PORTLAND, OREGON
November 11, 2002

Thanks to Daughter, Deceased Vietnam Vet Finally Gets His Wings

By Margie Boule
Oregonian Staff Writer

When Gary Norman Young was killed in combat in Vietnam on Feb. 7, 1969, he had no idea his sweetheart back in Oregon was pregnant. A little girl was born a few months later and placed for adoption.

Stephanie Hanson grew up happy, oblivious to war and death and the military traditions that had meant so much to her biological father.

Gary was a Navy corpsman – a medic – attached to a Marine helicopter squadron called the Purple Foxes. The Purple Foxes was one of the most decorated units in Vietnam, and “the medics were their heroes,” Stephanie says. Corpsmen volunteered for the medical evacuation missions, putting themselves in harm’s way to help injured Marines.

Gary’s letters home were full of ambition. Gary didn’t want to work in a dispensary; he wanted to do medevac. Most of all, Gary wanted to earn his wings.

In 1996, for medical reasons, Stephanie Hanson tracked down her biological mother and learned about Gary’s death in a helicopter crash in Vietnam on his first day in medevac. Suddenly Stephanie had a mission to learn everything she could about her father, his service and his death.

In the past five years Stephanie has come to know Gary Young in ways few daughters know their fathers. Gary’s family gave Stephanie his letters; from them she learned he dreamed of earning his wings. Soon after, Stephanie visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. “I wrote him a letter I left at the wall. I said, ‘You didn’t know about me, but I promise, no matter what, I will get your wings awarded.’”

Working every day for years, Stephanie made contact with the men who served with Gary. Her story touched them. Two years ago, at a Purple Foxes reunion in San Diego, Stephanie was the keynote speaker. She met a man who had survived her father’s fatal crash. She met the man who pulled Gary’s body from the helicopter.

And she shared with the men her quest: Gary never had received his wings, she said. After her speech, Gene Brady, Gary’s commander in Vietnam, told Stephanie, “Welcome to the Purple Fox Family.” “Basically, they all adopted me,” Stephanie says. The men insisted she call them “Uncle” or “Dad.”

Now the girl whose father died before she was born had hundreds of fathers. And they all wanted to help in her quest.

After Stephanie returned to Portland, packages started arriving. “Guys sent me their dog tags, they took patches off their leather jackets. And some sent me their true wings.” Gene Brady “undid his shadow box and took out his wings and sent them to me. They were tarnished – he called them ‘salty’ – but he said it was an honor to give them to me.”

Stephanie was touched. “But I wanted my dad’s wings to be officially awarded and in the books.”

Stephanie already had written Oregon’s senators and the heads of the Marines and Navy, with no response. Then one of her new “dads” suggested she start at the bottom. The Purple Foxes still existed, he told her, based at Camp Pendleton.

Stephanie assembled proof Gary had flown the required five missions on his first day of medevac work. “The chopper pilot’s sister had his log book,” Stephanie says, “and she photocopied it for me. It showed Gary had flown seven missions in 2.7 hours that day.” She also sent letters from Gary’s commanding officer and others present the day he died.

Stephanie was persistent. The Purple Foxes, who’d nicknamed her “The Kid,” began to call her “The Bulldog.”

Finally, in January, she got a letter from Camp Pendleton saying the commanding officer had made her mission his priority. In July she got another message, saying the sings would likely be approved. But she never imagined how she would receive them.

Last month, Stephanie flew to a reunion of helicopter pilots who served in Vietnam. At a private dinner for the Purple Foxes, Stephanie was surprised when she was ushered to a head table. “A couple guys were acting like the cat that swallowed the canary, so I started getting a little nervous.”

Just before dinner, the Marines’ three-start general in charge of aviation arrived from Washington, D.C. “I almost fell out of my chair,” she says. “I started crying. I thought, what an honor for my dad.”

What the general said was even more surprising. The commandant of the Marines had heard Stephanie’s story, he said, and had planned to fly down himself but had been called to meet with the president. In his stead, the general said, “I’m just giving something to someone who earned it so many years ago.” And then he gave Stephanie her father’s Combat Air Crew wings.

“They were in a shadow box,” she says. “The active duty Purple Foxes,” in California, “had framed them for me. Beneath the wings is a plaque with Gary’s name and the date he was killed in action. It says, ‘In recognition of his selfless sacrifice to his country.’ And there’s purple matting for the Purple Foxes, and brown leather matting, for the flight jackets.”

The Purple Foxes – all of Stephanie’s “dads” – rose to applaud and take “hundreds” of pictures. “The general turned to me and said, ‘Holy Cow, Stephanie.’ He was amazed.”

That night Stephanie met two more men who’d been there the day her dad died. “One was… a flight surgeon. They weren’t supposed to fly; they were too valuable. But he did anyway. They were still under fire when he got there.” He told Stephanie that Gary had died on impact and hadn’t suffered. “I got to say thank you.”

She spent the rest of the weekend visiting with all her “fathers” and “putting together pieces of the puzzle.” Because of her years of research, Stephanie was able to help connect men who hadn’t seen each other since Vietnam.

“If anything, this reunion cemented what I am meant to do. I want to work with veterans. I have a story that seems to touch them, and I want to give something back to them; I’ll never be able to repay what they’ve given me.”

Stephanie has been writing a book about her quest, “and I haven’t been able to finish. Now I have my final chapter.” She hopes her book will be published, so she can bring attention to the Purple Foxes. “It’s why I’m here,” she says. “Not just for Gary, but for all these guys. Gary wrote many times that all he wanted to do was help his Marines. They lived for 30 years thinking no one cared. They’re my heroes. I want to make the world care.”

Stephanie holds the shadow box carefully, studying the wings. Tomorrow will be a very special Veterans Day. After 33 years, Gary Young finally has received the wings he longed for. The daughter he never knew kept her promise to her dad.