Zittergruen looks back on Vietnam

By Willis Patenaude | Times-Register

Every Nov. 11, Americans put aside political differences, at least for one day, to celebrate the heroism and service of those who fought for this country. 

In the beginning, it was christened Armistice Day by President Woodrow Wilson and served as a day of remembrance for all that was achieved in World War I. Wilson called it a day to reflect on with “solemn pride in the heroism” and with “gratitude for the victory” for the brave souls who returned from Verdun, Tannenberg and the Somme, ushering in peace and bringing an end to what was supposed to be “the war that will end war.”  

In 1945, Raymond Weeks, a World War II veteran, also named the “Father of Veterans Day,” thought the day should be expanded to include all who served, not just in WWI. Nine years later, in 1954, the day officially became Veterans Day as well as a federal holiday, which has been celebrated on Nov. 11, not withstanding a brief period in the 1970s when it was held on the fourth Monday in October. 

Because of Weeks and the signature of President Dwight D. Eisenhower, Veterans Day has become more inclusive. If not for their efforts, the celebration would have looked past a small town farm boy from Garnavillo, who attended a country school in kindergarten and grew up helping dad with the cows, pigs, chickens and corn planting, with ambitions to stick to the family business after graduating from Garnavillo High School in 1967. 

However, the war in Vietnam had other ideas, and life on the farm was interrupted one afternoon in 1968 by a mail delivery that contained a draft notice for William “Bill” Zittergruen, who recalled his initial reaction was a colorful expletive. 

Bill was one of 2,215,000 men drafted between 1964 and 1973 and the notice wasn’t unexpected. Rather, it was something he had been “anticipating for a long time,” so there wasn’t much to do besides go to Des Moines for a physical and then “hurry up and wait,” as they say in the military. 

The wait ended on April 3, 1969, when Bill was inducted into the United States Army and sent to Fort Polk, La., for basic combat training, advanced infantry training and a leadership preparation course. After that, Bill went to Fort Benning, Ga., for non-commissioned officer school, graduating as a sergeant, and was then sent to Fort Louis, Wash., to continue training and teaching infantry soldiers. 

Like his reaction to the draft notice, Bill’s time in basic training was just as colorful, especially given that, prior to arriving, the rumor mill swirled with all kinds of stories. Bill was admittedly, “half-ass scared,” not knowing what he was getting into. He remembers hearing his drill sergeants yelling from the moment he got off the bus, and one specifically, Howard, screaming about how one new arrival’s orifice sucked pond water. 

He also recalled an encounter with a drill sergeant who was looking for him and, when he was found, was ordered to give him 10 pushups. When he was done, Bill asked why he had to do that, and the drill sergeant told him he had an unbuttoned button on his shirt. Like any good Iowan, Bill said “thanks,” to which the drill sergeant replied, “Give me 10 more.” After that, “I shut my mouth,” Bill said. 

Bill left for Vietnam from Hawaii on March 26, 1970, which was also his birthday. The moment is perhaps best encapsulated in a speech shared by Bill’s grandson, Vaughn Zittergruen, who said, “While most Americans see their 21st birthday as a milestone birthday to celebrate with friends and family, Grandpa Bill was leaving to go to Vietnam. He crossed the International Date Line six hours into his flight, which then turned the date to March 27, so he only had six hours of his 21st birthday.”

Bill landed in Bien Hoa, near the Dong Nai River, in the area referred to as the Delta, as a member of the 9th Infantry Division. He was immediately taken by the smell and the heat, but there was no time to dwell on it, as the unit was getting supplied and armed. His squad spent the next six months being flown on helicopters and dropped off in rice patties, canals or the brush to sweep an area, looking for the enemy, weapons caches and booby traps. His squad also walked the tree lines looking for enemy soldiers or setting up ambushes. 

It was during this time, on Mother’s Day in 1970, that Bill and his squad were part of a blocking force for the Cambodian campaign, a series of military operations meant to defeat the enemy troops in the eastern border regions of Cambodia. It was an active combat situation Bill struggled to talk about. 

“There were a lot of bullets flying,” he said. “There was so much gunfire, you couldn’t hear the guns go off.” 

The campaign ended with 338 killed and over 1,500 wounded American troops, one of which was Bill Robinson, the only member of Bill’s platoon to be wounded during the firefight. 

Then it was back on the helicopters for more sweeping missions until Bill was assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division somewhere around the late 1970s, trading canals and flatland for the mountains and steep hills of Phuoc Vinh, north of Bien Hoa. During this period, Bill and his squad were back on the helicopter, flying out to the jungle for two weeks at a time, performing the aforementioned tasks before returning to base for three days of guard duty. 

There were a few short firefights and locating massive underground tunnels and holes, some the size of a kitchen, Bill recalled. The country was also beautiful, he said, filled with animals he’d never seen before like monkeys and lions. 

“One time we was walking, all of a sudden all hell broke loose and I looked up and there had to be 300 monkeys taking off running across the leaves. I couldn’t believe it. They just kept running,” he said. 

Bill’s time in the Army came to an end in February 1971 at Fort Dix, N.J. He found his way back to the family farm shortly thereafter. It wasn’t long after that he married Jeanne, who he had known for years. They’ve been married for 52 years and settled on the family farm the Vietnam War tried to take from him. 

As a squad leader, Bill remembers proudly never losing a soldier in his squad, and regardless of the politics and the fact he was drafted, he was also proud to serve. 

“I thought it was for a good cause,” he said. “It was for our country.” 

What stood out the most during the interview was Bill’s dedication to the men he led and served with, most of which he makes an effort to visit periodically, traveling across Nebraska, South Dakota and Wisconsin, and even as far away as Pennsylvania. 

Those visits, however, are missing two people— Gary Johnson and Lon Gregorash—who were sadly killed in an ambush not long after Bill returned stateside. Whether there is an emotional toll that has been carried since, Bill would not disclose. However, it is notable that, when he went on the Honor Flight, he stopped by the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and found their names on the wall, even being photographed to memorialize the moment. 

Though Bill stated the war did not really have an impact or change him as a person, it’s also not something he readily talks about, unless asked. It’s in those conversations where the quiet impact reveals itself. In the pauses and trying to find the right words that honor those he served with and spent countless months sweeping through parts of the Vietnam countryside with. 

Bill is also humble. If not for a copy of his discharge paper, his awards and medals likely never would’ve been included, since he never once brought them up. But throughout the war, Bill received numerous honors, including a National Defense Service medal, Good Conduct medal, Combat Infantry badge, Army Occupational medal, Vietnam Service medal, Bronze Star medal, Sharpshooter M-14 badge, Oak Leaf Cluster Air medal and two overseas bars. 

Along with those accolades, Bill was honored during Central’s Veterans Day program. He was  introduced by Vaughn, who said of the honor, “It means a lot and I am honored to recognize him at the Veterans Day ceremony. I think it is a great way to thank him for his service and let more people know about his story.”

It’s not so much a war story, as it is a story about family. The family before Vietnam, the one he found while trying to survive the war and the one he came home to that now includes several grandchildren. Grandchildren who wrote him notes he’s saved and who asked him to sing, “I love you, a bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck,” again and again, when they were little.