A Vet’s Story – Gary R.Weaver

Facts and Fictions: One Man’s Story

All of America was against the Vietnam War: fiction. There were many men and women willing to risk their lives to support their country: fact.

There were so few people willing to volunteer to fight that the draft was the highest it’s ever been: fiction. Many young American’s were lined up to enlist, fact.

Living conditions for soldiers were unsanitary and food was scarce: fiction. New barracks were built and food was plenty: fact.

All soldiers were forced to fight: fiction. Thousands never stepped foot on a battlefield: fact.

Only those who physically fought are real soldiers: false. The men who worked off the battlefields and gave their service to the country are the real war heroes: true.

It is a common myth in today’s society that in order for one to be considered a true soldier he/she must have physically fought or contributed to a battle. Although they might not have received a Purple Heart or a medal of bravery, the thousands of men and women who worked as secretaries, doctors, messengers, or simply crew members, deserve the biggest medal of all: the medal of supervision, support and patronage. A hospital would not run without nurses and secretaries, a bank would not hold up with out tellers and security. Soldiers would not be able to “be all they could be” if it weren’t for all the small jobs which are often overlooked.

Gary R. Weaver describes himself as a low-key guy, “always have been, always will be.” His relaxed state of mind reflects his soft-spoken voice and nonchalant attitude toward recounting his war stories. Born on Sept. 10, 1953 in Egypt, Pa. Weaver is proud to be the sixth generation living in his family home. He is the kind of man who is proud of his heritage and accomplishments, but not arrogant or conceited in his manner. Behind his blue-gray eyes is excitement that is dashing to escape, but is held back by his manners and grace. Memories are fighting not to fade away. Even when he sits and gazes into open space, despite his expressionless face, you know something is brewing.

Weaver opened his wallet and shuffled through several cards. He fought a smile while taking out his draft card. He took a deep breath as he mentally went back in time to when he was a junior in high school and enlisted in the army. Regardless that his mother didn’t approve, he felt he had an obligation to his country. Ignoring his conscience and following his heart, he still applied for early enlistment. He strategically placed his card back in his wallet.

Initially, Weaver wanted to join the air force, but after acing his army test, he had a tough decision to make. It was ultimately a “buddy” of his who had already come back from being overseas that advised him to join the air force. Weaver did just that.

In 1972, Weaver took his first footsteps toward the military at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. After just eight weeks, he was transferred to the Chanute Air Force Base in Illinois, where he would spend the next three months at technical school for aircraft mechanics.

“I couldn’t afford college, but I was able to get two degrees through the Air Force and the GI bill. I’m still taking classes today, isn’t that something?” said Weaver, allowing his first smile of the afternoon to sneak out.

Weaver was finally placed in Portsmouth, N.H. He was now part of the 509^th bomb-wing group. Weaver opened up an envelope filled with pictures. He lifted one up to just about eye level, and stared. “This was my first plane. I was part of the exact same unit that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima,” Weaver said. He was proud, but he tried to hide it. “I am part of a lineage with Col. Paul Tibbits.” Tibbits was the pilot of the Enola Gay, which dropped the world’s first atomic bomb on Hiroshima.

Weaver’s favorite job in New Hampshire was working the TDY, Temporary Duty Station. The job of a TDY is to transport planes from their base in New Hampshire to the Goose Bay base in Canada. “One morning I woke up covered in snow. It came through the window. After that I knew I wanted to go on the TDYs.” Two barracks were built for the Air Force. One was pre-fabricated, designed for Virginia’s warm weather. The other was brick in anticipation for the cold New Hampshire winters. Somehow they got switched, and I just couldn’t handle the cold.” But on one of Weaver’s runs, he encountered much more than he bargained for.

“Every day in Canada we would have morning briefings. We ran drills and prepared the planes.” At the time, Weaver was just an airman who serviced and worked on the planes. “One morning, as I was working on the window insulations, the weather must have been 95 degrees below zero. Sure enough, at 3 a.m., an alert was sounded. I was under the wing of the plane and I saw a shadow over my head. The wind must have pushed the plane causing it to spin on the ice. It flew right by me and crashed. My plane was decommissioned.” When a plane is decommissioned, damaged, the crewmembers are excused from the mission and may spend the length of the mission as a break.

“ The guys on my crew all liked to go to the officers club and drink. I don’t drink so I was always the designated driver. Even though I wasn’t an officer, I was still accepted at the club. One night, while the guys were out drinking, my rotation was called back to New Hampshire. My crew was so drunk that they couldn’t fly. Even though I was trained and I didn’t have my license, they still let me fly the plane back. I could take off and fly fine, but I couldn’t really land. Luckily for me, the pilot sobered up in time for the landing. But I started rocking the plane back and forth during the flight to get them even more rowdy, it worked.” At last, another smile!

The smile faded as Weaver reminded himself that not all his flights were fun. The old Weaver was back. For four months, Weaver’s unit was transferred to Guam and joined Operation Linebacker II, which he believed brought the war to an end. “My crew was given missions that were direct orders from Washington. One day while following the directed flight patterns and altitude, we detected a SAM [Service to Air Missile]. Well, in the back of the B-52s there are 97 flares that are used to distract the SAM’s heat sensors. The flares were dropped and the missile exploded. It didn’t hit us, but it was close enough that it interfered with the hydraulics of our plane. We were able to land through an emergency landing.” Weaver’s time overseas was over and he almost got home without a scratch.

“Looking back, my worst experience was having my thumbnail taken off after my plane got hit in Guam. My best experiences revolved around the fellowship of my aircraft. We were like a family. Being as I didn’t drink, I used to smuggle Napoleonic brandy for my captain. I knew he liked it and I wanted to help him out so he wouldn’t have to pay the duties. When we got off the plane, all the officers would go first, then I would walk very slowly trying not to make any noise. This was quite a challenge considering there were around four to five bottles stuffed down my pants.” Weaver smiled.

Weaver returned to New Hampshire around the same time the Vietnam War was coming to an end. Due to a fuel shortage, he was taken off flight status. Weaver spent the rest of his days in New Hampshire sweeping, cleaning and taking care of the runway. He then applied to Operation Bootstrap, a program that allowed soldiers to attend college while in the service. “I was more than qualified to be accepted into the program, but my base commander wouldn’t release me. If my base commander treated me the way my aircraft commander did, I might have stayed with the Air Force longer than my six-year term. I wish I would have stayed longer.” Had Weaver stayed with the Air Force he would have retired in 1992. “My base commander never liked me. You could either wear your shirt tucked in or out; there was no actual rule. So when he would tell me to tuck my shirt in I never did. I always backed it up with the proper statute. I suppose that’s why.”

Eventually, Weaver was transferred and spent the last three years of his term with the reserves at the Lehigh-Carbon Community College. “I had two discharges. One regular, and one with the reserves.” In his two years at LCCC, Weaver earned a degree in computer science, and then after attending the Pennsylvania State University for two years as well, he earned a second degree. Since then, Weaver got his pilot’s license, but was never interested in working for an airline.

Currently, Weaver lives with his wife Joanne and his 19-year-old son, Charles. He is employed as an engineering liaison for Whitehall Township. He is a lifetime member of the Egypt Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 7293 and is a member of the Lehigh Valley Military Affairs Council.

Weaver has fulfilled his personal goals, and although he was never ranked higher than a crew chief, he served all the important duties expected of a soldier. Weaver’s humbleness inhibits his excitement for the past, but underneath his humble veneer he is satisfied with his services rendered. His personal satisfaction, although it is something he keeps inside, is the key to breaking down barriers that separate fact and fiction. He knows he’s succeeded. It doesn’t matter what other people may assume about him or what he’s done, or what any other soldier has done or not done for that matter. Self-satisfaction breeds truth and truth is skin deep. The question is how deep is yours – are you able to rise above the fiction and finally accept the facts?

Julie Orchier is a junior at Lehigh University. Her hometown is Short Hills, N.J.