On February 4, 1968, as Smith later recalled, ‘the first objective of the company was the St. Joan of Arc School and Church only about 100 yards away.’ It was a key position that both sides wanted because it could serve as a protective bulwark during the fighting. ‘The building was square, with an open compound in the middle,’ recalled Smith, ‘and we found that by 0700 hours it was heavily occupied.’ Sergeant Gonzalez ordered his platoon to keep down, out of the line of fire, while he surveyed the situation. Meanwhile Lieutenant Smith and the remainder of Alpha Company entered the school.

Suddenly a fire storm erupted. Many of the Marines fell dead or wounded from machine-gun and rocket fire, and platoons scattering like pool balls after a break, with bullets whizzing inches above the men’s helmets. Only a handful were already inside the church and school corridors, and those who had fanned out to take cover were under intense fire. ‘We were trying to secure the church,’ said Smith, ‘and the enemy was inside the school. We had to blow holes in the walls so we could get through and take the school rooms. It was very tough fighting.’ Smith’s Marines found themselves engaged in room-to-room combat.

Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Gravel, the battalion commander of the 1/1, said that in the convent building the Marines proceeded from wall to wall. ‘One Marine would place a plastic C-4 charge against the wall, stand back, and then a fire team would rush through the gaping hole. In the school building Sergeant Gonzalez’s 3rd Platoon secured one wing but came under enemy rocket fire from across the courtyard.’ Although still suffering from his earlier wounds, Sergeant Gonzalez ‘managed to grab a handful of LAWs [M-72 light anti-tank weapons] and positioned himself on the second floor of the school, firing at enemy positions from one window to another,’ said Smith. ‘He had managed to take out several of the enemy positions when a rocket was fired at him and hit him in the midsection.’

Lawrence ‘Little Larry’ Lewis of Chattanooga, Tenn., a rifleman in Gonzalez’s platoon, was only a few feet away from the sergeant when he was hit. Lewis had arrived in Vietnam in September 1967 and was terribly frightened he would be killed. Sergeant Gonzalez had noticed that he was upset and had talked to the young man and put him at ease. When Gonzalez went down, Lewis pulled him out of the line of fire and laid him on a door. ‘His heart was still beating,’ Lewis recalled, ‘but he died a short time later. I couldn’t believe he was hit. He was a hero to us all, and took care of us young guys when we got in-country.’

Gonzalez was a hero to his country as well. In 1969, his mother, Dolia Gonzalez, was escorted to the White House to receive the Medal of Honor awarded to her son posthumously. Signed by President Richard Nixon and presented by Vice President Spiro Agnew, the official citation read:

‘For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as Platoon Commander, Third Platoon, Company A, First Battalion, First Marines, First Marine Division, in the Republic of Vietnam. On 31 January 1968, during the initial phase of Operation Hue City, Sergeant Gonzalez’s unit was formed as a reaction force and deployed to Hue to relieve the pressures on the beleaguered city. While moving by truck convoy along Route #1, near the village of Lang Van Long, the Marines received a heavy volume of enemy fire. Sergeant Gonzalez aggressively maneuvered the Marines in his platoon, and directed their fire until the area was cleared of snipers. Immediately after crossing a river south of Hue, the column was again hit by intense enemy fire. One of the Marines on top of a tank was wounded and fell to the ground in an exposed position. With complete disregard for his own safety, Sergeant Gonzalez ran through the fire-swept area to the assistance of his injured comrade. He lifted him up and though receiving fragmentation wounds during the rescue, he carried the wounded Marine to a covered position for treatment. Due to the increased volume and accuracy of enemy fire from a fortified machine gun bunker on the side of the road, the company was temporarily halted. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Sergeant Gonzalez exposed himself to the enemy fire and moved his platoon along the East side of a bordering rice paddy to a dike directly across from the bunker. Though fully aware of the danger involved, he moved to the fire-swept road and destroyed the hostile position with hand grenades. Although seriously wounded again on 3 February, he steadfastly refused medical treatment and continued to supervise his men and lead the attack. On 4 February, the enemy had again pinned the company down, inflicting heavy casualties with automatic weapons and rocket fire. Sergeant Gonzalez, utilizing a number of light antitank assault weapons, fearlessly moved from position to position firing numerous rounds at the heavily fortified enemy emplacements. He successfully knocked out a rocket position and suppressed much of the enemy fire before falling mortally wounded. The heroism, courage, and dynamic leadership displayed by Sergeant Gonzalez reflected great credit upon himself and the Marine Corps and were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.’

That was not the only honor that Sergeant Gonzalez received. In 1975 an elementary school in his hometown of Edinburg, was named in his honor, and in 1993 Navy Secretary John Dalton announced that the Navy’s most advanced and one of its deadliest warships would be named after him. USS Alfredo Gonzalez (DDG-66), a guided-missile destroyer, was christened at Bath, Maine, in February 1995 and commissioned at Corpus Christi, Texas, in October 1996. The first modern warship named for a Mexican-American, she is now serving with the Navy’s Atlantic Fleet.

Marine General Smith, Gonzalez’s former company commander, pointed out that it was a rare occurrence for a Marine sergeant to have a ship named after him. He recalled: ‘I said to the crew at the commissioning ceremonies as I passed the staff to the first officer of the watch and charged the crew to active duty status, `Sergeant Gonzalez was a quiet, unassuming, modest man. But when the time came, he fought like hell. And this is a fighting ship, and the crew is obligated to Freddy that when it comes time to fight you will fight like hell too.”

Dolia Gonzalez serves as the ship’s sponsor. And the crew has named the galley ‘Dolia’s Diner.’ She often reflects on what all this attention means years after her son’s death in a war that is still criticized by many. ‘I don’t care what they say,’ Dolia Gonzalez says. ‘And I don’t think Freddy would care what they say. He believed in his country, and he knew he was doing his duty. There were a lot of good boys like Freddy over there, just trying to do a hard job the best way they knew how. They didn’t want to turn tail and run. I’ve always been proud of him. I still miss him.’

Secretary of the Navy Dalton stood by Gonzalez at the ship’s commissioning, as she looked up at the massive ship bearing her son’s name that was about to head out into the open sea. ‘I feel like Freddy was finally back on duty again, after 28 years,’ she said. ‘He defended his men with rockets in Vietnam, and he’s defending this country with missiles now.’

This article was written by John W. Flores and originally published in Vietnam Magazine in February 1999.

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