In Memory of SGT Roger Pedue Killed in Action May 16, 1969.
Heroic final acts of county soldier in Vietnam detailed in letter.
By Colleen Mair
The LaPorte Herald-Argus
Thirty-two years later, the heroic final acts of a LaPorte County man who
died in the Vietnam War have been revealed in a poignant letter to the
county museum.
U.S. Army Sgt. Roger Pedue, who grew up in LaPorte and Pinola, was 26 when
he died May 16, 1969. Although the Army sent his parents, John and Bessie
Pedue (now deceased), an account of his death, a buddy of Roger's surfaced
about 11 years ago to tell the real story.
Michael Serrano of Sacramento, Calif., contacted Roger's brother Lynn to
set the story straight. He did the same in a letter to the LaPorte County
Historical Society Museum this February.
Roger Pedue was killed in action during a combat mission in A Shau Valley,
Vietnam, on the infamous Hamburger Hill.
"What Roger did was planned," Serrano wrote in his letter to the museum,
remembering that Roger insisted on "walking point" (leading the way, thus
putting himself in danger) that morning after they heard movement the
night before. "It was the most selfless act of bravery I've ever seen in
my life.
"He should have won the Congressional Medal of Honor."
Roger was in fact nominated posthumously for that medal, but it was not
awarded to him. He was posthumously awarded, though, with two Purple
Hearts, a Silver Star (for gallantry in action in continuing his
courageous actions heedless of his own safety), a Bronze Star (for
meritorious achievement in ground operations against hostile forces) and
various other awards.
In the same fierce battle in which Roger died, Serrano suffered wounds to
his arms and legs from rocket grenades. He was dragged to safety and
eventually, after finishing his tour of duty, went home -but he was
haunted by what had happened.
"It's not the easiest thing to deal with to know that because this person
died I'm still here," Serrano said in a phone interview with the
Herald-Argus this week. "It always bothered me: Did anyone know what
really happened?"
Serrano set a goal to tell Roger's family and hometown about his acts of
bravery. When he saw an Internet request for information from the museum
about another soldier from LaPorte, he decided to write about Roger.
"Only I really knew what happened that day. I talked to Roger," he said.
"I just could not put that down. His story deserves to be known and his
family deserves recognition."
"The letter was very touching and heroic," said Susie Richter, the
museum's assistant curator, who corresponded with Serrano about Roger.
"Everyone cried when we read it."
A career Army man at 26, Roger was drafted in 1964 and entered the service
in 1965. He lived in LaPorte and attended 10th Street School (now Handley
Elementary), and later lived in Pinola and attended Westville School. He
dropped out in 1959 at age 16 and got his GED in the Army, where he found
his niche.
"The night before Roger left, we talked from midnight to daylight and I
tried to talk him out of it, but he elected to go back one more time (for
a second tour of duty in Vietnam)," said Roger's brother Kenneth, 66, a
former Marine who served in the Korean War and lives in Michigan City. "He
said he couldn't find a decent job and he was good at what he did.
"To me he was a hero."
Roger's brother Lynn, of Sturgis, Mich., said he and Roger would "forever
play war games" as kids.
After placing an ad in a veteran locator and struggling with bringing up
painful memories, Serrano finally got into contact with Lynn about 11
years ago - three months after father John Pedue had died. Bessie died in
1996.
"Something inside me said 'I can't let this die,' " Serrano said. "I don't
know if I was looking for forgiveness or absolution, but I really did
start to find inner peace that day.
"I became friends with what happened and understood what I was feeling,
that survivor's guilt is a natural reaction to an unnatural situation," he
said.
"I was surprised to receive (Serrano's) call," said Lynn, 55, who also
served in Vietnam. "He told me all about Roger because he was the last to
be with him, and what went down that day. It made me feel better."
Lynn had been angry for a long time after Roger took his second tour of
duty in March 1969. Lynn said his brother decided to return so Lynn could
come home.
Lynn had 48 hours to find Roger and say goodbye before he was sent back to
Okinawa, Japan, for the last two months of his own second tour of duty
with the Marines. But he never met up with him.
"I had so much I wanted to tell him, but it wasn't meant to be," Lynn
said.
The next time he saw Roger was when his casket was taken off a plane at
O'Hare Airport.
"I eventually got over the anger because I know he believed in the cause
to free an oppressed people who wanted no more than to be left alone,"
Lynn said.
"Roger means a lot to our family - we will never forget him nor the reason
why he died."
Lynn's son, Jessie, recently became the third Marine in the family,
following in his father and Uncle Ken's footsteps. He will be stationed in
Okinawa.
"I'm really proud to be a Pedue. I'm very honored my uncle gave his life
for this country, and I'm willing to do the same for him and everyone else
who gave their lives in battle," Jessie said.
Serrano has worked with disabled veterans, integrating them back into
society, for the past 10 years in Sacramento. "There has to be a reason
I'm here. When I go I want to leave something behind."
Today, Sgt. Roger Pedue's name graces the Vietnam Wall in Washington,
D.C., a replica of the Wall in Chesterton, and a memorial in LaPorte's
Soldiers Memorial Park.
Each Memorial Day weekend, Lynn drives to visit his brother's grave under
the flagpole at Swan Lake Cemetery in Michigan City.
"If we fail to remember, then history will repeat itself," Serrano said.
"Too many people made too many sacrifices not to remember."
EDITORIAL: Stories of bravery that we'll always remember
Millions of essays have been written about hundreds of battles. But the
devastation of war is never delivered so profoundly as through the
well-told story of a single soldier.
Ernie Pyle had that ability. During World War II, Pyle (whose career began
here at the Herald-Argus) was the writer who brought reality home to us.
Disdaining all gloss-overs of the real thing, ignoring all pleas from
government officials to propagandize, Pyle took us into the foxholes of
France and Germany and told us firsthand what our husbands, fathers and
brothers were encountering.
But the letter that ran on Friday's editorial page goes one step farther.
This is the story of a soldier, by a soldier. It tells the final few days
of a young man from LaPorte, narrated by the only man who knew what
happened, because he was there.
Many veterans of Vietnam, World War II and Korea carry such stories with
them and have never nor will never share them. It's their choice; some
have decided their silence is the best way to honor the buddies they saw
die. Some simply can't bring themselves to relive those hellish times.
But accounts like the one on this page are so valuable. They not only
provide information to families who want and need the whole story of their
loved ones' demise, they also give us all a living history of a deadly
event. They give us just a glimpse of war's unholy reality. It's a
valuable piece of knowledge to carry on, and to pass on.
As Memorial Day 2001 approaches, we remember all those, like Roger Pedue,
who served and fell; and all those, like Michael Serrano, who carry on
their memories.
Copyright© 2001 - The LaPorte Herald Argus. All rights reserved.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Following is the letter written by Michael Serrano of Sacramento, CA to the LaPorte County Historical Society Museum this February about Roger Pedue of La Porte County, who died in Vietnam on May 16, 1969. For the story on how this letter came about see page 1.
Certain memories have faded from my experiences in Vietnam and others are as fresh as if they occurred yesterday. Yet the tremendous impact they had on shaping my life and molding me into the person I am today gives credence to the opening lines from A Tale of Two Cities: They were the best of times. They were the worst of times.
Roger entered my life around March of 1969. I had been in Country since Nov. 13, 1968. Roger originally carne in Country assigned to the 25th Infantry Division; when, I am not sure. However, he was infused into Co. B, 1st Battalion/506th Infantry, 3rd Brigade, a 101st Airborne Division arid was assigned to the 4th Platoon as my squad leader. He was an E-5 buck Sergeant. I was his fire team leader. At, that time we were operating in I Corps out-of Camp Evans. We were the northern most brigade of the division.
I remember Roger as this tall, somewhat lanky blond country boy from LaPorte, Indiana. The squad always gave him a bad time about being from LaPorte since most of us were from San Francisco, New York, Los Angeles or other large urban areas. So Indiana might as well have been a foreign country. Roger was 26.years old and a career soldier. His squad, myself included, were draftees and ranged in age from 18 to 20. So Roger had to endure our taunts and references to him being an old man and a lifer. Yet there was not one of us who did not respect his leadership ability.
Roger took his responsibilities seriously and was pure mother hen. He never asked us to do anything that he himself did not do or would not do. He was very aggressive in his duties as a squad leader. We trusted him with our lives, yet at times it seemed that Roger threw caution to the wind where his own life and safety were concerned. It was not uncommon to see him stand up and fire when a Listening Post was breached at night. It was not uncommon to see him advance under fire with total lack of regard for his own safety. We used to, rib him about having a John Wayne complex. Roger took it all in stride.
He was a quiet man where his personal life and feelings were concerned. He was always part of the squad and laughed and joked with us. Yet he kept his innermost thoughts to him-self. I don't think any of us knew the real Roger and perhaps I came as close as anyone ever had to knowing what was inside his soul and heart.
In early spring of 1969 most of the 3rd Brigade was sent into the A Shau Valley on a search-and-destroy operation. For the most part it was uneventful with the exception of periodic firefights and small unit contacts. Yet the mood and prevailing heavy cloud that hung over most of the troops was that we were in a time and place that was foreboding. That something ominous was present. Yet that seemed to define the whole Vietnam experience: 90 percent boredom and 10 percent terror. The problem was that you spent that 90 percent time frame worrying and wondering when that 10 percent was going to rear its ugly head and consume you. Yet we should have been forewarned as several of our Kit Carson scouts told us that the A Shau was what was referred to as No. 10 (very bad). In fact, one of our scouts went AWOL just before the operation began because he did not want to venture in there.
On May 10, 1969, elements of the 3rd Battalion/187th Infantry came into contact with a large and heavily entrenched and well-supplied NVA (North Vietnamese Army) force located on Hill 937. Thus began what was to be forever known as Hamburger Hill. Our company at the time was conducting a search-and-destroy mission with our sister company Alpha in another part of the valley. After three days of heavy fighting by the four companies of the 187th, the battalion commander called for reinforcements and assistance. The battalion was in danger of being overrun and destroyed.
We arrived at the base of Hill 937 sometime late in the day on May 13. At that time we separate from Alpha Company. Our Company assignment was to start up the western slope of 937 and take the pressure off the 187th and distract the NVA force. There was not one of us who did not feel that we were on a descent into the bowels of hell itself. We began our ascent up the slope of 937 and almost immediately ran into well-fortified enemy positions. We fought the rest of the day and throughout the 14th and 15th of May. Our progress upward was very slow and we had not covered much terrain.
Sometime after we broke off contact on May 15, Roger informed me that I was going to be reassigned to the platoon CP as a radio operator. I do not remember if the radio operator had been killed or just wounded, but being I had experience I was now going to leave the squad and become the new radio operator for the 4th Platoon. During the evening of the 15th we had set up a night defensive perimeter on a ridgeline. That night we could detect heavy movement all around us, but no contact.
As dawn broke on May 16, I sent out as part of a team to provide rear security until the company was ready to advance. My feeling of malaise was so strong that morning, I was in my position listening and watching for movement when Roger showed up. At first he said nothing. He looked at me and reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Took one, lit it and offered me one. After he took a drag he said to me that LT (our lieutenant) wanted me back at the CP, so that I could saddle up and get ready to move out.
Speaking with absolutely no emotion whatsoever, he said that our platoon was point (leading the advance) and that our squad was point squad. The silence was deafening. Neither of us had to speak, as we both knew what that meant. Then Roger intently looked directly into my eyes and said, "You know, they (NVA) are waiting for us." I knew that. I felt that. I knew that whoever walked point that morning in all likelihood was a dead man walking. I did not reply.
Roger continued to speak. He said there were only two people who could walk point (be the lead soldier in a unit, most in danger of exposing himself to the enemy) who had enough experience, and they were himself or me, and that he was better than I was. He had kind of a sardonic grin on his face when he said it. My ability to speak had left me. He said he could not let any of the others walk point because they probably would get us all killed and since had the radio, I was also out. He insisted that the point man position that morning was his and his alone.
Then he began to speak to me completely out of character for Roger. He told me he had a girl back home and that he loved her very much and that she had two children and that he cared about them as if they were his own: He said, "If I get out of this, I'm going to marry her." It was the first and only time Roger ever spoke on a personal level, betraying his feelings, letting someone inside.
We stared at each other, exchanging no words. We put out our cigarettes and he turned to go. He hesitated a moment and looked back at me. He told me that it was all up to me now to take care of the new people in the squad. I finally spoke because I realized that he was saying goodbye to me in the only way he knew how. I told him "Don't do it; don't be a hero" because it didn't mean nuthin'. Again I got that grin and he turned and left. To this day I am firmly convinced that he was well aware that he wasn't going to make it. That it was his last -day on this earth.
Several minutes later we moved out. Roger on point, Woody out with the M-60 on slack, then myself and the LT. I do not think we were more-than 50 meters or so out from CP when Roger stopped in the middle of the trail and began firing into the jungle. Either he saw the ambush or he sensed it, and I feel he probably it so he sprang it prematurely by forcing the NVA to draw their fire on him. All hell broke loose as the NVA opened up on Roger and us with everything they had. Roger was hit and he
fell and rolled off the trail. Even though he was severely injured and instead of just laying quietly till someone could get to him, he continued to fight. He crawled back to the trail edge pulled out several grenades and threw them in to the enemy positions. That was his undoing. The NVA concentrated all their firepower on him and he was gone. What Roger had done was to force the NVA to prematurely trip a U-shaped ambush they were trying 1o sucker us into. When they had to open up, the rest of the company became aware of what had happened and firing started all up and down our flanks. However the element of surprise was gone to the majority of the company was way out of the kill zone of the ambush. It was all due to Roger. We sustained casualties that day, myself included, but nothing to the degree that would have happened if the entire company had walked into the kill zone of that U-shaped ambush.
I was medevaced (medical-evacuated) out with Roger's body and several others that day. It would be the last medevac out from Bravo Company until the battle ended. Medevac support became impossible after May 16. I remember staring at Rogers body on the chopper flight back to the MASH unit and wonder why, why he did what he did. Yet I was firmly convinced that he knew what the outcome would be. It was the bravest act I had ever witnessed.
I returned to my unit after a 45-day stay in the hospital and served out the remainder of my time and finally came home in November of 1969. Yet I can't begin to tell you how many times over the years I have replayed that day in my mind, in haunting dreams and waking thoughts.
For years I sought to contact some member of Roger's family. I needed to tell them about what happened that day. About 10 years ago I finally made contact with Roger's brother Lynn, who was then living in LaPorte County. My biggest regret is that I missed speaking to his father, who had passed on three months prior to my contact. I told Lynn what had actually transpired that day and he said he had often wondered about it. The Department of the Army had given the family a completely erroneous account of his death. They said he had been a forward observer and was killed in action. Lynn said the Army had sent the family a letter saying he was missing in action and then two days later it sent them a letter saying he was killed in action.
Lynn shared with me some childhood memories of himself and Roger playing army in the fruit orchard. He said that as far back as he could remember, all Roger ever wanted to be was a soldier. Lynn provided me with the absolution I knew I was seeking. That forgiveness that lifts a tremendous emotional burden off of one's shoulders. My healing finally began at that point. Yet I know that Roger's family probably received nothing more than a Silver Star and an erroneous account of his passing and nothing of his bravery. To me, Roger deserved the Congressional Medal of Honor for his heroism. Yet who knew of his sacrifice and his thoughts of that day? Only I did.
And now you know that your native son is a true hero and how he distinguished himself during an insane war. Embrace him and remember him as well as those other gentle heroes who cannot and would not speak for themselves even if they could.
