When Poisoned Hearts Finally Speak
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
April 2026
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
April 2026
Preface
Returning from war-torn Southeast Asia in the mid-1970s as a U.S. Marine, I faced my own deep-seated traumatic experiences. While I eventually began to heal, my college years found me virtually forced to volunteer at a privately run Vietnam Vet Center helping homeless veterans battling severe PTSD. Although an extremely rough road, I learned profound truths about not only our government, but, as well, the harsh realities of combat on fluid battlegrounds.
Returning from war-torn Southeast Asia in the mid-1970s as a U.S. Marine, I faced my own deep-seated traumatic experiences. While I eventually began to heal, my college years found me virtually forced to volunteer at a privately run Vietnam Vet Center helping homeless veterans battling severe PTSD. Although an extremely rough road, I learned profound truths about not only our government, but, as well, the harsh realities of combat on fluid battlegrounds.
Chapter One
It was a steamy autumn morning in 1984 when I pulled up to the Vietnam Vet Center in a downtown slum area of Las Vegas. One look at the cramped, unassuming office was all it took to realize my college counselor had tricked me into signing a year-long contract. Every instinct told me to walk away right then, but I was trapped. Quitting meant probably losing the veteran benefits that would be the only thing keeping my family afloat and my college education on track.
I stepped inside and introduced myself to Kevin Mason, the Vet Center manager. His handshake was limp, and the look in his eyes told me exactly where I stood. Nowhere. "You’re the gopher," he barked. "You drive the van, pick up homeless veterans, and then deliver them back to the Vet Center. Either my counselors or myself will take it from there. Then, before you leave for the day, you clean the offices, sinks, toilets and shower stalls." I tried to hold my ground. "Sir, my contract says part-time driver and maintenance man." Mason shot me a look of pure hate. "Just do what you're told," he sneered, "and we’ll get along just fine."
The Vet Center’s backyard was a mess of weeds and broken pavement. The van was worse - a rusted piece of junk that smelled like a locker room and a landfill. I had to kick a squatter out of the cargo bay before I could even sit down. With the windows down to fight the stench, I turned the key, and against all odds, the heap started. It limped as I felt a dangerous wobble of a bad wheel. I knew Las Vegas is a hard city for a vehicle breakdown, especially in those particular slums. I then headed for the “Corridor of Hope” near a local news station, knowing that was where the majority of homeless veterans camped. I also knew the more hardcore cases were just a block away in the concrete tunnels and underneath bridges. But I wasn’t a fool. Kevin Mason could say what he wanted. I wasn’t heading into any of those makeshift homeless communities without heavily armed backup.
I selected four Marine Vietnam veterans from the Corridor of Hope who seemed the least hardcore of the encampment. But, the drive back to the Vet Center was swallowed by a heavy, unsettling silence. My unease only grew until we finally pulled into the driveway. When I tried to kill the engine, the van seemed to share my nerves, coughing and sputtering before finally falling still. The tension peaked at the sliding door. It was jammed shut, leaving the vets trapped inside. It took several minutes of frantic shaking and banging before the door finally gave way, ending a very unpleasant trip. The desert temperature had now reached over 100 degrees.
I guided each veteran as they stepped cautiously from the van. While three offered a silent nod of thanks, the fourth met my eyes with a sharp, wordless glare. Once I had them settled in the cramped classroom and began my introduction, that same man cut me off. "Come on, college boy," he sneered, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Why don't you start by telling us about your charmed life before you explain how you’re going to fix ours?" I froze, staring back at him. I replied, angrily, “Fuck you!” I walked out of the classroom and out to my car. I was leaving this lousy job.
I was seconds away from turning the key when Kevin Mason appeared, flagging me down. Like a fool, I let the bastard slide into the passenger seat. “Don’t walk”, he said, his voice tight. “We’re all readjusting under this stress, you have to see that.” I didn’t blink. “I’m nobody’s whipping boy, Mason, I’m done taking the hits.” He leaned back, studying me. “We need you, and whether you like it or not, you need us. Let’s not throw it all away.” I let out a slow breath and took the key out of the ignition. I wasn't happy about it, but I stayed.
It was a steamy autumn morning in 1984 when I pulled up to the Vietnam Vet Center in a downtown slum area of Las Vegas. One look at the cramped, unassuming office was all it took to realize my college counselor had tricked me into signing a year-long contract. Every instinct told me to walk away right then, but I was trapped. Quitting meant probably losing the veteran benefits that would be the only thing keeping my family afloat and my college education on track.
I stepped inside and introduced myself to Kevin Mason, the Vet Center manager. His handshake was limp, and the look in his eyes told me exactly where I stood. Nowhere. "You’re the gopher," he barked. "You drive the van, pick up homeless veterans, and then deliver them back to the Vet Center. Either my counselors or myself will take it from there. Then, before you leave for the day, you clean the offices, sinks, toilets and shower stalls." I tried to hold my ground. "Sir, my contract says part-time driver and maintenance man." Mason shot me a look of pure hate. "Just do what you're told," he sneered, "and we’ll get along just fine."
The Vet Center’s backyard was a mess of weeds and broken pavement. The van was worse - a rusted piece of junk that smelled like a locker room and a landfill. I had to kick a squatter out of the cargo bay before I could even sit down. With the windows down to fight the stench, I turned the key, and against all odds, the heap started. It limped as I felt a dangerous wobble of a bad wheel. I knew Las Vegas is a hard city for a vehicle breakdown, especially in those particular slums. I then headed for the “Corridor of Hope” near a local news station, knowing that was where the majority of homeless veterans camped. I also knew the more hardcore cases were just a block away in the concrete tunnels and underneath bridges. But I wasn’t a fool. Kevin Mason could say what he wanted. I wasn’t heading into any of those makeshift homeless communities without heavily armed backup.
I selected four Marine Vietnam veterans from the Corridor of Hope who seemed the least hardcore of the encampment. But, the drive back to the Vet Center was swallowed by a heavy, unsettling silence. My unease only grew until we finally pulled into the driveway. When I tried to kill the engine, the van seemed to share my nerves, coughing and sputtering before finally falling still. The tension peaked at the sliding door. It was jammed shut, leaving the vets trapped inside. It took several minutes of frantic shaking and banging before the door finally gave way, ending a very unpleasant trip. The desert temperature had now reached over 100 degrees.
I guided each veteran as they stepped cautiously from the van. While three offered a silent nod of thanks, the fourth met my eyes with a sharp, wordless glare. Once I had them settled in the cramped classroom and began my introduction, that same man cut me off. "Come on, college boy," he sneered, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Why don't you start by telling us about your charmed life before you explain how you’re going to fix ours?" I froze, staring back at him. I replied, angrily, “Fuck you!” I walked out of the classroom and out to my car. I was leaving this lousy job.
I was seconds away from turning the key when Kevin Mason appeared, flagging me down. Like a fool, I let the bastard slide into the passenger seat. “Don’t walk”, he said, his voice tight. “We’re all readjusting under this stress, you have to see that.” I didn’t blink. “I’m nobody’s whipping boy, Mason, I’m done taking the hits.” He leaned back, studying me. “We need you, and whether you like it or not, you need us. Let’s not throw it all away.” I let out a slow breath and took the key out of the ignition. I wasn't happy about it, but I stayed.
Chapter Two
Later on in the day Mr. Mason brought me into his office. He closed his door, tight. I was surprised his office door didn’t fall off the hinges. I wished it had. I needed a good laugh.
I sat down in an old folding chair placed in front of Mr. Mason’s desk. He said, "I get the assumption you really despise our homeless Vietnam vets. Can you possibly tell me why?" I replied, “In Vietnam, the American combatants were as much my enemy as were the Vietcong.” Mason immediately got a shocked look on his face. He quickly regained control of his facial expressions and asked me to continue. I said, “Unlike the typical American soldier, I was in Vietnam to save lives, not kill people.” Looking perplexed, Mason said, “Are you some kind of conscientious objector?” I replied, “Yes, I guess I am to a certain degree.” Mr. Mason then leaned back in his chair with his fingers running through his hair. He then gave a heavy sigh. He said, “Well, if this doesn’t throw a fucking monkey wrench into the whole works.” I replied, “You know Mr. Mason, you can release me on a no-fault basis. You would be rid of me, and I wouldn’t lose my VA benefits.”
A complete and total silence took over the office. Approximately ten minutes later, Mr. Mason said, “Mr. Chapline, can you tell me why you hate our homeless veterans?” I replied, “I don’t hate homeless Vietnam veterans as a whole, but, I do have an aversion towards them.” Mr. Mason yelled out, “Why! Why! Why! What could possibly be your reasoning?” In matching Mason’s outburst, I angrily replied, “I’m not stupid, Mason!” I know the majority of homeless Vietnam vets either committed, participated in, or witnessed atrocities against the Vietnamese people, meaning specifically, innocent civilians. The fact is no war crime bothered any Marine until they were faced with realities of not having their "battle buddies" by their side. And, you know what this meant, Mr. Mason?! In civilian life the psychological impact of being a war criminal would sooner or later become a haunting guilt. Over time, as civilians, these war criminals in their secrecy would begin experiencing unbearable levels of severe psychological distress. It would certainly become impossible for them to adapt to mainstream society as the depression of hopelessness in being a war criminal continuously perpetrated more and more guilt and suffering on them. Hence, the explosion of homeless Vietnam vets and likely their eventual suicide. It is my opinion your program for homeless Vietnam vets will fail. It’s all a waste of time and money.”
Walking out of the Vet Center in a huff turned out to be a blessing in disguise, especially since Mr. Mason didn’t follow me. Despite the sour taste the job had left in my mouth, I knew it was time to get moving on the job. I pulled into a gritty third-rate auto shop just around the corner and asked for the manager. When I explained who I was and what the Vet Center van needed, he checked out the moment I mentioned I didn't have the cash to pay the bill.
However, his attitude shifted when I lightly pitched our program. I explained how we were helping homeless Vietnam vets get back on their feet and become productive citizens. He laughed it off at first, but I leaned in, "I have two guys who would be perfect for you, a former certified mechanic and an experienced gas station attendant. Plus, the government covers half their wages for the first six months that you employ them." That stopped him cold. "What did you say?" Suddenly he became all ears. After I repeated the deal, he didn't hesitate. "When can they start?"
"Soon," I promised.
I lightly reviewed the program with the auto shop manager. I said, "To participate, homeless veterans must meet three key criteria. First, they need at least two years of honorable military service, including at least six months in a combat zone. Second, they must pass drug, alcohol, and psychological screenings given at the Vet Center. Finally, they must provide a certified DD 214 form or an original honorable discharge document to verify their service.
The auto shop manager approved my request to send two veterans to his shop. I was thrilled to find out the manager had already gotten one of his mechanics to start work in restoring the Vet Center van to roadworthy condition.
However, when I returned to the center with the news, Mr. Mason remained frustrated. He informed me that two of the candidates did not have their DD-214 forms. Mr. Mason noted that the Veterans Administration will not process program benefits without the veteran providing certified proof of their military service. Additionally, stated Mr. Mason, "While every acceptee into our program is eligible to have half of their rent paid for the first six months from the federal government, acceptees are therefore expected to have clean proper clothing, and be properly groomed when reporting for work.
While waiting for paperwork to come through from the Veterans Administration, the auto shop manager was kind enough to pay the full salary of the two veterans. The apartment manager also allowed the veterans to live in a room rent free until their military records were processed and reissued. For the next three weeks everything was going quite well. But, still, no DD-214 documents from the Veterans Administration. I called the local agency nearly every day. I visited the local veterans administration building at least once a week. Still, no responses.
After a month had passed with still no documents, both the auto shop manager and the landlord were getting antsy. The following week the auto shop manager, frustrated with the government, fired the two Vietnam veterans. The veteran's landlord had evicted them both from their apartment and the property. It was a total loss for everyone.
The four Vietnam veterans I had picked up from the Corridor of Hope were now back to being unemployed and homeless. I was both angered and heartbroken. The four veterans had to start all over again. Additionally, there were no openings at the Corridor of Hope encampment site. All four veterans had to make their new home in one of the local concrete storm drains. Knowing that I was extremely upset, Mr. Mason had given me some time off to recover from this huge disappointment.
Later on in the day Mr. Mason brought me into his office. He closed his door, tight. I was surprised his office door didn’t fall off the hinges. I wished it had. I needed a good laugh.
I sat down in an old folding chair placed in front of Mr. Mason’s desk. He said, "I get the assumption you really despise our homeless Vietnam vets. Can you possibly tell me why?" I replied, “In Vietnam, the American combatants were as much my enemy as were the Vietcong.” Mason immediately got a shocked look on his face. He quickly regained control of his facial expressions and asked me to continue. I said, “Unlike the typical American soldier, I was in Vietnam to save lives, not kill people.” Looking perplexed, Mason said, “Are you some kind of conscientious objector?” I replied, “Yes, I guess I am to a certain degree.” Mr. Mason then leaned back in his chair with his fingers running through his hair. He then gave a heavy sigh. He said, “Well, if this doesn’t throw a fucking monkey wrench into the whole works.” I replied, “You know Mr. Mason, you can release me on a no-fault basis. You would be rid of me, and I wouldn’t lose my VA benefits.”
A complete and total silence took over the office. Approximately ten minutes later, Mr. Mason said, “Mr. Chapline, can you tell me why you hate our homeless veterans?” I replied, “I don’t hate homeless Vietnam veterans as a whole, but, I do have an aversion towards them.” Mr. Mason yelled out, “Why! Why! Why! What could possibly be your reasoning?” In matching Mason’s outburst, I angrily replied, “I’m not stupid, Mason!” I know the majority of homeless Vietnam vets either committed, participated in, or witnessed atrocities against the Vietnamese people, meaning specifically, innocent civilians. The fact is no war crime bothered any Marine until they were faced with realities of not having their "battle buddies" by their side. And, you know what this meant, Mr. Mason?! In civilian life the psychological impact of being a war criminal would sooner or later become a haunting guilt. Over time, as civilians, these war criminals in their secrecy would begin experiencing unbearable levels of severe psychological distress. It would certainly become impossible for them to adapt to mainstream society as the depression of hopelessness in being a war criminal continuously perpetrated more and more guilt and suffering on them. Hence, the explosion of homeless Vietnam vets and likely their eventual suicide. It is my opinion your program for homeless Vietnam vets will fail. It’s all a waste of time and money.”
Walking out of the Vet Center in a huff turned out to be a blessing in disguise, especially since Mr. Mason didn’t follow me. Despite the sour taste the job had left in my mouth, I knew it was time to get moving on the job. I pulled into a gritty third-rate auto shop just around the corner and asked for the manager. When I explained who I was and what the Vet Center van needed, he checked out the moment I mentioned I didn't have the cash to pay the bill.
However, his attitude shifted when I lightly pitched our program. I explained how we were helping homeless Vietnam vets get back on their feet and become productive citizens. He laughed it off at first, but I leaned in, "I have two guys who would be perfect for you, a former certified mechanic and an experienced gas station attendant. Plus, the government covers half their wages for the first six months that you employ them." That stopped him cold. "What did you say?" Suddenly he became all ears. After I repeated the deal, he didn't hesitate. "When can they start?"
"Soon," I promised.
I lightly reviewed the program with the auto shop manager. I said, "To participate, homeless veterans must meet three key criteria. First, they need at least two years of honorable military service, including at least six months in a combat zone. Second, they must pass drug, alcohol, and psychological screenings given at the Vet Center. Finally, they must provide a certified DD 214 form or an original honorable discharge document to verify their service.
The auto shop manager approved my request to send two veterans to his shop. I was thrilled to find out the manager had already gotten one of his mechanics to start work in restoring the Vet Center van to roadworthy condition.
However, when I returned to the center with the news, Mr. Mason remained frustrated. He informed me that two of the candidates did not have their DD-214 forms. Mr. Mason noted that the Veterans Administration will not process program benefits without the veteran providing certified proof of their military service. Additionally, stated Mr. Mason, "While every acceptee into our program is eligible to have half of their rent paid for the first six months from the federal government, acceptees are therefore expected to have clean proper clothing, and be properly groomed when reporting for work.
While waiting for paperwork to come through from the Veterans Administration, the auto shop manager was kind enough to pay the full salary of the two veterans. The apartment manager also allowed the veterans to live in a room rent free until their military records were processed and reissued. For the next three weeks everything was going quite well. But, still, no DD-214 documents from the Veterans Administration. I called the local agency nearly every day. I visited the local veterans administration building at least once a week. Still, no responses.
After a month had passed with still no documents, both the auto shop manager and the landlord were getting antsy. The following week the auto shop manager, frustrated with the government, fired the two Vietnam veterans. The veteran's landlord had evicted them both from their apartment and the property. It was a total loss for everyone.
The four Vietnam veterans I had picked up from the Corridor of Hope were now back to being unemployed and homeless. I was both angered and heartbroken. The four veterans had to start all over again. Additionally, there were no openings at the Corridor of Hope encampment site. All four veterans had to make their new home in one of the local concrete storm drains. Knowing that I was extremely upset, Mr. Mason had given me some time off to recover from this huge disappointment.
Chapter Three
After several weeks off, I struggled in returning to the Vietnam Vet Center. Many of the counselors had already quit. Once the news broke of the program failure for the local Vietnam veterans, the public's contributions were cut by nearly eighty percent.
Instead of closing down the Vet Center, as I thought would be practicable, Mr. Mason chose to have more homeless veterans brought into the outreach center. He believed he had other financial sources in pumping back up his depleted budget. However, during the interim time, I was to get a class of ten homeless Vietnam veterans. I was to do their indoctrination to the program. while setting up and managing a biohazard cleanup program. I was also responsible for getting personal appearances to be respectable. Meanwhile, as an unlicensed therapist, I was performing counseling services.
Mr. Mason was not lying. He did eventually get the Vet Center's budget pumped back up.
I was honest with my class of ten homeless Vietnam veterans. I made it clear to them that while I had been a Marine for eleven years, and been in Vietnam, we had absolutely nothing in common. Their curiosity peaked. They wanted me to talk about it. So, I did:
"I've never killed or tortured anyone. But, in Vietnam, at the end of the war, specifically on the coastline, I saved many lives of innocent Vietnamese just trying to escape the Communist takeover of South Vietnam.. Now named, as you know, Ho Chi Minh City.
I never for a moment have ever believed that American forces belonged fighting in Vietnam. However, I understand that since we had combat troops there since the Kennedy administration, my country did outright abandon the people of South Vietnam in 1975. In my eyes, if America was not going to fight any longer for South Vietnam, I believe we owed the people of the former South Vietnam assistance for those trying to flee their former homeland.
However, the Captain of my Ship did not agree with me. South Vietnamese refugees, often called simply the boat people, were taking their very slim chances in escaping the takeover by the North Vietcong. By America virtually turning a blind eye to the tens of thousands of boat people floundering aimlessly in the South China Sea, America was once again taking a bad situation and making it much worse.for the Vietnamese people.
I was on the flight deck of a U.S. helicopter carrier. The waters of the South China Sea were known to be a graveyard. As our ship neared one of the refugee boats, I saw Vietnamese people packed like sardines on a filthy dirty, small unseaworthy fishing boat. Comprised of predominantly women and children, it was apparent that they were desperate for help. I watched and listened as the Ship’s executive officer talked with a male spokesman for the refugees. The discussion quickly turned into an argument. Apparently the refugees wanted safe haven on our ship. The Captain of our Ship declined their requests. And then suddenly, I see several male refugees attempting to force their way onto our ship. Their attempts were repelled by Navy personnel using grappling hooks and gunfire to stop them from advancing. Moments later, the Captain of the Ship announced over the 1MC, “Prepare to get underway.” Moments later, our ship was departing the scene of the incident. But, not all lines had been casted off. The attached lines were ripping the boat apart. While taking pictures of the situation, I specifically photographed the damage done to the refugee boat and a young Vietnamese lady clutching her newborn baby. I was horrified as I watched the refugee boat sink and the woman and her baby drown in the South China Sea ocean waters.
I detailed an incident report with evidential pictures and mailed it to my Senator’s office requesting a congressional investigation. When I was exposed as the whistleblower, the Navy, specifically the Captain of the Ship, wanted me court-martialed. I was now seen as an American turncoat.
Both the Captain and the Executive Officer of the Ship were both forced into early retirement. No charges were ever filed on me. However, my reputation among family and friends that I had grown up with were forever tarnished.”
One Vietnam veteran stood up and said, “You did the right thing, Mr. Chapline.” All his classmates seemed to agree. But, most shocking was the singular applause by Kevin Mason. I didn’t even know he was in the room.
After several weeks off, I struggled in returning to the Vietnam Vet Center. Many of the counselors had already quit. Once the news broke of the program failure for the local Vietnam veterans, the public's contributions were cut by nearly eighty percent.
Instead of closing down the Vet Center, as I thought would be practicable, Mr. Mason chose to have more homeless veterans brought into the outreach center. He believed he had other financial sources in pumping back up his depleted budget. However, during the interim time, I was to get a class of ten homeless Vietnam veterans. I was to do their indoctrination to the program. while setting up and managing a biohazard cleanup program. I was also responsible for getting personal appearances to be respectable. Meanwhile, as an unlicensed therapist, I was performing counseling services.
Mr. Mason was not lying. He did eventually get the Vet Center's budget pumped back up.
I was honest with my class of ten homeless Vietnam veterans. I made it clear to them that while I had been a Marine for eleven years, and been in Vietnam, we had absolutely nothing in common. Their curiosity peaked. They wanted me to talk about it. So, I did:
"I've never killed or tortured anyone. But, in Vietnam, at the end of the war, specifically on the coastline, I saved many lives of innocent Vietnamese just trying to escape the Communist takeover of South Vietnam.. Now named, as you know, Ho Chi Minh City.
I never for a moment have ever believed that American forces belonged fighting in Vietnam. However, I understand that since we had combat troops there since the Kennedy administration, my country did outright abandon the people of South Vietnam in 1975. In my eyes, if America was not going to fight any longer for South Vietnam, I believe we owed the people of the former South Vietnam assistance for those trying to flee their former homeland.
However, the Captain of my Ship did not agree with me. South Vietnamese refugees, often called simply the boat people, were taking their very slim chances in escaping the takeover by the North Vietcong. By America virtually turning a blind eye to the tens of thousands of boat people floundering aimlessly in the South China Sea, America was once again taking a bad situation and making it much worse.for the Vietnamese people.
I was on the flight deck of a U.S. helicopter carrier. The waters of the South China Sea were known to be a graveyard. As our ship neared one of the refugee boats, I saw Vietnamese people packed like sardines on a filthy dirty, small unseaworthy fishing boat. Comprised of predominantly women and children, it was apparent that they were desperate for help. I watched and listened as the Ship’s executive officer talked with a male spokesman for the refugees. The discussion quickly turned into an argument. Apparently the refugees wanted safe haven on our ship. The Captain of our Ship declined their requests. And then suddenly, I see several male refugees attempting to force their way onto our ship. Their attempts were repelled by Navy personnel using grappling hooks and gunfire to stop them from advancing. Moments later, the Captain of the Ship announced over the 1MC, “Prepare to get underway.” Moments later, our ship was departing the scene of the incident. But, not all lines had been casted off. The attached lines were ripping the boat apart. While taking pictures of the situation, I specifically photographed the damage done to the refugee boat and a young Vietnamese lady clutching her newborn baby. I was horrified as I watched the refugee boat sink and the woman and her baby drown in the South China Sea ocean waters.
I detailed an incident report with evidential pictures and mailed it to my Senator’s office requesting a congressional investigation. When I was exposed as the whistleblower, the Navy, specifically the Captain of the Ship, wanted me court-martialed. I was now seen as an American turncoat.
Both the Captain and the Executive Officer of the Ship were both forced into early retirement. No charges were ever filed on me. However, my reputation among family and friends that I had grown up with were forever tarnished.”
One Vietnam veteran stood up and said, “You did the right thing, Mr. Chapline.” All his classmates seemed to agree. But, most shocking was the singular applause by Kevin Mason. I didn’t even know he was in the room.
Chapter Four
After I sent the class on a half hour break, I had another homeless veteran approach me. He said, “You know Mr. Chapline, your Vietnam and our Vietnam were completely different. Will you give my poisoned heart a chance to speak? I shook hands with him, and said, “Of course I will.”
Former Marine Private First Class Derek Donaldson came to the head of the class. I could tell he was nervous. And he should have been. He was likely going to expose some pretty heavy stuff that had happened in Vietnam. I told him, “You have my word, there are no cameras or recording devices in this building. But, I’ll make sure and ask Mr. Mason.”
I excused myself momentarily from class. I went directly to confront Mr. Mason in his office. I closed his wobbly door. I said, “Sir, some of these guys are probably going to admit in class to some of the savagery they committed in Vietnam. Mr. Mason asked why. I replied, “I’m hoping talking about what happened over there in Vietnam will be very good therapy for them."
Knowing that I was not a certified counselor, Mr. Mason still nodded his head in approval. I then asked, “There aren’t any cameras or recording devices in this building, are there?” Mr. Mason assured me there were not. But, before I left the office, Mr. Mason asked why I wanted to know this. I said, "I think there are going to be an admission or two of murders committed while in Vietnam. And, it is fact murder has no statute of limitations. I don't want any of them prosecuted. We have a good chance to save them."
"Good man", exclaimed Mr. Mason. I agree with you.
Upon returning to the classroom, I could see that the former Marine staff sergeant was noticeably angry..
He said, “I’m not going to turn this into one big story telling session, because I don’t think any of you here at the Vet Center are trustworthy. I am like many other homeless veterans. We’ve all been struggling for years with feelings of betrayal, shame, and unresolved trauma. The federal government, the VA, and its branches have promised us, time and again, help, but have never delivered. What’s it say for the VA when I have carried for no less than sixteen years a heavy survivors guilt. The loneliness has had a terrible effect on me. But, it's true my loneliness has been mostly from self-isolation. This is because all my closest friends in Vietnam were killed by the fucking Vietcong who then saw it fit to desecrate their dead bodies. And then, people back in America have the fucking nerve to see me and my fellow veterans as war criminals. We had a right to retaliated against these gooks."
The former Marine staff sergeant continued, "Now, what proof do any of you have on us? Is it just because we are homeless veterans and just assume we are all war criminals? We’re not admitting to anything, because we do not trust any of you. Look at this pathetic little operation. None of you can even get a copy of our DD-214’s. We’re leaving. We’re going back to the homeless encampments where we all belong."
I didn’t say a word. I walked out of the Vet Center, got into my car and headed to the Veterans Administration building.
With a full head of steam I stormed into the Veterans building located just outside the Las Vegas city limits on West Charleston Boulevard. I got in an elevator and proceeded to the third floor. I walked right past the documents secretary. In a raised voice I heard the secretary saying, “Sir, Sir, Sir, you can’t go in there, my boss is in a meeting.” I opened the door and found the documents director turned away from his desk, alone, looking out the window. I said, “Is this the way you have meetings? I want the truth why you have not produced one single replacement copy of a DD-214 form for our homeless at the Vet Center. I swear, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to kick your fucking ass right here, right now.!” He replied, “You can’t threaten me, Do you know who I am?” I replied, “Yeah, I know, another worthless fucking bureaucrat. Tell me now or else!”
Right at that time two federal officers came rushing in the document director’s office. They took a firm hold on me, and a little cute female placed me in handcuffs. I did not resist.
The documents director, Gordon Garrett said, “You want the truth Chapline, well, I’m going to give it to you. Your wonderful boss, Keith Mason, a former Marine Corps company commander, was suspected of covering up war crimes committed by his own troops in the Vietnamese village of San Thang. He offered to resign his commission. The Marine Corps took him up on his offer. In lieu of resigning his commission, no charges were ever filed against Mason.”
I was stunned. I promised the federal officers there wouldn’t be any further problems from me. But, my promise had no bearing on what they decided to do with me. I was permanently banned from all federal buildings. The officers told me I would be placed on the FBI's watchlists as a potential threat to the federal government.
Before the federal officers escorted me off of the property of the Veterans Administration, I received a call from the Vet Center manager, Keith Mason. He told me to come by the office and pick up my release papers. He said, “Starting next week, you will be working for the state employment office located in Henderson, Nevada. Isn’t that close to where you and your family live?” I replied, “Yes, it is.”
Epilogue
There were no real goodbyes at the Vet Center. But, Keith Mason did say, “I’m glad you weren’t arrested over at the Veterans Administration building. Just so you will know, I’ll be shutting down the Vet Center. I honestly wanted to help homeless Marine Corps veterans become productive citizens. But, I also thought doing this would be a big boost to my campaign in running for Mayor of Las Vegas in the upcoming election.
With a disgusted look on my face. I turned away from Keith Mason and walked away from him.
After I sent the class on a half hour break, I had another homeless veteran approach me. He said, “You know Mr. Chapline, your Vietnam and our Vietnam were completely different. Will you give my poisoned heart a chance to speak? I shook hands with him, and said, “Of course I will.”
Former Marine Private First Class Derek Donaldson came to the head of the class. I could tell he was nervous. And he should have been. He was likely going to expose some pretty heavy stuff that had happened in Vietnam. I told him, “You have my word, there are no cameras or recording devices in this building. But, I’ll make sure and ask Mr. Mason.”
I excused myself momentarily from class. I went directly to confront Mr. Mason in his office. I closed his wobbly door. I said, “Sir, some of these guys are probably going to admit in class to some of the savagery they committed in Vietnam. Mr. Mason asked why. I replied, “I’m hoping talking about what happened over there in Vietnam will be very good therapy for them."
Knowing that I was not a certified counselor, Mr. Mason still nodded his head in approval. I then asked, “There aren’t any cameras or recording devices in this building, are there?” Mr. Mason assured me there were not. But, before I left the office, Mr. Mason asked why I wanted to know this. I said, "I think there are going to be an admission or two of murders committed while in Vietnam. And, it is fact murder has no statute of limitations. I don't want any of them prosecuted. We have a good chance to save them."
"Good man", exclaimed Mr. Mason. I agree with you.
Upon returning to the classroom, I could see that the former Marine staff sergeant was noticeably angry..
He said, “I’m not going to turn this into one big story telling session, because I don’t think any of you here at the Vet Center are trustworthy. I am like many other homeless veterans. We’ve all been struggling for years with feelings of betrayal, shame, and unresolved trauma. The federal government, the VA, and its branches have promised us, time and again, help, but have never delivered. What’s it say for the VA when I have carried for no less than sixteen years a heavy survivors guilt. The loneliness has had a terrible effect on me. But, it's true my loneliness has been mostly from self-isolation. This is because all my closest friends in Vietnam were killed by the fucking Vietcong who then saw it fit to desecrate their dead bodies. And then, people back in America have the fucking nerve to see me and my fellow veterans as war criminals. We had a right to retaliated against these gooks."
The former Marine staff sergeant continued, "Now, what proof do any of you have on us? Is it just because we are homeless veterans and just assume we are all war criminals? We’re not admitting to anything, because we do not trust any of you. Look at this pathetic little operation. None of you can even get a copy of our DD-214’s. We’re leaving. We’re going back to the homeless encampments where we all belong."
I didn’t say a word. I walked out of the Vet Center, got into my car and headed to the Veterans Administration building.
With a full head of steam I stormed into the Veterans building located just outside the Las Vegas city limits on West Charleston Boulevard. I got in an elevator and proceeded to the third floor. I walked right past the documents secretary. In a raised voice I heard the secretary saying, “Sir, Sir, Sir, you can’t go in there, my boss is in a meeting.” I opened the door and found the documents director turned away from his desk, alone, looking out the window. I said, “Is this the way you have meetings? I want the truth why you have not produced one single replacement copy of a DD-214 form for our homeless at the Vet Center. I swear, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to kick your fucking ass right here, right now.!” He replied, “You can’t threaten me, Do you know who I am?” I replied, “Yeah, I know, another worthless fucking bureaucrat. Tell me now or else!”
Right at that time two federal officers came rushing in the document director’s office. They took a firm hold on me, and a little cute female placed me in handcuffs. I did not resist.
The documents director, Gordon Garrett said, “You want the truth Chapline, well, I’m going to give it to you. Your wonderful boss, Keith Mason, a former Marine Corps company commander, was suspected of covering up war crimes committed by his own troops in the Vietnamese village of San Thang. He offered to resign his commission. The Marine Corps took him up on his offer. In lieu of resigning his commission, no charges were ever filed against Mason.”
I was stunned. I promised the federal officers there wouldn’t be any further problems from me. But, my promise had no bearing on what they decided to do with me. I was permanently banned from all federal buildings. The officers told me I would be placed on the FBI's watchlists as a potential threat to the federal government.
Before the federal officers escorted me off of the property of the Veterans Administration, I received a call from the Vet Center manager, Keith Mason. He told me to come by the office and pick up my release papers. He said, “Starting next week, you will be working for the state employment office located in Henderson, Nevada. Isn’t that close to where you and your family live?” I replied, “Yes, it is.”
Epilogue
There were no real goodbyes at the Vet Center. But, Keith Mason did say, “I’m glad you weren’t arrested over at the Veterans Administration building. Just so you will know, I’ll be shutting down the Vet Center. I honestly wanted to help homeless Marine Corps veterans become productive citizens. But, I also thought doing this would be a big boost to my campaign in running for Mayor of Las Vegas in the upcoming election.
With a disgusted look on my face. I turned away from Keith Mason and walked away from him.
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