Tribute to Peter Zink
Written by Mike Dankert
Written by Mike Dankert
Peter (Pete) Zink was one of our post-August 15 replacements. Pete was from Troy, New York. He had an eastern accent and, like all guys I've met from New York, liked to talk. I liked Pete immediately. He never went through that "FNG-Why Vietnam?" phase. Pete adjusted to Vietnam quickly. When the monsoons hit, while others stood around and grumbled Pete stuck an entrenching tool in the ground, centered his poncho over it, staked out the ends, crawled underneath and went to sleep. He did whatever he was asked to do. Pete said he had seen us receive commendations and decided that Sgt. Glyn and Sgt. Mike, as he called us, knew what they were doing and he was going to follow along. He never complained. Once when we were on LZ 411 I felt bad because I had to assign him to a garbage detail. I checked on him later and Pete was all smiles. They let him drive a 3/4 ton truck to pick up the garbage and he was ramrodding all over 411 picking up garbage and hauling it to the 411 dump. Another time I had to "tell" Pete and Manny Strauch to go to the 411 mess hall so that the Donut Dollies, who were visiting, had an audience of GIs to cheer up. Pete and Manny did their duty and learned how to fold paper to make paper whales.
My favorite memory of Pete also is a time on 411. We were on the hill for Thanksgiving 1969. I wasn't feeling well enough to go the mess hall for Thanksgiving dinner so I stayed behind at the bunker. Pete went and brought me back a plate with turkey, potatoes, dressing and pie - the works. I ate while Pete opened a package he had gotten from home, from his family or his drinking buddy Tommy, I can't remember which. It's the only time I heard him complain. He started carrying on about a loaf of bread in the package. It was dried up and hard. He couldn't figure why someone would send him that. Why did they think he'd want a loaf of bread. And they should have known it wouldn't be any good by the time it got to him. Disgusted Pete took the box and put it in a trash barrel near our bunker. I finished my plate and went to throw it in the barrel and noticed something shiny. I pulled out the bread and found a bottle. Uncle Louie had carved out the bread so a small bottle of whiskey would fit inside it. Apparently he thought the bread would cushion the bottle and keep it from breaking. I asked Pete if he was sure he didn't want the loaf of bread as I opened it and held up the bottle. He got a big smile on his face. Pete opened the bottle and we raised a glass, actually canteen cups, and drank a toast.
The last time I saw Pete was in January 1970. He and Bill Davenport were wounded on January 14, the same date Gary Morris and Roger Kidwell were killed. Pete and Bill were medevaced to Chu Lai. I visited them in the hospital. An RPG had exploded near Pete. His face was a contorted mess. His face was bruised, swollen and cut. He could only see out of one eye. He drank using a straw through the corner of his mouth. He never complained or felt sorry for himself. He said not to worry about him, he was going home.
The last time I spoke to Pete was 1985. Terry Woolums had contacted us separately and told us about the Hill 411 reunion in St. Louis, Missouri. Pete called me. I recognized his voice immediately, that New York accent. He told me he had recovered from the wounds and had only a small scar on his face. We talked about what we had done after Vietnam. Pete was working in a small bar. Not a surprise, Pete was known to drink a few beers. He had gotten married and was divorced but still friendly with his ex. At one point in the conversation he said, "So are we going to do this thing?" meaning attend the 411 reunion. I said I will, if you will. We agreed to meet in St. Louis. I went to the reunion but Pete never showed. Later I tried to call him without success. I never heard from him again.
A few years later I got a call and heard what I thought was a familiar voice. It was Ed Zink, Pete's brother. He had opened Pete's safe deposit box and found my name and phone number. Ed told me that Pete had died from cancer attributed to Agent Orange. As Pete was dying he asked his brother to contact me but Ed was unable to find my number. I missed the funeral but Ed gave me his address and I sent him some money telling him to buy a round for the guys at the bar in memory of Pete.
My favorite memory of Pete also is a time on 411. We were on the hill for Thanksgiving 1969. I wasn't feeling well enough to go the mess hall for Thanksgiving dinner so I stayed behind at the bunker. Pete went and brought me back a plate with turkey, potatoes, dressing and pie - the works. I ate while Pete opened a package he had gotten from home, from his family or his drinking buddy Tommy, I can't remember which. It's the only time I heard him complain. He started carrying on about a loaf of bread in the package. It was dried up and hard. He couldn't figure why someone would send him that. Why did they think he'd want a loaf of bread. And they should have known it wouldn't be any good by the time it got to him. Disgusted Pete took the box and put it in a trash barrel near our bunker. I finished my plate and went to throw it in the barrel and noticed something shiny. I pulled out the bread and found a bottle. Uncle Louie had carved out the bread so a small bottle of whiskey would fit inside it. Apparently he thought the bread would cushion the bottle and keep it from breaking. I asked Pete if he was sure he didn't want the loaf of bread as I opened it and held up the bottle. He got a big smile on his face. Pete opened the bottle and we raised a glass, actually canteen cups, and drank a toast.
The last time I saw Pete was in January 1970. He and Bill Davenport were wounded on January 14, the same date Gary Morris and Roger Kidwell were killed. Pete and Bill were medevaced to Chu Lai. I visited them in the hospital. An RPG had exploded near Pete. His face was a contorted mess. His face was bruised, swollen and cut. He could only see out of one eye. He drank using a straw through the corner of his mouth. He never complained or felt sorry for himself. He said not to worry about him, he was going home.
The last time I spoke to Pete was 1985. Terry Woolums had contacted us separately and told us about the Hill 411 reunion in St. Louis, Missouri. Pete called me. I recognized his voice immediately, that New York accent. He told me he had recovered from the wounds and had only a small scar on his face. We talked about what we had done after Vietnam. Pete was working in a small bar. Not a surprise, Pete was known to drink a few beers. He had gotten married and was divorced but still friendly with his ex. At one point in the conversation he said, "So are we going to do this thing?" meaning attend the 411 reunion. I said I will, if you will. We agreed to meet in St. Louis. I went to the reunion but Pete never showed. Later I tried to call him without success. I never heard from him again.
A few years later I got a call and heard what I thought was a familiar voice. It was Ed Zink, Pete's brother. He had opened Pete's safe deposit box and found my name and phone number. Ed told me that Pete had died from cancer attributed to Agent Orange. As Pete was dying he asked his brother to contact me but Ed was unable to find my number. I missed the funeral but Ed gave me his address and I sent him some money telling him to buy a round for the guys at the bar in memory of Pete.