OPINION - Guest column

Filling a Gold Star void

On July 3, I traveled to Atlanta, heading to a reunion of the Vietnam Helicopter Pilots Association. On July 4, I attended the VHPA's Gold Star breakfast honoring family members of pilots killed in action.

I hoped the breakfast could provide me with some freedom from a burden that has weighed on me since I was a freshman in high school, a moment in my life when my teenage facade of normalcy was cracked like the shell of a broken egg.

My journey to this gathering had been precipitated by coincidences resulting in actions that I can only attribute to divine providence.

In March, while doing online research on the helicopter crash that killed my older brother, U.S. Army Warrant Officer Gary David Thatcher, on Feb. 6, 1970, I came across a link to the VHPA.

For years I had been searching for my brother's crash coordinates. But I'd never been able to find either the coordinates or the official cause of the crash. For some reason, though, this time I saw the VHPA link at the bottom of the crash report and decided to click on it.

After searching the VHPA website, I came across the name and email address of Julie Kink, identified as the surviving sibling of a helicopter pilot killed in action in Vietnam. I subsequently reached out to her by email and introduced myself.

Julie responded and told me about her brother's crash. She was 8 when her 19-year-old brother, Warrant Officer David R. Kink, died after his scout helicopter crashed on July 21, 1969. I was 14 when my 20-year-old brother, a Medevac pilot, was killed.

We share a loss--a void we've been trying to fill ever since--a crushing blow you can't fathom unless you've experienced it, a blow made especially difficult because it hit both of us so early in our lives.

According to the VHPA, 2,197 helicopter pilots and 2,704 crew members lost their lives during the Vietnam War, including my brother Gary and Julie's brother David. Of the 11,827 helicopters that were deployed, 5,086 were destroyed in combat or accidents.

The use of the helicopter in wartime came of age during Vietnam in various applications such as troop transport, armed gunship, attack craft, light utility/observation, search and rescue, Medevac and others. The whop-whop-whop of the whirring chopper blades became synonymous with the sounds of the war, much like some of the rock music of that period.

The most common helicopter to fly in Vietnam, the Bell UH-1 Iroquois, better known by its nickname Huey, was the craft my brother was aboard when it crashed into a hillside adjacent to a white church. All four crew members perished.

Julie told me she had two friends in the VHPA, Rob Weeks and Jim McLaughlin, who researched helicopter pilots killed in Vietnam on behalf of their survivors. She said they might be willing to try and find my brother's crash coordinates. She also invited me to attend the July VHPA Gold Star breakfast, which she would be coordinating.

In late April, Jim McLaughlin emailed me. He said Rob had recently gone to the National Archives in Washington, D.C., and researched my brother's crash. Jim said he believed he and Rob had found my brother's crash coordinates, which Jim shared with me along with two small maps of Vietnam showing the crash location.

In May, Julie provided me with names and contact information of several former helicopter pilots who would be attending the VHPA reunion in Atlanta. They had gone through flight training with my brother stateside or served in Vietnam while he was there. I reached out to some of them, and they willingly answered my questions.

My brother was listed as the pilot in the crash report. For a long time, I had wondered if he was flying the craft at the time of the crash. I had also wondered if he was at fault.

One of the pilots I had been corresponding with, Don Beelart, who had been in flight training with my brother, told me he had survived seven helicopter crashes in Vietnam. He reassured me about my concerns, saying my brother was probably not flying the aircraft when it crashed. He said the senior pilot/aircraft commander (AC) was likely in charge.

Since Gary had been in Vietnam less than two months at the time of his death, Don said he was certain Gary was still flying as second in command or co-pilot. He said it took three to four months to get the experience to become an AC.

My other question regarding possible operator error by my brother was answered in late May when I received Gary's military records; I had requested them three months earlier in February from the National Personnel Records Center in St. Louis.

Among the records was a letter from Gary's commanding officer, Col. Joseph F. Powers, dated Feb. 19, 1970, that had been written to my parents. The letter stated that "on the night of Feb. 6, 1970, Gary was the co-pilot of a medical evacuation helicopter attempting to evacuate a patient from near the Song Troui River, Thua Thien Province, Republic of Vietnam. The helicopter developed engine failure on final approach to the pickup site and crashed. There is every indication that both pilots and crew members died instantly."

In my research I also learned that darkness, low altitude and possible spatial disorientation were contributing factors to the crash.

Within the packet containing my brother's records were also copies of letters to my parents from Secretary of the Army Stanley R. Resor, U.S. Army Chief of Staff General William C. Westmoreland, and President Richard M. Nixon.

Of my brother, Resor said: "We are proud of his military accomplishments and grateful to him for his contribution to our nation's strength."

Westmoreland wrote: "I know that the loss of a loved one is one of the most difficult things a person has to face, but perhaps you may find some measure of comfort in knowing that he served his nation with courage and honor at a time of great need."

Nixon wrote: "Of all the hardships of war, the cruelest are the losses of men such as your son. The only consolation I can offer is the profound respect of the nation he died to serve, and the humble recognition of a sacrifice no man can measure, and no words can describe."

Although the Vietnam War ended on April 30, 1975--a passage of 43 years--anger still simmers among many of the survivors. Don Beelart said he was spat upon by passersby while walking through a California airport in uniform the day he got home.

"You might find there are some real hard feelings from this group [VHPA]," he said. "Ten percent of the fatalities of the war were helicopter crewmen. I always felt my job, no matter what, was to do everything possible to save and support the troops on the ground. Gary was doing it that night, but engine failure caught up with that crew."

During the Gold Star breakfast at the VHPA reunion, I was given the opportunity to stand up and say a few words about my brother.

I told the people in the room that my brother enlisted at age 19, despite his opposition to the war. He was not sure what he wanted to do with his life. But he did not like college and did not feel right taking a deferment and barely passing while others in his generation were over in Vietnam.

Gary wanted to fulfill his service commitment and move forward instead of fleeing to Canada or waiting for the uncertainty of the draft. When given the opportunity, he chose to be a Medevac pilot because he did not want to kill anyone.

Several other Gold Star family members also spoke that morning, providing emotional tributes to their fallen family members.

Our voids were not filled that day. They never will be. Once one's soul is cracked, there's no way to ever fully repair the fissure. But at least for a few moments, we were comforted in knowing that we were not alone. The other Gold Star family members in that room had all experienced losses. Just like me.

Jeff Thatcher is a professional communicator and longtime resident of Little Rock.

Editorial on 07/15/2018

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