This letter was written on Feb. 1, 1969 by PFC Mike Cupp. Mike was a restaurant manager in civilian life (Sizzler, Henderson, Nevada). He and I were deejays at KBMI in Henderson. We also played music at some live shows. Mike on guitar and I was on keyboards. In the letter Mike mentions "Gene." Gene was Gene Dahnise, the program director at KBMI.
This letter is no more important than thousands of other letters from military men and women in combat zones. The reason I am posting it is to show what a combatant is thinking just before he goes on his patrol. You will not find any glee in the mind of an American whose job it is to kill the enemy.
I posted some parts of this letter before on the net but this is the entire letter. I am leaving in the spelling errors and the mis-capitalized words. In one place Mike uses the word "something" when it is obvious he means "sometimes." The words are easy to understand and Mike was articulate.
I lost track of Mike shortly after this letter arrived.
I changed the color of the type at the place in the letter which has found it's way onto the internet. The last 3 pages or so of the letter seem to tell the story of who is on the front line better than any other words I have ever read or heard.
Hey Tom,
Sure was great to hear from you. It's really nice to hear from somebody back in Vegas. You'll have to pardon me, kinda, I'm in sort of a bad state to be writing to anyone right now, as we're supposed go out today, as soon as the choppers get here, and I'm kind of nervous. Spent most of the night studying Oscillator Circuitry and right now I've got Resonant Tank Circuit Formulas coming out of my Eyeballs. Anyway, you're always a bit jittery before you go out, I guess. This will be my 8th Patrol. I'm glad to hear you're still with E.G.&G. I might like to work for a big corporation like that maybe, for a short time. After being my own boss at that Restaurant for a while, I don't think I could be happy working for anyone else again. I guess that's why I'm So hot on this radio Station kick.
Thanks for the offer to "Send me Anything I need," but I'm fine. Once you get used to living in tents and eating "C" Rations, and Walking up and down hills in the jungle 4 days a week, it's really not bad at all. We've got Food, Clothing, and Shelter, and I've got my radio, so I'll be just Fine until March of 1970, and Then I want to come home. at least back to Vegas.
You're right about KBMI It really was fun. I really enjoyed working there. I think, to a large extent, that Gene made the station what it was, though not in the way she suspected. Her constant Harrassment seemed to make every day a comedy. She reminds me of a Drill Instructor. I wonder if she ever considered a carreer in the W.M.s? (WOMEN MARINES) She'd make a great 1st Sergeant.
The other day, I ran into a friend of mine here, whom I used to know back in Vegas. We went to Rancho High together. Anyway he's in the Infantry now, better known as the "legs" or "Grunts." I something think we've got it bad, spending 4-6 days in the jungle and 2-3 days in the rear. But these guys stay in the jungle for months at a time, and They Don't Know the meaning of the words "Emergency Extract," which Recon uses whenever their position is discovered By the Enemy.
Just imagine, most of the guys over here are 18 and Fighting to make 19. The average age of the Combat Marine in many units here is 181/2 (eighteen and a half) and what a man He is. A Pink-Cheeked, Tousled Haired, tight muscled fellow who, under Normal Circumstances would be considered by Society as Half-man-half-Boy. not yet dry behind the ears and a pain in the unemployment charts.But here and now, he is the beardless hope of free men. He is, for the most part, unmarried and without matrial possesions except for possibly an old car at home, and a Transistor Radio over Here. He listens to Rock'N'Roll and 105 millimeter Howitzers.
He just got out of High School, Recieved so, so grades, played a little Football, and had a girl who promised to be true.
He learned to drink beer only because it's cold, and "it's the Thing to Do." He is a Private First Class, a one year Veteran, with one, or possibly three years to go.
He never cared for work, preferred waxing his car to washing his Father's, but he now finds himself Working and Fighting from dawn to dusk, often longer.
He still has trouble spelling, and writing letters Home is a painful process. But he can break down his Rifle in 30 seconds, and put it back together in 29. He can describe the nomenclature of a Fragmentation grenade, explain how a machine gun operates, and use either if the need arrises.
He can dig a foxhole, apply first-aid to a wounded buddy, march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march. He has seen more suffering than he should have in his Short life. He has stood among the hills of dead bodies, and has helped to make those Hills. He has wept in private and in public, and has not been ashamed of doing either, because his pals have fallen in battle and and he has come close to joining them. He has become self-sufficient. He has two pairs of utilities, washes one and wears the other. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but not his rifle. He keeps His socks as dry as possible and his canteen full.
He can cook his own meals, fix his own hurts and mend his rips, material or mental. He will share his water with you if you thirst, break his rations with you if you hunger, or split his Ammunition with you if you're fighting for your life, 'cause he knows how it is.
He can do the work of two civilians, draw half the pay of one, and find Ironic humor in it all. He can use his hands as a weapon, and his weapon as his hands. He can save a life or most assuredly take one.
He is now 19 and trying to make 20.
Wow, did I get wound up or what? gotta Split now, choppers are here.
Write soon,