They have limited medical services, with no dental services. They were classified as an unreached, unengaged people group in 2001. Drunkenness, peyote drugs, violent skirmishes and murders are not uncommon. Opposition to the Gospel is a tribal norm. Having lived in Pruitt-Igoe housing units as a child and in a war zone in Vietnam, I was able to do mission work there for 19+ years. I have a heart for their needs and am blessed to be able to help. Many would not have been able to withstand the unsanitary, primitive and hostile conditions. Today, UIM Aviation has determined perhaps 15% have heard the Gospel message. Today, there are many believers, but most have to remain silent because persecution and expulsion is still an issue.

* Last names have been removed

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