Donald C. Voltner: “Do Him Justice.”

Dear Maggie,

I’m happy to help you record Don’s story. Do him justice. I am a 67-year-old former CAP Marine looking at the images you sent, a face I haven’t seen since Feb of 1969, and I’m crying like a little kid. If you and I took a trip back to that village in Vietnam we would find villagers that would still remember Moose and grieve his loss. I know nothing about you so I am asking that you do not treat this lightly. This isn’t another class assignment; this is a man’s life, and death.

The group picture is from left to right, Don Voltner, Edward Schiver, Carlos Soto, Brown (Killed In Action) and Me (Michael Scott). Ed lives in Baltimore where he is a home inspector. There is a child standing next to me we called Jim that was killed by the Viet Cong.

This is part of an email sent by Michael Scott, a Marine who fought alongside a man by the name of Donald C. Voltner. He was writing to a student journalist at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, who was tasked with finding a photo of Voltner for the Virtual Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund. The purpose is to honor every service member and the sacrifice they made.

Looking at a list of names, it is easy to forget that each name had a family, friends, and an unlived future. Seeing a toothy grin reminds us of the humanity behind a name. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund is raising funds to build an education center across the street from the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall. The photo of every service member would be projected on the wall during their birthday.

Getting hands on a photo of Voltner was the easy part. After searching his last name on Facebook, within minutes the student was connected with Nick Voltner, the nephew of Don.  And, then, through Nick, to the blog of a friend named Michael Scott—whose own tragedy is fatally intertwined with Voltner’s.

Writing his story was much more difficult. How to do Don justice? He was 20-years-old when he left his family and friends behind to fight in the war. “With a nickname like Moose he was, of course, a very big guy.  He was a source of amazement to the small villagers [of Vietnam] and a favorite playmate for the kids,” wrote Michael Scott in his blog describing his time in Vietnam.

Scott was there when Voltner arrived in Vietnam. They attended Combined Action Program (CAP) school together in a coastal city in Vietnam called Da Nang. He said that his first impression was that Voltner was a gentle giant—an impression that proved to be true. “By the end of CAP school we were best friends, Mutt ‘n’ Jeff.  He was quick to laugh and deliver a jab but, never hurtful.”

Scott remembers this time of service as the most rewarding experience—and also as the most tragic.

Because Don Voltner wasn’t killed by the Viet Cong. He died in the fog of war at the accidental hand of a friend. And that friend was Michael Scott.

A crushing experience

Michael Scott remembers his service with Voltner as “the scene of the most crushing experiences. Experiences that took over 30 years to come to terms with.”

Just a year before he left for the Marines, Voltner played Varsity football, and wrestled at St. Francis High School.

One of his old high school wrestling buddies, Ed Clark said, “Don was a large muscular guy, but in my opinion, he was more of a gentle giant. I don’t remember anyone calling him Moose, but I can see why they would. You need to know that he wasn’t big as in overweight, he was big like the hulk. All muscle.”

Voltner was 20-years-old when he held his girlfriend in his arms for the last time. Voltner couldn’t have possibly known when he left 45 years ago that he would never return home. When asked what Voltner’s hopes were for the future, Scott replied that all Marines had the same wishes. “We hoped we would get through each day and we dreamed we would get home.  When you’re in combat you have no long-range plans.  Just getting back to the comfort of Home.”

Most likely Voltner would have married his girlfriend. “I’d say he would have been a family man, large family.  Mostly what I remember about him was how much he enjoyed playing with the village kids. Wrestling with them hanging all over him and always he let them get him down. Today his back would be bad, and his knees would be shot but he’d be at it with the grand kids just the same.”

Nick Voltner, the son of Don’s brother, helped to reawaken the story of Voltner’s life. Even though he had never met his Uncle Don, Nick feels a strong connection to his story. “It’s a sad thing to talk about. It was the day before his 21^st birthday that he died.”

Voltner came from a fairly large family—two brothers and a sister. Nick described how close their family is. “I think about my cousins, and I wonder what more there could have been. It just sucks to think that there could have been more, but there’s not.”

Voltner is among the more than 58,000 men and women who were never able to return home from their service in Vietnam. Although everyone has their own unique story, all of the veterans left behind friends and families.

On Feb. 28, 1969, Donald Voltner was killed. In Michael Scott’s blog, he wrote about the day Voltner died. “All the hopes and dreams we had talked about were over, and my life was never going to be the same… In the morning, we carried him back to the village on a bed that our Vietnamese solders had produced.  As I walked in that line of sadness, the only thing I could see were Don’s boots hanging off the end of the bed. We laid him on the dirt road that ran through the village, and the people began to come and the morning began. The kids began to cry.”

While protecting the village of Go Minh at 3 a.m., Scott was in the midst of a dicey situation with the enemy fast approaching. Flares were going off in the distance, making it nearly impossible to see. Just a few feet in front of him appeared a man in the middle of “the kill zone.” Following his training, Scott emptied half of his ammo into the stranger. The team leader ordered a cease-fire. Scott wondered why this order came in the middle of an ambush.

“The answer came with the words of the Corpsman, and they hit me so hard that my body and mind went numb; Doc Cooley said, ‘It’s Moose.’ Moose, Don Voltner, my best buddy in the team… I had fired 10 rounds at point blank range and only hit him once, but he was gone,” recalls Michael Scott. “I always had thought that the worst thing that could happen to me was to be killed; I was wrong. I wanted to trade places with my friend.  With all my soul, I wanted to be dead.”

This tragic event began a spiral of PTSD and emotional pain that ultimately sent Scott home from the war. “My mother told me once that she sent off the men from her family [to the war] and though we all returned home, she didn’t get any of us back.”

However, sitting at his home in Fort Myers Beach, Florida, Scott looks forward to the time where he and Don can meet again.

What would I be doing if I hadn’t gone to war? his letter concluded.

I would undoubtedly be a different person, but I know I would be doing the same thing. I’ve been an artist my whole life. I began as an editorial/political cartoonist for one of the Detroit dailies, went on to work as Art Directors for several advertising firms and owned a couple. Worked as an illustrator for General Motors and other corporations around the country. 

I was a musician for 10 years playing coffee house gigs mostly and finished those years in an Irish Band. I left both music and art behind for 15 years to become a charter boat captain, sailing up and down the east coast and in Florida waters. I’m currently working as a fine artist in Fort Myers Beach, Fl.. These are a small sample of the things I’ve done. I’m sure it was an attempt to reinvent myself each time, to become somebody else and escape the pain. I’ve been married to my wife for the past 24 years and have one son. This is my second marriage, the first lasted only 5 years due to PTSD.  

I think we come here to do something or learn something. I think Moose and I knew each other before we came, we did what we came to do and we will meet again.

-Michael Scott

Author Maggie Wuesthoff talks about the experience of reporting and writing this story here.