Armed Forces: I Care

Joe Jacobs was a student of drama. At California's Stanford University, he majored in journalism, was also a football fan, a moviegoer, and had ambitions toward the theater. In October 1965, he enlisted in the Army; before he went to Viet Nam last September, he sent a form letter to 100 of his friends, telling where he was headed. After his twin brother, mother and father got home from a European vacation, Jacobs began a gargantuan literary task: he wrote some 300 letters to his family, more to his Stateside friends, telling what the war was like and what it was about. Because of his interests and talents, Specialist Fourth Class Jacobs was tapped as a combat correspondent, a job that took him to the ever-changing front lines and gave him a chance to see more of the war than most of his rank. To his family and friends, he wrote what he saw and felt.

August 1966: "Dear Mom & Dad, I am, really, looking forward to going to Viet Nam. Please don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Oct. 3, 1966: "I only know it's unlike anything I've ever known and that it's exciting and, in a strange way I can't expect you to understand, because I don't either, really it's fun."

Oct. 4, 1966: "Thanks for the cake. I appreciated the clippings, although of course Stanford's score [losing to Southern California 21-7] upset me. Oh well, maybe next year."

Oct. 21, 1966: "Occasionally we would see a wildflower, usually a sort of purple thistle thing, although I saw some interesting red ones with small leaves, and a white flower that looked like a morning glory, and one brilliant red torch ginger."

Nov. 11, 1966: "You said people wanted to know what I think about the war. I think the U.S. had no business getting involved in Viet Nam in the first place, when the French pulled out. But we are here now in a position of commitment so great that we could not simply pull out. As for the consensus, I would say that most of the guys here think it's a hot, dirty, stinking war and cannot wait to get home. But they feel that they have a job to do and must do it as well as they can. Does that help any?"

Nov. 29, 1966: "It's rough. You try to be brave—not brave as the absence of fear, but brave as the courage to keep up and go on. You want to scream and run and hide, but there's nowhere to go. You try to look ahead and see nothing but an unending, unchanging series of days—boring, frustrating, futile. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow—a tale told by an idiot, and you're the idiot. It's 10:30 and I'm tired. I'll just have to write Aunt Jean and Aunt Helen and Aunt Charlotte tomorrow."

Jan. 6, 1967 (after a U.S.O. show): "I've never been enormously fond of Martha Raye, but her show is fun, and when she sings I Left My Heart in San Francisco, it's really touching because, as she says, for most men here San Francisco is the last city they see when they leave. I guess the real reason that she keeps coming back [to Viet Nam] is a line from Sidney Brustein: 'I care, I care about it all. It takes too much energy not to care.' "