Remembering the Summer of 1972

Do you ever hear a song that just takes you back?  Me too.

When I hear Bobby Vinton singing Sealed With a Kiss, it takes me right back to sitting in my Mama's yellow porch swing and listening to the radio in the summer of 1972.


Now THAT was a summer.

I spent those summer days in a factory spraying glue to stick cloth on backing to make stereo speakers, and I spent those summer nights hanging out with my friends.  We rode around in souped up cars singing to our 8 track tape players playing The Grass Roots Greatest Hits and Carole King's Tapestry.

We listened to Billboard's Top Rock and Roll Hits on the radio and we took some time to just be young.

Little did I know that the very next summer I would be married and expecting my first child.  Life is funny like that.  You never know when it is going to suddenly change drastically.  

Always remember:

• A single day can change the course of your life.  
• A single decision in a single day can change the course of your life.
• There are no coincidences.
• All things happen as they should.

Still, it is difficult to not ask, "Why?" or wonder about what happened next.

For instance, one day in the summer of 1972 I was riding in the front seat of Larry White's 1971 bright orange Plymouth Road Runner.  Larry was my younger sister's boyfriend at the time and he had offered to give me a ride somewhere.  

We ended up stuck in traffic behind a convoy of jeeps filled with new draftees for the Vietnam War.  

Larry was depressed that day because he, like most young men who graduated high school in 1972, was afraid of being drafted and having to go fight a very unpopular war. 

The young men on the back of the jeep in front of us started whistling at me and motioning for me to throw them cigarettes.  They puffed imaginary cigarettes and showed me such pitiful  pleading hands and faces.  

They seemed a fun-loving bunch, and they made me laugh.

Larry had a pack of Winstons in the car and I must have thrown five or six of them before one of the young men caught one.  He blew kisses at me and smiled and they all let out a great cheer and waved and laughed.

Those boys.  

I think of them often.  They were so young.  The one who caught the cigarette was a handsome thing.  Tall and thin with black hair and a brilliant smile.  I will never forget him.  

I can't help but wonder what happened to those young men.  Did they all return from Vietnam?  Did they marry and raise a family and live ordinary lives after that, or were they damaged by that war?  Did they have nightmares?  Did they ever laugh and cheer and catch cigarettes again?  

1972 was a year of change for me.  It was one of the best and one of the worst years of my life, but that summer was certainly memorable, and every time I hear these songs, I remember, and I wonder.  If you are near my age, I bet you do too.

• Alone Again (Naturally
• American Pie
• Candy Man
• Lean On Me
• Baby Don't Get Hooked On Me
• Brand New Key
• Brandy (You're A Fine Girl)
• Nice To Be With You
• My Ding-A-Ling
• Betcha By Golly, Wow
• The Lion Sleeps Tonight
• Long Cool Woman (In A Black Dress)
• Song Sung Blue
• A Horse With No Name
• Everybody Plays The Fool
• Precious And Few
• Last Night I Didn't Get To Sleep At All
• Nights In White Satin
• Too Late To Turn Back Now
• Down By The Lazy River
• Rocket Man
• Rockin' Robin
• Morning Has Broken
• The City Of New Orleans
• Garden Party
• I Can See Clearly Now
• Burning Love
• Hold Your Head Up
• Where Is The Love
• Layla
• Sylvia's Mother
• Hurting Each Other
• Puppy Love
• You Don't Mess Around With Jim
• Never Been To Spain
• Sealed With A Kiss
• Doctor My Eyes

It's really hard to read those titles without singing the songs in your head, isn't it?! 😆

Operation Sea Dragon, USS Keppler, Vietnam, and My Brother, Gene - 1966-67

All three of my brothers were US Navy during the Vietnam War years, but this morning I'm remembering my tall,  red-headed, freckled-face, mischief-making brother, Gene, who was next to me in sibling order, and whom I miss so very very very much.

Gene Wayne Batchelor

My brother, Gene, always loved me...just as I am.  That is a rare and wonderful thing.  We had many adventures together over the decades, but today I'm remembering an adventure he had without me.

I'm glad I wasn't there.

Back in late 1966 and early 1967 Gene was a Gunner's Mate aboard the USS Keppler, a Gearing-class US Navy destroyer, whose assignment at the time was "Operation Sea Dragon."

USS Keppler

Operation Sea Dragon's mission, as I understand it, was basically to help keep North Vietnamese men and weapons out of South Vietnam.  They were on patrol, and they saw action.

The following is recorded in the USS Keppler's deck logs:

• December 6, 1966 the USS Keppler: 
• anchored on gunfire support station near Trung Phan, South Vietnam, maneuvered as necessary to maintain anchorage while firing at targets ashore.
•  December 7, 1966 the USS Keppler: 
• anchored in Da Nang harbor. 
• anchored off the Song Dua Dai River
• December 8, 1966 the USS Keppler:
•  anchored in Da Nang bay.
• December 11, 1966 the USS Keppler:
• rescued a downed pilot off the eastern coast of North Vietnam.
•  January 29-30, 1967 the USS Keppler:
• patrolled in the vicinity of the Song Giang river
•  January 31 to February 2, 1967 the USS Keppler:
• patrolled in the vicinity of the Kien Giang River 

During these patrols in January and February 1967, the USS Keppler destroyed or damaged 51 communist junks (A junk is a seagoing ship with a traditional Chinese design of square sails spread by battens, a high stern, and usually a flat bottom.).
 
The destroyer also frequently engaged enemy batteries on shore, and on March 11, 1967 a communist gun scored a hit on the USS Keppler's gun mount that was my brother, Gene's regular post.  Six crewmen were wounded.

The USS Keppler suffered a hit March 11, 1967.

Gene's shift had ended not long before the hit.  Gene's friend whose turn it was at the post was badly wounded.

Gene's body may have escaped that post without a scratch that day, but his mind, his heart, perhaps his very soul, were never the same.  He told me many times, "It should have been me who took that hit." 

That was never true, of course, Gene's shift was over.  It was not his fault his friend was hit. It was irrational of him to think otherwise, but Gene was 18 years old at the time and life had just shown him that he and his friends were not invincible.  The battleship could not protect them. The big guns could not protect them. Their lives were really and truly at risk.  

It was real.

Gene served his country in the US Navy until 1972.  After his honorable discharge from that service, he came home and tried to live a normal life, but he was never again the happy-go-lucky boy who went to war when he was 18.   

Gene ended up wandering from place to place for many years.  Never quite satisfied.  Never quite able to escape the demons that haunted him.  The silent screams of those men on those 51 communist junks were relentless.  He could never shake them. 

Vietnam was like that. 

No hero's welcome back to the states for the Vietnam vets.  Those sailors and soldiers and airmen and marines returned home to disrespect in all its various ugly forms.  They paid a very high price for their military service, and the carrying of that kind of stress shortened many of their lives. 

Gene died of a major heart attack in 2002 when he was 53 years old.  We and the US Navy carried out his final wishes. 

Gene's ashes were scattered at sea with full honors and a 21 gun salute by the US Navy from the USS McInerney, a guided-missle frigate, on July 1, 2003 at 27-47.6's6 LAT 072-46.8'w7 LON, Time 1030R.

May he rest in peace.