The Few, The Proud,
The Marines
Ken Winkel
Vietnam 1968-1969
Well done dad. Proud to call you my father.
Written by Kyle Winkel, 5/2004 :
The year was 1968, America was at war in a foreign
land. As the need for more soldiers
increased, the military instituted a draft.
At 4:00 AM on February 28th, 1968, Ken and his mom left
Mapleton, UT for the Provo train station.
Just 6 days earlier, Ken’s draft number was called. He was to be drafted within 1 to 4 months
into the Army, but not wanting to wait, Ken chose to enlist immediately in the
Marines. That decision would alter the
course of history and establish a legacy that neither his children nor future
generations would ever forget.
The drive from Mapleton to Provo must have been a
solemn, silent ride. One can only
imagine the thoughts that flooded his mother’s mind, knowing that her son was
about to serve their country in severe combat thousands of miles from
home. As he took his seat on the bus, he looked out
the window toward his mother. She sat
hunched over the steering wheel, head in hands, weeping for her son. Throughout the duration of his tour of duty,
she must have petitioned the Lord to keep her son safe. On many occasions her prayers were
heard. Her son was miraculously
preserved despite experiencing countless heavy combat situations.
From the bus in Provo, Ken traveled to Salt Lake
City and boarded a plane for San Diego, CA.
After suffering through a grueling 11weeks of boot camp and 12 weeks of
infantry training, followed by a brief reprieve at home and more training, he
was flown to Vietnam to complete his 2 year tour of duty. Ken was trained as a machine gunner. It was said that in a fire fight, the life
expectancy of a machine gunner was roughly 30 seconds. Throughout his tour, he managed to escape
numerous combat situations with only minor injuries.
On the morning of August 16, 1969, Ken’s
commanding officer came to him and told him that his rotation date was moved
up. He was to pack his bags, turn in his
rifle, and get ready to fly to Danang the next morning. Oh the joy of returning home! He quickly got a letter off to his family so
that they would know his rotation date had arrived. He was certainly ready to leave the war and
the Marines behind. His tour of duty was
indeed challenging and he anxiously awaited his flight home!
That night at about 10:00 PM, Ken was rewinding
film in the officer’s tent. The tent was
really more than a tent. It had a tin
roof and was more of a permanent structure.
As Ken rewound the film, 82mm mortar fire began raining over the
compound, tearing through the tin roof where Ken was working. Instinctively, he rushed for the cover of a
nearby trench. Ken was home bound and
mortar fire certainly wasn’t going to keep him from getting home. After the mortar fire ceased, the soldiers of
the compound came out of cover. A few
officers, who hadn’t seen combat, were examining the impressions in the ground
made by the mortars. Two mortars
ironically landed in nearly the same place.
Ken pointed out to the officers that given the direction and distance
the dirt was displaced, the enemy was firing from quite some distance
away.
As Ken and a few officers examined the
impressions, the familiar sound of 82mm mortar fire was heard overhead. Ken leaped for the trench a second time,
landing on his back inside the safety of the trench. Others followed landing on and around
him. As the fire ceased, Ken realized
that he had been hit. Three quarter
sized holes appeared in his right thigh.
He immediately thought, if no one knows I’m hit, I’ll still go home in
the morning. However, an injury that
sever could not be disguised. A doctor
in the trench with him saw his injury and prepared him to fly to Danang the
next morning. Just 10 hours before
leaving for home, he was severely injured.
That injury would ultimately delay his flight home roughly 3 months.
The morning of August 17th, in the army
hospital, First Med in Danang, doctors cut away all the torn and damaged muscle
tissues. The three quarter-sized holes
grew to roughly ¼ of his right thigh.
Following this surgery Ken was sedated and slept. A few hours later, he awoke to find that his
bandages were completely soaked in blood.
A medic came and wrapped more bandages around his leg, sedated him and
left. A few hours later, Ken awoke again
to find the new bandages also soaked through with blood. A second time, the same medic wrapped more
bandages around his leg, sedated him, then left. The third time, Ken awoke to find the
bandages soaked through with blood and blood trickling down his leg. This time, the medic didn’t add to Ken’s
bandages. Instead, he called a doctor
who cut away the existing, blood soaked bandages. Under the bandages, the doctor removed
handfuls of clotted blood to find a single artery shooting a small stream of
blood with every heartbeat. By this
time, Ken had bled for more than a day.
Despite a substantial loss of blood, somehow Ken managed to
survive. Furthermore, despite heavy
sedation, he awoke and had enough cognizance to summon a medic for
assistance. I am convinced that God’s
hand preserved that young man’s life.
Ken’s suffering in First Med was but a mere fraction of what was to
come.
Upon discovering the unplugged artery, the doctor
promptly tied a knot in it which stopped the bleeding. He then proceeded without applying anesthesia
to sear the exposed raw muscle tissue of Ken’s leg to prevent any future bleeding. The intensity of the pain was so severe that
6 men had to hold Ken to the bed while the doctor cauterized his open
wound. The combination of blood loss and
extreme pain left Ken almost lifeless.
From First Med, Ken was transferred to an Air Force
hospital. There the staff treated him
well and fed him breakfast. Shortly
after breakfast, Ken was flown to Manilla, Phillipines. In Manilla, he was given an apple. It had been a long time since he had been
offered an apple. The juicy, sweet
satisfaction didn’t last long. Ken
couldn’t keep the food down. His apple
and his breakfast all came back up.
From Manilla, Ken was flown to Guam. It was on Guam that he was diagnosed with
malaria. Hence the reason for his body
rejecting food. For 3 weeks Ken couldn’t
eat. His strong, young frame lost 70
pounds. In addition, his severe leg
wound was infected. The infection
traveled up his leg into his hip.
Doctors ran disinfectant solutions through tubes inserted into his
thigh, running up into his hip. Yet, the
infection grew worse. Doctors’ prognosis
was bleak. If the infection could not be
suspended, Ken would lose his leg.
Knowing that doctors would amputate his leg if the
infection wasn’t stopped, Ken contacted a corpman from Provo, Utah working in
the Guam hospital. He requested that the
corpman find 2 melchezedic priesthood holders to administer to him. Later that day, 2 priesthood holders
pronounced a blessing upon Ken. From
that time forward, the infection miraculously abated and the malaria was
overcome. Now on the mend, doctors
performed 3 more surgeries to Ken’s right leg.
Then, in October of 1969, Ken was flown to an Air Force hospital in
Oakland, California for recovery.
Due to the extensive damage in his right leg, Air
Force doctors in Oakland stated that Ken would never walk normally again. It’s possible that Ken didn’t hear the
doctors right or perhaps he was determined to walk in spite of the doctors’
prognosis. For five weeks in the Oakland
hospital, Ken walked up and down nine floors of stairs everyday. Of course, he didn’t start out walking the
nine floors. He began by dragging his
injured leg around his room, then gradually increased as his strength
returned. He willed his leg to work
again.
In late November, Ken finally returned home
walking with only a slight limp. His
first Sunday home, he met the woman that he would someday marry. His determination and will power was a
blessing in his children’s lives. We
will always see our father as one who overcame unbelievable odds. Our father is a great man. One that we hope to emulate as we raise our
children.
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