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The attacks usually wouldn’t start until late, after midnight. There would be gunshots, the rhythmic thumping of mortar fire, and the whistling of heavy artillery. Either our base was under attack, or the air strip or some groups of men were getting fired upon. The sounds went on and on. Sometimes we saw red flares shoot up—a red alert—meaning the enemy had infiltrated our perimeter. Somewhere, close by, enemy soldiers were coming. The shelling . . . Continue Reading

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The following section is the last of my father’s journals, which really turned out to be more of a memoir. This part is devoted to his childhood, so I have included pictures of him as a little boy. I hope his writings have offered enjoyment, knowledge, or comfort.    AContinue Reading

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I cannot watch war movies. In my mind’s eye, I interpose my father trudging through rice paddies in Vietnam, trudging through tall grass so thick, it slices the skin. I see his small frame – just a boy – whose uniform in later years fit his 13-year-old grandson. I seeContinue Reading

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I had a friend here [at home]. His name was Dennis. He wrote me a few times. Before the war, his house was like a second home to me, because I was always over there. He lived at home with his mom, dad, and sister. His father was a sheetContinue Reading

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-1- The locals of Orem Crossroads don’t need a calendar to know when July rolls around. Snails shed their shells in the triple digit heat and Jane mows her yard every Wednesday wearing her best house dress, the floral long-sleeved cotton, cinched at the waist. She sweeps her silver hairContinue Reading

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In: Nonfiction, Our Better Angels, Way Back When
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I am the daughter of a Vietnam Veteran. My father, Benny F. Shown, Sr., served honorably from 1967-1968 with Second Platoon in B Battery of the 29th Artillery. He served with the First Air Cavalry Division, various infantry units, and, in some cases, with Special Forces. He rarely spoke aboutContinue Reading

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Now my mind was again filled with memories of my mother’s homemade cakes. Boy, they sure were good. I wondered how they all were – my sisters and brothers. I wondered how my father was doing. My father didn’t write much, but he didn’t have to. I knew by nowContinue Reading

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In honor of Memorial Day, I’m including a second excerpt of my father’s memoirs when he was in the Vietnam War. Thank you to all our service members – to those who fought in the past and to those who still continue to fight. –Delonda Anderson   Excerpt Two ItContinue Reading

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  My father passed away from cancer July 19, 2014. When he was almost completely bedridden, he and I listened to an audio interview of an old family friend. My father broke down and said, “Just think of all the stories I could tell but never will.” I vowed rightContinue Reading

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In: Poetry, Stories of Yore
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for Big Benny A monarch’s image flitters across the honored on that glassy, black wall, floating sideways, backward, up, down, caught up in concentric wind loops across names, nearly 60,000 etched. A person with paper scratches a son with lead. She is gray, drained, rock-wrinkled. Old, fixed medals and buttonsContinue Reading