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letter
Letter to Terrie, 28 October 1970 — one year in the Army, and 'I do think I came back out too soon'
Charlie's three-page letter to Terrie dated 28 October 1970, reassembled from its scans (dad299 page 1, dad300 page 2, dad301 page 3). Four days of steady rain, cold enough to get chills; still in the mountains, overdue for resupply but with enough food for a few more days so he hasn't panicked. He owes many people letters but finds it almost impossible to write under these conditions. As of now he figures he'll extend to get out of the Army with a recalculated release date of June 13, meaning 227 days of what he calls misery left; he isn't in bad shape but finds the whole situation over here tiring. His mother's congressional inquiry has gotten a response — the congressman said he would look into Charlie's situation, though nothing has come of it yet. He reflects on his own malaria hospitalization: more than one person assumed that after having malaria he wouldn't be sent back to the field, but it never occurred to him there was a way to prevent his return, and in hindsight he thinks he came back out too soon. October is nearly over, and by November 9 he'll have completed a full year in the Army, over 180 days of it in Vietnam — fast, but not fast enough. No sign of the enemy, and no support if they did see one in this weather. He asks for sardines, tuna, shrimp, and candy or sandwich spreads in her next package, and closes with a joke that the miserable weather at least kills any desire.
What the letter is
28 October 1970, three pages written after four days of steady, chilling rain in the mountains, overdue for resupply. The letter’s real weight comes on the second page, where Charlie looks back at his own malaria evacuation with a rare note of second-guessing — “I do think I came back out too soon” — before landing on a hard milestone: 9 November will mark a full year wasted in the Army, more than half of it in Vietnam.
Transcription
Oct 28
Dear Terrie,
It has been raining steadily for the last 4 days and I’m soaked. It is windy, and although I guess it is around 70-75°, it is still cold and it is very easy to get the chills.
We are still in the down mountains and are supposed to go in for 1 day to dry off as soon as the weather breaks. We are overdue for resupply now, but I still have enough food for 3-4 days so I haven’t panicked yet. It is just plain miserable with no relief in sight.
Last time I got mail I got all the letters that had been forwarded to the hospital.
[page 2:] I owe so many people letters but it is almost impossible to write under these conditions.
It sounds like you’re doing fine in school, but that is what you said about summer school. Keep studying.
As of now I guess I’ll extend to get out of the army, and that (after recalculated) would set me free June 13th, which means 227 days of misery left.
Actually I’m not in too bad shape right now, but I just think this whole mess over here is tiring.
Did I tell you mother made an inquiry through our congressman, and he said he would inquire about me and my situation. I haven’t heard anything yet
[page 3:] but I’m just waiting to tell them I’m unfit for the field and how stupid their tactics are. Evidently more than one person thought after I had malaria I would [not] be returned to the field. It never occurred to me there was no way to prevent it anyway, but I do think I came back out too soon.
Oh well!
October is just about over, and Nov 9 I’ll have wasted 1 year of my life in the army and over 180 days here in Viet Nam. It goes fast but not fast enough.
No sign of the enemy. I don’t know what we would do if we saw him in this weather. We have absolutely no support at this time, it is ludicrous.
In your next package send some sardines, tuna fish, shrimp, and some of the candy/[sandwich] spreads.
Well, don’t worry — this weather takes the horniness right out of you. Just sit in the rain and it does it every time.
Love, Charles
What the letter records
“I do think I came back out too soon.” The rarest kind of admission in the corpus — Charlie second-guessing his own choice rather than the Army’s. The 21 September hospital letter and its 28 September Cam Ranh Bay follow-up both show him consciously stretching his convalescence; here, a month later, back in the mountains and soaked through, he wonders whether he stretched it enough.
A year wasted, counted to the day. “Nov 9 I’ll have wasted 1 year of my life in the army.” The anniversary lands exactly where the letter’s arithmetic of extension (227 days left if he extends to June 13) makes it feel longest — a full year down, and still more than half his in-country time to go.
The congressman, still pending. Picking up from the 24 October letter, the congressional inquiry has produced only a promise to look into things. Charlie’s plan for what to say if it ever amounts to anything — that he’s “unfit for the field” and the tactics are stupid — is as close as he comes in the letters to open institutional criticism.
No support “at this time.” “We have absolutely no support at this time, it is ludicrous.” A rare explicit complaint about being under-resourced in the field, paired immediately with the weather joke that closes the letter — Charlie’s habitual move from something genuinely bleak to something genuinely funny in the space of two sentences.
Scans
