Stewart's stepson Ronald, a Marine, was killed in June 1969 in Vietnam. Stewart was devastated, and as anyone who knows that time period, very aware of the stigma which the nation had attached to those who served in that war. Shortly after his stepson's death, Stewart and John Wayne stepped out of a building close to the Berkley campus only to find themselves on the outskirts of a massive anti-war demonstration. In the middle of this unwashed, unruly throng a Viet Cong flag proudly waved. Stewart saw it, and so did John Wayne; then, according to Jimmy Stewart, Wayne did a remarkable thing. He turned to Stewart and told him he'd "be right back". Wayne then disappeared into the gyrating mass. Stewart related that even though he couldn't see Wayne, he could tell EXACTLY where Wayne was in the crowd from the silence that evidently followed his path - and it lead straight to the Viet Cong flag. A big hand reached up, PULLED down the flag, then disappeared yet again, this time leaving silence spreading behind it - and when John Wayne appeared, he was carrying the balled-up Viet Cong flag in his hands...
Jimmy Stewart's son, a young Marine recon Lieutenant, was inserted by a Marine CH-46 crew which included one of my best friends. [He is the man responsible for me meeting my wife.] We had gone through most of our Marine training together, and I had dropped in to see him in Quang Tri shortly before these events happened.
The small recon patrol, less than 10 men as I remember, was inserted in a very hostile area, just south of the DMZ. After dropping the team off, the helicopter lifted-off, and the team was immediately ambushed. [In recon work, the Communists liked to wait to hit the team after the helicopter had exited the area. The helicopter would then return "low and slow," making a giant, easy target.] The team turned and tried to evade in another direction, and were ambushed again. During these engagements Stewart's son was killed. [Possibly one other Marine was also killed, but I no longer clearly remember the exact circumstances - which I once knew.] A couple of other Marines were wounded at the time.
The CH-46, on which my friend was the co-pilot, attempted to land and evacuate the heavily bloodied recon team, but was shot down in the process. [The Communists had .51 cal. positions completely ringing the landing zone.] My friend and the rest of the CH-46 crew joined the recon team, and they began attempting to fight their way out of the entrapment.
Surrounded, facing imminent annihilation, carrying their dead and wounded, they slowly fought their way through some of the roughest terrain in the world. Three additional helicopters were shot down trying to extract the trapped Marines. [As I remember it, these Marine helicopters made it away from the battle area before going down, and the men were rescued by other helicopters. I don't know how many of them were killed or wounded, if any.] The first night, the NVA were right on top of my friend and his band of Marines. Consequently, "Spooky" kept fire almost on top of them in an attempt to keep the North Vietnamese off the men. During the night, my friend was shot through the knee by "Spooky." He would walk for five more days through the mountains of Vietnam. After a couple of more days, a Marine platoon made its way to the recon patrol and the helicopter crewmen. A few days later, they were in a position secure enough to allow evacuation. They had carried their dead and wounded for almost a week. These people are my heroes.
On one medevac mission, in almost the exact same area, I was in the wing aircraft during several evacuation missions. A Marine patrol of approximately eight men came into sharp contact with superior enemy forces. I think my section leader (the lead aircraft in a flight of two Marine helicopters) evacuated three severely wounded the first time we went in. I remember the mission well. Because of heavy cloud cover we had to fly low up the mountain valleys to the battle area. We didn't have more than a couple of miles of visibility, and were often only a couple of hundred meters or so from mountains on both sides of us.
After the first evacuation, we were later called back. All the Marines except one had been wounded, some very severely. My section leader, using a "jungle penetrator," hoisted the young Marines out one after the other. During this time, he was taking hits from almost directly underneath the helicopter. (The triple canopy jungle was so thick you couldn't see the ground from the hovering helicopter, and the Communists possibly couldn't see the helicoper, but for sure they could hear it.) While this was going on, my helicopter was being shot-up by a nearby .51 position. The helicopter shook so badly, I though we were taking air bursts. I will forever remember the last event in this action. My section leader asked the single Marine left on the ground if he wanted to be evacuated. Almost completely surrounded, he said, "No, I can hear the firing of Marines on their way to help me. I'll stay." I never met him, but he is a hero of mine. My buddy who walked for six days through the mountains of Vietnam after being shot through the knee is a hero of mine. The men who carried their dead and wounded for almost a week, are heroes of mine. Jimmy Stewart is a hero of mine. Jimmy's Stewart's son is a hero of mine. I like John Wayne, but he's not my hero. He might have been a great American fighting man - we'll never know. My heroes are the men who were heroes, including many dead friends.
For millions of Americans, these stories a dime a dozen. There are a great many heroes, but John Wayne wasn't one of them. My best friend from high school tried to sign up as a Marine after he was 4-F. He's a good American, but that didn't make him a hero. It's the difference between form and substance. It's that simple. Again, I like John Wayne, but he's not my hero.