I received the sad message that Major Aloysius P. McGonigal, our MACV Catholic chaplain, had been killed in action while he was across the river accompanying the Marines. He was a maverick priest who loved to be with the men. His death was a great loss to us.

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One night the chaplain who had stayed by the Marine’s side while his foot was amputated celebrated Mass. A few of us gathered in an NCO living quarters, with a few candles for lighting, and the chaplain set up the altar on a footlocker. That was a very special time in my young life. The true meaning of celebrating life really meant something. Amid all the fighting, destruction, and death, we were alive. Not all the personnel who visited the dispensary had physical wounds. One morning a young Marine was brought in who was very emotionally upset, crying and shaking. All he kept saying was, ‘I can’t take it anymore!’ over and over again. We never did discover the source of the trauma. He was medevaced to Phu Bai.

The administrative officer, Captain Mijares, came over to the mini-MASH unit to check on my progress and to tell me that I had to be exact on my counts for wounded and killed. I explained that I was very busy helping the doctors by holding patients with severe head wounds. He didn’t seem to understand the entire situation. Just then a few Marines with head wounds arrived for treatment. Mijares was called upon to hold the legs of a young private who was shaking as the result of a severe AK-47 bullet wound to the back of the head. After that experience, Captain Mijares said, ‘I see what you are doing. Just do the best you can.’ He left and never returned to the dispensary during the offensive.

One afternoon I was told to go to the main gate with a body bag. A dead American civilian–probably someone who had been working for the Mission–was brought into the compound. He had been dead for a couple of days. It was our job to search for his wallet in order to identify him. It was sad to see the pictures of his family that we found when we looked through his papers. After that, we put his body in the bag and stored it with the other KIAs behind the dispensary.

A tragic accident occurred about two weeks into the Battle for Hue. After a long day of house-to-house fighting, a Marine was taking a well-deserved rest. He was sitting on the floor of the compound’s activity room, writing a letter home. His M-16 rifle accidentally fired and hit him in the head. He was listed as KIA.

Toward the end of the Battle for Hue, I was called on to pull guard duty on the corner of Tran Cao Van Street and Highway 1. We were informed that rabid dogs were roaming the city and eating the numerous dead bodies that were decomposing in the streets. These dogs were a dangerous menace and we were ordered to shoot them. But before we would shoot them, we had to get permission. My buddy and I saw what looked like a rabid dog, so we called the sergeant of the guard for permission to fire. He said, ‘Wait, I have to check with the officer of the day.’ The officer of the day gave the sergeant of the guard permission. The sergeant telephoned us to let us know that we had permission to kill the dog. As you might guess, the dog was long gone by that time.

During the offensive, a strange thing happened. A white goose appeared at the MACV compound and stayed around throughout the 26 days of fighting. We all joked that it was seeking a safe place. We named the goose Garfield, and he gave us something to take our minds off the battle.

The Tet Offensive was reported back home as a significant turning point in the war. The news reports in State College, Pa., said that the NVA had completely overrun the ancient imperial city of Hue. Because of those dire reports, my parents contacted the Department of the Army and started to make funeral arrangements for me. I am sure there was much rejoicing when my letter finally reached them a few weeks after the initial attack.

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