JAMES MURPHY

Jim Murphy was more than just a friend to me. He became my mentor when I started to write down my Vietnam memoirs, and without his support, I may never have known another perspective of the sapper attack.

During the sapper attack, Jim’s hooch was one of the first bunkers to be destroyed by the Viet Cong, and luckily, he survived the blast with only a mild concussion. It would take another twenty-six years before his PTSD nightmares began, and then another five years of never-ending stress until he had a stroke.

I met Jim in 1995 when he came into my supply house. At first, I thought he was another customer looking to buy some air-conditioning equipment, but when I greeted him and asked what I could do for him, he didn’t reply. Instead, he handed me an eight-by-ten photo of a puppy sitting on a boulder.

I stared at the photo until my brain backtracked to 1969. Immediately, chills ran down my back, and when I looked back at Jim, we each yelled, “King,” and then gave each other a big hug and a “welcome home” greeting.

Ever since that moment, we had remained close friends and would meet yearly at the American Legion convention in Wildwood. During our yearly seafood dinner at The Lobster House Restaurant, we would reminisce about our time on Nui Ba Den and share any new war stories we may have heard.

During the June 16, 1969, attack, I had no idea how large an enemy force was attacking the mountain. I was too busy with my Reaction Team trying to track down the enemy sappers and drive them out of our perimeter or kill them before they could accomplish their mission.

Jim, on the other hand, was closer to the center of our defenses and had full access to our company and brigade frequencies. He was monitoring the airstrikes, fire missions, and all my conversations. All those inputs gave him a broader perspective of the attack.

Because of Jim, I now know the mountain had been attacked by a platoon of Viet Cong sappers, highly elite soldiers who covered their naked bodies in charcoal dust and grease, and usually wore only a loincloth. It appears that our perimeter had been breached in three locations during the attack, with my sector having the most enemy activity.

Most of my perspectives concerning Marvin White came from Jim and some of Jim’s friends who were on the bunker line with Marvin.

In 2015, Jim died from a stroke, and his loss was deeply felt by me and the other Vietnam veterans he had befriended over the years.