An environment of death bonded them for life.
After 35 years, two Vietnam veterans recently reunited for the
first time since they served together in one of the most
controversial and bloody wars in American history.
San Juan Bautista native Refugio
”
Cooks
”
Chavez and New Mexico resident Roger Blanco, who became close
friends while serving in the Army in Vietnam from 1967 to 1968, saw
one another several months ago for the first time since they were
separated in an ambush Jan. 3, 1968.
An environment of death bonded them for life.
After 35 years, two Vietnam veterans recently reunited for the first time since they served together in one of the most controversial and bloody wars in American history.
San Juan Bautista native Refugio “Cooks” Chavez and New Mexico resident Roger Blanco, who became close friends while serving in the Army in Vietnam from 1967 to 1968, saw one another several months ago for the first time since they were separated in an ambush Jan. 3, 1968.
“I was a barber in Gilroy when I got drafted,” Chavez said. “We started out with advanced infantry training in Fort Polk, Louisiana. That’s where I met (Blanco) – we were in the same barracks.”
Chavez and Blanco arrived in Vietnam in late August 1967 and were assigned to the First Calvary Division before being sent to the front lines.
After several months of fighting, the men were stationed at a landing zone in the Que Son Valley, about 360 miles northeast of Saigon called LZ Leslie.
The figure-8 shaped zone was a secured area in the jungle at the top of a hill, about the size of two city blocks, where the troops kept ammunition, food and where they slept, Blanco said.
“That’s where we got overran. Out of 48, there were like 15 of us left,” Blanco said. “That was a nightmare. That’s where Cooks got wounded.”
The midnight attack ambushed Chavez’s bunker, which was positioned at the top of the landing zone. Blanco was positioned farther down the hill and heard what he knew was a satchel charge (a number of blocks of explosives taped to a board that is fitted with a rope for carrying) being thrown into the bunker, he said.
“It blew everything up,” Blanco said. “When we heard the satchel charge, they started calling on the radio that we need help up here.”
Blanco grabbed his rifle and began trying to make his way up the hill in the pitch black night. He knew if he used any kind of light to illuminate the path, he could be shot down with sniper fire.
“Somebody threw a cluster – a little fire shoot that comes down so you can see – and I started running,” Blanco said. “When I got up there, there was nobody. I started calling for (other soldiers) and nobody would answer.”
Blanco finally found a soldier who had been badly wounded when the bomb practically amputated his arm. He tried to explain what had happened, Blanco said.
“He said, I don’t know what hit us, but everyone’s dead. So I thought (Chavez) was dead,” Blanco said. “We were talking real quiet but then they started shooting at us so I started firing back.”
Blanco ran up and down the hill four times during the night, getting more ammo to try to avert the attackers, he said.
He spent the night trying to defend himself against an attacker he could not see, whom he thought had killed most of his friends that night.
“We were just hoping we wouldn’t be hit with sniper bullets,” he said. “The next day we got new reinforcements and I never saw Cooks again.”
When the satchel charge hit Chavez’s bunker, he was thrown into the jungle. His memory doesn’t include any part of the attack, but begins on a plane to a hospital in Japan.
“When I woke up and I opened my eyes, one of my buddies, Don Johnson, said, you made it,” Chavez said. “I looked up and said, ‘What are you talking about?’ And he said, ‘You made it. You’re alive.'”
The memory of lying in the plane in a full body cast, talking to his friend who had shrapnel all over his body still brings tears to his eyes. Even after all these years.
Because he had no memory of the attack, the wounded soldier recounted what had happened to him, along with the fact that others who weren’t as lucky, he said.
“When we got to Japan, they put us in wards and there was this one soldier and he said, ‘You’re not Chavez?’ I said yes, and he said ‘no, you can’t be,'” Chavez said. “He said, ‘I carried you out, you’re dead.’ Everyone thought I was dead.”
During the months of fighting the most important weapon the soldiers had was prayer, Chavez said.
“When you’re there, the Lord is with you,” Chavez said. “We said so many Hail Marys and Our Fathers together. And He was with us, He was… We prayed with all our hearts and our minds.”
Several months after Chavez was rescued, a soldier named Porky Johnson, who had gone to school with Chavez, approached Blanco with a clipping on Chavez, he said.
Blanco expected it to be the obituary of Chavez and was startled when he read the article that appeared in the Free Lance on Jan. 18, 1968.
“He handed it to me, and I said, ‘He made it, he’s alive,'” Blanco said. “Then this spring I was thinking a lot about him, and I had a friend in New Mexico and asked him, do you have those computers nowadays where you can find people?”
Blanco told his friend he was looking for a man in San Juan Bautista and that he hadn’t seen him since the night they were overran in Vietnam 35 years ago.
“You never forget your best friends,” Blanco said, “and I always thought, I’ve got to hook up with Cooks.”
The search was successful, and after a little more investigating Blanco called the Chavez residence and spoke to Chavez’s wife, Espie.
He told her who he was and asked that when Chavez return home from work that she tell him to call this number, but not who it was he was calling.
“Cooks called me when he got off work and said, my wife says to call, but I don’t even know who I’m talking to,” Blanco said. “I said, Cooks, I need a haircut.”
While in Vietnam, Chavez would utilize his barber skills and give his fellow soldiers haircuts. There was an instance during the war when Chavez was giving Blanco a haircut and they fell under attack, Chavez said.
“Everybody ran to the fox hole and (Blanco) yells, ‘Hey Cooks, when these stupid guys stop shooting at us do you think you can finish my haircut?'” Chavez said. “This guy was the heart of the company – you can hear rounds going off and he yells, anybody else need a haircut?”
When Blanco asked Chavez for his long-overdo haircut, Chavez responded he didn’t do that anymore; he now works for PG&E.
But Blanco insisted that he needed a mohawk, a style Chavez fashioned for Blanco during their tour.
“He said, ‘Who is this?’ and I said, ‘You were in Nam in ’67?'” Blanco said. “He started naming off a bunch of guys and finally I said no, it’s Blanco.”
Chavez was so excited that Blanco had to hold the phone away from his ear, he said.
“I couldn’t believe it,” Chavez said. “It was awesome, I knew I had a friend for life – we’re like brothers.”
Their first phone call was in June of this year. On Sept. 11, a date that just happened to coincide with their travel plans, Chavez and his wife, Espie, got on a plane and flew to New Mexico to see a living, breathing memory of his past.
When they first connected via telephone, each man sent pictures of himself and his family.
“He looks the same – jet black hair,” Blanco said. “And here I am with gray.”
After reuniting for the first time in New Mexico, Chavez invited Blanco to visit him in his hometown of San Juan Bautista. Blanco made the trip to Chavez’s home in late October. He met Chavez’s family, his children – his life far from the jungles of Vietnam.
The constant fear of death or disfigurement during the war doesn’t compare to the lifelong battle the veterans face when they come home, which for many is the hardest part, Chavez said.
“When we were getting hit with mortars or sniper fire, I can so clearly remember thinking, when I get home I’m not going to be afraid of nothing ever again,” Chavez said. “I will never have fear in me because this is fear … a lot of veterans start drinking (when they come home), because I know I did.”
Both Chavez and Blanco tried to escape from the memories of the war by abusing alcohol, but in the long run realized it wasn’t helping, it was making it worse, they said.
“It takes awhile before you start realizing that you’re not only killing yourself but you’re hurting your family,” Blanco said.
Both men don’t agree with the war in Iraq, however they are adamant in their support of American troops, they said.
This is a different time and a different war, and they both said they hope it doesn’t turn into another Vietnam. Their advice for the men and women coming home from Iraq is simple and clear.
“Talk,” Chavez said. “Talk it out. Do for yourself as much as you can. This is your life … you have to help you, you have to do it on your own. And the booze is not the answer, drugs is not the answer, anger is not the answer.”
Being part of the Vietnam war was an experience that changed both men drastically. Neither one has any regrets, though.
“When you’re young, you don’t really stop to think,” Blanco said. “You say, well I got drafted, I’ll see the world. You have to do it for your country – it’s the best country in the world.”
