Dear Tom:
I recall the reception held at Quantico while I was a Basic School student. Resplendent in dress blues, we felt proud. Old Harry Lee Hall had an air of dignity and color. As the night grew and drinks flowed, one major approached me and stared at my ribbons. He pointed to my Good Conduct ribbon and said, "I'd rather have that than the Navy Cross."
It seems that the officers who never had the honor of being called "Enlisted Swine," have attached a great deal of meaning and prestige to that little piece of ribbon. The reason is obvious: troops seem to be able to relate better to an officer who wears something which says, "I've been where you've been, kid. I've done what you've done.
It is amazing how much undeserved value is placed on the ribbons worn on the chest. It seems that the ribbons tell a story about the wearer. It seems that he is a hero; or that he isn't. Whether or not we wish to admit it, we judge others, in large part, by the crap they wear on their shirts.
In Camp Pendleton in 1970-71, I was involved in the budding human relations movement. Our movement was strictly a local effort, and it bore little resemblance to the abortion adopted by the M Corps in mid-1971. I was called upon to go to the Marine Corps Air Station at El Toro to present a three-day seminar to a group of Staff NCOs. I decided to do a bit of an experiment. On the first day of the seminar, I had a lot to say. My uniform was the short-sleeve shirt without ribbons. The choice of not wearing my ribbons was not unusual, as it was quite common to see one without ribbons who obviously was entitled to wear them. The second day of the seminar was used for small, group workshops, and I had very little to say. That day I chose to wear only one ribbon: The American Defense Service Ribbon, or as we often called it, the Pepsi Cola ribbon. I got a lot of stares from the seminar participants that day. I detected a bit of veiled hostility. "Who the hell is this guy who's been preaching to us about leadership and he's never been to combat?"
On the third day I wore the full set of ribbons. I had a lot to say that day, and in the wrap up of the seminar that afternoon, I commented on the ribbons and asked whether or not the failure to wear them on the first day had detracted from what I had to say. The unanimous answer was, "No." I then asked if the one ribbon worn on the second day caused me to lose credibility, and the unanimous answer was, "Yes." I then asked if they felt comfortable on the third day when I had displayed my credentials; if my words again had credibility. The unanimous answer was, "Yes."
That removed any doubt from my mind as to the value one places on awards and decorations. It is strange, but it is a fact of life that ribbons add "wisdom" to the wearer.
Troops went to Viet Nam, survived twelve or thirteen months, and came back with a chest full of ribbons for sitting behind a typewriter, or doing some job not directly related to combat. We overawarded in a general way, and at the same time we neglected the hell out of some of our true heroes.
To initiate a personal award requires that somebody write something to describe the action or event which reflected the bravery of someone else. In the case of meritorious awards, a new thing came into being called the "letter of continuity." This letter was to ensure that a man's full tour was covered, and generally resulted in what was known as the "End of Tour" award. In other words, if a guy (generally a senior Staff NCO or officer) got up in the morning and did what he was required to do, he was rewarded with a medal at the end of his tour in Viet Nam. The write up of these awards was often comical. It seemed that the trouble came when a supervisor was required to write a trooper up for a heroic award. We all knew that the award rested on the art of writing; not fighting. As a result, many officers would procrastinate, and ultimately neglect to ever get the award written up.
I was visited by my battalion CO as I lay dying in the intensive care ward of a hospital ship. I told him about the brave Marines who ignored intense enemy fire to come to me and drag my dying ass out of a rice paddie. I asked that they be written up for a heroic award. He stated that he would take care of it. I found out about a year later that they had both received the Navy Commendation Medal. I went bananas! What they did was Silver Star material! Through a lot of patience and correspondence, I managed to talk Headquarters, Marine Corps, into upgrading the award to at least a Bronze Star.
On my second trip to Viet Nam, I went to the First Marine Division Awards Branch to check on a couple of young heroes I had known on my first trip. There was nothing in the records to indicate that they had ever been written up for anything. I took care of that, belatedly, and cursed the officers who had promised that they would be recommended for heroic awards.
Rest assured that the officers generally took care of each other in the awards department. A couple of rockets hit the III MAF headquarters Danang, doing no damage beyond the repair of a shovel and thirty minutes work. The following morning, a bird colonel was sitting at his desk when an overhead light fixture broke loose and fell on his desk, slightly cutting his hand. He applied for the Purple Heart Medal, claiming that the light fixture had been loosened by the previous night's rocket attack." He got his Purple Heart.
Heroism is, of course, an individual thing. When it came to minority groups, however, the echelons of command all the way from battalion to Washington, seemed to be more interested in "group" statistics than in the individual. As a result, a number of awards, recommended for minorities were upgraded; Navy Commendation Medals became Bronze Stars and Silver Stars, while at the same time a number of deserving minority members were left unrecognized. But these actions were in keeping with the feeble and ludicruous attempts of the Marine Corps to flaunt to the world our "equal opportunity." We seemed to forget that ethnic background has nothing to do with individual acts of heroism. We had a Mexican kid on ambush who was accidentally shot by a zip Popular Force trooper. This kid was written up for a heroic Bronze Star, and the citation was sickening. He hadn't done a damned thing except sit on ambush and get shot by some careless bastard, yet the citation made him look like Audie Murphy. Another minorities statistic.
The Marine Corps policy is that awards be presented at an "appropriate ceremony." This policy isn't always adhered to. I talked with a kid yesterday who had just received his Good Conduct Medal (two months late and after his bugging them about it). His medal and certificate were given to him by the First Sergeant in the office. "Here's your Good Conduct Medal, kid." I recall that in 1967, while at Quantico, there was an article in the local base newspaper about a corporal who had been awarded the Navy Cross, the second highest award a Marine can win. His battalion commander, a lieutenant colonel, presented the medal. The Navy Cross should be presented in a large formation and should be presented by a general officer. Of course, Quantico only had two generals at the time, so I suppose they were much too busy to accommodate this situation.
Yet, I have seen some of the end-of-tour awards presented in large formations when most of them should have been mailed to the recipient in a plain, brown envelope. I'll never forget the one presented to the major in 8th Communications Battalion several years back. A battalion formation was held and the battalion commander read the citation: "Bronze Star for meritorious achievement while serving in the Republic of Viet Nam in operations against insurgent enemy communist forces. On the night of 23 August 1967, the combat base at Hill 55 came under an intense enemy rocket attack during which three rockets exploded within the confines of the cantonment. The following day, Major (Lipshitz) moved fearlessly across the rubble strewn area with complete disregard for his own safety, and assessed the damage to various buildings. Discovering that the officers' shithouse had been demolished, he exhibited supurb presence of mind in determining the amount of plywood, nails, and screen required to rebuild that edifice. Personally supervising the construction, and refusing to allow combat requirements to interfere, he ensured that the construction was completed within two weeks. His actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of the Naval Service and the United States Marine Corps."
The Marine Corps decided that the ones in Viet Nam who were actually closing with and destroying the enemy should have some type of distinguishing device from those who sat in the background listening to stereo and TV. Thus was born the Combat Action Ribbon. The Army has a Combat Infantryman's Badge awarded for those who have been in actual combat with the enemy, and our CAR was based upon the same general requirement. The authorization read, roughly, that those who had been in actual combat with the enemy were entitled to wear the ribbon. It meant that you had been shot at and you had shot back. That would have been sufficient, but in fairness to others, it was broadened a bit to include certain unique cases. An example was given: If a Marine at the Danang airfield ran out during a rocket attack and moved an aircraft to an unexposed position, it was felt that he had qualified for the award.
That opened the floodgates! Everyone who had set foot in Viet Nam was suddenly able to find reasons why he was similarly entitled. I recall a rather pseudo-sophisticated-major from 8th Comm Battalion who came to me for my interpretation. "Gene, I feel that I am eligible for the CAR. While serving at the Danang airfield, I was required to go to Khe Sanh to deliver some crypto parts. That was during the seige, you know." I didn't agree with this ribbon-happy cat, but told him to put the ribbon on if he felt he rated it. He would wear it a day or two and then take it off due to conscience qualms. I think that he finally made peace with his conscience and he put it on permanently and regated us with his blood-curdling war stories of the rigors of commanding a communications squadron.
During 1969, it was discovered that it was a rare occasion to find someone who had been to Viet Nam who was not wearing the CAR. The CMC had suddenly had enough. He ordered the ribbon struck from everyone's service record jackets, and further ordered that the eligibility for the award be re-established based upon new criteria. If a man served as a Grunt in a Grunt battalion in Viet Nam, he was automatically eligible. All others had to have eligibility established through recommendations, letters, statements, etc. This was, perhaps, swinging the pendulum a bit too far. I had communications personnel with me in 1st Battalion, 5th Marines, from the 7th Comm Battalion who did essentially everything the Grunts did. It was difficult to establish eligibility. Artillery men and tankers, with the Grunts, were equally eligible, but the procedures for establishing this eligibility were burdensome, to say the least, and in far too many "old" cases, the eligibility could not be established. Many Marines who rate the ribbon don't have it. But, you can bet your hat that all the fat asses in the III MAF headquarters established their eligibility. I suppose it was only fair; the gunfire did sometimes keep them awake at night.
The Vietnamese had a number of awards which they conferred on us Gringoes. They would allot a certain number to a unit (any unit), get the names from the unit commander, type up the documents (generally misspelling the names), and pin it on some poor, unsuspecting and often undeserving Marine.
As a matter of fact, I got one of the zip awards. It was mailed to me two years after leaving Viet Nam. There was no English translation for the accompanying document, so I have no idea which of my brave deeds the zips were recognizing.
I firmly believe that the vast majority of awards given for acts of bravery were well deserved. The thing which bugs me is that too many Marines went overlooked while at the same time much was made of little in order to accommodate some guy for an award to which he was not entitled. The end-of-tour awards - the meritorious awards - were a farce. Maybe they should strike a medal for such things and give it to those who may have really busted their asses, but who didn't have the opportunity to do heroic deed.
You can see a guy wearing a Bronze Star Medal with the Combat "V" and have no way of knowing whether it was given for bravery or for meritorious performance in rebuilding the officers' shithouse.