From the Bunker - Lance Cpl. Don Bumgarner

U.S. Marine Corps veteran, Lance Cpl. Don Bumgarner, a mortarman with 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines, 3rd Marine Division, recounts his time in Vietnam from 1967 to 1968. His story chronicles the journey into the Marine Corps, through the treacherous conditions of combat, the struggles and achievements of life after war and insight for Marines of the current generation.
This story has been adapted for publication by 3rd Marine Division Communications Strategy and Operations.
[“At our last reunion in Tucson, Arizona (Third Marine Division Association Reunion), I had the privilege of meeting the Commanding General of the 3rd Marine Division, Major General Kyle B. Ellison. He was very approachable and friendly, and I was impressed by the chance to speak with him.
We met in the “Bunker,” where I keep my Vietnam pictures, the history of 1st Battalion / 3rd Marines / 3rd Marine Division from 1965–1969 in Vietnam, and other memorabilia. When I joined Charlie Company 1/3 in February 1967, we were at Camp Schwab in Okinawa. The general enjoyed looking through my old Camp Schwab and NTA photos.
The Bunker is where we older Marines gather to share our war stories, have a drink, and remember those days. During our conversation, Major General Ellison mentioned the possibility of sharing some of our stories with younger Marines and NCOs of today’s Marine Corps. That conversation inspired the title “From the Bunker”—stories from earlier days shared with the Marines of today.
So, I decided to share my story.
My name is Don Bumgarner. I was born in southwest Missouri, and in May 1955 my father moved our family to California. We were a typical middle-class family. I grew up in the Lakewood and Long Beach area during the 1950s and 1960s, when California felt like a great place to live.
I graduated from high school in 1965 and started junior college. My classes did not interest me, and I left after the first semester. The draft was active then, and if you were not a full-time student, you were likely to be drafted before your nineteenth birthday.
My father had served in the Navy during World War II, and so I always assumed I would join the Navy as well. In May 1966, I saw a television advertisement for a two-year enlistment in the Navy Seabees. A friend and I went to the Navy recruiter, but he said the only option was a four-year enlistment. That was more than we wanted.
As we left, we noticed the Marine Corps recruiting office. The Marine recruiter offered two-, three-, and four-year enlistments. We asked about the two-year option. He explained that since the Marines had a 13-month tour in Vietnam, if we stayed out of trouble for about a year, we might not have enough time left to be sent there. Twelve months did not seem long, and if we did end up in Vietnam, we figured the Marines would train us well.
I joined the Marines with another friend. After a 120-day delay, we reported to the Los Angeles Induction Center on September 13, 1966. From there we took a Greyhound bus to San Diego and then a Marine Corps bus to Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego.
That bus driver, a Private First Class, was not the friendliest Marine I had ever met. When we arrived, the drill instructors boarded the bus and began reading orders. Soon we were standing at attention on the famous yellow footprints.
After receiving haircuts and gear being issued, we marched to the Quonset huts, large tube-like shelters made of corrugated iron, at around two or three in the morning. We made our beds and got a little sleep before reveille. The next morning the drill instructor burst into the hut shouting for us to get up.
I remember thinking to myself: What have I gotten into?
Our boot camp was only 8 weeks, shortened from the prior 12-week program. At the end of boot camp, we received our orders. About 98 percent of us were assigned infantry and slated for the Western Pacific in February—Vietnam.
Next, we checked into Infantry Training Regiment at Camp Pendleton. From there I took leave and then returned to machine gun school. After learning how to do our jobs we began staging for deployment. All the privates were promoted to Pfc. Someone joked that the promotion was our reward for heading to Vietnam.
In mid-February we flew by jet to Okinawa, Japan. Twenty-six of us—thirteen machine gunners and thirteen riflemen—were assigned to 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines at Camp Schwab. Most of us joined Charlie Company.
Because there were not enough machine-gun positions, some of us were reassigned. I ended up in the 60mm mortar section.
We trained at Camp Schwab and the Northern Training Area for Special Landing Force duty. In April we loaded onto the USS Okinawa (LPH-3) to begin operations.
One morning while the flag was being raised at Camp Schwab, I looked at it differently than before. For the first time I realized that I might die defending that flag. I had never thought about it that way until then.
Our first operations brought us to Subic Bay in the Philippines for training. One evening we had liberty in Olongapo City outside the base gates. It was a lively place with bars, clubs, and street vendors selling food.
Soon afterward we were called back early, reloaded onto the USS Okinawa, and headed toward Vietnam.
On April 28, 1967, we began Operation Beaver Cage. Charlie Company was among the first units inserted by helicopter.
On May 1, our company encountered sniper fire and so that night we dug in on a hilltop. Another Marine, PFC Gerry Kelley, and I were digging a fighting hole together. The ground was hard and slow to dig.
As evening approached, I spotted movement near a rock out in front of us. That was my first time seeing the enemy. Shortly afterward we heard explosions and saw tracer rounds flying overhead. Our company was being ambushed.
Kelley and I were inside the perimeter and could not fire outward. At first, I didn’t think the bullets were aimed at us. Then rounds began striking closer.
While attempting to move positions, Kelley was hit in the ankle and almost immediately after a bullet struck the ground beside me, and I realized they were shooting directly at us. Kelly managed to jump into another fighting hole. I yelled ahead and asked him if there was room in the hole. He said no. I jumped in anyway.
The incoming fire intensified and kicked up dirt and rocks around us. It was one of the most frightening moments of my life.
Later that night our squad leader asked if we had any mortar rounds left. I crawled back to our gear, grabbed what I could, and delivered them to where they were needed.
The next morning, I saw my first Marine killed in combat. Seeing him brought home the reality of the war.
On May 10, our battalion encountered heavy fighting while forming a blocking force near Hill 55. During that battle I learned that my close friend James (Jim) Cooper had been killed.
Jim had been with me since ITR training at Camp Pendleton. My mother used to call the three of us—Jim, Ken Burkett, and me— “her three Marines.”
That evening, I helped carry Jim’s body to the landing zone. All I could do was look at him and say goodbye to my friend.
That day our battalion suffered heavy casualties. It remains the hardest day I experienced in Vietnam.
Later operations brought intense fighting, mortar barrages, and minefields. During Operation Buffalo on July 4, we endured hours of artillery and rocket fire. My fellow Marine, Johnson, and I, spent much of the time huddled in a fighting hole while explosions landed around us.
There were also moments of strange humor. During one barrage, after the dust cleared, we saw a Marine run back to his position pulling up his pants after being caught outside during the attack.
Not everything in war makes sense.
Minefields were another constant danger. One day, a Marine in our patrol hit a mine and was evacuated. Shortly afterward another mine exploded. Then a larger anti-tank mine detonated and wounded several more Marines.
Our captain finally realized we were inside an old minefield and ordered us to retrace our steps.
Later that year our battalion moved to a new combat base called A-3 near the Demilitarized Zone. The position was exposed, and enemy artillery regularly targeted us. Engineers began constructing bunkers while we reinforced them with lumber and sandbags.
In December, we moved again to another base called C-4 along the coast. Both Christmas and New Years were spent there.
In January 1968 one of our platoons was ambushed north of C-4. Several Marines were wounded, including my friend Ken Burkett.
Soon afterward our tour came to an end. Charlie Company was relieved and returned to Quang Tri. Finaly, by mid-March it was time for me to rotate home.
From Da Nang I flew to Okinawa and then on to Norton Air Force Base in California. I took a long Greyhound bus ride back to Long Beach and surprised my parents by showing up at home.
After a month of leave I returned to Camp Pendleton and was discharged from the Marine Corps.
The very next day I enrolled at Long Beach City College. During my first class the professor kept calling on “Don,” but I did not realize he meant me. I had been answering to rank for so long that hearing my first name again took some getting used to.
The professor turned out to be a former Marine himself, and we got along well.
I eventually earned an associate’s degree and pursued a career in law enforcement. After some setbacks, I was hired by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department in December 1971.
It was a rewarding career, and I retired after 25 years of service in 1995.
Life brought both happiness and hardship along the way, including marriage, divorce, raising a daughter, and later losing my second wife to cancer after 25 years together. Her passing changed my life in ways I never expected.
After retiring I bought a van and traveled around the country with my dog, visiting fellow Marines and attending reunions. Eventually I moved back to southwest Missouri and purchased a small ranch.
Today I live there with horses, dogs, cats, and plenty of wildlife around. It is a peaceful place, and I feel fortunate to wake up there every morning.
Each year I look forward to the Third Marine Division Association reunion. The older World War II Marines are mostly gone now, but Vietnam veterans continue the tradition.
Many of us were only teenagers when we went to Vietnam. I was nineteen and a half years old when I arrived. Most of us never expected to live for as long as we have, but we did—and we carry the memories with us.
The purpose of sharing this story is simple.
To the younger Marines of today: all of us older veterans respect what you are doing. Thank you for stepping forward to serve and protect our country.
The Marine Corps will shape you in ways that last a lifetime—the discipline, dedication, and the bond between Marines—those things never leave you.
Take photos with the Marines you serve with—and write their names on them. You may think you will remember forever, but time has a way of fading details.
Choose a career you enjoy when you leave the service. Being happy in your work makes life much easier.
Life will have ups and downs. Do your best, respect others, and stay true to yourself.
And remember: the older you get, the faster the years seem to pass.
We older Marines still say “Semper Fi.”
You younger Marines might say “Oorah.”
Both mean the same thing.
Thank you for your service to our country.
Life is good. Enjoy the ride.
Semper Fidelis.”]