Vietnam veterans honor fallen brothers

Nearly 60,000 American soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines were killed during Vietnam. Many of them were drafted into the service.

For the 2.7 million who returned home, many found a new war in PTSD and public vitriol. This made it difficult for them to properly mourn, grieve and honor those they lost.

This year marks 50 years since the end of the Vietnam War, and yet, its effects are still felt by those who served.

For Creston Vietnam veteran Denny Abel, it wasn’t until 2004 that he was able to properly participate in Memorial Day to honor his fallen brothers. Another local Vietnam veteran, Houston Poore, was born into a military family, so he found it easier to adjust coming home.

Drafted

Even more than 50 years later, Poore can recite the exact wording of the draft notice he received.

“Greetings from the president,” Poore recited. “Your friends and neighbors have selected you to be a member of our armed forces. You will report, such and such a time, such and such a place. Failure to do so can and will be construed as an act of treason. You can and will be incarcerated up to five years. Welcome to the United States Army.”

While Poore said he would have enlisted regardless of being drafted, newly-married Abel would have much preferred to stay in Creston.

Abel’s journey began with a nine-week basic training in Fort Polk, Louisiana. After that, he went to Fort Knox, Kentucky, for six weeks of training followed by four weeks of advanced individual training on tanks.

With him for all 10 weeks was Danny Sullivan, a loader from North Carolina.

“There were 27 of us in this group,” Abel said. “We all 27 went to Vietnam at the same time. Danny was the only one that got killed in our group. So 26 of us came home. That was really good for a platoon.”

Though the two men spent less than a year together before Sullivan’s death, that didn’t stop them from forming the inevitable brother-like bond between all soldiers.

“You go at night, you pull guard duty for so many hours together, you eat together,” Abel said. “We had K-rations, so you eat everything except for the pound cakes. You throw those to the little kids and they threw them back at you.”

The details of their friendship are hazy after five decades, but the moment he was killed will always stand out.

“He was on the back of my tank when he was killed by a sniper,” Abel said. “You hear about things that grab people. It evidently affected me. I don’t remember, but right after that, they took me to the back, and I worked in motor pool for eight months instead of being out in the field.”

After his eight months in motor pool, he was sent with a friend out to the field.

“We changed a motor on a tank. I changed a wiring harness of an armored personnel carrier,” he said. “We left the next morning. We went out on March 30 and back on April 1.”

When they arrived back, they were surprised by their platoon members running up to them as soon as the helicopter landed.

“We were like hey guys, we were only gone like two days,” he said. “They said, ‘the General’s been killed; the General’s been killed.’ The General was killed right at the spot I had been for two days.”

Abel was in Vietnam in 1969 and 1970. He served overseas for “12 months, 28 days and 14 minutes.” Though they offered him the chance to reenlist, Abel was ready to come home to Creston and his wife.

Poore grew up with a father who was injured in World War II. This instilled military pride in him from a young age.

During his two tours in Vietnam, Poore lost several fellow soldiers, all who were as close as brothers.

“We were just a close-knit group,” Poore explained. I was with [1st Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment of the 25th Infantry Division] Special Forces. We were all together. One did, all did."

Of those he was closest with, a Korean-American stands out the most. “A very, very fine young man,” Poore said. “Back at base camp, he was a world-class ping pong player. He taught me a lot. I got to be pretty good at ping pong.”

In his first tour, Poore served 18 months in Vietnam. When he got home, he made a “stupid decision,” buying a brand-new 1968 Pontiac GTO Judge.

“I couldn’t afford it unless I went back to Vietnam and got my reenlistment bonus,” he said.

In his second tour, he was hit by shrapnel in his left knee and right ankle 13 months and 12 days in. Though he stayed in the Army, he wasn’t able to continue serving on the ground.

Poore would say he’s from Alabama, though his family moved around a lot with his dad’s military career. The children were all born in different states and countries. Now, Creston is the longest place he’s lived, and it all started with the Army sending him to Keokuk to be a recruiter. He moved to Creston in 1993, meeting his wife at work.

Returning

The return of the Vietnam veterans is infamous in American history. Both Abel and Poore lived it, but persevered in their own way.

“I came from Oakland where I got out, flew to Denver and then Denver at the airport, they were spitting at you, calling you baby killer,” Abel recounted. “I went to the bathroom, we called it the latrine, changed into civilian clothes and went home and forgot I was in Vietnam and went back to work.”

Still serving in the military, when Poore arrived stateside, he received the same treatment. “I’d go put on another uniform and walk through the same damn place again,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind the confrontation.”

With no one but his parents and wife who understood even a little of what he endured, Abel had difficulty mourning Sullivan and processing his time in Vietnam.

“It was a different era,” Abel said. “You weren’t a veteran. You didn’t even feel like a veteran because they didn’t appreciate what you did, even though you didn’t ask to do what you did.”

When Abel first approached the VFW in the hopes of joining, he was turned away. “They said you didn’t serve in a war, you were just in a conflict,” he said. Abel told them he’d be there if they ever wanted him, but he wouldn’t be asking again.

It was 22 years before they asked him to join. In 1992, Abel finally was given the opportunity to be a part of the group he’s now dedicated decades to.

Reconnecting

During his eight months in motor pool after Sullivan’s death, Abel served with Don Kimsey, a Missouri man everyone called Tex.

During Vietnam, soldiers were allowed R&R, rest and recuperation, for a week at a destination outside of Vietnam — typically Hawaii or Thailand. After spending a week with his wife in Hawaii, Abel came back to Vietnam even more ready to be done and go home.

“When we came back, we were all kind of down a little bit,” Abel said. “We went to the NCO club, snuck over the fence and stole two cases of cheap wine. Four of us got together; we drank almost all of that.”

It wasn’t the first or the last time Abel and Tex drank together. “We drank our real fair share of alcohol,” Abel laughed.

About a year after getting out of the Army, Abel found himself in Branson, Missouri with his wife and new daughter.

They found his house, but his wife said he was out on a work trip to Arkansas, so they left without connecting.

It would be 40 years before Abel and Tex finally connected.

“We were on a golf trip, and I said we’re going to go to Sheldon, and I’m going to find Tex,” Abel said.

They went to an insurance place where the lady directed them to a garage where people get together to drink coffee every morning.

“We went down there, they gave me his telephone number and where he lived,” Abel said. “I called him, and we met. I had three other guys with me. We had a blast together. He had a big cooler of beer, and we all drank together.”

For the next nine years, Abel and Tex kept up with regular phone calls and visits when they could.

When they spoke on the phone on Veteran’s Day in 2020, Tex said he wasn’t feeling good, but he didn’t think it was COVID. On Christmas Eve, Abel called to ask if he was doing better. Tex said he had been doing better, but the day prior he broke his arm throwing a case of beer into his truck.

When they spoke again after the new year, Tex had a disappointing update. “He said, ‘well I’ve got cancer.’ He passed away in February,” Abel said.

Abel was able to see Tex two days before he passed to say goodbye. When Tex heard Denny Abel was in the room, he sat up halfway to see his old friend.

Remembrance

In 2004, Bob Jungst asked Abel to fill the role of quartermaster for VFW Post 1797. He did so for the next 20 years. Even though he’s retired from the position now, he has a hard time giving up some of the duties.

Abel recruited Poore to join the VFW around 2008. “We had a deal,” Poore said. “He’d pay for my membership and every time he’d see me, he’d say you owe me $35, and I’d pay him.”

Serving on the color guard has provided Abel a way to remember those he’s lost, both during and after their time in the service.

“I honor every veteran by being in the color guard,” Abel said. "To me, Memorial Day is going out and seeing and remembering what we’ve been through — the people that didn’t come back home. I love the part that I’m part of, in the 21-gun salute. It brings tears to your eyes, but you’re there for a purpose. You’re there for the people who’ve passed."

For civilians who never served, Abel and Poole have a simple request — participate.

“Go and watch us. Participate in honoring our fallen,” Abel said. “I get it — it’s a weekend where you’re out camping. Take one hour out of a day, come to town, watch this presentation and maybe feel better about yourself and the people like us that are doing this."

“It makes me feel better every time,” Poore added.

Union County services will be in Graceland at 9:30 a.m., Cavalry at 10:30 a.m. and Greenlawn in Afton at 1 p.m.

“I still get a lump in my throat when I hear Taps,” Abel said.