Son's buddy finally made a tough call
MOOR OR LESS
By BILL MOOR Tribune Columnist
What would you think if a guy called you out of the blue and said he was with your son when he died in Vietnam 36 1/2 years ago?
How would you react when he went on to tell you that your soldier son didn't die at the hands of the enemy as you had always been told, but by friendly fire?
And what would you say if he asked if he could visit with you so he could let you know how it happened -- and how it has affected him for all these years?
Amid her tears, 90-year-old Margaret Freund said that, yes, she would like to meet her son Woody's Army buddy, Don Quigley.
Cindy Snyder, Margaret and Ernest Freund's only other child, wasn't so sure if a visit was such a good idea.
Her brother had died so many years earlier, after all, and her parents had both reached 90 years of age and were both fragile in their own ways.
"I was more than a little apprehensive," says Cindy, who was a junior at LaSalle High School when her brother died. "Why had he waited so long, and was he really legitimate?
"I was trying to be protective of my parents because I didn't want them to be hurt."
Cindy, a South Bend school teacher, finally decided if they wanted to hear this mystery man's story, she would host the meeting at her and her husband Doug's house.
She was relieved Don and his wife knocked on their door after traveling down from their Adrian, Mich., home. She quickly realized that he was a sincere person who believed her parents -- and other relatives, too -- should know about their Woody's death.
So Don sat down and he told his story.
The date was Jan. 31, 1968. Members of the 9th Infantry Division, Don and Woody were pinned down by enemy fire with several other soldiers while on perimeter duty.
And then things got even worse. They were hit by rockets from their own helicopters.
"Don, who was a medic, told us that he could see that Woody wasn't moving and that Don was the first one to get to him," Cindy recalls. "Woody had been killed by friendly fire."
The Freunds had originally received a telegram that Woody -- a 1963 South Bend Central graduate and star runner on both the football and track teams -- was missing in action. Then a week later, they were told he had been killed by some kind of enemy explosive device.
"Don wanted to set the record straight," Cindy says. "And I think he also wanted to get some closure himself -- to shed some of his wartime ghosts."
But why now?
Last Memorial Day, Don had finally visited the Moving Wall -- holding the names of all those who died in Vietnam. He found Ernest "Woody" Freund's name on it. He touched it through his tears. He etched it on a piece of paper although Woody's name had already been forever etched in his mind.
That was when he decided to visit Woody's family and tell them the truth about his death.
Cindy and her parents are glad he did.
"I don't think the 'friendly fire' bothered us as much as it would have several years earlier," Cindy says. "What was more important is that we now know that Woody didn't suffer long ... that he had people around him who cared about him ... and that they took care of his body."
Don Quigley, only 20 years old then, did all that he could.
"I know that really made my mom happy to hear," Cindy says. "And I also know she felt a connection with Don because he had been there with Woody."
Although several of his buddies were wounded that night, Woody was the only one in that field who was killed.
"He apparently was just at the wrong place at the wrong time," Cindy says. "Two feet either way, and it might have been different."
Cindy and her parents would have liked the truth from the Army itself. They are glad that Don Quigley finally told them.
Don continues to try to sell his own story about the incident to magazines as part of his healing process, as part of his own mission to set the record straight.
"I think a lot of publications are scared off when they see 'friendly fire' mentioned, though," Cindy says. "He keeps us posted with an occasional e-mail or phone call."
That feels right. Woody Freund will always link them together now.
Cindy's mom uses a walker now after breaking her hip. Her father is in a nursing home with dementia.
It's a tough time, but nothing could ever be tougher than finding out your son ... your brother ... has been killed in action.
It happened 37 years ago. And now they feel they know how it happened.
Bill Moor's column appears on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays.
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