A tale of war, death, and love -- dedicated to a brother
Some bonds endure through tragedy, through the generations
WATERLOO — Robert “Bob” Deyo Jr. and my big brother George were classmates at Waterloo West High School. They were part of the West High Class of 1965. They were on the archery team together at West.
They had much in common, but definitely had different modes of transportation. Bob’s family was in the jewelry business and he drove a sleek super-hot Oldsmobile 442 that by all accounts was a pretty fun car to drive.
Our dad worked at John Deere, Mom was waiting tables at the time and George drove a green 1946 Chevy that looked like something out of an old gangster movie. It was a bomb. Dad patched over the rust spots with masking tape and spray paint. The tape would wash off in the rain. George became known as the “Scotch Tape Kid” at West.
Bob and George both went off to serve their country after graduation. George enlisted in the Navy at age 17 and would serve three years on the destroyer USS Luce. Bob went into the Army.
They also married sisters. So they would have been brothers in law.
Would have been.
Bob was killed in Vietnam in 1967. He was 20 years old. He was survived by his wife and a two-month-old daughter he never saw.
He wasn’t the only one. My brother lost five West High classmates in Vietnam. I was nine when the first one, Dave Paulsen, died in November 1966. He was 19. At that point, for me, war became a lot more serious than watching "Combat!" on TV and reading Sgt. Rock comic books -- especially when I heard on the morning funeral announcements on the radio that Dave’s casket would be closed.
George came home on leave and visited Dave's folks. There were no Christmas decorations at their home that year. I remember saying an offertory petition for Dave in a class Mass at Sacred Heart School.
Losing those friends affected George. So it affected me. Years later, I took him down to the Black Hawk County Vietnam Veterans Memorial at Paramount Park downtown, honoring everyone in the county killed or missing in Vietnam. George knew a lot of the 45 guys on that memorial, both from high school and from St. John's Catholic grade school.
"Knew him. Knew him..." he said, going down the list of names of the fallen on the memorial.
Then he turned and kind of just stood there looking out over the Cedar River. He saw a stone planter near the river by the memorial. He recognized it. It was all that was left of the old Paramount Theater, a popular spot for George and his buddies - some of whom were now on that memorial.
It was where George had taken me to see "Captain Sinbad" when I was in kindergarten and he was at West. I had thought in my little five-year-old mind that was just about the neatest thing ever -- to go to a big movie theater and hang out with my big brother. That happy sunny late spring day in 1963 was a stark contrast to the bleak day we visited the monolith memorial on the old theater site.
I felt George's sense of loss, and I guess I was a little sensitive about it. I remember when I started working full time at the Ames Tribune my senior year at Iowa State, I was taking a pretty good amount of rookie razzing from one of the older freelance photographers at a staff party at our editor's home. Well, the photographer crossed a line.
"You think you're old enough to remember the Vietnam War? Some of us had to protest it!" he said.
I felt a big lump in my throat and the anger swell up in my chest.
"Yeah, my brother's best friend got blown up by a mortar shell in Da Nang," I shot back, referring to Dave Paulsen.
The photographer shut up. It kind of hushed the party. He never bothered me again.
All this sort of came full circle when time came to decorate graves this Memorial Day. My Uncle John Gardner, my mom's last surviving sibling, passed away a couple of months. ago. I had missed the funeral due to a work commitment. When I was at the cemetery where he was laid to rest for another funeral, I stopped at the office to find where his grave was so I could decorate it for Memorial Day; he was a Navy World War II veteran.
I got Uncle John’s grave location, then remembered to ask about another. Bob Deyo was laid to rest at the same cemetery. I had never been to that grave.
"Died in 1967?" the office manager asked
"Yeah," I said. "He was killed in Vietnam."|
Bob's grave was not more than 20 yards from my Uncle John's. And it’s a big cemetery. They were two rows apart.
I decorated both of them.
George's oldest daughter -- my niece -- and Bob's daughter both live in San Juan Capistrano, Calif. They are cousins but as close as sisters. Always have been. Just like their moms, and how their dads would have been.
Years earlier I had been to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. -- the Wall. I took two rubbings -- one of Dave Paulsen, and one of Bob Deyo. I sent Bob's to his daughter.
My brother George passed away in 2011 at age 63. He worked at MicroSwitch in Freeport, Ill., where he also served on the Stephenson County board —and had a hand in the construction of a county veterans memorial.
He was gone way too soon. But I thank God every day we had him, compared to how young his fallen classmates were. He was a great brother and dad -- and a pretty good uncle too -- to my kids, my nieces and nephews, grandnieces and grandnephews -- and to Bob's daughter.
Decorating Bob’s grave was a very, very small gesture compared to his family’s sacrifice. But it was long overdue. I did it for Bob, George and our families. Their daughters’ bond is a great living testimonial to their lives as well as to their mothers.
I figure any time I honor veterans, especially Vietnam veterans, I'm honoring George and his fallen buddies. It was important to him. So it's important to me.
Love ya, bro.
Pat Kinney is a freelance writer and former longtime news staffer with the Waterloo-Cedar Falls Courier and, prior to that, several years at the Ames Tribune. He is currently an oral historian with the Grout Museum District in Waterloo. His “View from the Cedar Valley” column is part of “Iowa Writers Collaborative,” a collection of news and opinion writers from around the state who previously and currently work with a host of Iowa newspapers, news organizations and other publications. Click on their links below to sample their work.
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Graduating from high school in 1968, was a mile post for me. Not great at school work, my destiny didn't include college. Growing up on a dairy farm that wasn't an enriching experience for myself, especially since we did much of the work the hardway, by hand. A family of five existed largely from feeding ourselves from the produce we raised in a large garden and eggs, meat and milk products we created. Annual income ran around 7 grand according to the tax records. With five in the family it wasn't a whole lot, and college certainly wasn't on the financial agenda for me. Getting kicked out of the house in January made sure I wasn't going to get help with anything! I managed to make ends meet with two jobs and graduated while living in a rooming house. . With the 1968 Tet Offensive, I had to decide if I was willing to be drafted, or to enlist for a potential spot somewhere better than a grunt. Thank God my math skills were not that great, or I might have ended up in helicopter flight school! Instead, I took on a specialty that was "critical" and became a turbine engine mechanic. That would insure I would be promoted to Specialist 4th class by the time I exited school. 23 October 1968 I entered Basic Training at Fort Polk, Louisiana and with the buildup still going forward in Vietnam, Basic was on a short cycle. I was home for a few days at Christmas and on to advanced training in Virginia by the 3rd of January. On arrival I was a casual which means I did 20 days of KP before classes even started! Military schools in aviation left a whole lot to be desired. I never saw an engine actually run nor did I ever see a helicopter! Our advisors would tell us just remember all this stuff, it will be on the test you have to pass. You'll never see any of this in Vietnam and they will teach you what you need to know when you get there! Only two of the graduating class didn't go to Vietnam! One, a National Guardsman, the other to young to go was sent to Korea, I would run into him in Vietnam later. So finishing "school" We were given a 30 day leave prior to being shipped overseas and the next thing I knew I was on levee at Oakland Army Terminal the 19th of April 1969. My actual military service, minus my casual time and leave time amounted to somewhere around 117 days, and it is less because of weekends when we didn't train in specialty school and in basic we trained on Saturday, but not Sunday. Once I got to Vietnam and to my assignment, the First Sgt. asked me what my specialty was. His response, "Engineman, hum, we got enough of those, you are now a hydraulics man!"
That cost me a promotion the first time I came up for the promotion board, I didn't know anything about what I was being promoted in! I stuck it out in Vietnam for a full two years simply because I wanted out so very badly that I stayed and extended twice to get an early out! Today, I have a 50% disability that I only got 3 years ago from service over 50 years ago in Vietnam from Agent Orange, diabetes and hearing loss. I consider myself lucky to be alive, as many I know are long since dead many before their time, often without any compensation for their Vietnam service because what killed them wasn't considered service connected at the time! I did my time, I survived long eough to get some compensation for what the Army did to me, not the VC or the NVA! I didn't expect anything from the public beyond appreciation that I did what others refused to do. Those "others" who hid out in deferrments and the like with made up medical excuses like Bone Spurs Trump. You won't find me putting stickers on my car, or a hat on my head that says anything about Vietnam. I'm happy not to be treated special, simply because I'm not "special" for doing what others refused to do. I would rather not be considered the "sucker" for replacing all those other rat bastards who took advantage of me for going with no excuses, no deferments, and no other options.
Great column.