Guest commentary: A friend never forgotten

I first met Lance Cpl. Gary Keller during advance infantry training at Camp Pendleton, Calif.

All the Marines looked alike in their olive drab utilitie (fatigues) and with their very short cropped haircuts.

One stood out from the others. He appeared to be more mature. With no chevrons on his uniform, I assumed he was an officer. He was a private. It was our first day at the training facility and we were being assigned billeting in Quonset huts.

As I was putting my gear away near my bunk, a Marine tapped me on the shoulder. "My name is Gary Keller and I am from Yakima, Washington."

I introduced myself as Pfc. John Foster. I was surprised to find out that Gary had just completed boot camp. I thought he was older but he was just 18 years old, the same as me.

After we got settled into our quarters, all of the troops got called out on the parade deck for a ceremony. There were about six Marines receiving promotions and Gary Keller was one of them. The others were Pfcs (private first class) being promoted to lance corporals. Gary was being promoted to PFC.

We became very good friends and spent all of our off-duty hours together. One weekend we had a three-day pass and decided to hitchhike to my hometown, Santa Cruz, Calif.

We got a ride immediately. Gary introduced himself to the driver in his usual manner, "My name is Gary Keller and I am from Yakima." The driver, who was traveling to San Francisco, gave us a ride all the way to Santa Cruz, which was a seven-hour drive. Gary kept me and the driver entertained for the whole ride with his stories of life in Yakima.

When the driver dropped us off at my mom's house, Gary gave the driver a $100 bill. That was more than we made in a month. That $100 could have paid for both of us to fly round-trip.

After four weeks of intense infantry training, we were ready to take on the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese Army. Gary, who got promoted to lance corporal, wasn't scared at all. He seemed interested in visiting a lush tropical country and meeting the people there.

Our flight to Vietnam was aboard a Flying Tiger DC-10 from Norton Air Force Base in Riverside, Calif. Gary began introducing himself to the flight attendants and crew. "My name is Gary Keller and I am from Yakima."

We were on our way to war, yet Gary helped make the flight reasonably pleasant. He returned all the money he won in poker games. And if he saw a Marine who seemed nervous, he'd start a conversation to cheer them up. Most of the Marines aboard the flight were 19 or 20 years old.

As we got off the plane in Da Nang, young Marines were pleading for a "last goodbye kiss" from the flight attendants. The ladies were very nice and only obliged with a hug. As Gary was leaving the plane, he said goodbye to one of the ladies and then whispered something in her ear.

She replied with a kiss on the lips. He never revealed to me what he had whispered. Must have been his charm.

There was a staging area in Da Nang for all the new arrivals. Unlike the war in Iraq, we never deployed as a unit. We went over as a group and once at the staging site, we were individually assigned to units. I was immediately assigned to the 2nd Battalion, 9th Marines, 3rd Marine Division, which was headquartered near the DMZ. I never knew what unit Gary was assigned to.

We arrived in November 1967, during some of the fiercest fighting of the Vietnam War. I often wondered how Gary was doing and hoped he would use his charm to help him survive.

I was wounded during the Tet Offensive of 1968 and was medically evacuated back to the states. A bullet from an AK-47 missed my spine by one-eighth of a centimeter.

While I was recovering in a military hospital, someone gave me a copy of the May 1968 issue of Leatherneck, the magazine for Marines. In it was an article about the Battle of Hue, with a picture of Gary Keller providing cover with his M-60 machine gun. I finally knew where he was -- with Hotel Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. I wrote Gary a letter and included a photo of me, my new girlfriend and my '56 Chevy. I joked, "Ha ha, I made it home before you."

I never did hear back from him.

About a year later, while stationed at Henderson Hall, Arlington, Va., I met a Marine by the name of Rooker who went through infantry training with Gary and me at Camp Pendleton. He was on the flight with us to Vietnam and happened to be in the same unit as Gary.

He said Gary had showed him my letter, and that Gary had been killed July 31, 1968. Apparently he tripped on an anti-personnel mine. I was devastated. I wanted to call Gary's family but didn't know who to contact.

It has taken me 40 years to put this story on paper. I hope that if Gary's relatives read this, they will know what a charming young man he was. We were close friends who only trained together for a few months, but he is someone I will never forget. I am thinking of him today, on Veterans Day, wanting to honor Gary for his ultimate sacrifice.

* John Foster is a retired U.S. Postal Service employee living in Palm Springs, Calif. He is writing a book, "Heroes From the Wall."

• Jobs
  www.yakjobs.com
• Homes
  www.yakhomes.com
• 
• 
  
• Autos
  www.yakwheels.com

• All Special Pubs Yakima Magazine Channels YakJobs.com YakWheels.com YakHomes.com Playdate Yakima Bride Yakima Wheels (Print) Home Buyer's Guide Baby Brag Book Graduates 2009 Summer in the Valley Prep Football 2009 Women in Business Holiday Gift Guide
• Advertisement