Labels: Army, Camp Croft, Doylestown, Virginia Military Institute, WWII

By Daniel Brooks, BucksLocalNews.com

Like many Bucks County residents, Leon Clark headed over to the Army Recruitment Center in Bristol one day to sign up for military duty because it seemed like good a vocational direction during a time when there was nothing much else to do.

He was a kid of 18, just out of high school and fresh from the farm. It was 1951. The Big War-WWII-was over and Clark, in his then rural surroundings, did not know that for the United States war was brewing again, this time in Korea.

"My buddy and I heard that the Army would sign two up as 'buddies,' so we enlisted in that program and went to basic training together," Clark explained. "But once we got to Washington for overseas processing, I got pneumonia and had to stay in the hospital while he was shipped out. I never saw him again the whole time I served."

Clark was born in 1932 near his family's Buckingham farm house and later moved to Holicong Road where he was educated at a one-room school house. He is a 1950 graduate of New Hope-Solebury High School and a self-described secluded "farm boy."

Of Holicong in the 50s Clark commented, "When we got in trouble, our neighbors knew it before we even got home!" So, when he was lifted off to training and later to South Korea in 1952, it was a completely new world for him, an eye-opener to say the least.

Prior to his Korean stint, Clark spent eight weeks at Aberdeen Proving Grounds for modified infantry training and later at Atlanta General Deposit in technology school but ended up learning metal body repair.

"Being in the South was a whole new thing for me," he said. "In this area, there was no segregation. In Atlanta, I was shocked to see how different life was for black people. I never understood segregation until I went there."

Back in New Hope, Clark left behind his father, mother and brother Jim. "Before then I had never gone anywhere, never traveled on my own. The Army taught me how to live and be on my own, away from my family. I missed them terribly but I quickly learned how to take care of myself."

A war was going on between Communist North Korea and democratic South Korea, who the U.S. was invested in defending.

After graduating from training in Yokashima, Japan and Camp Gifu, Clark Clark was sent off to Seoul, Korea as a part of the 518th Ordinance as a "DS" agent-Direct Support-and he was taken directly to the company's position there. He found that his motor pool background staved off having to hit the combat zone.

His automotive skills were very much needed in keeping tanks and track vehicles repaired and operational at all times.

"Although we were constantly surrounded with the noise of battle, we never thought about being in danger," he explained. He attributes his youthful age for not feeling fearful. "When you are that young, you don't fear as much. You think life will go on forever."

Sometimes Clark was called upon to drive ammunition to the front lines. "You don't volunteer for that job," he commented with a chuckle. "It was a real learning experience!"

He stayed in that position throughout his service career until June, 1953 when an armistice treaty was signed and he was shipped back stateside. After some months at Ft. Hood, he finished his stint and drove back to Bucks County.

His re-entrance to civilian life was in 1954 and three years later he married Marlene, his wife of 52 years, at the United Methodist Church, which is now Marsha Brown's Restaurant on Main Street in New Hope. The couple recently celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary with a party there. They raised two children: Lisa, 41 and Alan, 51. Both still live in the area.

In 1957 Clark got a job as a truck driver for A.L. Lewis Concrete Company (later Moressey) and the couple bought a house out on Windy Bush Road. Marlene's family owned the general store beside the railroad tracks in New Hope and she went to work near there as the secretary for the school district where she remained throughout her career.

"Once we settled in we didn't ever change much," said Clark of his life raising a family here.

The Clarks were staples at of some outstanding area resources. The couple worked at the Bucks County Playhouse and at Lambertville's Music Circus. Also in Lambertville, Clark furthered his "military style" by becoming captain of the color guard for the Lambertville Drum and Bugle Corps.

He served there for 30 years and three years ago he led the group to a placement award at the New Jersey State American Legion Parade. "It was my swan song," Clark joked, as he retired from participation that year.

He is also a life long member of the Eagle Fire Company in New Hope. To this day the couple is responsible for creating the Christmas and Easter Pageant sets at their church, the New Life Christian Church in Newtown.

In 1957 Clark's uncle suggested that as a post-service transition, it might be good for Clark to join the local American Legion, Post 79 in New Hope. He has been a member ever since and in the mid-1960s served as post Commander for two years.

Although his time in the U.S. Army was relatively brief, Clark found it quite memorable and valuable. "I grew up a lot," he said, "It was a great learning experience and I went to places that I never would have gone or seen." There he turned a talent of "tearing things apart" into solid Army training in mechanics. Clark employed his skills throughout his career as a truck driver for Lewis where, during down season, he worked inside rebuilding and spray painting the Lewis fleet of trucks.

He highly recommends a military background for certain high school graduates. "If they are undecided about what they want to do, the service will provide the structure to research and learn skills. Plus it is great practical experience on how to live with people. It teaches you how to take an order without retaliation."

Clark was honored at a ceremony for Korean war veterans at the Army base in Willow Grove, Pa. He received citations from both state Rep. Bernie O'Neill and state Sen. Chuck McIlhenny.
Clark maintains a positive attitude about his valuable work for the Army.

"It was exciting and you were doing something that needed to be done. Somebody had to do it!"

He challenges today's recruits to take "the plunge" - "There are great benefits," Clark said, "if you can hack that kind of life."

By R. Kurt Osenlund, BucksLocalNews.com

Frank Dufner isn't used to being second-best. Throughout his 62 years, the youthful-looking Holland native has faced a number of challenges head-on, usually coming out on top. So in 2001 when doctors informed him that his health was less than perfect due to his exposure to the herbicide Agent Orange during his time in Vietnam, it was unfamiliar territory, to say the least.

With the help of a handful of medications, he's currently living with diabetes and painful, nerve-degenerative neuropathy, both of which his medical professionals attribute to the potentially deadly chemical he encountered approximately 40 years ago. Like most of the tests he's been handed in the past, Dufner is confronting his latest circumstances with a mind for victory, but they're among the many reasons he considers his service in the Vietnam War to be one of the darkest chapters in his life.

Born in Philadelphia in 1946, Dufner is the oldest of four children born to Francis J. and Regina T. In 1951, he, his parents, brothers Daniel and Michael, and sister Regina, moved to Cornwells Heights where he spent much of his youth. His memories of time spent in the area - which include attending Catholic school at St. Charles Borromeo, grabbing sandwiches with his dad at Tony & Pete's Hoagie Hut, and catching movies at the Andalusia Drive-In - bring a smile to his face.

"In my opinion," he says, "growing up in Cornwells Heights was the greatest thing a boy could wish for. I've always had great memories of living there. It was like the real America."

It was in 1965, after the family had relocated to Northeast Philadelphia and he'd graduated from Father Judge High School, when Dufner learned he'd been drafted to the U.S. Army. Under the caring advisement of his father, whose close friend was a naval recruiter, he opted to enlist in the Navy instead - a switch that wouldn't be permitted today - in an attempt to avoid the dangerous probability of being sent to Vietnam.


"It was sort of my father's way of saving his son's life," Dufner says. "It was his way of keeping me from going to Vietnam...but it didn't work out that way."

In less than a year (after beginning a chain of achievements with a selection to the Second Naval Drill Team at boot camp in Great Lakes, IL and the passing of an eligibility test at officer's candidate school in Newport, RI), Dufner was aboard the "jumbo oiler" the USS Passumpsic in the Southern Pacific - just off the coast of North Vietnam. It was the job of him and his crew - which consisted of his entire company from boot camp - to refuel aircraft carriers, destroyers, and destroyer escorts for bombing missions. The Passumpsic was massive; re-fashioned to carry so many additional fuel tanks, it could be out at sea for up to 45 days.

"Everybody was involved in refueling the ships," Dufner says, "from the captain to the lowest seaman apprentice. Everyone would be covered in black oil. We were convinced it was the worst job in the U.S. Navy."

Dufner's disdain for the position prompted him to seek out an alternative when the ship made its (temporary) return to the States. Following a 23-week stint in a San Diego electrician school, he tried out for the Navy SEALs, an act that freed him from his commitment to the Passumpsic. He passed the elite group's grueling physical evaluation but, as he did at the officer's candidate school, turned down the opportunity because of its demand of years of additional service. He was left with one option: volunteer for Vietnam.

In 1968, he ended up in Chu Lai, a coastal Navy base 56 miles southeast of Danang. With only limited engine knowledge, he was appointed a swift boat repairman, responsible for fixing anything and everything on the vessels that cruised through rivers behind enemy lines. It was in Chu Lai that Dufner came in contact with Agent Orange, the most potent of the powdered, defoliating dioxins that the U.S. military would use to kill the jungle brush that served as cover for Vietcong soldiers. When he came back to the U.S. to be discharged in 1969, he'd no knowledge of the adverse effects that came with him, and wouldn't for another three decades.

In the interim, Dufner delved into law enforcement. Never one to limit his options, he earned certification to be a Philadelphia police officer and a Pennsylvania state trooper before deciding on a job as a sky marshal with the U.S. Customs Service. What began as a temporary position soon transformed into a lucrative career, and Dufner climbed the ranks from sky marshal to patrol officer to special agent to senior special agent until finally retiring as a supervisory special agent in 1998. (The details of Dufner's work with the federal government warrant their own article but, here, let it be said that, among other things, they involve guns, drugs, high speed chases, and people hanging upside-down.)


"The job at Customs was the greatest job I ever loved," he says. "I never did the same thing twice. Every day was an adventure."

Today, despite his ailments, Dufner is an active man, involved with a host of veterans organizations including "Our 27," a memorial fund in honor of the 27 students from Father Judge High School who lost their lives in Vietnam. He shares his Holland home with Barbara, his wife of nearly 40 years. He's looking forward to his 32-year-old son Jacob's marriage to fiancee Lynn in August. The only time he exhibits a break in spirit is when he stops to reflect on the war, which is still challenging him - physically and emotionally.

"(Vietnam) stands out in my mind every day," he says. "Every day something happens that reminds me of it. The biggest impact that the war had was that it took away (my and my peers')virginity. We were all so young when it happened. A lot of us don't like to talk about it but we lost that part of our lives."

By Matthew Fleishman, BucksLocalNews.com

While in college, as a lifeguard on Long Beach Island, N.J., Frank Lyons would watch the Lockheed C-141 Starlifters fly off the New Jersey coast on their way to perform air drops in the Pine Barrens. Knowing that he would likely be drafted for the Vietnam War, Lyons decided to go into the service on his own terms, with the goal of one day flying one of those C-141s. Little did he know, he would witness the fall of Saigon, the invasion of Grenada, and fly missions during the Persian Gulf War.

"I said if I have to go into the service, I'm going to fly one of those things," said Lyons, who reached the rank of major in the U.S. Air Force. "It was very impressive to see them flying over the beach in formation."

To start his journey, Lyons enrolled in Air Force R.O.T.C while at Iona College, which, because of the war and a shortage of pilots, was being offered as a two-year program.

After graduating from Iona, Lyons began flight training at Craig Air Force Base in Alabama. While at the base, he finished high enough in his class to get his first choice of a flying assignment. Naturally, Lyons chose to fly the C-141 he had watched as a lifeguard.

In early 1973, after completing training, Lyons began flying five-day missions from McGuire Air Force Base to Southeast Asia, bringing supplies, munitions and troops to South Vietnam.

In October 1973, Lyons took part in "Operation Nickel Grass," which was a massive strategic airlift to resupply Israel after surprise invasions by both Syria and Egypt in what came to be called the "Yom Kippur War." Lyons said that the entire operation was staged out of the Portuguese Azores because no other country would allow the American planes to land if they were going to aid Israel's defense of its country.

"The Israelis were running out of supplies, and we were bringing munitions, which were immediately loaded onto trucks and taken to the front," said Lyons. "We were told that the rockets we brought were probably fired before we were even able to take off heading back to the Azores."

In April 1975, Lyons flew missions leading up to the fall of Saigon, taking part in "Operation Babylift" and "Operation New Life," which helped more than 100,000 refugees flee South Vietnam before the North Vietnamese Army overran the city.

"Everything was in chaos. The entire city was surrounded by nine divisions of North Vietnamese," said Lyons. "Twelve miles to the north, Soviet-built surface-to-air missiles were positioned at a former American base. To get into Tan Son Nhut [Airport] we had to descend in a tight spiral from 20,000 feet at a 60-degree bank because that was the only way we could land and avoid ground fire."

After leaving active duty in 1977, Lyons transferred to the Active Air Force Reserves, where he continued to fly the C-141. One morning in October 1983 he received a phone call, telling him to be at the base that evening for "contingency operations." Lyons was one of the pilots who flew the 82nd Airborne Division from Ft. Bragg to take part in the invasion of island-nation Grenada in the Caribbean Sea.

Seven years later, Lyons was approaching retirement from the reserves, but was placed back on active duty for Operation Desert Storm.

"I was six months away from retirement, but all of the sudden I found myself in a tent in Saudi Arabia eating MREs [Meals Ready to Eat]," said Lyons.

During the first Persian Gulf War, Lyons flew missions to the Persian Gulf from the United States, stopping at various European bases while delivering munitions for Operation Desert Shield and Operation Desert Storm. At the conclusion of the fighting he transported hundreds of troops returning home after the war.

When he was released from active duty following the war, Lyons retired from the Air Force. During his time in the reserves, Lyons was a commercial airline pilot, and recently bought the New Continental Tavern in Yardley Borough with his wife, daughter and son-in-law.

By Peter Ciferri, BucksLocalNews.com

The scene of F-18s launching in synchrony from an aircraft carrier's deck are synonymous with U.S. Military might. But what many people tend to overlook, is that over 100 feet below the flight deck, the precision work of nuclear engineers is, in large part, the driving force that gets those planes off the ground.

"The whole reason [the planes] are there and the whole reason they're moving is because of everybody downstairs," U.S. Navy nuclear power plant reactor operator John Keenan explained.

Armed with a bachelors degree in nuclear engineering and two intense Naval training in nuclear propulsion, Keenan spent eight years aboard the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln supercarrier. There, among other duties, he made sure planes often on the front lines of battle had a safe place to take off and a place to land.

"You never see us," Keenan said of his "under appreciated" job. He says the reason engine room troops are often overlooked is a combination of three things: the work isn't glamorous, it's tough to explain unless you're also a nuclear engineer and, most of all, a majority of the work is highly classified.

"Shy of movies like 'K-19,' where they have mockups, you really never hear about us," Keenan explained. "In 'Top Gun,' you don't see the guys in the engine room."

That secrecy can also make for some confusing moments. Because so much relies on their job, nuclear engineers are always on the clock, Keenan says.

When there are equipment problems on the 1,092-foot-long Lincoln, they can be seen working up to 45 hours to fix it, if need be - missions depend on it. And during combat, they often never see the light of day.

"We see things on the news," Keenan said of combat. "We're watching CNN and it's happening faster on there than the word gets back to us."

During his involvement with operations Iraqi Freedom and Enduring Freedom, and the "shock and awe" campaign on the Iraqi insurgents, the sailor said his main focus was keeping the reactors rolling so the planes could fulfill their missions.

"It was real stressful because you don't know what's going on," he said. "Everybody's watching TV and trying to figure out what's going on (with the mission) because we're so far off the coast."

So why are the reactors so important to a plane's ability to hit the air? Without giving a lesson in nuclear engineering (or giving away military secrets), Keenan said the reactors boil water, creating steam that moves through pipelines into catapults. These catapults are then used to launch the planes.

He went on to explain that the steam also powers the ship, and the speed and direction of a supercarrier needs to be precisely calculated for planes to make a safe landing.

The Conwell-Egan graduate said his years of nuclear training and a course load that included advanced physics, thermodynamics and a bevy of other courses most people would struggle to complete, only takes you so far when you're in a pressure situation and the equipment starts to malfunction.

"The schooling helps, but you learn everything once you're really out there," Keenan explained, adding that after several decades of improving technology, most crews have a handbook or an experienced engineer who has seen each problem before. "You have guys who have been around this for 30 years If you're fresh out of school, you probably won't figure anything out."

And even when one man does figure something out - the protocol, chain of command and confidentiality concerns always makes the job a team effort.

Keenan said that confidentiality is necessary, but can sometimes be a burden.
He said it's tough to keep your mouth shut when your entire job and life are secret to your friends and family.

The engineer recalled one instance when his family was invited aboard the Lincoln. For Keenan, there wasn't much to show during a tour, as nearly every corner of the ship where he spends his days was off-limits to the visitors.

"We could show them where we slept, but we could never show them where we work," he said, adding that even when he showed them around his office, all his paperwork had to be secured and locked away.

"It makes it really tough to even explain to somebody what we do."

But there is one experience Keenan can share that resonates with his friends and family.
It was Dec. 26, 2004 and the Lincoln was docked in Hong Kong. Among the celebrations of Christmas and New Year's, the men received a call that a tsunami had struck portions of southeast Asia.

In true American spirit, they heeded the call and were the first on the scene in Sumatra to offer relief until more ships prepared for the disaster situation could make their way to the region.
"Everything imaginable was floating and the smell was horrible," Keenan remembered. "There were buildings floating, you could see cows floating by; bodies."

Keenan and his crew boarded helicopters, dropping fresh water and bags of rice to some remote and destroyed villages.

"As we flew over top, all you could see were little squares where the foundations of buildings used to be," he said. "You could see exactly how the water came up how it cut the whole side of a mountain or cliff off."

Today, back home safely in Bucks County, Keenan is the third-generation owner of John Keenan Construction, a residential and commercial remodeling business founded by his grandfather.
Keenan loves his job, but he does sometimes yearn for the old days - as he claims the problems facing a nuclear reactor are nothing compared to problems on a job site.

"A nuclear reactor is cut and dry. It's all been done and it's all the same way every time. But remodeling a home: so many different factors can come into it, and you have to take each problem, address it individually, and come up with a solution that you and your client are happy with."