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LEAVING HOME Garry and I were both nineteen when we married on Aug. 9, 1969. He'd received his draft notice shortly before that and left for basic training at Fort Knox, KY, on Aug. 19. They had all the guys from Newaygo County who were going in that "batch" meet at the Baptist church in Newaygo, MI, which was just down the hill from the home in which I grew up and where my family still lived. We didn't know for sure then that he'd go on to Vietnam, but it seemed likely, as he was a high school graduate, worked in a factory, and lacked skills which the Army might find useful in another capacity. Click On Photo To Enlarge It was a sad and subdued group which met at the church, including two guys with whom I'd gone all through school and hadn't seen since. I greeted my classmates, Lloyd Davison and Dave Buhler, introducing them to Garry and feeling somewhat relieved that he would know someone on the bus trip. There wasn't a lot of talking, Garry and I were just holding onto each other and attempting not to cry, not succeeding very well. The guys were called into the church for a talk, while we few wives, mothers, and fathers were not allowed in, being told by the Army that we were unnecessary...something we were to hear often during the next two years. Garry's parents were there, having driven us, because I was going back home to live; they tried to talk to me, but I couldn't concentrate much or speak over the lump in my throat. The guys came out and we all proceeded to follow the leader two blocks down to the drug store, where the bus was waiting. Garry told me he'd affixed his signature, had been sworn in, and now belonged to the U.S. Army. But I knew he was mine and always would be, no matter what anyone else thought. We all just stood there for what seemed an eternity, he and I holding each other and feeling too shaken to say much, until the sergeant and bus driver came out of the pharmacy, opened the bus doors, and I heard my husband being given his first order...to proceed in an orderly fashion onto the bus. We'd been holding up pretty well, but I fell totally apart then, causing Garry to nearly lose it, too. He told me he loved me and to be strong, pried me off him, and got on, sitting next to a window right beside me; however, he looked away until the bus was put noisily into gear, then turned to me to wave, and his face was soaked with tears. I shall never in my entire life forget that look. As they departed, I turned and began to run, even though my inlaws were calling after me. I recall screaming, "Just leave me alone!". Thank Heaven they understood. I ran through town and up the hill, unable to see, but it was the same old familiar path I'd taken my whole life long. Flew into my old home and my old bedroom, which was once again mine to share with my two younger sisters, fell onto the bed and started a crying jag which lasted a long, long time. Garry and I wrote every day; he stood in impossibly long lines to call me at every opportunity. I was able to ride down to Fort Knox on four weekends, though we weren't allowed to see each other very much. They said if the Army had wanted him to have a wife, it would have issued him one. I did get so see him long enough at least once to get pregnant! He looked so handsome in his uniform, even though they stole his hair. Click On Photo To Enlarge Garry got the M.O.S. we most feared - Infantry - and was sent on to Fort Polk, LA, for advanced infantry training. This was well known as a Vietnam training facility, so we now knew what the future held. I lived down there for six weeks, first in the Army guest house and then in a rented room in Leesville (known to the GIs as Diseaseville), just outside the post, and I worked in the North Post barber shop. Believe it or not, the guys had to get a haircut every week, whether they needed it or not, and the ultimate indignity was that they had to pay a quarter for it! It was my job to take their money as they came in the door, including Garry's. The GIs themselves were fantastic! They knew I was married to one of "Them", very protective, always thrilled to see a girl, and every one treated me like his sister. They just wanted to talk while they waited in line and never once was even one of them the least bit disrespectful. They had already learned to be comrades and look out for what belonged to one of their own. Wish I could say the same for the older men, but the fifty year old barber tried to put the make on me the night before my husband and I were going home on leave. After fighting this guy off, I decided working was pretty hazardous and I would just stay at home, which I did. Garry's orders came through for Nam and we had a month at home, the longest time we'd ever been able to be together. It was winter and we were there for Christmas, I was pregnant with our first baby, and we had a blast. We went to the movies, ice fishing, snowmobiling, just riding around in the car. Never party people, we just liked to do things together. Still do! We didn't talk about what was ahead, both being heavily into denial just then, until the night before he left. Then he told me about his GI insurance, gave me a bunch of papers, and tried to talk about the possibility of him being killed. I already knew it and didn't want to hear it, kept asking him to stop, but he made me listen; we spent the rest of the night holding each other and crying. I still can't talk about the next day at the airport, knowing I might never see him again. Strong and brave I was not! It's funny that there's more to tell about what preceded it than about the year itself. I was blessed to live in the same small hometown in which I'd grown up, where my dad was a schoolteacher, and I knew everyone. It was 1970, but there were no demonstrations in Newaygo or anywhere near. Everyone was kind and most were very supportive, even though they didn't know Garry personally (after all, he was one of those "foreigners" from the next small town, all of ten miles away!). Anyone who grew up in Small Town, USA, knows what I'm talking about. Garry was (and is) the dream husband every girl wants. Cheat on me? NO WAY! He is not of that ilk, and I knew it right down to my bone marrow. Can you imagine how good it was to be able to be that sure? I wrote him every day, sometimes more than once, and he did the same. They knew me very well at the Post Office and were my biggest supporters. They watched my tummy get bigger and bigger, and they truly cared. Both of my sisters got married that spring, one by choice and the other by necessity. We were all pregnant, except for my fourteen year old brother, who was then the only one besides me still living at home. He liked his brother- in -law and was thrilled when he'd receive a letter of his own, until one day he got one in which Garry wrote that he'd just humped four clicks and was pooped. Even though other Army units insisted that everyone in the First Air Cav had his own personal helicopter, it wasn't true, and they wore out a lot of boot leather, too. "Clicks" were kilometers and "humping" meant hiking through the jungle. My brother, however, knew a different definition for "humping". Bob would not tell me what was in the letter but he acted furious; knowing very well an older sister's job of harassing a younger brother, I kept at him until he told me, then laughed myself sick, infuriating him. I'm the best older sister around. It was a hot, humid summer, I was a whole lot pregnant, and there were only two fans in the house. My parents kept one in their room, and I'd set the other up at night. Bob would wait until I was asleep, sneak in and steal it. I'd awake, sweating, and be forced to steal it back, which took up most of the night time hours. Often during the day, after going to the P.O., I 'd bake chocolate chip and other kinds of cookies for a care package for Garry. To keep them fresh throughout the long trip, they had to be immediately wrapped in plastic wrap, foil over that, and each in its individual Baggie...at least, those that were left after my dad and brother had finished filching. Garry asked for Beef-a-Roni, cocoa, Vienna sausages, Kool Aid, etc. The boxes weighed a ton, but he kept mentioning not caring for those things called C-rations. Imagine!! Three days after he left for Nam, I started bleeding and was hospitalized, the doctor being sure that I was miscarrying. It didn't happen, but they warned me that if I didn't get my emotions under control, I would surely lose the baby. I realized that I couldn't survive the year at that emotional peak and worked hard at an attitude adjustment. Spent a lot of time reading, playing Yahtzee, Scrabble and Solitaire, wrote letters, went for long walks around town. The baby was due July 24, so Garry and I decided on names by mail. I wanted to name a boy after him, but Garry felt that was too confusing, so we agreed on my second choice of Adam. He got to choose the girl name and wrote "Lora". I thought he'd misspelled it and put "Laura" on her birth certificate, being the traditionalist I am. She remains "Laura" to this very day. July 24 came and went...and went...and went. It was my opinion that baby had spent enough time inside and was just dawdling. I took to driving the car over the bumpiest roads around and swimming strenuously - well, as strenuously as one can when over nine months pregnant and tending to sink. July 29 found me with a tremendous surge of energy, changing all the bedroom furniture around, and Mom said, "You're going into labor.". Cool. But nothing happened until 4:30 the following morning when I awoke, saying to myself, "Owie.". There was nothing more and I drifted back off, but fifteen minutes later came another owie. Then another. Then began some VERY owie owies. Too excited to sleep then, but the pain was in my back, not my tummy. Was that right? I wrote Garry a letter saying this just might be it and I wished he'd head for home right now, both knowing that was a joke. By 7:30, the world was one big owie, but I wasn't scared and had determined from the start to do no screaming, moaning or groaning. I woke my parents, who were a lot more shaken than I and called the doctor. Since the pains were all over the place time-wise, he said to take me in because I was going to have a baby. Oh, really??? Dad drove us lickity-split the ten miles to the hospital, where I was madly giving everyone the phone number for the Red Cross, who would immediately contact Garry when the baby was born. They put me in the labor room, my parents nervously pacing outside. Then the pains stopped as suddenly as if a light switch had been turned off, and I promptly went to sleep. My folks were sent home, told that I'd be all day at this, and I was left all alone. I awoke at 11:30 A. M. to the biggest owies of all. The pains were continuous, and I was sweating like a pig, which told me that's why they call it "labor". They were all in my back, and I couldn't bear to lay down. I looked everywhere for a nurse but couldn't find another human being anywhere, so I went back to the room, alternating between walking around and leaning against the wall. I badly wanted Garry there but soon got too busy to dwell much on it. A nurse finally came in and ordered me onto the bed so she could check things. She said, "The baby's head is half out!". Oh, is THAT what that feeling was?? I'm proud to say that nurse was doing all the screaming and not I. Things started happening then, and everyone I couldn't find before showed up. At 12:35 P.M. on July 30, 1970, Laurie was born in the same hospital in which her father had made his initial appearance, weighing in at a whopping 9 lbs. 6 oz.! I could have sworn to have pushed at least a ton out. The Red Cross was instantly notified, and it was about a week before Garry's letter arrived. He said it was toward evening, lightly raining, and they were just setting up their night defense perimeter out in the bush when he was ordered immediately to the command post. A phone handset was handed to him by a guy wearing a big old smile. He held it to his ear and first heard the sound of chopper blades then someone was saying, "Garry Bruckner? Linda Bruckner has given birth to a 9 lb. 6 oz. baby girl. Mother and daughter are doing fine." Everyone was laughing, slapping him on the back, calling him "daddy", and complimenting him on the fine job he'd done to produce a baby of that size. He told me later that after the initial rush, he had felt very down, enough that others noticed and asked what was wrong. It had hit him like a ton of bricks that he might never see her. Life then got very busy for me. Laurie developed colic and cried night and day for three months. I learned to do everything one-handed, as she refused to be put down, including sterilizing bottles and bleaching cloth diapers. Sleep was a thing of the past, and I decided not to breastfeed because Garry and I were going to meet in Hawaii on Sept. 2 for a week of R&R, which had needed to be postponed until awhile after the baby was born. He had by that time spent eight months Incountry.
Garry tends to be shy, but I am proud to show off my two
favorite pictures of my hunky soldier. Click On Photos To Enlarge RETURN TO VIETNAM VETERAN WIFE HOME PAGE
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