Hermitage Archives - Page 2 of 2

Joseph J. Zentis

Hermitage, PA

U.S. Army – Vietnam

There’s a military maxim: “Never volunteer for anything.” Joe Zentis volunteered many times, virtually always with fortunate results.

A Distinguished Military Graduate in ROTC at Gannon College, Zentis was commissioned as a regular army officer in 1963. His volunteering for the infantry got him assigned to the 2nd Battalion 21st Infantry, 24th Infantry Division, at Warner Kaserne in Munich, Germany. Warner Kaserne is a former SS headquarters rich in both German and American military history. He served in an excellent unit, developed great friendships, and got to travel throughout Europe. One of his favorite trips resulted from his volunteering to lead a platoon on a four-day 100-mile road march in Nijmegen, Holland.

Troops in Europe could not request assignment to Vietnam until late 1965. As soon as he could, Zentis volunteered. In November, he received preliminary orders to depart for Vietnam in January.

A glitch in his orders kept him in Germany until May. During that interim, he met and married a lovely Australian lady, Edi Terfy. They recently celebrated their 47th anniversary.

Before Zentis left Germany, some of his friends who had not volunteered were assigned to combat roles with newly-deployed U.S. military units. Because he volunteered early, Zentis was assigned to a relatively safe Military Assistance Command provincial advisory team, which he found far too boring. He volunteered again for reassignment to any unit in Vietnam where he could serve a useful purpose. That got him transferred to the 23rd Vietnamese Infantry Training Center in the Ban Me Thuot, in the central highlands. The MACV compound there surrounded the former emperor Bao Dai’s spectacular “Grand Bungalow.”

The training center allowed Zentis to exercise leadership and creativity. He invented a unique pop-up target range that earned him a Bronze Star for Meritorious Service.

He describes his time there as stressful rather than horrible.

“ I didn’t have to kill anyone, and I never saw anyone killed or wounded. But every day I rode five miles between the MACV compound and the training center with my little M-1 carbine on my lap. We never knew who or what was in the trees beside the road. But we were fully aware that the area was ‘pacified’ only because the Vietcong had other priorities.”

That was proven seven months after Zentis left Vietnam, when the Vietcong easily swept through the area during the infamous famous Tet offensive. The advisors who left the compound that day were killed on their way to their units.

Because of his willingness to volunteer, Zentis suffered no ill effects from his year in Vietnam other than a weight loss from 165 to 138 pounds.

Today, 50 pounds heavier, he says, “That problem was far too easily corrected.”

Leonard Pleban

Pleban, Dr. Leonard

Hermitage, PA

U.S. Army – World War II

When Leonard Pleban went into the army in October, 1942, he was assigned to the medical detachment of the 908th Field Artillery.

“I couldn’t even stand the sight of blood,” he said. “I puked a few times, and passed out a few times when I saw some of the surgeries, but after that it was nothing.”

During a training course at a hospital, a chiropodist told him about chiropody, which is the old term for podiatry. He didn’t realize at the time that he had discovered his future career.

The 908th Artillery was sent to France shortly after D-Day as part of the 83rd Infantry Division. The unit fought through five major campaigns, including the Battle of the Bulge. Leonard was one of the very few in his unit to emerge without a scratch.

“My captains wanted me to go to medical school,” he said. “I didn’t want to, because I didn’t want to sign any death certificates.”

Then he remembered chiropody, and realized that chiropodists (podiatrists) don’t have to do that.

So the army gave him his vocation. It also gave him an avocation. After the war, Staff Sergeant Pleban was assigned to help set up a nightclub to entertain troops while they waited to be demobilized. He served as MC and half a comedy team in the style of Abbott and Costello.

When he came back from the service, he took pre-med courses at Youngstown State, then enrolled in the Ohio College of Podiatric Medicine in Cleveland.

After completing his schooling, Dr. Pleban found that starting a practice wasn’t easy. He found space for an office in downtown Sharon, above the Sharon Restaurant. With 36 steps up and no elevator, it wasn’t ideal for a foot doctor. It wasn’t even an office, just a large room. Getting set up put him deeply in debt.

Then he had an office and equipment, but no patients. His clientele built up slowly until one key element fell into place. He volunteered to work with the Sharon High School athletic program. He did that pro bono for 50 years.

“ The school got a doctor without cost,” he said, “and I got the kids, their parents, and their grandparents as patients.” He took advantage of invitations to host sports banquets and other events. His sense of humor, initially honed in his military nightclub, made him a roaring success as the Valley’s MC.

“He’s known as the Johnny Carson of the Shenango Valley,” says his wife Florence.

Paul J. Hess Jr.

Hermitage, PA

U.S. Army – Vietnam

When 1st Lt. Paul J. Hess, Jr., was deployed to Vietnam on September 14, 1966, he was assigned to very hazardous duty. As a Special Forces officer in the Central Highlands, he worked with a Civilian Irregular Defense Group – a counterinsurgency operation in which U.S. Special Forces worked with Vietnamese villagers to defend villages and conduct combat operations. His character and personal commitment was evident when he started a boy scout troop among the tribes that surrounded his base camp.

Despite the demands of his daily military duties, Lt. Hess remembered the folks back home. He sent a flag from Vietnam to the Shenango Valley Veteran’s Day Parade Committee.

On Veteran’s Day, November 11, 1966, the day the flag was used in the parade, Lt. Hess was killed in combat.

Descriptions of specific incidents in the Vietnam War are hard to find, but the web site of the 174th Assault Helicopter Company presents a detailed report of Lt. Hess’s last mission. According to Lt. Col. Marty Heuer, who served in 174th AHC, Lt. Hess was an observer on a helicopter gunship in support of a 25th Infantry Division operation against an enemy stronghold west or Pleiku, near the Cambodian border.

The rectangular landing zone was about two-thirds the size of a football field, mostly level, covered with three- to five-feet tall elephant grass, with two trees in the center. It was surrounded by triple-canopy jungle with 150-feet tall trees – perfect cover and concealment for the enemy.

Unfortunately, the LZ was beyond the range of any supporting artillery. The operation commander decided to continue with just the firepower provided by a dozen helicopter gunships in support of the troop-carrying “slicks” – UH1-B helicopters lacking weapons pods, with firepower provided only by door gunners operating 50-caliber machine guns.

Lt. Hess was aboard one of the gunships as an observer and possibly door gunner. As the helicopter was making a gunrun at low level, it was hit by small arms and/or 50-caliber machine gun fire. It exploded and crashed into the jungle in a ball of fire.

When examined later, the gunship was found to have been perforated with 99 holes from small arms fire.

Paul was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Paul J. Hess, Sr. He also left behind his wife, nee Donna Saibene; daughter Kimberly Ruth; three sisters and two brothers.

On the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Panel 12E Line 54

Tom Fiedler

Fiedler, Tom

Hermitage, PA

U.S. Army, World War II

In 1942, a project called the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP) sent recruits to colleges and universities across the United States. The intent was to create a specialized corps of Army officers to enhance the conduct of the war and the restoration of civilian governments in Europe after the war. Tom Fiedler passed a series of tests to qualify for the program. He completed infantry basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia before being sent to Westminster College.

After just one semester, the program was terminated. Since Fiedler had infantry training, he was assigned with thousands of other soldiers from the curtailed ASTP program to the 95th Infantry Division at Indiantown Gap, PA.

By September, the Division was in Normandy preparing for a move to the front. While Tom’s unit was waiting for that advance, he participated in one of the most famous logistics operations of the war. Plans to build a pipeline from Normandy to Paris has to be scrapped because the army was advancing so rapidly, consuming 800,000 gallons of fuel a day. To keep the vehicles moving, the army put together the Red Ball Express, a continuous convoy of 2½ ton trucks hauled fuel in 5-gallon jerry cans from Normandy to Paris. There was no stopping. If a truck broke down, it was pushed off to the side of the road.

Fiedler’s driving days ended when he moved with his division to front-line combat. Only three weeks later, he was hit with shrapnel from a mortar or artillery round. Most went through, but there was still a piece left inside.

“I was going to go ahead,” he said,” but when I went to grab my rifle, I couldn’t because my hand was stiff.”

That was the day before his birthday.

“They sent me back to an aid station. About six o’clock the next morning somebody shook me awake. I looked up, and there were chickens on his collar, a colonel. He said, “Is your name Thomas Fiedler?’ I said yes. He said, ‘Here’s your Purple Heart.’ That was my ceremony, and my birthday present.”

Tom ended up in a hospital in England, where they removed the shrapnel. After several months there, he was returned to limited service at a redeployment camp in France, where they processed soldiers to return home. He got back home to his home in Harmony, PA, in March, 1946, with his Purple Heart and a Bronze Star.

William Smith

Smith, William

Hermitage, PA

U.S. Army – Vietnam

In the late 1960s, dropping out of college, even temporarily, was risky business. Bill Smith sat out the winter semester in his senior year because he had to ride his motorcycle to get to YSU. His plan to complete his degree in the warmer spring weather appeared to be doomed when the draft board sent him a draft notice. Fortunately, they agreed to postpone his induction until he graduated.

So right after graduating in 1968, Bill was in the U.S. Army, qualified to attend Officer Candidate School. The only branches available were the combat arms.

“I don’t know why,” he says, “but I chose infantry.”

Maybe not the best choice. Life in infantry units in Vietnam could be unpleasant and dangerous, especially for second lieutenants. That seemed to be where Bill was headed when he was sent to jungle warfare school after completing OCS.

Bill’s choice wasn’t so bad after all. He was assigned to the security detachment at the largest ammunition dump in Vietnam. What could be safer than being close to tons of high explosives capable of leveling the terrain for miles around?

Bill’s job was to keep that from happening. Before he arrived, the site’s security was in the hands of ordnance personnel who were neither trained nor equipped for the job.

“We did things differently,” Bill said.

With everything from tower guards to electronic surveillance, chain link fences extending four feet into the ground, mortar and artillery units to do recon by fire, and even guard dogs, Bill’s security detachment had to confront only one attack during his year there.

“By attack, I mean saboteurs trying to sneak in,” he said.

It turned out to be three young teenagers carrying satchel charges.

“We killed them. That hurt. But that’s the kind of war it was.”

But lack of action doesn’t mean lack of danger. That became apparent when the facility was closed down toward the end of Bill’s tour. All the ammo was transported to an RVN dump ten miles away. The night after the transfer was complete, the RVN dump blew up.

“We stayed in a bunker and watched it happening on the other side of the mountain,” he said.

His wife at Fort Benning heard about the Qui Nhom ammo dump being blown up. Contact with Bill through the Red Cross allayed her fears.

She was blessed when Lt. Bill Smith returned without a Purple Heart.