A spunky, entertaining and honest Ron Burgess spoke to high school history students recently about his tours in Vietnam.
Burgess, a U.S. Navy Corpsman, embarked on his military journey in September 1964, fresh out of Carroll County High School. After a 23-year career in the Navy, he returned to civilian life, spending 18 years behind the wheel of a school bus and as a maintenance worker.
He was very frank with the teenagers, including sharing the raw and ugly truth that Vietnam veterans were treated terribly when they returned home.
“When we came out we were spit at and spat on. I was called a baby killer. I did a lot of things, but a baby killer was not one of them,” Burgess told the classes with a bit of defiance and determination in his voice.
“Don’t get on the guy or gal wearing the uniform,” he said, stopping a beat to let that sink in with the teenagers.
One of his more harrowing stories involved an adult woman who came to their camp for help. She had an injured foot and, as a corpsman, his job was to treat medical issues so he helped her. Three days later, she was caught and revealed to be a member of the Vietcong, a Communist-led army and guerilla force that fought against and killed many Americans. After that, his unit would not help adults who came to their camp.
“Vietnam was an exercise in futility a lot of times,” he said, noting soldiers would take a hill then abandon it and have to return weeks later to fight for the same hill. “It was an experience.”
One of those experiences was a 96-hour shift at a military hospital. “The Marines opened a can of whoop ass and it was a good one,” he recalled as he pointed to a map showing Da Nang, Vietnam. “We had no backup or relief.” The doctors in the unit gave “uppers” to the corpsmen to keep them going and regularly checked their vitals. Finally, it had become too much for Burgess and he was sent to bed.
“I woke up three days later, covered with mattresses and holes in the walls of our building,” he said with wide eyes. “They couldn’t wake me up to get to the shelter so they put mattresses on me. By their actions, and the grace of God, I survived.”
As important as the seriousness of his experience is, Burgess wove in laughter among his stories.
He showed the students a photo of the Repose, a hospital ship he served on with 85 Marines sick with malaria and that endured a typhoon. He explained it as the Navy side of the popular TV show M.A.S.H. that featured a medical unit in the Korean War.
He recalled falling asleep one evening partially underneath a vehicle with only his torso and head to be seen. He fell asleep with his hand on a .45 caliber handgun laying across his chest in John Wayne style, as he said.
The next thing he knew, a “wet sandpaper feeling” came across his face. He opened his eyes to see a water buffalo licking his face. “That scared me half to death and I emptied my whole magazine in its head,” he said with laughter. The bad thing is, it cost him $300 to replace the water buffalo because it was an important piece of Vietnamese society.
At the end of the day, Burgess encouraged the students to listen to their older relatives, talk to them about their life experiences and take time to record what they say. “Little things matter and you can pass it on,” he said.
Most importantly, he told them, “if your nation calls on you, honor it.”