The Rotorhead
/This past spring while in Vietnam, I discovered a new breed of crazy: The Vietnam Helicopter Pilot. They fondly call themselves “Rotorheads,” and will unblushingly tell you “I’m not perfect, but I’m a helicopter pilot which is better.”
For fear of offending the Marine’s muscles or the Paratroops jump boots, I won’t say the Helicopter pilot is the *craziest* of them all, but after a month spent traveling through Vietnam with this insane crew, perhaps I could get away with giving them the accolade of the most audacious of the trio?
One of these spectacular characters I became acquainted with during that time was Major General Patrick Brady, US Army.
At first glance, General Brady is tall, elegant, and has the demeanor of one used to being in the public eye. Spend a few minutes with him however, and you witness an irony to his smile and a wry sense of humor that’s on point (but doesn’t feel cliche).
He is a Rotorhead through and through.
50 plus years may have gone by since he committed the actions which gave him the Medal of Honor, but he still has the spunk and tenacity that carried him through the hottest days of fighting in Vietnam.
I witnessed this spunk returning from the Mekong Delta one afternoon this past April. In the lobby of our hotel, I was met with the most outrageous story that started with the General, a fellow Rotorhead, a Donut Dolly, and a few others ending up in the bed of a less-than fragrant Vietnamese farm truck in the backtracks of Vihn Long on a mission to lay a monument in honor of the late Major Charles Kelly.
At the time I was unfamiliar with Major Kelly’s heroics, but I was fascinated to learn more. Besides the obvious hilarity of the situation the General and company had found themselves in that afternoon, my bigger question was, what was the impetus for this elegant 85-year-old gentleman to make such an extremely arduous trip across the world to lay a monument? I am embarrassed to admit that at this point I far underestimated the chutzpah of the Rotorheads, and if I’d any inkling for their personal audacity, that in itself would have answered my question.
The next few weeks we spent in Vietnam, I listened eagerly as the General bantered with his old war comrades, telling stories that were far too outrageous to be created in the minds of man. Only the jungles of Vietnam, circa 1967, could come up with such tales.
And I also learned about Major Kelly.
“When I have your wounded”
I once read a book called, “Let Us Die Like Brave Men.” It was the short biographies of Civil War officers and soldiers who had used their dying breaths to encourage and inspire their men when the battle was thickest and the outcome darkest.
Different eras, different times, but Major Kelly was made of the same mettle.
Renowned for his fearlessness in the face of the enemy and willingness to proceed into every dangerous scenario if it meant the rescue of wounded Americans, Kelly’s last moments on earth became a rallying call.
Major Charles L. Kelly was Dustoff and Dustoff was “Combat Kelly.” The two became synonymous in Vietnam in 1964. As commander of the 57th Medical Detachment (Helicopter Ambulance), Kelly assumed the call sign “DUSTOFF.” His skill, aplomb, dedication, and daring soon made both famous throughout the Delta. The silence of many an outpost was broken by his radio draw, “…this is DUSTOFF. Just checking in to see if everything is okay.” And when there were wounded, in came Kelly “hell-bent for leather!
- Dustoff Association
On July 1, 1964, Major Kelly was flying into an LZ (landing zone) to pick up a load of wounded when he was notified over radio that the LZ he was attempting to reach was too hot from enemy fire and the mission should be aborted. His response was matter of fact: “When I have your wounded.” These were his final words. Immediately after, an enemy bullet struck him in the heart.
The next day, the same bullet that had killed Kelly was presented to Brady (then a Captain). The commanding officer flung it on the table and asked Brady if they would take note and dial down the “aggressive nature” of their flying.
Brady took the bullet, and looking at the officer responded, “We are going to keep flying exactly the way Kelly taught us to fly, without hesitation, anytime, anywhere."
Brady was more than words. Inspired by the gallant death of their leader, the “Dustoff pilots” continued to fly into the toughest situations “without hesitation,” saving innumerable lives that would otherwise have been lost.
On January 6, 1968:
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty, Maj. Brady distinguished himself while serving in the Republic of Vietnam commanding a UH-1H ambulance helicopter, volunteered to rescue wounded men from a site in enemy-held territory which was reported to be heavily defended and to be blanketed by fog. To reach the site, he descended through heavy fog and smoke and hovered slowly along a valley trail, turning his ship sideward to blow away the fog with the backwash from his rotor blades. Despite the unchallenged, close-range enemy fire, he found the dangerously small site, where he successfully landed and evacuated two badly wounded South Vietnamese soldiers.
He was then called to another area completely covered by dense fog where American casualties lay only 50 meters from the enemy. Two aircraft had previously been shot down and others had made unsuccessful attempts to reach this site earlier in the day. With unmatched skill and extraordinary courage, Maj. Brady made four flights to this embattled landing zone and successfully rescued all of the wounded. On his third mission of the day, Maj. Brady once again landed at a site surrounded by the enemy. The friendly ground force, pinned down by enemy fire, had been unable to reach and secure the landing zone. Although his aircraft had been badly damaged and his controls partially shot away during his initial entry into this area, he returned minutes later and rescued the remaining injured.
Shortly thereafter obtaining a replacement aircraft, Maj. Brady was requested to land in an enemy mine field where a platoon of American soldiers was trapped. A mine detonated near his helicopter, wounding two crewmembers and damaging his ship. In spite of this, he managed to fly six severely injured patients to medical aid. Throughout that day Maj. Brady utilized three helicopters to evacuate a total of 51 seriously wounded men, many of whom would have perished without prompt medical treatment. Maj. Brady's bravery was in the highest traditions of the military service and reflects great credit upon himself and the U.S. Army.
At a veterans’ luncheon two Fridays ago, I heard General Brady pose the question, “What is a Hero?” to a room of over 400 veterans and family members. It is a good question.
Hero is a word Americans tend to banter about with alarming casualness. We worship “celebrity” and chase our 15 minutes of fame at all costs, trying to be the loudest in the room. But at the end of the day, it leaves you with the same emptiness as before.
The dictionary says that Hero is one who shows great courage. When General Brady received the Medal of Honor for his actions in Vietnam, it was America’s stamp of approval and notice that said, “This is a hero. This is a man who showed courage above and beyond.”
But General Brady doesn’t look at it that way, like many before who have received the same award, he chooses to deflect and says, “Major Kelly was a hero.”
Today he goes around the country, representing the Medal of Honor Foundation and educating children on Patriotism. Another word that has almost become archaic. But if you brush off the cynicism and doubt of the 21st century, you’ll find it to be a beautiful word.
“What is the most important thing for a teacher to teach? Science, engineering, accounting? What is it. It’s a simple answer, Patriotism. Democracy cannot survive unless we grow patriots. That’s not someone who says they love their country, that’s someone who supports and defends their country.” - Patrick Brady
Though (as he calls himself) a “reluctant soldier,” General Brady has a deep understanding of the meaning of patriotism. He’s witnessed it in red, white, and blue. He closed his talk the other week with a short story about one of these patriots - fellow Medal of Honor Recipient, Webster Anderson.
Over the course of a terrible night of fighting the Vietnamese on a hilltop in a storm, Anderson lost both of his legs and an arm. It turned out that Brady was his medivac pilot and he later learned that Anderson had received the MOH for his actions that night. “He thought I save his life. The physicians saved his life.” Brady said with deflection. They went on to become good friends and would speak at schools together.
“One day we were in a classroom in Oklahoma, and he wouldn’t sit down. He had these bad prothesis in those days and one arm, nothing but a cane. But he’d stand up, we’d prop him up to talk to the kids. And one of the kids raised his hand and said, “Mr. Anderson, knowing what you know now - that it would cost you two legs and an arm - if you had it to do over again would you?” And Webster said, “Kid, I’ve only got one arm. But my country can have it any time they want.”
And I’m sure those children sitting there looking at this great soldier (who was more plastic than flesh) will be forever impressed with what he told them and of the true definition of patriotism is and what I believe is the most important thing we can teach our children.”
Operation Meatball
Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today