It was three months past the end of my one year tour in Vietnam. Months ago I had put in my extension to stay longer, and since I hadn't heard anything I thought it had been approved. Staying in Vietnam was my best option at the time. I spoke Vietnamese and had made friends with some of the villagers, there were tensions with my family back home, and my girlfriend had already left me before I was shipped out. I worked as an M.P. for the Provost Marshall, and for all intents and purposes, this was my life now and I wasn't really looking back.
One day I was checking I.D.'s and handing out badges to the locals who worked on base. I was telling jokes and chatting with Liėn, who had the longest hair you've ever seen (a foot and a half fell on the floor behind her when she took it out of the bun she normally wore).
Liėn told me some news from the village. A family had just lost their infant boy. He had died in the night in his sleep. The family wanted to bury him in the cemetery, which was just outside the village, but the village was surrounded by a huge fence of concertina wire and passes to leave were incredibly rare now. I knew that I wanted to help this family find a way to bury their baby in the cemetery, and I thought I just might know a way to get past that fence.
To leave the village, a pass authorized by the Provost Marshall was needed, and with tensions high with the north and conflict already common, passes were never issued. I got nowhere with my initial request to the Provost Marshall for the funeral.
"I'm not authorizing that," he said, without looking up.
Then I remembered that I had done a favor a while back for a high ranking officer who wanted to get her hair styled in the village. I had used my Vietnamese to arrange an appointment for her and she was happy with the result. I called her right away to see if she could help me with the funeral. She got on the phone with the Deputy Division Commander and not long after, I heard the Provost Marshall slam the phone down and say, "I don't know who you know, O'Brien, but you've got two hours to get this done!"
"Yes, sir." I said and left.
The father carried the small, light colored teak wooden box with beautiful letters carved on all sides in front of him while the mother, brother, a cousin, and two young children followed behind. Afterward, they were more than grateful and wanted to repay me and I was invited to their house for a meal.
Not long after this I was issued orders to be shipped out. Apparently someone noticed I was overdue on this tour.
Walter O'Brien, Wisconsin
as told to his daughter Jennifer S., Sno-Isle Libraries
Photo:
Sergeant Walter A. O'Brien "Sergeant O'B, No. 1 MP" pictured here with "Papasan Sam" Nguyen, a local who worked as a sign maker and handyman on the base and also carved the lettering on the teak burial box.
One day I was checking I.D.'s and handing out badges to the locals who worked on base. I was telling jokes and chatting with Liėn, who had the longest hair you've ever seen (a foot and a half fell on the floor behind her when she took it out of the bun she normally wore).
Liėn told me some news from the village. A family had just lost their infant boy. He had died in the night in his sleep. The family wanted to bury him in the cemetery, which was just outside the village, but the village was surrounded by a huge fence of concertina wire and passes to leave were incredibly rare now. I knew that I wanted to help this family find a way to bury their baby in the cemetery, and I thought I just might know a way to get past that fence.
To leave the village, a pass authorized by the Provost Marshall was needed, and with tensions high with the north and conflict already common, passes were never issued. I got nowhere with my initial request to the Provost Marshall for the funeral.
"I'm not authorizing that," he said, without looking up.
Then I remembered that I had done a favor a while back for a high ranking officer who wanted to get her hair styled in the village. I had used my Vietnamese to arrange an appointment for her and she was happy with the result. I called her right away to see if she could help me with the funeral. She got on the phone with the Deputy Division Commander and not long after, I heard the Provost Marshall slam the phone down and say, "I don't know who you know, O'Brien, but you've got two hours to get this done!"
"Yes, sir." I said and left.
The father carried the small, light colored teak wooden box with beautiful letters carved on all sides in front of him while the mother, brother, a cousin, and two young children followed behind. Afterward, they were more than grateful and wanted to repay me and I was invited to their house for a meal.
Not long after this I was issued orders to be shipped out. Apparently someone noticed I was overdue on this tour.
Walter O'Brien, Wisconsin
as told to his daughter Jennifer S., Sno-Isle Libraries
Photo:
Sergeant Walter A. O'Brien "Sergeant O'B, No. 1 MP" pictured here with "Papasan Sam" Nguyen, a local who worked as a sign maker and handyman on the base and also carved the lettering on the teak burial box.
Photo courtesy of Jennifer S. All rights reserved.
Thank you for sharing this story with us, and thank you for your service to our country!
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