The Virginian-Pilot 

May 31, 2009

Louis Hansen

VIRGINIA BEACH

A few years ago at a reunion for Navy sailors and airmen, Clarence Cooper met two men he'd seen just once - Sept. 14, 1968. It was a hot and humid afternoon when North Vietnamese troops ambushed Cooper's supply ship on the river outside Vinh Long.

Rockets streamed from the bank, blasted through bulkheads and drove shrapnel into the small crew. The sailors unloaded on the entrenched enemy lines. The deck was covered with smoke and fire and cartridge cases and two rocket-propelled grenades that somehow didn't explode.

The fight culminated with a helicopter rescue of a gravely wounded sailor under heavy fire. The Navy pilot, Jim Walker, and door gunner, Barry Waluda, won some of the service's highest awards for valor.

Years later at the reunion in Denver, the three men sat together at a barbecue and relived the battle.

The Virginia Beach retiree, whom friends call "Coop," shared that he recommended seven crew members for awards in the battle.

But Coop? He kept little but memories and scars from the sunburn and the shrapnel.

That bothered Walker, Waluda and a few others. They started a campaign of their own: They were going to surprise their friend Coop with a medal.

Soon, they recruited plenty of help - retired captains, a commander, Navy Cross winners, a master chief petty officer, a senator and the region's top admiral. They grounded through Navy bureaucracy and reached the secretary of the Navy himself.

"Yeah," said former gunner Waluda, "it was like we were coming over the horizon again."

On Monday at Little Creek Naval Amphibious Base, the Navy will award Coop with a Bronze Star.

Clarence Cooper's one-bedroom apartment in Virginia Beach is a well-tended shrine of memories that the retired senior chief petty officer collected during his 23 years of Navy service.

The 76-year-old widower lives alone and has lined his walls with memorabilia from his Navy years - framed prints of river battles, a carved wooden submarine, a detailed model of a Mark I patrol boat.

Coop left the whistle stop town of Tolar, Texas, in 1951 to enlist. He joined the submarine force and by the time he volunteered for riverine duty in Vietnam he was a 35-year-old chief petty officer.

He commanded a crew of about 18, most barely out of their teens. They called him "Chief Papi."

Their ship was a rebuilt, 133-foot World War II supply vessel called the Kodiak. It was based in a part of the delta with several river branches known to some GIs as the Head of the Dragon. The North Vietnamese loved to attack supply boats, and they had a knack for knowing when they were coming. "I just knew he was going to throw a welcoming party," Coop said.

About four miles up the Mekong river from their base, the ship reached a tight bend where the channel narrowed to 50 yards of navigable water. The ship slowed; the enemy pounced.

A missile slammed into the pilot house, and gunfire came from both banks. The crew returned fire but was soon overwhelmed.

Coop took the controls and called for support. Fast Navy patrol boats arrived in minutes. Walker and Waluda flew in behind them.

On deck, another rocket explosion spit shrapnel into the engineering space, piercing the skull of one young sailor. Walker told Coop he would bring his Seawolf down on the ship's railing to try to rescue the wounded man. Coop kept the ship steady against the current while Walker dodged fire and touched the aircraft's skid on the railing on the bow.

The ship lighted up with gunfire, smoke and paint chips. Waluda and the second gunner reached down to grab the bleeding sailor as the helicopter hovered a few feet above the deck.

They hauled the sailor into the aircraft, and Walker sped back to base to drop off the wounded and reload. The helicopter crews continued the fight for hours while the Kodiak retreated.

Walker wrote Cooper's grandson, Derek, a one-page note a few years ago about the battle: "The next time you look at your Grandfather know that he has faced extreme danger in combat, and because of his skill, courage and decisions, the enemy did not overcome. His ship and crew were saved. Derek, be well aware of the absolute fact that your Grandfather is a hero."

Coop piloted the badly damaged ship back to base. His clothes were torn and shrapnel pitted his legs. But he was in better shape the most of the crew. The men had fired 6,000 rounds in less than a half-hour.

A half-dozen of them received Purple Hearts. Three or four came home with Bronze or Silver stars. All came out alive, Coop said, even the grievously wounded young engineer.

Walker was awarded a Navy Cross, the service's second highest honor. Waluda received a Silver Star.

Cooper came back with a single line on his record: "Recommended for E-8."

He seldom told the story.

Gary Marker, a retired master chief petty officer, noticed one framed battle print on Coop's apartment wall during a visit 2-1/2 years ago.

It was a helicopter flying past a village of Viet Cong supporters, and it was signed by Jim Walker. Marker asked if he knew Walker, whose heroism was well-known in the Navy aviation community.

Coop explained the ambush, fight and Walker's daring rescue.

"We need to get you an award," Marker said.

Coop shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it," he said.

But Marker went home and sent an e-mail to a few retired officers. Because Cooper was in charge of the ship, he asked his friends, "Shouldn't he deserve a combat decoration? He received absolutely nothing."

Marker salted his e-mail with capital letters, bold type and exclamation marks: "He got screwed."

It is not easy to receive an award long after the fact. A veteran must petition his congressman to endorse a package to the individual service branch.

For combat awards, a Navy veteran must have two sworn eyewitness statements, a signed recommendation of the commanding officer at the time of the actions and official military documentation of the battle to back the veracity of the claim. When the package is complete, it is reviewed by two awards boards appointed by the top military and civilian commanders. The secretary of the Navy makes the final decision.

Four Vietnam veterans have received Bronze Star or higher awards since October, according to the Navy.

Marker and the vets quietly dug in. Allen "Wes" Weseleskey, a retired Navy captain and former service ombudsman, hunted leads and compiled a dossier. Walker and Waluda gladly swore to statements about Cooper's actions.

They found Coop's former boss, Capt. Max Duncan, retired in Georgia. Although Duncan commanded 5,000 personnel in Vietnam, he was embarrassed to learn that one his men failed to receive deserved recognition.

Duncan said he knew about the firefight but not about it's fierceness. He immediately set to work.

The application went through retired Sen. John Warner and into the Navy pipeline. It sat there for almost two years.

A frustrated Marker buttonholed Adm. Jonathan Greenert, commander of U.S. Fleet Forces at Norfolk Naval Station, at a Navy ceremony. Greenert listened as Marker explained Cooper's valor and their effort to get him recognized.

Marker went home and sent a lengthy e-mail to Greenert, detailing the story.

A few days later, Greenert responded with a personal e-mail. The region's top admiral, who has since been chosen for vice chief of naval operations, had checked the status of the award. He confirmed it had been "favorably forwarded" to the navy's top admiral.

After a four-star nudge, Coop's award papers appeared on the desk of the secretary of the Navy in five months.

A few weeks ago, Coop was volunteering at the Meyera Oberndorf Central Library in Virginia Beach when his cell phone rang. Coop glanced down and recognized the Georgia number - Duncan.

He answered and heard his former boss at the other end say, "Your heroism is finally going to be recognized."

They talked for a half hour, excited about the honor and ceremony. Duncan said he deserved a higher award. Coop said he was simply pleased to be recognized.

Despite his friends' efforts, Coop knew something was up. "Those things are hard to keep secret," he said.

But he didn't say anything about it.

Louis Hansen, (757) 222-5221, louis.hansen@pilotonline.com

During the Vietnam war, Coop commanded the Kodiak, a rebuilt World War II supply ship that was attacked on Sept. 14, 1968.

Coop puts on his Vietnam War-era uniform. He learned of his Bronze Star commendation a few weeks ago through a phone call from his former commanding officer. (Hyunsoo Leo Kim | The Virginian-Pilot)