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knife. He said OK, and he realized that they hadn't done a shakeddown inspection for this kind of thing. He and I got to talking, and he was in fact
Guamanian. I asked him, without much hope, if he happened to know an E-7 named Pedro Blas. He smiled right away, and said "Pete Blas? Hell yes I know him, he's retired here and lives just a
few minutes away.
I'll call him." Ya couldda knocked me over with a feather! A few seconds later I was on the phone with Blas and I couldn't believe it! I said something to him, and he replied "You shit, too," and I KNEW it was him. We talked for awhile and he asked for the Drill Sergeant. When he got back on the phone with Blas, there was a bunch of rapid Guamanian exchanged, and he finally said "OK, I 'll let him go." Pete Blas came and picked me up (naturally against regulations, we weren't supposed to go anywhere, let alone off-post) and took me to his house, and I don't remember much after that cuz we started into the beer right away. We had quite a night of talk about our Vietnam experience, then he brought me back on post and the next day (badly hung over) I left for Germany.
Somehow or other, I found out about Pete dying, but I swear I can't recall for sure who
told me or when - but it might have been 1st Sergeant Crockett at one of the Charlie Company Reunions. Anyway, I did see Pete Blas that one last time in 1974. One thing I recall that he said was,
"Look at me, I got no babies at home any more!"
I really liked him, and I doubt that the U.S. Army ever had a better mortar man than Pedro Blas - he was a TOUGH man and very strong, but I do remember seeing him cry on 19 June when so many of his men were shot up and some were killed.
A helluva fine man and a friend. . .
John Young - December 23, 2004
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