Saluting Coweta's Vietnam Vets: 3,500 Marines came ashore at Danang in March 1965

From Times-Herald.com: Saluting Coweta's Vietnam Vets: 3,500 Marines came ashore at Danang in March 1965
Editor's note: Today The Times-Herald continues our series on the Vietnam War and Cowetans who served overseas, leading up to the visit to Coweta County in October by a replica of the Vietnam Memorial Wall.

During World War I, American media began saying the U.S. Marines were the "First to fight."

The phrase stuck and was true again on March 8, 1965, when 3,500 Marines came ashore at Danang as the first U.S. ground combat troops to arrive in Vietnam.

During eight years of war in Vietnam, Marines like Coweta's Larry Clarke never quit fighting.

Clarke was born and raised in Decatur, Ga. As soon as he graduated from Avondale High School in June 1966, he joined the Marines. Clarke knew where he was headed.

"The Vietnam War was on TV every night," Clarke said. "You could see it was pretty bad over there, but I felt like I wanted to join up."

After basic and advanced infantry training Clarke boarded a ship for a 30-day cruise to Vietnam.

In November 1966, he arrived at Dong Ha, where he joined G Company of the Second Battalion of the 3rd Marine Division.

Clarke was surprised by his first glimpse of Vietnam.

"It was beautiful," he said. "There were mountains and rubber plantations with great old French colonial houses and it was really a gorgeous place."

Clarke's job wasn't quite so glamorous.

When they weren't on ambush patrol, Clarke's unit ran search and destroy missions against Vietnamese villages. They always gave civilians a chance to clear out.

"We'd drop leaflets in the area before we got there so they'd know we were coming, then we'd go through a village and search for things the enemy had stored, like weapons or ammo or food or medical supplies," Clarke said. "We found lots of it and then we'd generally tear things up. That's what we did."

Clarke still remembers the first time he was shot at. His fire team was walking toward a village on a hill when an enemy sniper opened fire.

"It was numbing at first," Clarke said. "There was shooting everywhere and it takes a while to figure it out. Then we got it together and fought back and finally called in artillery and they tore the place up. It wasn't really close at all, but for my first time, it was close enough."

Things soon got worse. Clarke's unit was on patrol almost every day, heading to wherever the fighting broke out. On one mission they were told to find some enemy soldiers dug in on a hill who had ambushed and killed several Marines.

On the way up the hill, Clarke's group came across the bodies of their fallen comrades. About 20 yards farther up the hill Clarke saw a North Vietnamese soldier in a hole with his hat still on. The enemy soldier was motionless and almost covered with dirt. Between his legs Clarke saw the detonator of the satchel charge explosive that had killed the Marines down the trail.

"That was my first look at the enemy face-to-face," Clarke said. "He was dead and that was good."

Everywhere Clarke's unit went, they found enemy soldiers dug in and ready to fight.

"We went after them the old-fashioned way," Clarke said. "We charged."

Clarke carried an M-79 grenade launcher and a .45 pistol. The Marines had just been issued new M-16 rifles but didn't like them because the bolts jammed. Most Marines preferred to stick with their M-14 carbines.

Clarke used an M-16 during one firefight and it jammed. He was forced to throw it down and fight with a .45 pistol he took from a dead Marine.

"When your weapon jams in close quarters combat you're out of luck," he said.

Clarke's unit typically spent 30 days in the field before boarding the U.S.S. Tripoli, which dropped them off somewhere else to do it again. The fighting never stopped.

"Something bad happened almost every day over there," he said. "I saw all I ever want to see of it."

Clarke was discharged in December 1969 and returned to the Atlanta area to begin a 34-year career with Western Electric and AT&T. He moved to Coweta in 1998 and retired in 2005.

Clarke remained close to some of his fellow Marines after they returned from Vietnam, but it was a Marine that didn't come back that had the biggest impact on Clarke's postwar life.

During Memorial Day festivities in 1995 Clarke's thoughts went back to Bill Durham, who was killed on patrol in Thua Thien not long after visiting with Clarke. Clarke had never spoken to Durham's parents and wondered if they knew the circumstances of their son's death.

Clarke also had a photo of Durham taken in Vietnam shortly before Durham's death and thought Durham's family might want it.

Clarke only knew that Durham was from a small town in upstate New York and that his family ran a dairy farm. Clarke contacted the Marine Corps and asked for information about how to contact Durham's family. The Corps denied his request, citing privacy concerns.

Shortly afterward, Clarke heard a radio broadcast about a group associated with the Vietnam Veterans Memorial who were trying to collect information about all the solders whose names were inscribed on the memorial.

Clarke called the group and asked for help contacting Durham's family. Three weeks passed and Clarke's hopes faded.

Then one of the group's members called Clarke, said he had Durham's sister on the phone and asked if Clarke wanted to speak with her. They talked for more than an hour. Clarke made several copies of the Durham photo and sent them to relatives in New York.

Later, Durham's hometown newspaper began doing monthly features about local veterans who had died in the nation's various wars. The newspaper tributes were accompanied by public ceremonies and services honoring the fallen.

When Durham's turn came to be recognized, his family asked Clarke to attend the ceremony and share some memories of his friend and fellow Marine.

Clarke spoke at the ceremony and spent the night with members of Durham's family. "We talked a lot and reminisced about what we all did over there," Clarke said. "That seemed to settle them. It did me, too. It was one time I finally got some things off my chest."

Clarke still has questions about America's involvement in Vietnam, but none about the men he fought with.

"In retrospect I both question and don't question our motives," Clarke said. "But soldiers serve because they are told to and we did a good job. I support the Commander-in-Chief and I'm a patriot, but sometimes I have questions about the political motives of the government."

Coweta's Bob Kotz wasn't expecting to join the Marines the day he walked into the student center at Western Michigan University in early 1965. Kotz was born and raised in Chicago and was in his final semester of college with an aviation engineering degree in sight.

Kotz's degree and future job assured a draft deferment, but when he saw a Marine recruiter in the student center wearing his dress blues, Kotz had to stop.

"I had friends and relatives who had been Marines, and that uniform looked so good I had to check it out," he said.

Kotz said that after a weekend of heavy socializing and a sleepless night of studying, he didn't resemble a candidate for anything but a long nap. But he stopped to look over the Marine Corps materials. The recruiter invited Kotz to go upstairs and take the Marine Corps officer qualification test.

Kotz agreed, fully expecting to fall on his face. He was told to come back later that day for the results.

He was shocked to learn he had scored high enough to qualify for the Marine Corps officer candidate program. He immediately agreed to give up his draft deferment and enter the Corps after graduation.

"I felt like it was my war," Kotz said. "I called my mom and she said 'What?' But then she said she understood and said that 'If you have to go into combat I'm glad you chose the Marines.'"

In October 1965, Kotz headed for Marine Corps officer training at Quantico, Va. He was among 750 officer candidates. Only 500 finished the course.

By mid 1966 Kotz was a Marine Corps 2nd Lieutenant. Most of the freshly-minted officers went to Vietnam, but the Corps sent Kotz to the Army's missile school in Ft. Bliss, Tx., to study the radar-guided HAWK missile system. HAWK stands for Homing All the Way Killer.

After three months at missile school, Kotz was assigned to Cherry Point, N.C., and became a missile battery commander. He was soon sent to Camp Lejeune, N.C., to organize and command the Marine Corps' first Red Eye missile platoon.

The Red Eye is the forerunner of today's Stinger missile system. Kotz hand-picked his 44-man platoon and believed he got the best the Marines had to offer. He was ready to go to war, but the Corps wasn't ready to send him overseas.

Kotz volunteered for duty in Vietnam 12 times and was turned down time and again.

The Corps finally agreed to send him to Vietnam if he agreed to extend his enlistment from three years to four.

He did, and promptly went to Okinawa, where he joined the Air Control Squadron. He was flown to Vietnam a few days each month to become familiar with the country and the operational setup.

In early 1968, Kotz finally reported to Danang, Vietnam, as Operations Officer of the 1st LAAMB, Light Anti Air Missile Battalion.

The huge U.S. base at Danang was a prime enemy target and under constant attack. The base was surrounded by four hills, called Monkey Mountain, Hai Van Pass, Hill 327 and Hill Seven.

Each hilltop was home to a missile battery under Kotz' command. Each battery consisted of four missile launchers capable of firing three missiles each, plus a radar operation and control center.

Kotz' assignment also included providing ground defense for his missile batteries. He soon learned a few tricks about how to extend his life expectancy.

Kotz and three Marines were traveling by Jeep to Hai Van Pass one day before sunrise. When they reached a bridge an American guard stopped them. That was expected. But the guard called Kotz "sir," which was a surprise, since officers did not wear insignia.

Kotz asked the guard how he knew he was an officer. The guard said it was because Kotz sat so erect in the Jeep. He said an officer committing the same error had been shot by enemy troops not long before.

"I learned how to slouch in a hurry," Kotz said.

On another occasion Kotz's group was ambushed. Kotz said the firefight only lasted "about five minutes" but he fought between two sergeants firing automatic weapons. The noise was so bad Kotz lost his hearing completely for three days and suffered some permanent hearing loss.

"The doctors asked if I had bought any expensive stereo equipment while I was in Okinawa," Kotz said. "I told them I had and they said I would never hear the real high pitches."

Before dawn one day Kotz got an emergency call from Hill 327 saying the missile battery was under attack. He told a sergeant to get all the Marine infantrymen out of bed and into formation.

In minutes 100 Marines had been assembled. Many of them had been partying all night and others were dead tired from extended field operations, but when Kotz said he needed 44 volunteers to defend Hill 327, all 100 Marines volunteered.

"I told my sergeant to pick the 44 in the best shape and send them out," Kotz said. "They went up that hill and came across 20 enemy attackers. They killed six and no Americans were killed, but what I will always remember is the fact that when there was trouble, every last one of those Marines volunteered to go fight."

Kotz was also at Danang when Vietcong guerillas blew up the fuel dump. The huge blast -- more than a mile away -- sent out such a massive concussion wave that it knocked Kotz thirty feet through the air into the radar control center.

"A guy in there said 'did you do that on purpose?'" Kotz said. "We had a good laugh."

Kotz was discharged in 1969, promptly earned his MBA at Rutgers University and had a long career in the franchising industry. He has loved in Coweta County since 1979 and currently serves as an adjunct professor of management at West Georgia Technical College's LaGrange campus.

"I'll always be a Marine and I couldn't be prouder," Kotz said. "I believed in what we were doing to stop the advancement of Communism and I'm proud of the job we did."

Coweta's Mike Corbitt was so intent on joining the Marines he ran away from home to do it. Corbitt was born and raised in South Fulton County, Ga., and attended Campbell High. He was ready to join the Marines before he was ready to graduate.

Corbitt's mother didn't want her 17-year-old son joining up, but the Marines had no such qualms. Corbitt snuck out of his room at 5:30 one morning, jumped in a car driven by a Marine recruiter and was already signed up by the time his mother ran him down at the induction center in Atlanta.

"We were lined up and ready to leave and I saw my mama come through the door," Corbitt said. "She didn't like it but I told her if she stopped me I'd just run off again and go somewhere else, so she finally agreed to it. I joined the Marines because I wanted to, not because I had to. I wanted to go to Vietnam. I was afraid I was gonna miss it. After I got there it was a different story."

Corbitt's cousin taught him map reading and compass skills when he was a boy. Those skills put him ahead of most other recruits. After basic and advanced infantry training, Corbitt moved up in the ranks quickly.

"I had an advantage over the others," Corbitt said. "But I was still just a 140-pound kid. I had lots to learn."

Corbitt arrived in Vietnam in April 1969, and joined the 2nd Battalion of the 4th Marine Regiment at Quang Tri.

Corbitt's unit spent weeks at a time in the jungle, finding shelter where they could and living off the land, eating snake, dog or even monkey when Marine Corps rations ran out.

"The Marines kept us supplied with plenty of ammo but not always with food and water," Corbitt said. "Whenever a chopper lowered a net full of rations, we'd dump the cans in our packs, fill up 11 canteens with water and keep moving."

Corbitt said the South Vietnamese children loved to gather fish the Marines "caught" with hand grenades.

"We'd drop a grenade in a river and those dead fish would come up and the kids really got excited," Corbitt said "It was fun to watch."

The South Vietnamese even showed Corbitt how to eat grasshoppers cooked on a hot rock beside a fire. "It wasn't bad," Corbitt said. "Kind of like fried okra."

Corbitt's unit ran countless search and destroy missions against small villages. He said it didn't take long to figure out the villagers weren't usually the bad guys.

"We'd go through and find plenty of weapons or food or medical supplies and we knew they didn't have it for themselves," Corbitt said. "We knew that the villagers were told if they didn't store those supplies to help the Vietcong their families would be killed. What were they supposed to do?"

Corbitt's unit rarely went a day without encountering the enemy, usually NVA (North Vietnamese Army) regulars. Corbitt fought in countless small skirmishes and in major battles at Signal Hill, Dong Ha, Cam Lo, Mudder's Ridge and Hills 881 and 661.

Corbitt said you could tell when a major encounter was about to happen.

"Before they charged they sent people out that acted kind of like cheerleaders," Corbitt said. "They'd scream 'Kill the Americans' or 'Americans will die.'"

The charges always came before daylight, but were never a surprise. "They smoked a lot of dope before they attacked," Corbitt said. "Even before they hit the perimeter you could smell them coming."

Corbitt quickly advanced through the ranks and became a squad leader. He is still haunted by some of the vicious battles, including two brutal incidents of hand-to-hand combat, one in which he fought with a machete, another where his weapon was a military K-Bar knife.

Details of those fights are too graphic to describe here but Corbitt said that no matter the fight or the circumstances, his main concern was the welfare of his squad.

"You're supposed to be a tough guy," Corbitt said. "But sometimes it just scared the h--- out of me. But my main goal was always taking care of my men. I was a good squad leader and if one of my guys got hurt it almost killed me. I couldn't stand it."

On several occasions Corbitt served as platoon sergeant when the post was temporarily vacant. He left the Marines with the rank of sergeant.

During one mission Corbitt's squad was being flown to a hot landing zone aboard a CH-46 helicopter. When they arrived, fire was heavy and the incoming helicopter was a prime target. Corbitt heard a loud "thunk" then heard bells and whistles going off and realized the chopper had been hit and was going down.

The next thing he remembers is being on the ground and looking over at the helicopter, piled in a crumpled heap several feet away.

"I had been knocked out of the helicopter and fell 25 or 30 feet to the ground before it crashed," Corbitt said. "I couldn't get up. I felt like I was paralyzed. Then I finally got up and got my men together and we moved out."

Three days later, when the squad took a break, Corbitt sat down to rest and couldn't get back up. He was medevac'd to a military hospital at Yakusa Naval Base in Japan.

Doctors said Corbitt's spine had been injured when he fell from the helicopter. Corbitt was kept in traction for two weeks and then told surgery was necessary to repair the damage to his neck and upper spine. He refused, and three days later, was back with his unit.

Corbitt said after North Vietnam's leader Ho Chi Minh died in September 1969 the volume and intensity of enemy raids increased.

"Sometimes they acted like they were crazy," he said. "They'd come at you shooting in the air or in the ground or shooting at each other and shooting at you. It was impossible to tell what they were going to do. I was lucky to get out."

Corbitt was discharged in 1970 and returned to Atlanta but had trouble adjusting to civilian life and tried to rejoin the Marines. By then, the Corps was cutting back on personnel and refused Corbitt's request.

There was only one bright spot in his life. In high school, Corbitt had been in love with a girl three years younger. She was not allowed to date him while they were in school, but she corresponded with Corbitt while he was in Vietnam.

When Corbitt got home, Deborah Cantrell had graduated from high school and had a job. The two finally started dating. It worked out so well that this December, Mike and Deborah Corbitt will celebrate their 41st wedding anniversary.

"The second best thing I ever did in my life was join the Marine Corps," Corbitt said. "The best thing I did was marry my wife."

Corbitt went to technical college and had careers in the HVAC and automotive industries before opening Corbitt's Collision Center, in 1981. He moved to Coweta 16 years ago.

Corbitt was aware public sentiment was against the war while he served and said he was treated rudely by citizens in California and Georgia when he came home. But he said by then, it really didn't matter.

"We knew people were unhappy back here," Corbitt said. "But we didn't think about it while we were over there. We were too busy doing what we had to do to stay alive. I wouldn't give anything for being a Marine and I'm proud of what I did over there."