A little about me.

I was raised in the coal patch of Pennsylvania. I'm a twin, born into a family that eventually reached the number of eleven of us. I was an explorer from birth. The world surrounding me in a place known as Clearcreek was my playground. We were a creative bunch. Old sticks became guns, airplanes, or spears. We made our fun, and created our own brand of history. The entire population of Clearcreek was seventy-four people. There was a a creek down through the woods called the Clearfield Creek. More time was spent there in the summers, than anywhere else around. Clearcreek was actually called a village by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and connected to it was another village called Flinton. Flinton was settled in the 1800's, and Clearcreek probably not long after. It was a company town, built for the coal miners of the time. When I was there, there were 14 houses left. Four room dwellings with a front porch and a back porch with tarpaper for roofing, and usually for siding as well. I wouldn't have wanted to grow up anywhere else.

Life couldn't have been better, until at the age of eight-years-old my brother, Chuckie, a Green Beret was taken from us in Vietnam. I was innocent to all the goings on, yet sensed not only a loss for the first time in my life of a sibling during my time on earth. I did lose a little brother before I was born, but this was the first experience as a child for me to witness things first hand. I wrote a short story about it from a child's perspective. Here it is:

“Bringing Brother Home”

He left in February, and by early June-- he was dead. June 10, 1965, to be exact. Sometime after midnight Vietnam time, but it was the next day in Clear Creek when a knock came to the front door.  It wasn’t the Army; it was his pregnant wife who I saw from my hiding place behind my Mother’s yellow sundress. I never saw my brother’s wife cry before, but as she stood framed in the doorway with the bright light of summer behind her, she sobbed.

It was all so confusing for an eight-year old to witness such a thing. Scary too. It was the first time I ever heard such mournful wailing, and when she passed a telegram to my mother it increased two-fold. The telegram stated my brother; a Green Beret was missing in action.

What’s that mean, Mom? Is he lost? He was just here a few months ago. He came upstairs Mom, and sat on the edge of each of our beds taking turns telling us to be good kids and to listen to you and Dad. Where’s Vietnam, Mom? I thought he was in North Carolina, Mom. Remember for my class project, I chose North Carolina to write to their tourism bureau to find out about their state? Mom? I only thought those words; there was too much commotion now.

That night we had a lot of visitors. I climbed up on a chair and watched the television. My Dad watched it too, I liked Chiller Theater, but Dad kept trying to find the news. Two stations were the only choices, and I never saw my Dad change the channels back and forth so much. I got to stay up late, and even when I was getting fidgety, they didn’t yell at me. My Mom’s eyes sure look red. Dad’s face looks blank, and empty. There were six other kids in the house, but I didn’t know where they were, they were so quiet. Things were never quiet around here.

When the last visitor left, and the television signed off to nothing but white specks on blackness, I went upstairs to bed. I could hear my parents in muffled serious voices, but could make out very little. They rarely talked in such quiet tones. So, I lay on my back with my hands folded behind my head and stared up toward the black ceiling. Missing. Action. Vietnam. What did it all mean anyway?

My brother knew these woods like nobody did, I thought. He probably was camping, or hiding from the other guys. He did that a lot of times with us kids. He was good at it. I wished I could walk as quiet as he did. You couldn’t hear his boots in the leaves. He’d jump out and scare his buddies for sure. That’s what he did to us, and we’d all let out a startled squeal, and take off running back to the safety of the big yard, or house. But, none of us could come close to outrunning him. I doubt anyone could catch him over there. He’d just run and run, and if he had too, he’d climb right up in a tree too. He wasn’t afraid of being in any tall trees; he’d go right to the top. He even jumped out of planes. I don’t like being up high.

The covers feel soft, and I pull them over my eyes to make my darkness even darker. I fell asleep wondering if it was as black there in that place called Vietnam, and if they had katydids. I knew they had monkeys, because awhile back he sent home a picture of him with two of them clutching onto him.  He even wrote on the back that they looked like the twins when we were little. Mom laughed, see, I have a twin sister. Good night.

Morning light through the window sure can make a blanket hot. I kicked them off, and noticed all four beds in the room were empty. I walked on my knees on the soft bed and positioned myself at that window. There were cars parked along the road outside the house and people milling around in the yard with their heads down. A dark green car with a star on the side of it turned around in the middle of the road and I squinted from my perch and watched it leave.

We rarely have this much company. That looks like Uncle Paul down there. Hey, there’s my older sister and her husband, they live far away, and we don’t get to see them much at all. Why are all these people hugging Mom like that?

I know—I know. I bet the Army guys are bringing my brother home.

___________________________________________________

That story is pretty much what I thought that day. One thing about war, it effects everyone no matter what they lead you to believe. I guess if there was one wish I'd wish for this planet, it's that we all would wise up and realize there is no logic, no winners, no long term good, when it comes to war. That is coming from the mouth of someone who was in the Army, too. Well, my next update to this blog will touch on happier things. Thanks for reading.

One day I checked my email after I sent this story to Joe Kubert, the cartoonist famous for many comic heroes, such as, Sgt Rock, Hawkman, and many more published by DC Comics. This was one of the best emails I ever received.

 Dear Ron -

I cannot begin to tell you how deeply your email affected me. I had met C.Q.
Williams back in 1967-68. I was doing a syndicated newspaper strip titled
"Tales of the Green Berets", based on a book written by Robin Moore. Mr.
Williams had won the Medal of Honor, and helped promote the strip.

I came to do the book on Dong Xoai through a series of incidents involving
meeting Bill Stokes, who was the officer in charge of the group in which
your brother, Charles O. Jenkins, Jr., served. I was so taken by the story
of Dong Xoai, by the events that occurred and the men and relationships
involved, that I felt compelled to write and illustrate. To tell of the kind
of men who fought and died in Vietnam - even before the war officially
began.

Your email was the culmination of it all, and I thank you for sending it.

Sincerely,
Joe Kubert

Good luck on your writing aspirations. Tenacity and persistence is what it
takes. Your brother had it, and I'm sure you do, too.

As a writer, there is no feeling like that you get when you know you have truly touched the emotions of someone.

RRJ.