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,
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
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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:
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!
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!
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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:
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
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In an undated letter from Fort Rucker, he wrote:
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.)
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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.)
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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.”
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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
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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 