Mr. Write's Page

In every war, they kill you in a new way.

— Will Rogers

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During the Vietnam War, American military forces sprayed 20 million gallons of herbicides onto South Vietnam, eastern Laos, and parts of Cambodia. In effect, we caused Roundup to rain from the skies. For a decade.

Initially, the idea was to clear vegetation from the perimeters of U.S. bases.

Then the spraying was expanded to defoliate other areas of jungle, thus denying the enemy cover and concealment.

Then it was expanded again to destroy crops and deny the enemy food.

Destroying crops as a tactic of war is a violation of the 1925 Geneva Protocol. We did it anyway.

The defoliation program was known as Operation Ranch Hand. It lasted from 1962 until 1971, when the health effects of the herbicides — on our soldiers as well as their civilians — became too clear and alarming to ignore.

Ranch Hand used a variety of chemicals concoctions. They were shipped in drums marked with an identifying colored stripe.

The most widely-used mixture came in drums with an orange stripe. It became known as Agent Orange.

Today, Agent Orange is the term we use to refer to all of the chemicals mixtures sprayed at the time — Agents Orange, Pink, Green, Purple, Blue, and White.

To spray them, the Air Force used the Fairchild C-123 Provider, a sturdy and reliable military transport. When fitted with special aerial spraying equipment, these aircraft became the UC-123B, with a capacity of 1,000 gallons of herbicide.

In about five minutes, a typical plane could spray a swath of land 80 yards wide and 10 miles long. It applied the herbicide at the rate of about three gallons per acre. Missions usually consisted of three to five aircraft flying side by side.

Agent Orange was used because it was a powerful and effective herbicide. And, like Roundup, it was highly toxic. It posed a severe health risk to people, livestock, and wildlife. We used it anyway.

In the late 1960s, researchers came upon something unexpected. They discovered that small amounts of dioxins were being created, unintentionally, during the Agent Orange manufacturing process.

Dioxins, which are not found in nature, are some of the most toxic chemicals known. According to the EPA and the World Health Organization, there is no “safe” level of exposure.

Dioxins have been linked to cancer, birth defects, damage to the immune and hormonal systems, learning disabilities, diabetes, skin disorders, and more.

In 1970, a study specifically linked Agent Orange to birth defects in animals. By the end of that year, Operation Ranch Hand was terminated. All military use of the herbicides ended in 1971.

During the 1970s, veterans returning from Vietnam began to report skin rashes, cancers, psychological problems, and birth defects and handicaps in their children. Large numbers of veterans believed that exposure to Agent Orange was the cause.

In 1979, a large class-action lawsuit was filed against the herbicide manufacturers.

The primary manufacturers of Agent Orange, Monsanto and Dow Chemical, have always maintained that (1) their products caused no harm whatsoever and (2) they aren’t liable anyway.

It was clear that the chemical companies had the ability to drag out the litigation until the claimants were all dead. So, in 1984, the lawsuit was settled out of court.

It resulted in the Agent Orange Settlement Fund, which distributed roughly $200 million to 52,000 affected Vietnam veterans. The exposed veterans received an average of $3,800 each.

The impact of Agent Orange on millions of civilians in Southeast Asia was many times more horrific. The Vietnamese in particular suffered terribly. For 40 years, the country has dealt with disease and birth defects on a massive scale. They’re still working to reforest the land and restore wildlife populations.

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When I went into the Air Force after college, the war in Vietnam was at its peak. The government shipped me off to Cannon AFB in Clovis, New Mexico, where I was assigned as Administrative Officer, Headquarters Squadron, 832nd Combat Support Group.

The Admin Officer is the assistant to the squadron commander. That’s the way young second lieutenants learn — working for a seasoned officer who knows what he’s doing.

And the system works pretty well. Spending every day around the commander and his key NCOs, I learned the art of running a military organization.

And I was luckier than most. My boss was the best military officer I ever knew, Major Lloyd Francis Walker.

Major Walker, a career man from Oregon, was a crackerjack officer. He was talented, dedicated, and a person of great integrity. He loved the Air Force. And he was a leader, not a whip-cracker.

Being the boss in any context, military or civilian, is tricky. A surprising number of bosses become bullies, because that’s the easy route. Your underlings can’t do much about it, except impotently despise you.

But that isn’t leadership. Leadership is when you earn the respect and good will of your people.

Major Walker was well-known and highly-regarded at Cannon. He also was a seasoned pilot, which is a good thing to be, career wise, in the Air Force.

Inevitably, the Major’s flight status meant a ticket to Vietnam.

In late 1966, he was transferred to the 12th Air Commando Squadron, Bien Hoa Air Base, as the pilot of a Fairchild UC-123B defoliation aircraft.

I don’t know if he welcomed the assignment, but he accepted it like a good soldier. I replaced him as Squadron Commander. His going-away party was a big deal at Cannon.

So was the news, just months later, of his death.

This item appeared in The Oregonian, the Portland newspaper, on February 1, 1967:

Oregon Major Dies in Battle 

Salem (AP) — Air Force Maj. Lloyd F. Walker, 45, was shot down and killed on a flying mission over enemy territory in Vietnam, relatives here were notified Tuesday. A veteran of World War II and the Korean conflict, he was a pilot. Walker was born and reared at Mount Angel and attended Oregon State University. He leaves a widow, the former Betty Fay Guttenberg of Salem, and four children at home in Clovis, N.M. 

Just recently, I found this information online on the P.O.W. Network:

Major Lloyd F. Walker was the pilot of a 12th Air Commando Squadron UC123B which was sent on a defoliation mission (Agent Orange) on 31 Jan 1967 over Laos. As the aircraft leveled off to start spraying, its propeller was struck by hostile fire. The aircraft crashed about 5 miles south-southwest of Sepone in Savannakhet Province, Laos. After an investigation, it was decided that Major Walker and his crew of 4 (which consisted of 3 captains and 1 Airman 1st class/flight mechanic) had died in the crash. 

The day after the Major’s death, I wrote this entry in my diary:

Major Walker was killed yesterday in Vietnam. 

We were notified this morning, and the whole base knew by noon. I was in Base Supply, and Sgt. Smith came in and told me. The Major was on his first combat mission as an A/C. It was only his 4th mission since he got there. 

He and 1st Sgt. Stricklan were close. I can guess how Strick is taking this. 

The Major planned to stay in Clovis after his retirement, which was just 10 months away. He told us this would be his 3rd and last war, and it was. 

The young guys fight for the chance to go over there and win medals. I say let ’em. But wasn’t two wars enough? They should have let him sit this one out. But they didn’t, and he went, and it killed him. What an awful waste. 

First Sgt. Stricklan, Major Walker, and the Airman of the Month, Cannon AFB, August 1966.

Major Walker was a genuinely good man. He was universally admired and respected. He was our own real-life Mister Roberts.

A few years ago, I went to Washington and took this photo of Panel 14E, Line 102 of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

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The tragedy of war is that it uses man’s best to do man’s worst.

— Henry Fosdick