2017 Veterans Salute

Salute to

PURPLE HEART VETERANS

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

VETERANS SALUTE

NOVEMBER 2017

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Salute TO

A publication of the

Idaho Press-Tribune History of the Purple Heart Medal ................................Page 3 Chris Tschida ..................................................................Page 4 Henry Parker ...................................................................Page 7 Murl Marsh ...................................................................Page 10 Bill Hamilton .................................................................Page 11 Herbert Littleton ...........................................................Page 15 Ned Barker ....................................................................Page 16 John McCarthy ..............................................................Page 18 2

VETERANS SALUTE

(208) 467-9251 newsroom@idahopress.com 1618 N. Midland Blvd., Nampa, Idaho Publisher: Matt Davison Advertising Director: Michelle Robinson Circulation Director: Shelley Thayer Editor: Scott McIntosh Assistant Editor: Christina Lords City Editor: Tom Hesse Design Chief: Bradley Guire Photos: Chris Bronson/Courtesy photos NOVEMBER 11, 2017

TRACKING PURPLE HEART HISTORY DUE TO THE REALITIES OF WAR, NO COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF RECIPIENTS IS AVAILABLE

By Christina Lords clords@idahopress.com

1.8

million.

That’s how many people have been awarded the Purple Heart — as far as experts can estimate, anyway.

Some of the stories of those 1.8 million Purple Heart veterans are well known.

We know Beatrice Mary MacDonald, an Army Nurse during World War I, was the first woman to be awarded with the Purple Heart because of her wounds after a German plane bombed her hospital on Aug. 17, 1917.

We know that on Feb. 22, 1932, Gen. Douglas MacArthur revived the Purple Heart as we know it today on the bicentennial of Washington’s birthday.

And while he was not the first person to receive the Purple Heart, he was given Purple Heart No. 1.

We know that on Aug. 2, 1943, John F. Kennedy was wounded in action that resulted in a Purple Heart. He is the only U.S. president to have received the honor.

But there are many, many stories of Purple Heart recipients that we don’t know, said Peter Bedrossian, program director for the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor in New Windsor, New York.

The Department of Defense does not maintain a list of recipients for the Purple Heart, or most

military awards for that matter. The only American military decoration for which there is a comprehensive list is the Medal of Honor — America’s highest and most prestigious personal military decoration.

That’s a situation he and the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor are trying to correct, Bedrossian said.

Dedicated in 2006, the Hall of Honor is a New York State facility whose mission is to collect, preserve and share the stories of Purple Heart recipients from all branches of service and across all conflicts for which the award has been available.

The Roll of Honor, overseen by the Hall of Honor, is a database of Purple Heart recipients, based upon the date of incident, runs from April 6, 1862, through Jan. 4, 2016, and grows daily as it receives new enrollments. The enrollments represent all 50 states, Puerto Rico, Guam the District of Columbia and the Philippines. However, all enrollments are done voluntarily and are made by the recipients, their families or friends.

While the government strives to keep as accurate a record as possible, Bedrossian said, there are several reasons why the full list of Purple Heart veterans may never be complete.

Bedrossian said the realities of war often outweigh the federal government’s ability to keep track of — and even award in the first place — people who qualify for the Purple Heart.

Just how long the Purple Heart has been around — and the changing qualifications over time for the decoration — complicate historians’ efforts to keep track of those who have received Purple Hearts, Bedrossian said.

That history goes back 235 years.

Gen. George Washington created an award called Badge of Military Merit in 1782 to recognize soldiers’ efforts during the American Revolution — a radical idea at the time, Bedrossian said.

The Continental Congress had forbidden Washington from granting commissions and promotions in rank to recognize merit. But he persisted.

It was a heart shaped piece of cloth or silk. It was to be awarded for a “singularly meritorious act,” according to information provided by the Hall of Honor.

Washington stated that the award was to be a permanent one, but once the American Revolution ended, the Badge of Merit was all but forgotten until the 20th century.

General John J. “Blackjack” Pershing suggested a need for an award for merit in 1918, but it was not until 1932 that the Purple Heart was created in recognition of Washington’s ideals and for the bicentennial of his birth. General Order No. 3 announced the establishment of the award.

A Salute to the Greatest Generation and to all who serve, past, present and future.

Furniture & Appliances

307 S. Kimball, Caldwell NOVEMBER 11, 2017

459-0816 VETERANS SALUTE

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Chris Tschida is an Army veteran who served as a tank driver and gunner. Tschida earned his Purple Heart during his service in Iraq. His two children are Annastacia, left and Brandon, right.

CHRIS BRONSON/IPT

Chris Tschida

Chris Tschida

UP THE HILL AND BACK DOWN AGAIN MERIDIAN VET SEES NO EASY CURE FOR POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS

By Holly Beech hbeech@mymeridianpress.com

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small section of the wall in Sgt. Chris Tschida’s bonus room is covered with remnants and honors from his almost eight years in the Army. The Purple Heart medal blends in.

“The Purple Heart — the one nobody wants,” he said. “It means you get hurt. But, you get what you get.”

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Tschida, 38, lives in Meridian with his wife and two children. Ten-year-old Annastacia’s room has sparkly pink walls and a plush bear on the bed.

“It’d be fun to drive a tank like my dad did,” she said.

Tschida, who grew up in Caldwell and Jordan Valley, Oregon, joined the Army at age 20 and spent the next eight years in Texas, Korea and Iraq. He “loved every minute” of driving a 72-ton tank, he said, but he doesn’t want the same for his daughter.

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“There’s a lot of stuff that I’ve been through that I don’t want my kids to go through,” he said. “I don’t want her to join the military. It’d probably be a different story if I didn’t get hurt.”

Tschida’s left arm is missing from the elbow down, and he has a scar on the left side of his chin.

On May 15, 2005, Tschida and three other crew members were patrolling in the Al Anbar Province of Iraq and loading up the tank for a mission.

When a soldier knocked his water bottle into the NOVEMBER 11, 2017

CHRIS BRONSON/IPT

tank and dropped down to get it, an insurgent threw two grenades into the tank.

Tschida grabbed one grenade to try to get it under something to absorb the blast. It blew up in his hand. The second grenade wounded his face.

The other crew members were badly injured, too.

Tschida’s quick action helped save the lives of the entire crew, according to the Idaho Legislature, which in 2012 called on the president and Congress to award him a Medal of Honor. The application is still in limbo, Tschida said.

BIKING UP A HILL Twelve years after the attack, Tschida’s life looks pretty normal: he owns a home, is married, has two children and two dogs, and works as a claims assistant at the Department of Veterans Affairs in Boise.

He and his son go fishing several times a week, and the family enjoys trips to the Oregon coast.

“Some years have just been great, and then you get that one little trigger, and it all comes back again,” he said.

Tschida still looks for explosives on the roadway every time he drives. He stays up playing video games until 2 a.m. to avoid nightmares. His mind is back in Iraq whenever he smells diesel gas or hears a motorcycle backfire.

“Mentally and emotionally, it’s still an ongoing battle,” Tschida said.

He describes depression and post-traumatic stress disorder as riding a single-gear bicycle up a hill. Just when you’re almost to the top or you NOVEMBER 11, 2017

feel some reprieve, something triggers your past trauma, he said, and you roll right back down to the bottom.

The process can feel hopeless. Tschida eventually saw a psychiatrist, but he stormed out of the office in anger when prodded about Iraq.

“I told him to F-off,” Tschida said. “I didn’t want to remember any of it anymore.”

This year has been hard because of disputes with relatives, Tschida said. On three occasions, he has seriously contemplated suicide.

“I had to keep a smile on my face,” he said, “even though deep down inside I was severely depressed.”

On one of the darkest days, Tschida abruptly left work.

“I was lost in the head. I was wandering around the VA campus just thinking of ways,” Tschida said.

He ended up outside of a care center on the campus. He walked in, crying and distraught, and said he needed to talk to someone.

“And they instantly got me help,” Tschida said.

His wife, Elena, came to the center, and they talked to a counselor together.

“She’s put up with so much stuff with me, I commend her. She’s my rock,” Tschida said. “I was able to go through the hard times with her holding my hand.”

Tschida doesn’t expect to be cured of depression or PTSD. That hill, with its ups and downs and triggers, is a challenge he will face the rest of his life, he said.

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“Every veteran that’s had a bad experience with PTSD, they may look happy and go-getting now, but deep down inside it’s always in the back of your mind,” he said. “You see something, hear something, smell something, and you’re right back.”

‘WHAT IF’ Tschida went back to that psychiatrist he cussed out and is still seeing him today.

They talk about what haunts him: the what ifs.

Tschida wonders every day what he could have done differently in the three to four seconds before the grenades were thrown into the tank 12 years ago. Could he have blocked the tank entrance with his helmet or vest? Could he have jumped over the hole and used his body as a shield?

Tschida has met other veterans who wrestle with similar questions.

“They’re depressed because they’re always thinking about what they could have done but didn’t,” he said.

That’s why fishing and target practice and painting — Tschida spent 29 days on a spectacular mural in his son’s room — are so important, he said.

“When I’m out with my son and out with other veterans, that’s a time of healing,” Tschida said. “A lot of veterans, they try to do that but they don’t have the support. … They’re left alone to dwell on, ‘My life sucks.’

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“Your life doesn’t suck,” he added. “You’re alive.”

Unfortunately, the veterans who have the most severe PTSD are often the most resistant to talk about it, Tschida said. He mentioned a fellow veteran who had lost his legs and witnessed his friend’s death in an explosion.

“Those are the types of guys that we need to look at more,” Tschida said. “It’s those types of veterans like him, like me … who need special care.”

JUST DON’T ASK Surprised looks and questions about missing limbs are enough to make a veteran want to stay home, Tschida said. People in public gawk at his missing arm, he said. Some ask what happened.

Tschida doesn’t like reliving the details.

“I hate being asked,” he said. “I’m nice about it and I say I was in combat … But then they dig — ‘Well, how’d you lose it in combat?’”

At that point Tschida wants to say, “Well, why don’t you just Google it? I’m on the internet.”

He shook his head.

“To me it’s like, why is it so important for you to know where my hand is?” he said.

Tschida advises people to put away their curiosity about a veteran’s injury and instead get to know the person. Veterans who want to open up about what happened will do so on their own time, he said.

“They’re the same as they were before — they’re a human,” Tschida said.

LOOKING AHEAD Tschida remembers coming home from Iraq on a short holiday leave and meeting his son Brandon for the first time. Brandon was 3 months old.

Tschida can still see his tiny body stretched out on the bed.

“I carried him all over the place,” Tschida said.

“I was so excited.”

Thinking about seeing his children grow up helps Tschida get out of his own head in moments of despair, he said.

“I want to see my kids graduate,” he said. “I want to seem them go to prom. I want to see them play football.”

Along with fishing, Tschida and Brandon like to serve lunch together at the Boise Veterans Home.

One of the residents they met, who has since died, served in World War I. “Which one?” Brandon asked his father.

“The really, really, really old one,” Tschida said. “...So, which one?” the 13-year-old asked again.

The two laugh and tear up when talking about their conversations with the veterans. They have a lot of life perspective to offer — even if some of them might look angry at first, Tschida said.

Hearing the older veterans’ stories and seeing their perseverance make Tschida feel better about his own life, he said.

“God bless all the veterans out there,” he said.

“I’m honored to be part of the group.”

CHRIS BRONSON/IPT

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VETERANS SALUTE

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

Henry Parker

Henry Parker running ammo/mail convoy from Base Camp Betty to LZ Sherry with the mail in ‘Red’ bag.

COURTESY OF HENRY PARKER

Henry Parker

FROM SERVICE TO SUPPORT

AFTER SERVING HIS COUNTRY, VET SHIFTS FOCUS TO FELLOW VETERANS

By AREENA ARORA aarora@idahopress.com

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enry Parker, 70, has eleven medals, awards and badges that testify what he is proud of the most — having served his country during the Vietnam War. Now, more than 40 years since the war ended, Parker is “100 percent retired,” he said, and enjoys collecting stamps and traveling with his wife of 15 years.

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

STORIES OF THE WAR Parker became an artillerymen in U.S. Army in 1966 and served for nine years until he was discharged for being unfit for combat due to his injuries. During that time, he served on two tours.

In February 1969, he was the forward observer for his company in Vietnam when they were under a cease fire agreement. Parker was confident that the enemy forces were not going to honor the agreement.

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“’I will keep my weapons,’ I told my supervisor,” he said.

Early one morning, around 1:30 a.m., Parker recalls, an organized enemy battalion reached Parker’s company’s perimeter from two sides.

“I gave my M16 rifle to the company commander,” he said. “... And took a machine gun to the area where enemy was coming up a cliff.”

Shortly after, he was hit by a rocket propelled grenade.

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“I had glass sprayed all over my face,” he said.

“There was glass in my forehead and face.”

Parker was left unconscious from the blow, but only briefly, he said.

“We continued to fight until sunrise,” he said.

“They wanted to treat me and evacuate me, I said no.”

He was allowed to continue fighting with a bandage and a steel pot helmet.

“The steel pot would keep falling off,” he said.

As he reached down to grab his helmet, Parker saw a reflection of an enemy soldier. He assumed the Vietnamese soldier had explosives under his jacket.

“He had web gear on,” he said. “... I was afraid he’d blow up if I fired him.”

Parker had learned a little bit of Vietnamese.

“I said ‘dung lai,’ which means stop, and then I said bo cuoc (pronounced chu hoi) which means give up,” he said.

Eventually, Parker was able to overpower the enemy soldier and take him prisoner.

After his second tour, Parker was stationed in the same area where the My Lai massacre happened. It was a location for the South Vietnamese army to control a highway and fertile farm area where the South Vietnamese were being trained to take over as the United States pulled American troops out, he said.

My Lai became infamous for the mass killing of hundreds of unarmed civilians by American troops in South Vietnam on March 16, 1968.

The massacre, Parker said, was “disgusting and a permanent blemish on the U.S.” Parker said he was disappointed with the response to the massacre.

“Had Colin Powell not covered this up, the U.S. could have responded quickly with more appropriate and harsh judicial penalties and the heroes that stopped the massacre would have been recognized,” he said. “Sadly life went on for the villagers as this was just another travesty of war that they were accustomed to, but not from the U.S. Many My Lai villagers relocated nearer the highway for protection from the Viet Cong who they still feared more than the U.S.” Parker earned his Purple Heart when he later stepped on a landmine in the region and was transported within Vietnam for initial treatment.

Eventually, he was put on a medical evacuation aircraft and sent to Japan where he was stabilized before being sent home.

The wound became infected, and Parker ended up losing part of his left foot in the incident.

“I was ultimately discharged because they found me unfit for combat service,” he said. “They called me a Marine mine detector.”

FINDING SUPPORT IN IDAHO Parker returned to Idaho right after retirement for a specific purpose, he said, because he was encouraged by Idaho’s support for veterans.

“Idaho has always been favorable to us veterans,” he said. “I didn’t have to go through any of the nonsense that some of the other guys had to go through.”

CHRIS BRONSON/IPT

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NOVEMBER 11, 2017

After returning, Parker was able to get the medical care he needed in the Gem State. He also went on to Boise State University to enroll in a social work program. He now lives in Eagle.

Parker graduated with a bachelor’s degree in 1975. For years, Parker has been involved with various veterans groups in the area as a representative and advocate. He was also involved with advocating for Idaho to become a Purple Heart state.

Additionally, he helps veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder.

For a while, Parker taught health and social work classes at BSU and also held a private consulting practice.

“I am 100 percent retired now, and I love it,” he said.

REVISITING THE WAR ZONE Parker had wanted to travel back to Vietnam ever since the war.

“I had always wanted to go back to the battlefield,” he said. “I wanted to put a wreath in the river and say farewell.”

He finally got his chance seven years ago in 2010 when he visited Vietnam. Sadly, however, a lot of the areas where he served are restricted to visitors now.

In his experience, Vietnamese people do not talk of the war much, or at all, Parker said.

“The younger generation knows nothing about the war,” he said.

On his first visit he was not allowed entry in the country by a Vietnamese airport official who told Parker, “no whites today,” he said.

A few years later, during his 2010 visit, Parker visited the presidential palace in Hanoi where he sat in on a talk about the war.

“They were talking about the cruelty of U.S. soldiers during the war, and I challenged them,” Parker said.

That resulted in him being “politely escorted” out of the palace, he said.

OPINIONS ON THE WAR While Parker does not condone wars, he is grateful for the friends he met along the way.

“You create bonds with other men that are permanent,” he said. “There are guys I’d probably never have associated with otherwise.”

Parker still writes emails and uses social media, he said, to keep in touch with his military friends.

“I wish I hadn’t met them in war environment,” he said. “I respect the guys ... they were all brave and smart men.”

The emphasis in the country now, in political debates, Parker said, should be on separating veterans from the war.

Parker wants people to remember that soldiers like him have bled for the freedoms that people normally take for granted.

“When you have the media and politicians fighting the war, that’s when you lose,” he said.

The purpose of the war is not to destroy countries, Parker said, emphasizing the need for military to rebuild countries post war.

Today, he identifies himself as an advocate for veterans in Idaho, proud of the state’s welcoming environment toward veterans.

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

Henry Parker during a return visit to Saigon, now Ho Chi Minh City.

COURTESY OF HENRY PARKER

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Murl Marsh

Murl Marsh

KOREAN WAR VET HONORED DECADES LATER THE PURPLE HEART ARRIVED MORE THAN 50 YEARS AFTER HE WAS INJURED

By Janet Monti newsroom@messenger-index.com

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rafted when he was 18 and then sent to Korea in 1951, Murl Marsh, of Emmett, did not realize he would spend his time 30 miles north of Parallel 38, deep in North Korean territory. He was wounded for the first time in Operation Nomad, and a second time three months later in the same, steep, rocky terrain.

“The North Koreans came over the hills like ants.

Many didn’t have weapons. They would grab the weapons of their fallen comrades. They just kept coming,” Marsh said.

Operation Nomad-Polar was the last major Allied offensive of the Korean War. Costs were high, at least 1,784 American casualties in 10 days, resulting in 288 deaths. More casualties followed as the enemy tried to regain their positions. Some may be familiar with the Battle of Heartbreak Ridge, one of the engagements.

It was one day at a time for Marsh who was assigned to the U.S. Army, 3rd Platoon, Company G, 2nd Battalion, 19th Infantry Regiment, 24th Infantry Division, Medical Division. His basic training was in Colorado.

Even though he was raised in Colorado, nothing prepared him for the harsh winter conditions of the North Korean mountains. Temperatures dropped to 25 and 35 F below zero. These temperatures were made more difficult because most days — and nights — were spent in open trenches, covered in snow.

“I did have nice, warm clothing,” he said.

However, the harsh weather conditions were nothing compared to the job in the medical division.

“I helped hundreds of soldiers. I would sometimes be standing right beside them when they were shot,” Marsh said quietly. “My lieutenant was shot right through the heart. Dropped right beside me.”

The badly wounded were loaded in a helicopter for a ride out.

“My very first patient was a man who lost his leg above the knee. It was one in the morning, dark as it could be. I threw him over my shoulder and carried him out.”

Years later at a military reunion, Marsh met one of the men he carried off the hill. Marsh was asked why he didn’t have his Purple Heart, even though paperwork was filed in 1951. So, in 1998, Marsh started writing letters to ask “Why?” Both of his wounds occurred when he was helping another soldier. The first wound on Oct. 16, 1951, near the crest of Hill 585 was from a hand 10

grenade to his shin. He received a Bronze Star for his service on that day 53 years later in 2004.

Marsh returned to carrying wounded out a couple of days later. Then on Dec. 31, 1951, he received a mortar wound to his knee. This injury plagues him to this day.

“In Korea, they sewed me up with parts of my uniform in the wound,” Marsh said. “Probably why it wouldn’t heal. I came home in bandages. I went to a VA Hospital in Grand Junction, Colo.”

He had two operations in Korea, two in Japan and two knee replacements in the United States.

In 2004, he finally received his Purple Heart. Just three years ago, he started receiving disability for the knee wound.

During the war, letters from home kept him going. His mother and sister would write nearly every week, often sending cookies.

Food was good, even if it was C-rations. Day after day, month after month canned beans, canned hash, canned peaches, canned diced fruit and coffee. Each box of food came with a small chocolate candy bar and a package of cigaVETERANS SALUTE

JANET MONTI / MESSENGER INDEX

rettes. Marsh likes chocolate, so he would trade his cigarettes for the chocolate. He smiled at the memory.

While in the service, Marsh took many photographs. He enjoys looking back, with fond memories of each person and event.

Source: Some information for this article came from The 24th Infantry Division Association.

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

Bill Hamilton

Bill Hamilton, second on the right of the back row, celebrates with his buddies during basic training.

COURTESY OF BILL HAMILTON

Bill Hamilton

THE SILENT SOLDIER

NAMPA PURPLE HEART VETERAN RETELLS HIS STORY IN VIETNAM

By ERIN BAMER ebamer@idahopress.com

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en years ago, Bill Hamilton would not have sat down for a newspaper interview to discuss his military service.

Even now his daughter, Christa Pomtier, and wife, Susan Hamilton, said they were surprised NOVEMBER 11, 2017

he would tell a reporter about his experiences in Vietnam for publication.

Pomtier doesn’t remember her father to be someone who willingly spoke about his Army experiences. He would talk of helicopter crashes, the sounds of gunfire or how he lost his hearing, when asked by his children. He would look through memorabilia with pride VETERANS SALUTE

in his eyes. But he rarely spoke about the war unprompted.

When Pomtier — who is now 46 — was still a child, the Vietnam War was still a controversial subject in the U.S., so while Hamilton never hid from his history, he didn’t make a big deal about it, either.

Hamilton enlisted in the Army a year after graduating high school on his 19th birthday. He 11

served three years, completing three tours in Vietnam.

During the weeks he spent in Alabama for basic training, Hamilton learned to fly helicopters, which he referred to as “ships.” He said flying turned him into an adrenaline junky, and missions gave him a drug-like high that he sought out. The worst parts of the war, he recalled, were when he returned to camp and had nothing to do.

Hamilton doesn’t shy away from the fact that he killed people in Vietnam. He is open in admitting that the killing didn’t bother him — in fact, he said he enjoyed it.

“For every person that I killed, or we killed, that was one more person that couldn’t kill a brother,” Hamilton said.

PURPLE HEART Hamilton’s Purple Heart story started on a flight mission in support of the 11th Armored Cavalry.

It was his first mission as a part of a 24-hour alert team, and he said he didn’t even know he was up to fly it at first.

He’d been called in to replace a soldier who was out with a foot injury, but he didn’t know when the soldier was officially leaving. He was making his bunk one morning when sirens went off — sounding like the blare of a firetruck — and suddenly people were shouting at him to get to his ship. His platoon leader was glaring at him when he arrived.

The mission was a low-level flight with the Vietnamese jungle bracketing their ship from either side, and it led them straight into an ambush. Their ship was shot up by enemy soldiers, and Hamilton and the pilot were hit in the line of fire.

Half a bullet went into his elbow while shrapnel hit his neck and nearly tore one of his fingers clean off. It hung on by a thin strip of skin. But Hamilton said he didn’t feel any fear or pain in the rush of adrenaline he experienced as his unit completed a forced landing.

“I didn’t know I was injured,” he said.

He also didn’t realize that that mission would lead to the Purple Heart. He said he found out a day or two before the awards ceremony, but if he had known earlier he would have refused it.

“What happened to me was nothing, absolutely nothing that compared to other people,” Hamilton said.

Hamilton said the awards he received for his service were “idiotic,” because he didn’t do anything to deserve them, and he knows other soldiers who did more and didn’t receive anything. In his opinion, that deteriorates the value of those awards.

Pomtier said she didn’t realize her father was a Purple Heart recipient until after she moved out of the house. Hamilton’s wife, Susan, said they never displayed it. Within the last 10 years, Pomtier said, she has finally started to appreciate what Hamilton’s Purple Heart means, but she knows her father would never seek out recognition for his actions.

“It’s not about him, it’s about everybody else,” Pomtier said.

CHRIS BRONSON/IPT

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NOVEMBER 11, 2017

Bill Hamilton served as a crew chief on a UH-1 helicopter during the Vietnam War. Here he is listening to radio traffic while stationed at Loc Ninh in Vietnam.

COURTESY OF BILL HAMILTON

The Vietnam War was controversial and heavily protested, but Hamilton said he didn’t experience much of it first-hand, other than the groups of people who yelled at him as he arrived home at the airport. He said as long as they didn’t get in his face, it wasn’t a big deal.

Hamilton met Susan while on leave in the Army, and they were married shortly after he returned home in 1970. Dead broke, Susan said they honeymooned in their apartment together for three days, and he went back to work on Monday.

Susan said she didn’t pay attention to the Vietnam protests and never pressed Hamilton NOVEMBER 11, 2017

for information about the war. Though she said Hamilton didn’t let the war define him, she could see that it affected him. Early in their marriage he had a reoccurring nightmare about a helicopter crash, and it didn’t go away until he told her about it.

But she said she let him come to her when he wanted to talk about Vietnam. She didn’t ask questions because she knew she couldn’t understand what he went through.

“You can’t be married for 47 years and not give him some space,” she said.

Their family moved to Nampa in 1984, and following his retirement in 2011, Hamilton VETERANS SALUTE

said he spends his time helping other veterans.

Susan said it’s only been in recent years that he’s reached out to other veterans and started being more open about his experiences, and she thinks it’s great.

Hamilton was forced to retire due to medical reasons caused by Agent Orange — a powerful herbicide used by the U.S. military in Vietnam to destroy forest cover for enemy troops. It was later shown to cause serious health consequences for Vietnamese people as well as veterans and their families.

Hamilton said the most disappointing part of the war for him was not the negative response 13

of the public toward veterans, but how the government responded in the aftermath of Agent Orange. It took years for U.S. officials to admit to the problems the herbicide caused, he said, and he knows there are veterans dealing with the side effects without treatment today.

“Vietnam is killing veterans now,” Hamilton said.

Despite it all, Hamilton still has pride for his country. He serves as the commander of the Idaho chapter of the Military Order of the Purple Heart, as well as the welfare officer. And he knows one thing with conviction.

“I would go again,” Hamilton said.

Bill Hamilton served as a crew chief on a UH-1 helicopter during the Vietnam War. COURTESY OF BILL HAMILTON

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BOISE • 208-343-5474 NOVEMBER 11, 2017

Herbert Herbert LittletonLittleton PURPLE HEART, MEDAL OF HONOR RECIPIENT NOT FORGOTTEN IN NAMPA MORE THAN A HALF-CENTURY LATER, LITTLETON REMEMBERED

By TOM HESSE thesse@idahopress.com

IDAHO DECLARED A PURPLE HEART STATE DURING AUGUST CEREMONY

I

t’s been nearly 70 years since Herbert A. Littleton died for his country, and the private first class’s name can still be found adorning the Nampa Post Office in honor of his sacrifice.

Littleton was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart and Medal of Honor by President Harry Truman after diving on a grenade to protect other soldiers in his company during the Korean War. Littleton lived in Nampa for about a year before he left to serve as a radio operator for Company C of the 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Corps during the Korean War — a conflict for which the POW/MIA accounting agency still lists 7,740 Americans as unaccounted for.

Originally from Arkansas, Littleton worked as a lineman for Mountain States Telephone & Telegraph. After moving to Nampa, he was called to serve in the U.S. Marine Corps and was just 20 years old when he died, April 22, 1951. According to reports, enemy forces surprised his unit in the night and Littleton hurled himself onto an enemy hand grenade, absorbing its full impact and saving the lives of his team.

The day after his death, an article in the Idaho Free Press described the war zone in several areas: “The Communists, with nearly 700,000 men facing the front, launched their attack Sunday night behind their heaviest artillery barrage of the war.

Their assault ceased in daylight Monday, but was renewed with fresh vigor Monday night … Close censorship delayed news of the offensive 14 hours.

“United Nations troops pulled back as much as 12 miles under the impact of a major Red offensive which raged along 100 miles of the Korean front today,” the Idaho Free Press article reads. “The western front was strewn with bodies of thousands of Chinese cut down by artillery and air bombardment.

The Nampa Post Office was named after Littleton in 2009 and in 2013 the Canyon County Commissioners declared April 22 to be “Herbert A. Littleton Day” in Canyon County.

Littleton is buried in Kohlerlawn Cemetery at 76 6th St. in Nampa. According to the Idaho Military Museum, Littleton is one of 18 Medal of Honor recipients buried in the Gem State. The Idaho Military Museum’s archive of Medal of Honor recipients ranges from four men who served in the American Civil War all the way up to the Vietnam War. There is also an ongoing effort by Idaho law-

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

ABOUT 4,000 IDAHOANS HAVE BEEN AWARDED PURPLE HEARTS

By IDAHO PRESS-TRIBUNE STAFF newsroom@idahopress.com

Bear Scout Josiah Toronto, 9, right, with his brother Dennis Toronto, 8, a Cub Scout, and his father Jarom Toronto of Nampa walk towards the headstone of Herbert Littleton as the place flags on the graves of veteran at Kohlerlawn Cemetery in Nampa during Memorial Day, 2016.

GREG KRELLER/IPT

Herbet A. Littleton

makers to award Chris Tschida a Medal of Honor for service in Iraq.

Littleton is one of the more than 3,700 Idaho veterans to receive the Purple Heart, according to numbers provided by the Military Order of the Purple Heart.

The Medal of Honor is the nation’s most prestigious military decoration. The medal as it’s currently known dates back to 1862 and, to date, 3,516 such honors have been bestowed, according to the National Medal of Honor Museum.

VETERANS SALUTE

Idaho joined the ranks of Purple Heart states in August with an official ceremony honoring military veterans who were wounded or killed in combat situations.

Members of the military and state representatives made the designation official during an Aug. 7 ceremony on the steps of the Idaho Capitol for a ceremony.

Purple Heart recipient, William “Bill” Hamilton, who is the commander of the Military Order of the Purple Heart Idaho Chapter, helped organized the event in order to bring statewide recognition to purple heart recipients and thank them for their service.

“It’s an awareness thing,” he told the PressTribune in August. “To let people know that we are recognizing those people that went a little bit further, especially the people that never came back.”

The Idaho chapter has been active since the late 1980s. It contributes to veterans support programs and scholarships. Hamilton said it has been successful in making 32 Idaho cities “Purple Heart cities,” including Nampa and Caldwell.

Idaho became a Purple Heart state in perpetuity in March 2016 when the Senate adopted a resolution presented by Sen. Marv Hagedorn, R-Meridian. Hagedorn, who joined the U.S. Navy before getting out of high school and spent 20 years as an active military member.

Purple Heart Day is celebrated nationally on Aug. 7. The tradition of awarding Purple Heart dates back to 1782 when George Washington awarded the first “badge of military merit.” That merit later became the Purple Heart.

Since the American Revolutionary War, around 1.7 million Purple Hearts have been awarded. Around 4,000 of those are Idahoans, according to Hamilton.

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Ned Barker

CHRIS BRONSON/IPT

Ned Barker

VALOR AND SERVICE

VIETNAM VETERAN EARNS STARS TO GO ALONG WITH PURPLE HEART

By AREENA ARORA aarora@idahopress.com

N

ed Barker, 77 served in the 9th Infantry Division during the Vietnam War, earning a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart medal at the same time.

He remembers the details vividly.

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In May 1967, Barker’s unit was moving across a rice paddy and unexpectedly came under heavy fire from enemy troops.

“It happened at a rice paddy, around 11 a.m.,” he said.

His team was sent out on a special mission and they got into a diamond formation, which is “a standard infantry formation,” he said.

VETERANS SALUTE

The team got out pretty far in the middle when they were ambushed with open fire and bombardments, Barker said.

Barker ran through hailing enemy fire, picked up an M16 rifle and started firing, without any regard to his personal safety, ultimately eliminating the threat to his unit. His Bronze Star medal announcement commended him as an “inspiration to all.”

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

“Barker’s spirited aggressiveness and courage were an inspiration to all and contributed significantly to the overwhelming defeat of the hostile force,” the announcement read.

Of the 123 soldiers that went in, 24 were killed and more than 70 were wounded, he recalled.

“You could see dirt flying around and bullets hitting the ground,” said Barker who was shot three times himself, earning the Purple Heart.

When the noises calmed down a little and the sun set, Barker said he lay still in the flooded rice paddy.

“I stuck my head out, trying to not get shot,” he said. “I remember laying there with my head stuck up because they were taking pot shots.”

Somebody he did not recognize, or doesn’t remember who, dragged Barker out to where command group was for treatment and care.

“It’s all fuzzy from there on,” he said.

Four rescue helicopters were flown in to carry out wounded soldiers to safety. Of the four, only one got out safely — and Barker was in it.

Barker has a long standing family history of service in the military — going as far back as the Revolutionary War. From the war, Barker also earned a Silver Star, one of the highest military honors for valor, in addition to his Bronze Star and a military service medal, along with his Purple Heart.

Silver Star A month later, in June 1967, Barker was chosen to serve as an Artillery Forward Observer on a search and destroy mission as a part of Operation Concordia, near the Ap Bac Village in Vietnam. His team was attacked with heavy automatic weapon fire by the Viet Cong.

Barker took it upon himself to move forward and adjust artillery fire on the hostile position. In doing so, Barker was wounded several times, but he continued to direct artillery fire on the insurgents until he was directed to evacuate.

Barker’s extraordinary heroism while in close combat with a numerically superior Viet Cong force was the reason for his Silver Star.

RETURNING HOME Being sent to the war was not surprising for him.

“I was in 9th division ... everyone knew we were going to be sent to the war,” he said.

Barker often wrote letters to his wife from Vietnam. The hardest part about being oversees for him was missing his daughter’s birth.

“She was about 6 months old when I first held her,” he said.

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COURTESY OF NED BARKER

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

VETERANS SALUTE

17

John McCarthy COURTESY OF JOHN MCCARTHY

John McCarthy

MERIDIAN MAN IS THE RECIPIENT OF TWO PURPLE HEARTS DURING WWII

By TORRIE COPE tcope@idahopress.com

W

orld War II did a number on John McCarthy.

McCarthy fought in the war for four years in the U.S. Marine Corps. He didn’t just have to survive what the enemy forces were throwing 18

at him. His battles also included malaria, severe hunger and even the threat of crocodiles.

At the age of 93, McCarthy can still recall with clarity what happened during the war, but admits there are plenty of things from that time he doesn’t like to remember. The passing of more than 70 years isn’t enough to dull the pain of what he and others endured.

VETERANS SALUTE

McCarthy survived a bullet and an explosion and earned two Purple Hearts for his service.

“I don’t think much about those,” he said of the Purple Hearts.

What’s important to him is that his survival meant his grandson is sitting across from him today, and the generations of his family continue to grow. Near the end of his military service, he met NOVEMBER 11, 2017

CHRIS BRONSON/IPT

his wife, Joyce, whom he was married to for 50 years until her death, while she was also in the Marines.

FIRST PURPLE HEART EARNED AT GUADALCANAL McCarthy was a senior in high school when he joined the military. He said he was one of four young men he knew who joined as high school seniors, but only two survived the war.

In August 1942, McCarthy landed at the Pacific island of Guadalcanal.

This year marks the 75th anniversary of the battle for Guadalcanal.

“I was wounded there not long after we landed,” McCarthy said.

He was shot while in a fox hole, which earned him his first Purple Heart.

The conditions on the island were horrible. Between his wound and bouts with malaria, McCarthy also suffered with hunger. While they fought the Japanese, McCarthy said there was little to eat except rice, barley and coconuts. McCarthy lost a considerable amount of weight during that time, and said he was in bad shape by the time he left the island four months later.

“To this day I can’t look at rice or coconuts the same,” he said.

After Guadalcanal, McCarthy was taken to Australia and he spent 10 months in and out of the hospital. He said he was in such poor shape that a Catholic priest in Australia read him his last rites, but he pulled through.

McCarthy left the hospital and went back to the battlefields in the Pacific.

In one location, he recalled people standing guard because of the crocodiles.

McCarthy was on his third day at Peleliu when the amphibious vehicle he was riding in ran over a landmine. McCarthy said he saw something sticking out of the ground before the blast happened.

The force of the blast threw McCarthy in the air. He got up and ran before collapsing afterward.

He was awarded his second Purple Heart for that incident.

The blast impacted McCarthy’s hearing, and he said he can still hear that sound from when it went off.

He also suffered heart attacks later, because of the malaria.

“The war did a number on me,” McCarthy said.

McCarthy now lives in an assisted living facility in Meridian. The walls of his room have maps and some keepsakes from his time in the war.

In addition to his Purple Hearts, McCarthy also earned a Presidential Citation, two Navy unit commendations and other military awards. He also received special recognition from Gov. Butch Otter at the Warhawk Air Museum in Nampa in 2016, the Idaho Statesman reported.

NOVEMBER 11, 2017

VETERANS SALUTE

COURTESY OF JOHN MCCARTHY

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