My Friend, Chuck
Bob Dezenzo
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Editor’s note: This article was selected by Military Review to commemorate Memorial Day 2026 in the expectation that it may appropriately invoke insightful memories among some veterans as well as reflection among other readers on the common experiences of many soldiers who form brief friendships with persons whom they have not previously been acquainted as they face together the moral and mental stress of a combat zone. In this account, two young men who are recovering from injuries in a military hospital in Vietnam form such a fleeting friendship.
This is a homage to a brief friendship and sudden loss of that friend during my military service in Vietnam. Many wars have come and gone since Vietnam in the ’60s and ’70s, but it is a recollection that many former servicemen with similarly short-lived but vibrant friendships in the many such similar wars may well identify in a brew of recollected gratitude and regret that few people that have not lived such an experience can identify.
In May 1969 I was injured during the construction of a bunker. We had set up a people chain to move rain-soaked filled sandbags into place to surround a wooden bunker. It was going well when the pace got out of hand and one of the bags hit me broadside in the leg, dislodging my kneecap and tearing a few ligaments. I was medically evacuated to Nah Trang where I spent a week of evaluation and then on to Zama Army Hospital in Japan. My first couple of weeks were spent in a ward with my leg hanging from the ceiling in a cast. At the time, casualties were pouring in from what would become known as Hamburger Hill. There were so many young men with arms and legs, and other vital organs missing that I felt ashamed to be taking up a bed with such a minor infliction. Once the cast was removed, I was sent to the rehab section of the facility for further treatment. Surgery had been ruled out since the injury didn’t seem too bad. They said a couple of weeks (which turned into a month), and I would be able to return to duty. But truthfully, I was grateful for the break although I was fearful of what lay ahead.
I was housed in a room with three other guys, all who were on the mend. For accuracy’s sake, I won’t try to recall their names, because they were only there a few days after I arrived. The two patients that came in right after me are burned into my memory. The first, Ben Wright, came in the next day. He had sustained a back injury during a mortar barrage. He was a tall, lean guy from the great state of Texas. I don’t recall what outfit he was with, or he never really mentioned it. Funny, when you’re a hospital patient, it doesn’t matter all that much where you came from, it’s more important as to where you’re going next. The other new guy to arrive was a young kid from Minnesota, Chuck Barnick. I say young, he was probably six months younger than me but had a certain “deer in the headlights” look about him that just seemed to make him seem younger. He had sustained a wrist injury falling off the back of a truck ... the truck was hit during a rocket barrage on their base camp. He too didn’t elaborate greatly on his outfit or what his job was. I guess it just didn’t seem that important.
During the course of our rehab, we spent most of our days in the gym or the swimming pool. The gym was actually a large room filled with treadmills, walkers, and other various rehab tools you might see back in the states. We each had our own category of exercise to help us recover. Ben, because of his back injury, spent quite a bit of time in the pool when he wasn’t stretched out on a rack that resembled a medieval torture device. Chuck’s treatment revolved around the weight room where he underwent treatment to strengthen his wrist. I split my time among the treadmill, running track, and pool. We would start our day around nine, work for a bit, take a long lunch, and then go back to it for a few more hours in the afternoon. The day was done no later than five. Really, not a terrible way to spend time in a war.
After evening chow, we had the option to take in a movie at the post theater, visit the library, or go to the enlisted man’s (EM) club and relax. Although a movie was always a treat, and reading was OK, we invariably ended up at the EM club. Of course, this involved enjoying some adult beverages (although most of us were not legally adults). Because of our inexperience in drinking, it didn’t take much to get intoxicated. Don’t get me wrong, we all had a few beers in our short time, but this was different. Somehow the atmosphere in the place provided the urge to drink excessively.
I remember one occasion where Ben, Chuck, and I were out celebrating Ben’s birthday and the alcohol was flowing like water. At one point, we decided enough was enough and it was time to call it a night. Ben, being the eldest, seemed to be able to handle drinking better than us and had no problem getting us back to the barracks. Did I mention that the barracks were across the street from the club? Chuck, on the other hand, was in sad shape. He took a step out the door and fell on his face. Ben was already halfway back to the room, so I picked Chuck up and heaved him across my shoulder and carried him back. Good thing it wasn’t too far because I wasn’t in much better shape than him and for a little guy, he weighed a ton.
Things went on like this for a couple of weeks and the three amigos continued drinking and wooing the women (neither activity very successfully). On our visits to Rose’s bar, I became enamored with a Japanese cocktail waitress we’ll call Suzy (because I really don’t remember her name). This involved buying her multiple drinks and monopolizing her time on the dance floor. Now, I understood that her job was to get soldiers to buy her drinks and dance with them, but somehow, I thought her thoughts were only of me. OK, call me a sap, but I should have known when all my attempts to take her home failed for one reason or another that she was just putting me on.
Meanwhile, at some point, something happened in town and the patients were ordered confined to the hospital area for about a week. Once we were released to go to town, the three amigos piled in a taxi and headed for Rose’s. I had really missed Suzy and couldn’t wait to see her again. When we arrived, the place was packed with other Americans who we had never seen before. There were a couple of big uglies who were paying attention to Suzy and were trying to get her to dance, but she spotted me and headed for our table. She seemed happy and relieved to see us and things got back to normal. Meanwhile, the two uglies kept staring, first at her, then at me. This went on for so long that I mentioned to my friends that we may have to fight our way out of there. But then, we turned and they were gone. So, the night went on for a little while longer and when it was time to go, Suzy actually agreed to let me come home with her.
By now, I was pretty intoxicated, and Chuck had to help me to my feet. I was the first one out the door when all of a sudden, a fist came flying at my face from somewhere in the dark. By now my head was swimming and I wasn’t quite sure where I was or what was happening. What I didn’t know was that my friends had joined the fray and all hell had broken loose. Eventually, the military police showed up and broke up the fight. Chuck and Ben managed to get me back to our room and when I awoke the next day, I was missing a front tooth and the not-so-proud owner of a black eye. Apparently, we had a great time.
The next day was a Monday and all got back to normal. We had all grown closer after that and we were also growing stronger and ready to return to duty. Ben was the first to go back. After the debacle at Rose’s bar, we really didn’t want to go back there, so we all went to the EM club to give him a sendoff with a few beers. When we woke up the next day, he was gone. He had a 4 a.m. flight to catch, which is the way it usually went.
A couple of days later I received my orders to return. Chuck was scheduled for some last-minute treatments to strengthen his wrist so he would return a couple of days later. We exchanged addresses and promised to keep in touch. We honestly didn’t think we’d really hear from each other again, but it was a nice gesture. As I mentioned, we never really talked about our units, so I was surprised to see his address was 4th Infantry Division, 2nd Battalion, 8th Infantry, D Company. After seeing that, I wanted to sit and have one more beer with him and find out more about my friend, but it was too late. The walk down the tarmac to my flight was long and depressing. Once in the air, I looked out the window and thought, “Damn that Chuck, he gets three more days here.”
Once back in country, I was transferred to another unit, but in the same location. It seems the 116th Engineers had returned to Idaho Falls, lock, stock, and barrel. I was now a member of the 547th Asphalt Platoon. I was to learn how to drive (that’s another story) and become the Civilian Labor Office’s official driver. Pretty boring stuff and a waste of my infantry training as far as I was concerned. Days turned into weeks, and eventually I started wondering how Chuck made out when he returned to his unit. I wrote a quick note, just reminiscing about our time in Japan and the normal BS we chatted about. After a month, I got a manila packet with my letter still sealed in the dirty white envelope I had sent, along with a note from the chaplain’s office of the 4th Infantry. It simply read, “I regret to inform you that Specialist 4th Class Charles Barnick was reported killed in action on 28 October, 1969.”
After a month, I got a manila packet with my letter still sealed in the dirty white envelope I had sent, along with a note from the chaplain’s office of the 4th Infantry. It simply read, ‘I regret to inform you that Specialist 4th Class Charles Barnick was reported killed in action on 28 October, 1969.’
My heart sunk. How could that have happened? In my year in-country, I was to see many people, some I knew, some I didn’t, lose their lives. Some were killed by enemy fire, some by stupid accidents, but none had affected me like this. Maybe because I knew Chuck in a different world and different circumstances. After Chuck, I learned not to make friends, only acquaintances. When I finally got home, I tried to pick up the pieces and start a normal life. I spent the next fifty years raising a family and trying to make a living, but I never forgot about Chuck. In the mid-90s, a traveling version of the Vietnam Memorial Wall came to South Bend, Indiana. I went to see if my friend was there, and sure enough, there was Charles E. Barnick, listed in gray slate, almost like a tombstone.
Some years later, I started writing short stories recalling my time in service, primarily for my family as a way of preserving experiences for their benefit. My desire to write was also a way of dealing with the personal confusion and sadness some of my memories called up, and with the final disappointment caused by the outcome of the war after the terrible toll it had taken on everyone associated with it. So, writing stories also proved to be great therapy for a jumbled mind. As I progressed in my projects, I started wondering about Chuck and his life. I knew so little about him and his legacy. So, I began making some inquiries about the official records available. Turns out, he lost his life as a hero in the truest sense. He was shot by a sniper and then died while engaging in a selfless act trying to help another soldier laying injured on the field. Some might say that was his job, I say that was just Chuck looking out for the other guy, disregarding his own safety.
His legacy is that many lives were saved while bravely performing his duties. I am proud to say I knew him and only wish he were here to swap war stories. Goodbye, Chuck, my friend.
The two hardest things to say in life are hello for the first time and goodbye for the last time.
—Moira Rogers
Bob DeZenzo is a retired textbook manager who now lives in South Bend, Indiana with his wife Laura and their two cats. He has four children, thirteen grandchildren and nineteen great-grandchildren. His brief career in the Army lasted from 1968 to 1970.
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