Louie Venditti’s home movies from June 1969, when his son Nicky was about to leave for the Vietnam War
My cousin Nicky, 20 years old, is home on leave in Malvern, Pennsylvania. He wears the wings he has just earned as an Army helicopter pilot and is bound for Vietnam. It’s June 1969.
Uncle Louie, an Army Air Corps ground crewman in England during World War II, is immensely proud of his son. He takes Nicky, in his uniform, to the VFW and American Legion posts to meet his buddies. He snaps photos of Nicky and shoots film of him with his home-movie camera.
Nicky is embarrassed but goes along with the fuss to make his dad happy. All the while, he is terrified of going to the war. He insists to his closest friends that he won’t be coming back alive.
—
Over the years, I’ve posted photos of Nicky taken during his 23 days of leave. Now for the first time, I’m showing video from the home movies Louie shot on three reels of 8-millimeter film. More than soundless images of a soldier, they are a snippet of ’60s small-town America.
The first image you’ll see is Nicky smiling at the camera from a picnic table outside his home. The young man wearing sunglasses is Nicky’s stepbrother, Joe Gray. The two other men are friends of the family. The woman is my Aunt Bert, Nicky’s stepmom. She and Nicky were close. The hip-swiveler is Uncle Louie, a rascal and lots of fun. The young woman with Nicky is his fiance, 18-year-old Terri Pezick. The other couple in the yard is my cousin Mike Beam and his wife, Monica. The pea-green car going down the street is Nicky’s ’68 Camaro SS. Finally, the husky guy with sideburns is Nicky’s best pal in Malvern, Charley Boehmler.
Uncle Louie with Nicky at home in Malvern, Pennsylvania, in the last days before Nicky’s departure. (They spelled their last name, Venditti, differently from mine.)
The night before Nicky left for Vietnam, Charley told him that he shouldn’t worry about getting killed. “You’re always lucky,” he said.
—
Warrant Officer Nicholas L. Venditti arrived in Vietnam on the Fourth of July 1969. Six days later, as part of his Americal Division orientation on the U.S. base at Chu Lai, he was in a class on grenade safety when the instructor unwittingly let loose a live grenade. Nicky lost his left leg below the knee. He died July 15 in Chu Lai’s 312th Evacuation Hospital, on a bluff above the South China Sea. He had survived only 11 days in Vietnam.
Uncle Louie died of heart failure in 1996 at age 72. Aunt Bert found the home movies in a shoe box in the attic and gave them to me. She once asked Louie about them, and he had said only, “I’m never going to look at those.”
Terri Pezick honored Nicky’s request that she live happily if he didn’t return. She married and had two sons. Charley Boehmler died of cancer in 1999, when he was 50. Aunt Bert died in 2006 at 81.
Nicky Venditti (center) with pals Skip Smith (left) and Tony Viall after they won their wings June 3, 1969, at Fort Rucker, Alabama, home of the Army Aviation School.
Ten years before my cousin Nicky joined the Army, his parents divorced. Both remarried and continued to live in or near his hometown of Malvern, Pennsylvania.
I wrote in an earlier blog about the letters Nicky sent his dad, Louie Venditti, and stepmom, Bert, from Vietnam. I had the originals, now archived at the Center for American War Letters. (Louie and an older brother spelled their last name with an “i” at the end. My dad and the other siblings ended it with an “a.”)
Today I’m sharing letters Nicky sent his mother, Sally Pusey — I have copies of them — and one he sent our cousin Mike Beam, who gave me the original in 1997.
From Fort Polk, Louisiana, where Nicky was completing boot camp, he wrote to Sally and his stepsister, Bonnie Pusey. The daughter of John Pusey, Bonnie was four years younger than Nicky, who turned 20 in November 1968.
August 25, 1968
Dear Bonnie & Mom,
Nicky (foreground) in the Fort Polk graduation book, August 1968. At right is Billy Vachon, whose fate was tied to Nicky’s.
Well here is the letter I promised you. I know, it’s about time, right? Well maybe I’ll be home in a week or so, I hope. Just keep your fingers crossed, OK?…
Well it is hot as h— down here. You can barely stand it about noon time. It’s not like Penna. at all. They work us hard all day and a work day in the Army is about sixteen hours!
Did you lose your freckles yet, foam mouth? I’m only kidding you like I used to always do. You’re a cute girl.
Well I gotta go wash my clothes. I’ll see you in about ten days (I hope). Take care and tell everyone I said hello, OK? Bye!
Love, Nicky
—
He went on to Army Primary Helicopter School at Fort Wolters, Texas, and wrote this undated letter in which he asked about his girlfriend and future fiance, Terri Pezick:
Sally with baby Nicky, 1948
Dear Mom,
I got your letter today. It sure was nice of you to send me that check. But there is nowhere at all where I can cash it. We are restricted to company area and will be for about two months! So I’m sending it back. It was sweet of you though. You’re the only one who has sent me money for a month. But remember, Mom, if you need it, don’t send it.
Well I start flying in one week if I can cut the cake at school this week. We are having weather this week and it is very hard to learn. Last semester, half of the class failed it!!
I just bumped my head on my locker about ten minutes ago. I was stooping and got up, but I forgot I left the door open. It just about knocked me out. That’s the worst thing that has ever happened to me here. Ha!
Nicky with Terri Pezick
So Terri is being good. Well I sure don’t get as many letters from her as I used to. That’s the breaks! I’ll take care of everything Christmas. I’m giving her an engagement ring Christmas (I think). I think I’ve been going with her long enough now. And I think she is the one. Wonder how much a good one will cost. I don’t know yet when I’m getting married. It all depends on when and how my future career goes. Especially here at school. And on her!
How’s John doing? Tell him after I get back from Viet Nam, we’ll fly up the mountains. And that’s a promise if I can make it through this school!
Well write again, Mom. And take care of yourself. Don’t work too hard. If you ever get in a jam and need money and can’t work or get it, write me and I’ll see what I can do, OK?
Take care and write soon, Love, Nicky
P.S. The nuns at Immaculata are praying for me, so I’ll make it!
—
Nicky’s training at Fort Wolters ended January 31, 1969. He was off to Army Aviation School at Fort Rucker, Alabama, where he learned to fly Hueys. He wrote this letter to our cousin Mike, a Marine reservist in aircraft maintenance who would be getting married the following May:
First page of Nicky’s February 1969 letter to our cousin Mike Beam. Nicky’s dad and my dad, Carmine, were brothers. Mike is a son of their sister Josephine.
Feb. 25, 1969
Dear Mike,
I got your letter the other [day] and decided I’d better write you one. When am I going to get my bars? Well I’ll probably never get them. This stuff is so hard and I’m so dumb, I’ll probably get kicked out. If I do make it, I’ll get them around June 7th. …
If you think I’m becoming an alcoholic, well you’re right. That’s all I do here is drink. There’s nothing else to do. I was thinking about buying a car. I doubt it though because I’ll be in Nam by July. …
No, I don’t get much shooting in. In fact, none at all yet. I get to shoot that .270 [Winchester] of yours when I get home though. Maybe I’ll get a hog [groundhog]? That’s if you don’t kill them all by then….
Maybe one of these days I’ll get home again. I almost forgot what it looks like!! I might sneak home for a weekend. It will cost me like hell, but at least I’ll get to come home.
Well it’s 7:00 now. Bedtime in three hours, up at 4:30. At 6:45 I’m in the air, trying to learn how to fly those damn instruments. I doubt if I’ll ever learn. So write back when you get a chance. Tell your future wife I said hello.
Nick
—
In an undated letter from Fort Rucker, he wrote:
Nicky’s stepdad John Pusey, mom Sally and brother L.B. at their home in Malvern, 1998
Dear Mom,
This place down here is driving me crazy. It’s twice as hard as I thought it would be. We are on VOR, ADF, radio navigation, etc. now. But I doubt if you know what I’m talking about. Don’t feel alone. I don’t either. We fly from 7:00 to 12:00 noon, then have classes from 1:30 till 5:30. What do you think of that schedule? Ugh! Hard as hell!
Well if I didn’t make it, at least I can say I tried, right?…
Well I’ll write again as soon as I can. Take care. I hope to see you all before I either finish or get kicked out. So take care and tell everyone I said hello.
Love, Nicky
(VOR stands for very high frequency omnidirectional range. ADF stands for automatic direction finder.)
—
In another letter from Fort Rucker, on March 5, 1969, he wrote to his mom:
Did you get the picture of the instrument panel? I’ll bet you can tell me what everything is and just how it works too, can’t you? Well if you can, maybe you can show me!!! … You know the longer I’m here, the more I wonder whether I want to be an Army pilot or not. I don’t think I’ll get a kick out of signing up for three more years, plus flying around while someone shoots at me. But I went twenty-four weeks now, so I might as well finish. That’s if I can make it. We start advanced instruments Monday. That is going to be real hard. I only have twelve weeks left. Then a leave, then away again for a year. …
The place is so dull. I’m still thinking about buying a car, but that costs money. I ordered my dress blue officer’s uniform a few days ago. You should see it. Man, is it sharp.
It’s about 2:00 now. I guess about 4:30 I’ll go drink some beer. That’s when the WOC Lounge opens up. That’s all there is to do around here – drink….
Love, Nicky
(WOC stands for warrant officer candidate. And Nicky did come up with the money for a car, a pea green 1968 Camaro SS.)
—
Postcard Nicky sent his mom from Japan on July 4, 1969, on his way to South Vietnam’s Cam Ranh Bay
On a postcard dated July 4, 1969, he told his mother that “I just arrived in Japan. We have an hour stop here before we leave for Nam. I’ll send you my address as soon as I can. So take care, I’ll write soon.”
—
He sent his last letter to Sally while going through a week-long orientation on the Americal Division base at Chu Lai.
July 7, 1969
Dear Mom,
How is everything at home? Fine I hope. Everything is fine here. It’s hot as hell, but what can you do.
I got assigned to the Americal Division near Chu Lai. That’s in the northern part of South Vietnam. I don’t have a mailing address yet because I’m not at my permanent unit. So don’t use the address on the envelope to mail me letters or I’ll never get them, OK? Remember, don’t use the return address on the front. I’ll send you my mailing address as soon as I can.
Mom, this place is lousy. I can’t even see why we are here because Viet Nam isn’t worth a nickel. But I guess they know why we are here.
So how is everyone at home? Tell John I was asking about him….
Well I’m going to sign off for now so I can mail this before the mail goes out. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Take care, I’ll write again soon.
Love, Nicky
—
LZ Bayonet in 1969: The building behind these two GI’s is where an accidental grenade blast fatally injured Nicky and Billy Vachon, and wounded Tony Viall and a fourth helicopter pilot, Tom Sled. All knew one another and were sitting at the same table. Nicky and Billy died in the ICU at Chu Lai’s 312th Evacuation Hospital. One other soldier died from the blast, an engineer named Tim Williams, who was killed instantly.
Three days later, on July 10, Nicky and a few dozen other new arrivals were in a class on grenade safety at LZ Bayonet, just off the Chu Lai base. The instructor, a sergeant, unwittingly set off a live grenade. Critically injured, Nicky was flown by helicopter to a nearby surgical hospital, where his left leg was amputated below the knee. He was moved to the intensive care unit at Chu Lai’s evacuation hospital, where he died at 4:15 p.m. July 15.
David Venditta 