An unpublished collection of letters that I wrote to my high school "sweetheart" when I was a "grunt" in the Marine Corps in Vietnam.
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Most of these letters were written between June 1966 and October 1967. One was written before, and a few after, but the main body can be grouped into three parts: 1) letters from Marine Corps boot camp; 2) letters from aboard the USNS Barrett, a Merchant Marine ship taking approximately 1,500 soldiers and 500 of us marines to Vietnam; and 3) letters from Vietnam.
The letters all show an attempt by the writer to maintain a lifeline with home, and thus normalcy. For the most part they are rather “typical” of chatty love letters, but every now and again there’s a jewel that reveals just how difficult things had become for the writer, but even moreso just how immature we were then, a fact quite embarrassing to reveal so thoroughly now.
I have changed most of the names to protect privacy.
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Excerpt
Once again I'm faced with a hypothetical question which everyone tries to answer; which no one can. Once again I question God & my creators. Once again I question His way of choosing. It must have been a childhood belief that the good were praised & the bad were punished. Lance Corporal Charles W. Bricker was a good man. He knew not the meaning of bad. He was always good. He would always be good. I knew the word all too well. I was taught the meaning of bad. Still I practiced it. To be bad is the only way to get ahead in the Corps. In this country to steal is the only way to get clothes on your back, boots on your feet, food in your belly. To kill is the only way to live; to beat is the only way to make some turd listen. Bricker was one of few who didn't believe in this. He used charm, understanding & a ready smile to gain his way. He reminded me of Matt – no enemies only friends. He was a good man, he was to make Corporal this month. The lieutenant loved him. He was one of my most intimate friends.
Charles Bricker is dead. With him are Watson, Cooke, & Patrick. Everyone asks –"why Rizzuti? Someone upstairs must like him, but why him?" Why, why, why. I don't know why but I've got to know. Something's got to tell me. I say something cause nothing human can tell me.
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