Henry J. Colavita - Company Grade: Memoir of an Angry Skipper

COMPANY GRADE

2015 Henry Rocky Colavita

Published by Hellgate Press

(An imprint of L&R Publishing, LLC)

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Editors: Harley B. Patrick

Cover Design: L. Redding

Ebook edition, November 2015: ISBN 9781555717834

To all my Vietnam Veteran Brothers

Memoir of an Angry Skipper

HENRY ROCKY COLAVITA

I KNOW FROM THE MANY REUNIONS I HAVE ATTENDED with former soldiers of Delta Company, 2/8 Cav, that we dont all agree on the details of the combat experiences we shared. For example, at several of our reunions one of my former troopers continues to ask, Skipper, remember that gook we threw out of the chopper? I swear, we never threw anyone out of a chopper. In fact, what I remember about the few prisoners we did take was, as soon as they were secured and no longer a threat to us, my soldiers offered them cigarettes and some of the tastiest items from the C Ration boxes, like the peaches or pound cake. Prisoners were never in our custody very long since the intelligence types from higher headquarters couldnt wait to meet them. In that regard, we did put POWs on helicopters in the custody of others and I do not believe for a minute that any of them got thrown out.

Over the years since Vietnam, I have written many letters on behalf of my soldiers to help them get combat awards they should have received but didnt, mostly with a favorable outcome. Another type of letter I have written for my soldiers is in support of their claims for Veterans Administration (VA) compensation for PTSD. This letter describes a gruesome or traumatic incident or event in which the soldier was involved contributing to his PTSD. After one of our reunions I wrote such a letter for one of my soldiers who told me he was still deeply troubled since he found the head of an unfortunate soldier who was blown to bits on LZ Rita one night by a mysterious explosion. One or two reunions later, another soldier asked for such a letter telling me he was the one who found the dead soldiers head. The deceased soldier actually left enough body parts on the LZ that I sincerely believe neither one of those soldiers was untruthful and both had found a trauma inducing piece of human anatomy. I wrote a letter for him also.

I am sure after my book is published and I let my guys know about it, many of them will want to get it and bring it with them to a reunion, at which time Ill be happy to sign their copy. But I am also sure some will write or call me or tell me at that next reunion, Skipper, that wasnt the way that incident went down. Or, That happened on LZ Carolyn, not Rita, or, such and such happened a week later than you wrote. However, this is my military memoir and, that being the case, the only recollection that counts here is mine!

I am also sure there will be hurt feelings for some of my combat brothers whom I didnt mention by name. The fact is, with incoming replacements due to tour completions caused either by normal DEROS or by enemy action, easily two hundred or more soldiers were with me in Delta Company. They will have to be satisfied knowing that they are my brothers and I love them.

I HAVE NO IDEA AT WHAT AGE KIDS DEVELOP a functioning memory. The earliest thing I can remember, however, was my family living in a small place that I would later decide was an apartment. The only thing I remember about living in that apartment was one night my parents turned off the lights, closed the curtains and we just hung out in the dark. I dont remember listening to any sounds but as I got older I noticed a big console radio and I supposed we may have listened to it with the lights out. Years later I asked my dad about that night and he told me it was called a blackout. He said, We were at war with the Japanese and the Germans and we turned the lights off at night so they cant see us to bomb us. Since World War II ended in 1945 and I was born in 1941 my recollections of the blackout had to as a baby or toddler. Many years later in the age of the Internet, I queried Wikipedia about WW II and mandatory blackouts in and around New York City. I learned that there were no real blackouts but there were occasional practice blackouts in the event getting bombed became a real threat.

Other than our apartment dwelling blackout, my real memories began while we lived in a large house on Franklin Avenue in Belleville, New Jersey. I remember walking to Catechism class in a big catholic church down the street in Nutley. I also knew that my father was a soldier. As time went by, I became aware that he was an officer, a captain. I knew that, except on Saturdays and Sundays, he left the house each morning, got into our 1942 Chevrolet sedan and went to work at a place called Fort Hamilton in New York City. I couldnt wait for him to come home in the evenings because he would let me wear his officers hat. I didnt have to worry about competition from my older brother Frank because he didnt care anything about our dads Army hat or uniform. Frank, do you want to wear dads hat? No! I dont want to wear that dumb hat. Dad actually had two hats, both round with a bill and chin strap. One was dark brown to be worn with the winter dress uniform and the other was Khaki and was worn with the summer uniform. Many years later I found out that those hats are sarcastically called flying saucer hats by the U. S. Army Airborne and that type of hat would never be worn by paratroopers. My dad didnt see any action during WW II. He was assigned to the Transportation Corps but he also had a law degree and maybe thats what kept him out of combat. His older brother Mike did get into the war fighting the Germans. Uncle Mike was now a police officer with the Newark, New Jersey Police Department. Going to visit my dads parents, usually every Sunday for spaghetti, was pretty strange because we were always told we had to be very quiet.

The reason for this was because Uncle Mike worked the night shift so he slept during the day, and my dads younger brother, Uncle Eddie, played piano in a night club so he also slept during the day. On the rare occasions when we visited grandma and grandpa and Uncle Mike was awake, he was happy to show us the German helmet and dagger souvenirs he brought back from Europe. As a former soldier and now police officer, Uncle Mike was my hero. As for Uncle Eddie the piano player, he was okay, although I never actually heard him play.

Soon after I started the second grade, my mother told Frank and I that our dad was being transferred to Hawaii. The year was 1948 and by that time Frank and I had a little brother named Billy. Mom said Hawaii was a group of islands far out in the Pacific Ocean. Dad was gone soon after Mom said he was leaving and we were to follow as soon as he had a place for us to live. I remember a long trip by train across country which ended with us staying temporarily at Fort Mason, a small military post in San Francisco. The fort overlooked a rocky island called Alcatraz. We didnt get to know Fort Mason or Alcatraz very well because before long, we were on a ship headed for Hawaii. After a long trip, during which we all got a good dose of sea sickness, we found ourselves living in a four family row house on an Army installation named Schofield Barracks on the Hawaiian Island of Oahu. From the front door of our unit we could clearly see a huge white cross sitting high up between mountain peaks. The area between the peaks was called the Kolekole Pass and the cross, we were told, marked the spot where the Japanese planes crossed over the island on their way to bomb Pearl Harbor.