A Minnesota PBS Initiative
Joe
1969
It was late Spring when Joe climbed off of the CH-47 helicopter and joined Delta Company, 1st Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment. Fresh out of the states, from Northern Louisiana, Joe was almost child-like in appearance with his broad smile and ruddy complexion. He was assigned to my fire-team, and my squad leader said, “Keep an eye on him Granos."
Photo courtesy of the VVMF's Wall of Faces.
Joe immediately clung to me, following me around everywhere and sending letters back home informing his many brothers and sisters that I was “breaking him in” and that “Leo” would make sure he made it back home. I would usually laugh and say, “Hell Joe, don’t count on me. I probably ain’t getting out of this S---hole myself”.
Since I had only been In Vietnam myself for 7 or 8 weeks, I tried to avoid the additional responsibility of caring for him for weeks but it always seemed that he needed direction, whether throwing his pack down without looking for trip wires during our company movements, or making a little too much noise when on perimeter watch at night.
He was unofficially assigned to me, and although I refused to be responsible for him, his “problems” just seemed to keep happening on my watch.
It was a matter of time before we became friends, and eventually, many of the guys would begin calling him my "Little Brother."
No matter how hard I tried to ignore the blonde headed, sun-burned Louisianan, he just kept popping up next to me. It was a matter of time before we became friends, and eventually, many of the guys would begin calling him my "Little Brother."
He worked hard through the summer to be a good Marine and although there were times when we would sit in our foxhole at night and confess our disgust for the situation we were in, there were many light-hearted times when we would pose for our little Instamatic camera pictures in our pseudo-John Wayne stances, hoping to send a little humor home in the way of photos to our people back home.
We spent many a night, side by side in the “hole” staring at the sinister shadows and remembering childhood memories. He would talk about fishing, riding his motorbike between small towns or the many antics of his gaggle of siblings. I would talk about my rock and roll band or the wild parties that we had back in South Minneapolis.
Photo courtesy of vietnamwar.ourwarheroes.org.
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We remained close throughout the next few months, but eventually, we were separated when I was asked by our First Sergeant to take over security and the handling newbies in our base camp, An Hoa. Joe and I remained close and spoke regularly, but I was being primed to go home while Joe (now a seasoned Marine) stayed in the field.
On the 10th of December 1969, as I walked down the red mud-rutted road past the troop tents, I was surprised to see coming toward me, my adopted little brother, Joe Ford. We had not seen each other for weeks, and he was back at An Hoa preparing to go on a ten-day R & R to Taiwan the following morning. I had guard duty that night, but we spent the next 2 hours talking about, families, fishing, and scuttlebutt regarding the end of the war that was now running rampant.
We had invited each other to our mutual homes when we got back, figuring we’d both be home by no later than June 1970. Finally, with a brotherly hug, we separated, I headed for the tall wooden guard tower near the fuel dump and him for the rack and sleep, far from the mud and entourage of insects that comprised the bush. When I came back from the line the following morning, he was already heading toward the airstrip with his sea-bag over his shoulder and a massive ear to ear smile on his face, saying, "I'll see you in 10 days buddy", and again we shook hands before parting.
Ten days later, Joe walked back into the tent; he was rested and reserved in knowing that he was back in Nam and the vacation was merely a memory now. He seemed distant, and it took quite a while to get a smile on his face, but eventually, I saw the friendly grin again that he was known for around the company.
I reminded him that he was ten days closer to home and with any luck would be home by the beginning of June. We sat together for quite a while, and although there was a convoy going back to the hill where the company was set up, I asked him to stay the night at An Hoa, but he said that he wanted to get back and get the last part of the tour over. I asked again, but he said "No," and with that, we walked back to the hooch where he put his pack and helmet on and headed down to the truck waiting by the gate that would bring supplies to Delta.
I told him to send my love to his family who had treated me so well in the past. With a smile, he climbed up unto the bed of the truck ready for the 25-minute ride down Highway 1.
At 7:00 PM that evening, I was rounding the outside of the sandbag walls that surrounded the generator that I was patrolling around when another good friend approached me with a sheepish look on his face. George Fisher was his name and we quickly became friends’ months earlier due to his easy style and quick sense of humor. Now his face was drawn, eyes downward, not at all a look that I had ever seen on his face. He walked directly to me and uncharacteristically placed both hands on my shoulders. He stuttered briefly then looking me directly into my eyes said, “I hate to have to say this to you Granos, but Joe was killed today when their truck ran over a 250pound bomb on that damn road”. I’m so sorry”. I stood in shock for some time.
Photo courtesy of vietnamwar.ourwarheroes.org.
Within a few days, I received the last letter from Joe's Mother, thanking me for trying so hard to help Joe and being such a good friend. I’ve kept the tear-stained letter since that day in Jan. 1970.
The years passed and Life fared well for me, and in time I found the most important person in my life in 1980 and married her (Wendy) in 1981. We soon had three beautiful daughters; Alicia, Andrea, and Amanda. I was finally living the life I had always dreamed of.
1987
It was Spring, 1987 when a friend asked if I had ever seen the movie Platoon. I had deliberately stayed away from Vietnam related movies, but for some reason, he convinced me that I needed to see it. Later that week, my wife and I went to the theater, and within minutes of the opening scene, I was right back in the foxholes, drawn entirely into the full intensity of the effects. I slept fitfully for three nights. By the following weekend, I was almost entirely wrapped up in thoughts of the war.
We talked about family, life in general and her kids. By the end of the call, the burden seemed to have been lifted off of my soul, and I felt great relief in my heart.
I knew that I had to do something and on a cold Sunday evening, I sat at the kitchen table knowing that I had to make a phone call to Louisiana, and Joe Ford’s Mother. It had been 15 years since our last communication.
In some respects, I think a part of me was hoping that her number was unlisted. No matter how hard I tried to frame a conversation, I couldn't seem to put the right words together in my mind. I had almost given up on the whole idea when Wendy broke into my thoughts and said, "Just do it, what's the worst scenario, she hangs up or doesn't remember you?".
Photo courtesy of vietnamwar.ourwarheroes.org.
I dialed the number and listened as the phone rang three times. I was just about to hang up when a sweet soft voice answered, "Hello?". I was almost immediately speechless and stuttered for a moment, stumbling over my words…."Is this Mrs. Ford?". "Yes," she replied. I continued, "Mrs. Ford, I don't know if you will remember me or not but I served with…” “Leo?” she interrupted, “Of course I remember you."
From that point on, the conversation flowed from both of us for several minutes. We talked about family, life in general and her kids. By the end of the call, the burden seemed to have been lifted off of my soul, and I felt great relief in my heart.
Our relationship was re-established after that, and we began regular communications via letter and Christmas cards, and at least for the time, my thoughts of the war and the memories were abated. As time went by, we stayed in contact and wrote often. I also stayed in contact with one of Joe’s sisters Dorothy.
2011
I retired from the postal service, after 26 years of service in June of 2011, and shortly after that decided to take a 10hour trip to Tulsa, to help my sister-in-law prepare her house for the real estate market., I packed my clothes and tools into my car and headed to Oklahoma. We worked hard to get the large house ready, and seven days later, I was re-packed and prepared to take the long trip home. That evening, my sister-in-law and I were having a beer, and we got into an in-depth conversation about the war and life in general. I spoke about Joe Ford and how some-day I would like to see his family. Coming from the same stock as my wife, she said, “Well you’re retired, go see them now!"
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That was all of the encouragement that I needed, and with that, I made another call to Mrs. Ford, this time asking if she would mind if I stopped by to say hello to her since I was in the neighborhood (actually, it would put me 427 miles out of the way, but it didn't matter). Joyce answered the phone and said that she would love to see me and the following morning I was on the road again, only this time, my destination was Mer Rouge, Louisiana.
When I pulled into the small town of Mer Rouge (pop. 620), I almost immediately found the large, white and vine-covered home that Joe had grown up in. I could almost envision the playground behind the weathered porch through the thick brush covered fence and the tall bushes. As I walked along the path, I noticed the silhouettes of several people inside the living-room and turning the corner; I was greeted by a lovely looking lady in her mid 50's who smiled and said, "Hi, you must be Leo, I'm Joe's sister."
Over her shoulder, I could see the smiling face of an older woman. Her kind face glowed, and we met in the middle of the room for a long overdue embrace. After 40 years, I was finally with a woman who I had longed to meet in person and tell of how proud we were of her son. Introductions were made, and I spent the next two hours relating stories to Joe's sister, brother, sister in law and brother in law, and of course Joyce. They had prepared cakes, cookies, sandwiches, and candies for me and I soon felt as if I was with a long-lost family.
Joyce led me around her house and showed me a myriad of family pictures, many of Joe in his different stages of childhood. The tour ended in the small hallway where there hung a life-sized portrait of Joe in his Marine green uniform, below was a wooden case containing his medals.
Her daughter Dorothy, joined us at that moment and I mentioned that there was something missing; Dorothy asked, “What?” I told her that the 5th Marine Regiment was one of the most decorated units in the Marine Corps and had been awarded the French Fourrege, which is a green rope that is worn over the shoulder. Marines of the 5th Reg. were awarded the honor by France for the fierce battle of Belleau Woods during World War I, and that all active Fifth Marines were authorized to wear it. Joyce and Dorothy both said, "We want that for Joe." I told them that I would get one for them and they would have it within a week (as soon as I returned home, I removed mine from the old green uniform hanging in the upstairs closet and sent it to them).
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One by one they left, with a hug and handshake and each one, thanked me for taking the time to visit, and as soon as the room was empty, Joyce and I sat on the couch telling stories of Joe and his childhood. She told of how Joe was so picky about girlfriends that the only one he cared about was in the next town over. She leaned over and with a smile said, “Between you and me, I think he just wanted to ride his motorbike the extra 10 miles to see her”. I laughed and thought back to the many talks that Joe and I had had about the girl he liked and how nervous he was to ask her out the first time.
We climbed into my car and spent the next hour driving around town where she showed me his fishing spots, the small High School that he graduated from and the road he’d ride the scooter on 45 years earlier. We finally came to the edge of town where we parked and there, in the most honored location, in the middle front stood his grave, etched with a fishing rod, motorcycle, and the USMC emblem. A hero’s spot, the first one you see when you visit.
We drove back to her home, and as we pulled up to the curb, with the sun beginning to set, she asked if I could spend the night, and stay in Joe's room. At this point, I was overwhelmed, and although I was happy that I had made the trip, I was feeling somewhat anguished by the great loss the Ford family had suffered so long ago. I knew I had to go. I was holding everything together, but I felt that at any moment, I would burst emotionally.
With a tear in her eye, she hugged me and said that Joe was blessed to have such a good friend with him that day. She was especially grateful that I took the time to visit the family, and shared his last moments.
The sun was a bright silver/orange on the horizon by then, the sky had turned an incredible deep cobalt-blue, and just the slightest breeze was causing a rustle in the leaves of the sycamore tree over-head that was lit by the glow of a 1940's style street-light when she squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek. I walked her to her door, and as I turned, she thanked me again and said: “God Bless you, Leo, It feels like Joe came back home one last time."
L/Cpl Leo G Granos (USMC)
Biographical Details
Submitted From: Bloomington, MN
Primary Location During Vietnam: An Hoa, Vietnam 
Story Subject: Military Service
Military Branch: U.S. Marine Corps
Dates of Service: 1969 - 1970
Unit: Delta Company, 1st Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment
Story Themes: 1969, 1970, 1st Battalion, An Hoa, Bloomington, Bob Ford, Bob Joe Ford, Delta Company, Fifth Marine Regiment, Joe Ford, Leo Granos, Liberty Bridge, Louisiana, Marines, Mer Rouge, Read
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