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ENLARGE
Glenda Carter, left, wipes her eyes and adjust her glasses as she listens to Steve Nolley as he tells her about the ambush that took the life of her husband, Bruce, during the Vietnam War. Nolley and Carter met for the first time Friday afternoon to talk about Bruce and their lives since that fateful day.
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ENLARGE
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Glenda Carter holds the Zodiac watch her husband Bruce was wearing the night in 1968 when he gunned down during an ambush in Vietnam.
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Steve Nolley remembers the emotions that welled up inside him when he first received a letter from Glenda Carter.
The letter contained a photograph of Carter’s husband, Bruce, who Nolley, as a young U.S. Marine barely old enough to enlist, served with in Vietnam. Less than a month after they arrived in the Southeast Asian country in 1968 — on a Sept. 11 that has haunted Glenda Carter ever since — Bruce Carter was killed during a late night ambush in Quang Nam Province. He was only 18.
Nolley, who grew up in the shadows of the Blue Mountains in Baker City but now resides in Reedsport, identified Bruce Carter’s body.
“I knew it was Bruce when I turned him over,” Nolley told Glenda Carter during a meeting Friday in Roseburg. “His face was gone, but his glasses were all busted up and were there. And he was tall, taller than any of the other guys in the squad.”
Glenda Carter’s letter arrived about three years ago from Baker City, where she now lives, down the road from Milton-Freewater, where she and Bruce grew up. Glenda Carter was finishing up a book recounting her life as a depressed war widow and she wanted to speak with former soldiers who had served with her husband.
Nolley met Bruce Carter following boot camp during advanced training at Camp Pendleton in Southern California, and the two had become friends. He said Carter had a gentle demeanor that attracted him more than the rough-hewn exteriors of many of his fellow Marines.
The night Carter was killed, Nolley spoke with him before he went out on patrol.
“I said ‘Be careful out there,’ because we had just gotten there. I was scared for him and so forth. And he said, ‘Yeah, I will.’ And then all hell broke loose about 15 minutes later,” Nolley said.
“We were just two young kids who really didn’t know quite fully the extent of what was going to happen to us when we were over there.”
Glenda Carter obtained a list of 60 soldiers who had served with her husband. She mailed a letter to each of them. When Nolley received his, it forced him to think about a time he had spent so long trying to forget but never could.
“I got scared,” Nolley said. “You go through kind of, you know, mixed emotions. But I was happy at the same time. It was kind of nice to hear from you.”
Glenda Carter and Nolley arranged to meet. Carter drove to Portland and stayed with a friend. After stopping and being left alone in her thoughts, she became overwhelmed with emotion and wasn’t able to complete the journey and meet with him.
Last week, they tried again. Nolley and his wife, Sharron, drove to Roseburg from the coast. Thirty-nine years after his buddy was killed, he met Bruce Carter’s wife for the first time.
Glenda Carter walked through the grass at the Roseburg VA Medical Center, where they arranged to meet, clutching the Zodiac watch her husband was wearing the night he was killed. Part of the cloth band was missing; Carter said it was almost like the watch had been shot off Bruce’s arm.
The letter contained a photograph of Carter’s husband, Bruce, who Nolley, as a young U.S. Marine barely old enough to enlist, served with in Vietnam. Less than a month after they arrived in the Southeast Asian country in 1968 — on a Sept. 11 that has haunted Glenda Carter ever since — Bruce Carter was killed during a late night ambush in Quang Nam Province. He was only 18.
Nolley, who grew up in the shadows of the Blue Mountains in Baker City but now resides in Reedsport, identified Bruce Carter’s body.
“I knew it was Bruce when I turned him over,” Nolley told Glenda Carter during a meeting Friday in Roseburg. “His face was gone, but his glasses were all busted up and were there. And he was tall, taller than any of the other guys in the squad.”
Glenda Carter’s letter arrived about three years ago from Baker City, where she now lives, down the road from Milton-Freewater, where she and Bruce grew up. Glenda Carter was finishing up a book recounting her life as a depressed war widow and she wanted to speak with former soldiers who had served with her husband.
Nolley met Bruce Carter following boot camp during advanced training at Camp Pendleton in Southern California, and the two had become friends. He said Carter had a gentle demeanor that attracted him more than the rough-hewn exteriors of many of his fellow Marines.
The night Carter was killed, Nolley spoke with him before he went out on patrol.
“I said ‘Be careful out there,’ because we had just gotten there. I was scared for him and so forth. And he said, ‘Yeah, I will.’ And then all hell broke loose about 15 minutes later,” Nolley said.
“We were just two young kids who really didn’t know quite fully the extent of what was going to happen to us when we were over there.”
Glenda Carter obtained a list of 60 soldiers who had served with her husband. She mailed a letter to each of them. When Nolley received his, it forced him to think about a time he had spent so long trying to forget but never could.
“I got scared,” Nolley said. “You go through kind of, you know, mixed emotions. But I was happy at the same time. It was kind of nice to hear from you.”
Glenda Carter and Nolley arranged to meet. Carter drove to Portland and stayed with a friend. After stopping and being left alone in her thoughts, she became overwhelmed with emotion and wasn’t able to complete the journey and meet with him.
Last week, they tried again. Nolley and his wife, Sharron, drove to Roseburg from the coast. Thirty-nine years after his buddy was killed, he met Bruce Carter’s wife for the first time.
Glenda Carter walked through the grass at the Roseburg VA Medical Center, where they arranged to meet, clutching the Zodiac watch her husband was wearing the night he was killed. Part of the cloth band was missing; Carter said it was almost like the watch had been shot off Bruce’s arm.
The Nolleys arrived early for Friday afternoon’s meeting. Steve and Sharron walked around the hospital grounds, talking before coming back to the spot in front of the Urgent Care section where they were to meet Carter. Steve Nolley was tired from the walk, so he rested in a wheelchair he takes with him.
Glenda Carter stood next to him as they spoke for more than an hour.
They talked about how they each suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Neither knew originally there was a name for the thoughts and emotions they carried with them but each said they were overwhelmed for years.
Nolley, who served three tours of duty in Vietnam, said he never held a regular job after leaving the Marine Corps. He withdrew into his own little world and tried to block out the memories. It didn’t work.
“I was just one of those soldiers in hiding for years. I hid in the Siskiyous Mountains for 30 years until I got up enough courage to come to the VA door,” he said.
The encouragement he received from his wife, Nolley said, was the only thing that kept him going. Without her support, he said, he might have wound up dead or in jail.
Last Thursday would have been Bruce and Glenda Carter’s 39th wedding anniversary. They were married less than three months.
After her husband was killed, Glenda Carter said she couldn’t cry because she was afraid if she started she would never stop. She began avoiding and ignoring people and, like Nolley, retreated into her own world. There was no support system set up to help her and other widows.
“For more than 30 years, I had gone from job to job, relationship to relationship, feeling a heavy sense of failure and shame. I was not able to establish an identity. When people asked me what I did for a living, what answer could I give them? The truthful answer would have been, I spend my time doing whatever it takes to survive,” Carter wrote in her book, “Sacred Shadow, Sacred Ground: A War Widow’s Journey Through Unresolved Grief.”
Several years ago, Carter began seeing a therapist and discovered she wasn’t the only war widow to experience a deep sense of loss and a failure to move past it. She read online stories posted by other women who have gone through the same thing and it helped her in her ongoing healing.
“I fear for the women whose husbands don’t come home from Iraq,” she said. “I would like them to know there are others of us out there. We know what they’re going through.”
• You can reach reporter John Sowell at 957-4209 or by e-mail at jsowell@newsreview.info.
Glenda Carter stood next to him as they spoke for more than an hour.
They talked about how they each suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Neither knew originally there was a name for the thoughts and emotions they carried with them but each said they were overwhelmed for years.
Nolley, who served three tours of duty in Vietnam, said he never held a regular job after leaving the Marine Corps. He withdrew into his own little world and tried to block out the memories. It didn’t work.
“I was just one of those soldiers in hiding for years. I hid in the Siskiyous Mountains for 30 years until I got up enough courage to come to the VA door,” he said.
The encouragement he received from his wife, Nolley said, was the only thing that kept him going. Without her support, he said, he might have wound up dead or in jail.
Last Thursday would have been Bruce and Glenda Carter’s 39th wedding anniversary. They were married less than three months.
After her husband was killed, Glenda Carter said she couldn’t cry because she was afraid if she started she would never stop. She began avoiding and ignoring people and, like Nolley, retreated into her own world. There was no support system set up to help her and other widows.
“For more than 30 years, I had gone from job to job, relationship to relationship, feeling a heavy sense of failure and shame. I was not able to establish an identity. When people asked me what I did for a living, what answer could I give them? The truthful answer would have been, I spend my time doing whatever it takes to survive,” Carter wrote in her book, “Sacred Shadow, Sacred Ground: A War Widow’s Journey Through Unresolved Grief.”
Several years ago, Carter began seeing a therapist and discovered she wasn’t the only war widow to experience a deep sense of loss and a failure to move past it. She read online stories posted by other women who have gone through the same thing and it helped her in her ongoing healing.
“I fear for the women whose husbands don’t come home from Iraq,” she said. “I would like them to know there are others of us out there. We know what they’re going through.”
• You can reach reporter John Sowell at 957-4209 or by e-mail at jsowell@newsreview.info.
