RPGs
Ralph Famiglietti ralphf52@aol.com
Steve’s homework for Oct. 23 2024
RPGs
We threw grenades and fired our RPGs (rocket propelled grenades) at the enemy. And weathered the explosive hardware the enemy threw back at us. They were battle tested elite veterans and we knew we were in for a fight.
I met Tony in the fall of 1966 during my first year at Waterbury State Tech Institute (Now Naugatuck Valley CC) . There were three things that made Tony a guy I wanted to hang out with. First, he was cool, confident with a great sense of humor. Secondly, He had his own apartment, with an open door policy and always a party going on (girls). A convenient and economical place to bring a date. And lastly, he was in a rock band which of course meant girls too.
Our enemy and the battle we were engaged in was close-quarters. Maybe 40 feet apart and exposing oneself was dangerous. We timed our grenades and RPGs so they exploded over their heads and they did the same. So each side’s soldier needed to be ready to move fast to avoid the shrapnel .
I was 18 and WSTI was my life saver so to speak. It granted me a college deferment from the Draft. The military Draft that needed fresh bodies to feed into the meatgrinder called, Vietnam. Virtually all of my friends were upper middleclass and could afford high-end ($$$) colleges like Uconn, Quinnipiac, Boston College and St Joseph’s. A more prestigious lifesaver but a life saver nevertheless.
Okay, okay. Our grenades and RPGs weren’t military grade. And our enemy wasn’t military age either. They were other neighborhood friends in the 10-13 age bracket. For grenades, we’d hollow out the center of an apple or pear requisitioned from the many fruit trees in our Italian neighborhood. Now that was a dangerous mission. Put a 2 inch salute in the center, ignite, hold it until the fuse was about a 1/2 inch and toss it. Like all grenade tossers, there was always a chance a grenade tossed too soon could be returned. Our RPGs were bottle rockets – a salute attached to a small rocket that would be timed to explode over their heads. The war was over when we ran out of fireworks. And we’d move on to a basketball court or a porch to play cards.
Carl was Tony’s apartment roommate and bass guitarist. A year older, a band member and an undeferred physically able male of draft age. Carl had long black shag style hair, a warm smile and a genuine warm personality that beckoned. One day he was around and the next he wasn’t. Tony said Carl had been drafted. A new guitarist was acquired and we continued to follow the band to New York drinking establishments. We were in a drinker’s window. Under the Connecticut drinking age of 21 but over the New York’s age of 18.
War for us, previous to the grenade battles, was shooting each other with finger guns while running through the woods, or snowball fights. War was weekly, or is that weakly, portrayed on TV by McHale’s Navy or Hogan’s Heroes. War movies showed a kill ratio of 10 or 12 to 1 – Us versus them. Enemies were mindless troops led by a diabolical officer. They always died instantly while our critically wounded guys lived for enough time to give a two-minute, heartfelt goodbye in a buddy’s arms.
I’m sorry I let you down, Sarge. Those 8 30calibre machine gun bullets really took the wind out of me. ….Guess we won’t be having the beer together that I promised…..Tell my dad I was brave……. And my girl that I love her… and give my posthumous medals to my cousin Chucky….. Please walk Rex twice a day and he only likes canned dog food…... Apologize to vice-principal Davis for all the grief I caused. Andd…..ahhhh.
Carol’s Barn was a New York drinking dancing venue frequented by underage Connecticut kids and Tony’s band would play there one of the two weekend knights. One Saturday night, like 5 or 6 months after he was drafted, Carl showed up. Minus his hair. Minus his smile. Minus his engaging personality. And minus a leg from the knee down. An explosion, a crutch assisted Carl said took it. No additional information, such as a grenade, a mortar a mine or boobytrap, was offered and we were empathic enough not to ask for more. Carl’s life was changed forever….And so was mine.
Author’s note: Have you ever seen the movie, Born on the Fourth of July? The star is Tom Cruise, an idealistic youth who felt it was patriotic to enlist and go to Vietnam right after high school. And kill the atheist communist North Vietnamese who were trying to destroy our way of life.
Tom’s character is shot in a meaningless battle in a nowhere place and becomes paralyzed from the waist down. He’s tied to a wheelchair for life and unable to have children. In his moral evolution he begins to realize he threw his life away for a bullshit cause the country’s politicians fed him. Tough-talking politicians who were safely 8,000 miles away.
fall 1966