gallery 1     gallery 2     gallery 3     letters to home    sketches     home        

Profile

Name:  Charles A. Salerno, Jr.

Branch:  United States Marine Corps

(3rd Marine Division, 2nd Battalion, 9th Marines)

Company:  Fox Trot

Years:  November 1966-December 1967

Missions:  Buckeye, Hickory, Kingfisher, etc.

Medals: 2 Purple hearts, Sharpshooter

Rank:  Sergeant

Herc

Herc was the classic marine in appearance and an extremely competent marine in his actions.  He had won the body building title of Jr. Mr. Chicago in his youth; and when I met him, he still had twenty-four and a half inch biceps.  His red hair, handlebar mustache and magnificent physique made him the automatic candidate for any visiting dignitaries or film crews, because he so closely resembled a “model” marine.

Herc was a study in contradiction, however.  Though he looked like Sergeant Rock’s big brother, he was sensitive, intelligent and one of the most brilliant artists I have ever known.  Herc could produce magnificent landscapes, portraits and almost anything else he put his mind and hand to create.

While roaming around Phu Bai, he made the acquaintance of Mie, the black market queen, and the sight of the four-foot woman climbing up his chest like it was Mt. Everest to give him a kiss or doing pull ups on his out-stretched arm constantly broke us up.  Although soft spoken, kindly and good hearted (he loved and was loved by all kids and animals), his temper, when aroused, was legendary; and most of us got the hell out of the way if he was pissed off.

Once the Lieutenant tried to get him to do some bullshit on a night ambush.  Herc snapped and was only barely stopped at the last minute from ripping the Lieutenant’s head off.  The Lieutenant, to his credit, must have realized Herc was right and did not have him prosecuted for bouncing his ass around.

Herc, because of his size, was made the platoon M-79 man and had Mie make a custom vest that carried about three times as many rounds as any other M-79 man could carry.  The war eroded Herc’s good nature and wherewithal (as it did to all of us); and by the time he left, he was a changed man.  Enough of the old Herc survived, however, to forge a bridge back into the world; and those of us who knew him well were happy to see at least one of the old timers get out relatively intact.

Hell in a Helmet: Memoirs of a Marine Infantryman  

(Vietnam 1967) by Richard Allen Russell