Chapter 5: Dad’s First Tour of Duty in Vietnam (1966–1967)
- Anthony Carbone
- Jul 22
- 7 min read
Updated: Sep 15
BELIEVE NOTHING YOU HEAR, AND ONLY HALF OF WHAT YOU SEE — A Memoir of Service, Shame, and the Search for Truth
Assignment to MACV as Cavalry Tactical Advisor in Vietnam
In 1966, the war in Vietnam escalated, and our family felt its reach personally. My father received orders from the Pentagon to deploy to the Republic of Vietnam, assigned to the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam — MACV — as a U.S. Army advisor. It was his first tour, and he would spend the next year embedded with the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) cavalry and armored units in the Mekong Delta, particularly near Bac Lieu, Tan An, and Soc Trang. His mission was to help train, advise, and support the South Vietnamese military as they fought to reclaim and secure their homeland from the Viet Cong insurgency and the growing threat of the North Vietnamese Army.
Dad Enjoyed His First Tour in Vietnam as a Tactical Advisor to an ARVN Cavalry Unit
My father seemed to genuinely enjoy this first tour, especially compared to the more grueling Special Operations tour he would undertake later. He fell in love with the Vietnamese people — their resilience, their warmth, and especially their children. His photo albums from this era are full of beautiful, candid photographs of everyday life in the Mekong Delta: women carrying baskets at the market, children waving at the camera, families riding bicycles, soldiers resting between patrols. He always had a camera slung over his shoulder and took great pride in arranging these moments into carefully assembled albums that told his story. His affection for the people and the land of Vietnam is evident in every image.
Dad is Awarded the ARVN Armor Officer Black Beret & Tankers Badge
Dad was a member of MACV Advisor Team #63 in Sóc Trăng
The unenviable, dangerous job of Tunnel Rat in Vietnam
My father had a special love for the Vietnamese children
Dad met a lot of celebrities visiting the troops in Vietnam
While the duties of a MACV advisor were serious — often dangerous — there were lighter moments as well. Being based closer to Saigon gave my father access to some unique opportunities. He met a number of American celebrities who visited the troops to boost morale, including Ann Margret, Chuck Connors, James Garner, Henry Fonda, Efrem Zimbalist Jr., Don DeFore, Bob Meredith of the Dallas Cowboys, Dick Bass of the L.A. Rams, and Jerry Wilson of the St. Louis Cardinals. My father always had a deep appreciation for film, sports, and storytelling, and these moments added a personal highlight to an otherwise austere and high-stakes assignment.
Professionally, his accomplishments during this year were significant. On February 1, 1967, he was promoted to the rank of Major. That same year, he earned two prestigious badges: the Vietnamese Armor Badge and the U.S. Combat Infantry Badge, a testament to his active engagement in combat operations alongside the Vietnamese forces he advised. He often went out with ARVN cavalry units into hostile territory, coordinating air strikes and artillery, gathering intelligence, and supporting civil pacification efforts. He used to send me letters with drawings of the elaborate Viet Cong tunnel systems he discovered — complete with false walls, hidden entrances, and escape shafts. As a young boy watching the Vietnam War unfold on our television every evening, I was both captivated and proud. His war stories made him larger than life to me.
Dad was awarded the Combat Infantry Badge (CIB) in Vietnam
Dad gets promoted to Major while in Vietnam
While Dad was in Vietnam, we moved back to Medford
Back in the U.S., we were living in Medford, Massachusetts, on the first floor of a multi-family home at 44 Frederick Avenue. The building belonged to the parents-in-law of my godfather, Uncle George Pietrantoni, and we lived just downstairs from them. It was a warm, close-knit Italian-American neighborhood, and I saw Uncle George and Auntie Carole often.
Went to the Dame School
I was in second grade that year and attended the Lorin L. Dame School on George Street along with my sisters Diana and Lynne. I had second grade with old Miss Collins.
The school was about halfway between our apartment and Nana and Papa Pietrantoni’s house on Winthrop Street, and I remember spending many weekends with my grandparents.
Nana & Papa Pietrantoni’s Home
My grandfather went grocery shopping every Saturday morning and always came home with fresh Scali bread and sliced Italian cold cuts. Sunday mornings were reserved for Mass at Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church, the same church where all of us kids were baptized, where I made my First Communion, and where three of my sisters would eventually marry.
After Mass, we’d gather at Nana & Papa’s for a traditional Italian Sunday dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. Uncle Aldo would show up just long enough to eat a couple of meatballs and play a tune or two on the upright piano in the dining room. Those weekends were loud, joyful, and full of love — and food.
Uncle George was like a second father to me while mine was away. He’d often give me a quarter and send me down to the corner store to buy him a pack of Lucky Strikes. Back then, a six-year-old could do that without raising eyebrows.
If I were lucky, he’d give me an extra nickel or dime so I could grab a few pieces of penny candy. I felt so grown up, entrusted with money and a mission.
I also got to ride around with him in his stunning white 1960 Chevrolet Impala with red interior. I’d sit on his lap and “steer” the big red wheel while the windows were rolled down, the radio playing, and Lucky Strike smoke curling into the summer air. I remember those rides like they were yesterday.
Auntie Norma, meanwhile, was working at Harvard University and still living at home with Auntie Cynthia and Yvonne. She had just bought a beautiful record RCA console that played both 45s and 33 rpm LPs.
We’d all gather around to dance in the living room to songs like The Four Seasons’ “Sherry,” The Mamas and the Papas’ “Monday, Monday,” and The Seekers’ “Another You.” The music made our home feel alive and connected — even as we all missed my father terribly.
My mother wrote my father every night
At home, my mother did everything she could to keep the family strong and grounded during his year-long absence. She wrote to him every single night. Every. Single. Night. My father, in turn, wrote back faithfully to her and to each of us. His letters weren’t just updates — they were expressions of love, encouragement, and longing. They brought him home to us in every envelope. I still have many of those letters today, yellowed with time but full of heart. I am amazed by how my parents stayed so deeply in love during such a prolonged and uncertain separation, and know that their love letters helped — that steady rhythm of writing and receiving, day after day, page after page, was their emotional lifeline.
R&R in Waikiki, Hawaii
In the middle of his tour, they were reunited for a brief but beautiful week of R&R in Waikiki, Hawaii, paid for by the military. The photographs from that vacation are among my favorites. My parents looked like newlyweds again — smiling, tanned, holding hands on the beach. You can see it in their eyes: how much they missed each other, and how much they cherished every second of that week. Love, real love, endures like that.
The Apollo One Disaster (January 27, 1967)
I still remember one cold evening in our apartment at 44 Frederick Avenue in Medford. It January 27, 1967 around 6:30 PM, and we were gathered around the television as the Apollo 1 spacecraft was preparing for liftoff. In those days, America was captivated by the space race, and for young boys like me, NASA was nothing short of magical. But that excitement turned to horror. A fire erupted inside the command module during a pre-launch test, killing astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee. The tragedy shocked the nation and forced NASA to halt manned missions until major safety changes could be made. I was just a boy, but I never forgot that night. It was the first time I realized that even heroes could be vulnerable, and that the pursuit of exploration carried real danger.
MARS Calls from Vietnam
Every few months, the Army arranged MARS (Military Auxiliary Radio System) calls so that soldiers could connect with their families. These long-distance conversations, relayed through ham radios, required us to speak militarily — ending each phrase with “Over.” One particular call still makes me laugh to this day. My father had said, “I’m making you a tape,” referring to a new cassette recording. But my mother misheard him and replied, “You want me to send you a cake? Over.” The radio operator, patiently relaying both sides, jumped in to clarify: “Ma’am, I believe your husband said he is making you a tape, not a cake.” We all burst into laughter on both ends of the line.
Cassette Tape Messages
That was a time when compact cassette recorders, newly developed in Japan, allowed us to exchange audio messages across continents. We’d record ourselves talking about school, daily life, or just saying, “I love you,” and mail them across the ocean. My father would send his replies back, and we would sit together and listen to his voice on the living room floor. I wish we still had those tapes today. I would give anything to hear my parents’ voices again — those tender, hopeful, loving voices carried across time and space
This first tour in Vietnam marked a profound chapter in my father’s career — and in our family’s life. It tested our endurance, but it also revealed the depth of our bonds. While he was advising and fighting alongside his ARVN brothers in the Mekong Delta, he was still husband, father, and family man — writing letters, making tapes, taking photographs, and dreaming of home.
