Sully
by John Herschelman
I have two memories from being a soldier. One was fear when I was a soldier, and the other was guilt after I came home. After I came home, I talked about none of my memories or any of my experiences. While I was raising a family and struggling through my middle years, I put the memories way in the background and they stayed there most of the time, but they were always there.
When I turned fifty I began to shake off the constant struggles and began to realize that no matter how much I struggled, things would be the same. I struggled less and allowed my memories to emerge. There were lots of memories from lots of experiences, but the memories from being a soldier were strong.
This last spring, my wife went home for a few weeks to visit her family and I had some time to myself to think, to reflect, and to write. I pulled out a story I had written long ago about Jim being dismembered by a land mine. I wrote some more stories. I cried. I did what I could to exhaust the memories and hopefully burn them from my soul.
The internet is a fascinating tool. I got online and looked for maps of Vietnam and tried to bring back memories long forgotten. I thought if I resurrected these memories I could deal with these demons and kill them. The odd thing was, it just made matters worse.
I ran across a website that mentioned the division I was in; then as I looked, it mentioned the brigade, the battalion and then even to the company I was in. This was ... I don't know how to describe it. It was like an opening back into time. The contact name for my company on the website was Harvey Sullivan. It couldn't be the same Sully I knew. He was dead. He died on May 21, 1969 along with Rios and Lewis, and all the rest. I remembered Sully because he and his good friend were both killed on the same day. I remember the anguish of their family and the letters that were written. I was only twenty-two at the time and Sully and his friend - I can't remember his name - seemed so young to me.
There was an email address for this Harvey Sullivan and I wrote him. I explained to him how I was in D Company and that I knew a Sullivan, but obviously could it could not be him. I was pensive? - uncomfortable? - reluctant, maybe to send the email, but I did. What the hell!
The next day, I received the following:
~~~
From: "Janice & Harvey Sullivan" wizzz45@sprintmail.com
Date: Sun, 6 May 2001 02:13:24 -0400
To: john@pacifictradingexchange.com
Subject: RE: D Co.
Hi John!
First off let me set you straight - LZ Sally is Mark Orr's site. He asked me to handle D Co because I was one of the 1st guys active on the site from D Co & I felt honored to be a part of LZ Sally. But thanks for the compliment anyway, I just wish I could take the credit.
Funny you might think I'm dead. The only other person I heard that from was D Co's XO. I forget his name but it might have been Lt Black, he was also my old platoon leader in 2nd Plt, Co D. He was the one who hurt his ankle in the Ashau about a month before we went south. I came in on the last chopper from the field on June 12, '69 & he ran out to me, grabbed my ruck & told me I was supposed to be dead. I never bothered to follow up on this, nothing was ever sent to my home & since the Lt proceeded to get me good & drunk, I just thought it was funny.
Sgt Rios was my platoon Sgt. I was there the day he died, May 21st. He was a special person.
Would you like me to add you to Delta Co's roll call with or without email address?
Thanks for writing. I'm real curious to see if I'm the Sullivan you thought I was.
Bye for now!
Sully
~~
Hogan was Sully's friend. Now I remember. So Sully is alive. I remember being confused on the day they came out. I was in Tam Ky and went up to Early, called him the wrong name, and said I thought he was dead. The name of the guy I named was dead and Early kept saying to me - I'm Early, I'm Early. I finally heard him. Oh - ok - glad to see you're ok Early.
For the next few weeks, Sully and I sent emails back and forth and traded stories and memories. I kept most of my fears and secrets to myself. Slowly, I would explore some fears. In hindsight, Sully was probably keenly aware of my pain, my fears, but he never pushed. His wife was very supportive of him and of me. Slowly I went into more and more 'things". Patiently, Sully listened and listened and showed understanding. Late one night I was writing - not to Sully, just stories. Then I started writing to Sully and telling him of my guilt of not being there when people needed me, of not being strong when people needed me to be strong. God, I needed to say it especially to someone that was there and someone I had wanted to make amends to for thirty-two years. There I had said it. I had admitted my guilt for the first time and to someone that mattered. It was important that I do that.
Instead of anger, Sully came back and told me stories of his own guilt and of others guilt that had already "confessed" to him. He had heard it more than once. In a way, Sully slapped me in the face and said, snap out of it; but more importantly he showed me that we all did the best we could given difficult circumstances and that we all wished we could have saved our friends that perished.
I was shaking after I read through Sully's stories of difficulties that he and others had experienced and the guilt that they had felt. Sully had written the account of Ed Hogan's death and written to the family of KC Crowe. He somehow had the ability to deal with each of us and help us through the fog and the guilt.
It has been a few weeks now since I went through my exorcism. I am not being overly dramatic here; I really feel that the demons are gone. I keep waiting for them to return, but I know they won't. I am at peace. I owe this peace to Sully and to Janice for being supportive of Harvey. I could never call him Harvey. I regret the loss of the fine people that I served with, but I now understand that they would want us to live the life that we have been given. Sully helped me understand this. They would want us to remember them in the most positive ways we could and live our lives the best we can. Thank you, Sully.
John Herschelman
D/1/501