Decorated war hero to receive
deserving sendoff
| |
| Newspaper
clippings of some of Charles Wolfe’s military days. |
by Rita J. King
Remember Charlie, remember Baker…they left their childhood
on every acre…and who was wrong? And who was right? It didn't
matter in the thick of the fight…
--from Billy Joel's song "Goodnight Saigon"
Charles M. Wolfe, a highly decorated hero tormented by war, died alone
in his Montrose home where a tattered American flag still flutters,
months before his best friend discovered his body in March.
Allen Spink, 55, of Croton, said the loss of his friend, who had more
than 80 confirmed enemy kills in Vietnam, was like finding out that
President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated.
"He had become a recluse," Spink said, "a hermit. He
couldn't deal with society at all. He would stay in his house for
months at a time. The last time was a little extended, and I got worried."
Wolfe's whole life, Spink said, was "a horrifying tragedy from
one end to the other."
"He could never fit back in when he came back from Vietnam,"
said Spink, who remembers many camping and fishing trips with Wolfe
before an eating disorder that ballooned his weight to more than 300
pounds and an addiction to psychiatric drugs destroyed him.
"He had a slow, steady progression to death. In the end, it was
almost like suicide. He lost his mind and he gave up living."
Occasionally, years ago, Wolfe would stop by to visit Michelle Carter's
father when she was a girl. Now, Carter is a funeral director at Ossining's
Dorsey Funeral Home and wants to be sure that Wolfe is remembered
for the heroic presence of mind that saved American lives in Vietnam.
With two Silver Stars, two Bronze Stars and three Purple Hearts, among
other honors, Wolfe returned from Vietnam with a different personality
than the precocious Irish-German boy that had always given his late
parents a run for their money. He served in the Army Command Corps
from November 1967 until November 1969.
Wolfe's maternal uncle, Horace G. Leadbetter, 88, remembers his nephew:
"He said he would have won the Congressional Medal of Honor but
he didn't die over there," Leadbetter said of Wolfe, who would
have been 59 now.
The "tough kid" remembered by Leadbetter came into the world
fighting.
"My sister had a bad birth," said Leadbetter. "She
had a nervous breakdown over it."
Alice Wolfe's nerves may have already been raw because her husband
was missing in action in Germany at that time. When Wolfe announced
his intention to enlist for service in Vietnam, his father, who had
returned safely home, tried to talk him out of it.
"His military records show he has over 80 confirmed kills but
he probably had 20 or so more than that," said Leadbetter, of
Colorado Springs. "For three days he was wounded with his buddies'
bodies on top of him in a trench until the Americans found him. He
was different after Vietnam. He had battle fatigue. He was reliving
a lot of fights. Vietnam was a dirty war."
Sometimes, Wolfe told his uncle, when the American troops would come
into a town they'd find children with guns shooting at them.
"Half the time," Leadbetter said, "they killed civilians,
not knowing."
A Silver Star was awarded when Wolfe, who had been stationed at the
rear guard of his company, flew to the forefront to dodge machine
gun fire and toss grenades at the enemy. He was credited with 20 kills
in a single incident, and for saving the lives of 10 men. The next
day, and the day after, he was sent out on patrol again.
"It was a crazy war experience for him," Leadbetter said,
"but it ruined him coming back. He was fighting everybody. He
was helpful and mixed with everybody, but he was a woman-chaser. He
always had this girlfriend, then that one. He was always going to
get married but he never did. He'll be most remembered for his time
in Vietnam. He saved a lot of guys' lives."
Leadbetter said he'd been trying to reach his nephew for quite some
time and suspected that Wolfe had moved to Florida, as he was hoping
to do. An autopsy listed Wolfe's cause of death as a heart attack,
but Spink said his trip to the grave began years ago.
"If the true story of Vietnam was ever told," Spink, also
a Vietnam veteran, said, "it wouldn't be a pleasant one. That's
why there's nothing but young people in the military, because if you
were older you wouldn't do what they asked you to do. He was a serious
war hero but he felt absolutely, totally betrayed."
He also "felt bad about everyone who was killed," Spink
added, which included his entire unit within a few months of its arrival
in Vietnam.
By the end of his life, the veteran had become so reclusive that his
main contact with family was at funerals.
He didn't bother combing his hair or taking a bath, Spink said, and
he "walked around in his underwear all day." The signs of
his demise came in the form of an overfull mailbox and newspapers
piled up in front of the big house where he had lived alone for so
many years, adjacent to the cemetery where he will be buried alongside
his parents.
Ellen Leadbetter, 79, is married to Wolfe's maternal uncle Edwin.
She hadn't seen her nephew since his mother's death.
"He never got over the war," she said of Wolfe, who worked
with sheet metal in his civilian life. "The war kept going in
his head."
Ellen Leadbetter and her husband Edwin of Troy, New York, will clean
Wolfe's house when the official paperwork is completed.
"In plain English, it's a mess," she said.
Carter said she will see to it that the hero is given his due when
his funeral takes place, although the specifics haven't yet been confirmed
due to the age and geographical location of his remaining family.
"Chuck Wolfe wasn't killed in Vietnam, but it's where he gave
his life for his country," Carter said. "People should know
what a hero they had living among them."
When Wolfe's attorney, who had also handled the arrangements for his
mother's funeral, called, Carter said the contact was typical at first—but
then "lots of people" started calling to inquire about services.
"As the days went on," Carter said, "I learned more
and more about this man.
It amazed me, the stories people told me, about what he did in the
war. I can't even imagine what it must have been like, to be in that
situation and have the presence of mind to save so many lives. Even
now, I'm almost 10 years older than he was at that time, and I don't
think I could have done it. I know I couldn't...I have a friend coming
back from Iraq this month, and it scares me to think about what the
psychological impacts will be."
Spink, who is still reeling from the "heavy hit" of losing
his best friend, said Wolfe "really wanted to die." A "general
sense of numbness about everything" has pervaded Spink's life
since he returned from Vietnam, but he couldn't escape the anger and
sorrow of finding Wolfe's body.
"You never forget the people you were with, the people who died,"
he said. "The only people who really care about Vietnam vets
are other Vietnam vets."
At one time, Wolfe had been a boy who played Little League and a young
man who went to Woodstock a mere three days after he returned from
Vietnam with Carter's uncle, Rich Carter, of Alexandria, Virginia.
"I knew Chucky real well," said Rich Carter. "I read
an obit and they didn't even put in the two silver stars he got. He
was even submitted for a Medal of Honor. I guess what happened to
the Wolfman is what a lot of these kids from Iraq have to look forward
to. Really sad—he had a little private hell for 40 years while
all of his friends have had really blessed lives."
"It's so easy to get wrapped up in our daily lives and not think
about the bigger picture," Michelle Carter said, "but situations
like this are so...sobering. How sad to die in your own home and have
nobody even know it. I will personally make sure that he is buried
with the full military honors he deserves. It's the least I can do."
