You cannot make this stuff up; this happened today, 36 years after the event. Three years ago, I posted the story below about picking up a guy who had walked into a rotor blade. His son emailed me today; apparently stumbled upon the story by Googling his name:
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The Story:
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Blade Strike
Wednesday, 18 September 2002, at 2324 hrs

Some time in late March or early April 1969, I was flying Gunner for someone else, coming out of the Plei Trap on an ash & trash day.

It was blowing and gusting like hell and the ship was getting tossed around pretty good.

We got diverted to a 4th Div Bn firebase to medevac a guy who had walked into LOH main rotor. Had to land on their sidehill pad because the LOH was trashed on the main pad.

They stuck the guy, on a stretcher, into the ship from my side and as usual, I got the bloody end. Only stretcher I ever saw in Vietnam. Should have been a tipoff; turns out he was Field Grade. He looked dead; dead white, had a huge dressing the size of a steel pot on his head and he'd been trached. Another guy, Black grunt, Spec4 or PFC going home, got on for the ride back to Kontum.

Medic shakes his head, says to me, try to keep the trache clear. Shit. Another one's gonna die on me. We pull pitch and go. Pouring it on for that med pad at Kontum.

I look under the dressing, top of the guy's skull is gone. I'm looking at brain. Put the dressing back. Air coming in the door, crossing the trache tube, guy can't suck air. I'm on my knees across his chest, out of ideas, finally I've got his cheeks, his face, in my hands and I'm screaming in his face, "BREATHE MFer!!! BREATHE NOW!!!" And he'd choke and blow shit out of his trache and actually take a breath.

The grunt should have gotten a Silver Star. Bravest man I ever saw. Was done, going home, made it. 365 days and gone.

Rough air was tossing us every which way. Air in the right side door was making it so hard for the guy to breathe and we couldn't fix it. I forget who the AC was, but nothing he could do made any difference. I was trying to shield the trache with my hands, wasn't working. The grunt moved over, squatted in the open door with his toes inside and his heels outside at the end of the stretcher, tucked his towel under his feet and held the other end of the towel up with both hands, no holding onto anything, blocking the air from the guy's trache. As soon as he did it, the guy could breathe. Problem is, the grunt was on the verge of being tossed out with the next gust. One good shot, he's out the door clean at 1,500 feet. Absolutely the bravest thing I ever saw.

We got the guy to Kontum alive, but I told some people the story of that brave grunt for several years and said no matter what the grunt did, there was no way the bladestrike guy lived.

Ten years ago, I find out that the bladestrike guy was the Bn Commander, name of Sulenski, and he actually did live. Name's not on the Wall.

Dave Fogg just sent me a picture of a display they made from his helmet, telling everybody on the firebase what happens when you stick yer damn fool head into a main rotor.

Now I find out there's a chance that the guy might still be alive. And there is absolutely no way that the brave Black grunt will ever get the credit he is due. Maybe a hundred years from now, somebody who heard the other side of the story from a grandfather or a great-uncle of that grunt will read this and make the connection... If not, at least it's written down, what that man did. And folks who heard him talk about that helicopter ride will finally understand that he actually did it, god bless him.

I don't know where we get such men. I think maybe somebody may have already asked that question...

Doc Bob

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The Emails I received today:
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Subj: Re: March 16, 1969
Date: 10/20/2005 9:06:29 AM EST
From: jonathan@jonsul.demon.co.uk
To: hosco6@aol.com
Dear Bob,

I just chanced upon your reference to my father Lt. Col. Joseph Sulenski who incurred and survived (to this day) the blade strike to which you prefer.

Firstly, thank you for keeping him alive during those most critical first hours. You made one 8 year old boy very happy to have his father back.

Secondly, you might like to know that Joe Sulenski (aka Poor Bastard ;o) made a full recovery and leads a full and incredibly normal life (thanks to you and others like you).

Finally, if you’d like more info or to make contact directly with my father then please feel free to contact me at this email. I would be interested in any more info you may have or recall on this incident.

With utmost gratitude and kind regards,

Jonathan Sulenski

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Hi again Bob,

Just read http://www.campholloway.com/Webbbs/webbbs_archive02_config.pl?noframes;read=5147

I guess you have no idea who the ‘brave grunt’ was, if you ever find out any info then please let me know. At least someone on this side of the equation made the connection in less than 100 years.

Any chance you could forward the picture of the helmet from Dave Fogg? Understandably, Dad wasn’t in the mood for collecting souvenirs at the time.

Best regards,

Jonathan

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My Reply today:
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Subject: Re: March 16, 1969
Date: 10/20/2005 2:02:27 P.M. Eastern Standard Time
From: Hosco6
Reply To:
To: jonathan@jonsul.demon.co.uk

Jonathan--

Whew.

Give me a chance to put this together...

Several years ago my late mother asked me how I felt about having gone to Vietnam, what happened there. I answered her that I felt really good about going, because "I knew that there are a lot of guys walking around, alive today, because I was there, doing the things I did."

You just lit the candles on that cake.

My pals with the 119th AHC (we were not a medical unit, we were an assault company) nicknamed me "Doc" because I came back bloody so often. I guess I just took it very seriously, trying to get those guys to the med pad alive. Most made it; some didn't.

Crew chiefs normally sat in the left door of Hueys. That day, I was flying as gunner for someone else, so I was on the right side. I was just out of ideas; he would stop breathing, I knew I was losing him. The ship was getting tossed all over the sky, it was a rough day to start with, and the pilot was just pouring on the coal, going as fast as he could to get to the med pad at LZ MaryLou in Kontum. I'm guessing the trip was maybe 20 minutes.

I ended up kneeling across his chest, my hands on both sides of his face, screaming "BREATHE M@#$%RF@#$%R ! BLOW ! NOW! TAKE A BREATH ! NOW !" He would blow, clear the trache, blow it all over his tormenter, then suck some air for a while. And all the while that black grunt squatted in the door of the ship, half out of the ship, holding his towel up.

I bet if we traced days, talked with anyone who was on that firebase, they might be able to figure out who the guy was. Whoever he was, it was the bravest act I saw in Vietnam, and I saw plenty.

I had no idea at the time of your father's rank. You can tell him, had I known, I'd have shouted, "BREATHE M@#$%RF@#$%R SIR !" instead.

There is another extremely strange coincidence here. At the same time I was flying with the 119th Assault Helicopter Company out of Camp Holloway in Pleiku, there was another guy in the 4th Infantry Division, flying as a Dustoff medic, by the name of Robert "Doc" Kilpatrick. He actually has a website; it's not me.

You made my year, Jonathan. I would like to say hello to your dad after I've had a chance to let this sink in, so please stay in touch. Thank you for writing.

This is amazing.

Bob "Doc" Kilpatrick