Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Veterans Day thanks & reflections from southern Minnesota November 9, 2026

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The Rice County, Minnesota, Veterans’ Memorial in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THIS STORY IS DEDICATED to my dad and to all veterans who have served this country whether by choice or by draft.

Thank you for serving. Those words seem insufficient on November 11, a day which honors our nation’s veterans. But they are what I have—words.

My father, Elvern Kletscher, left, with two of his soldier-buddies in Korea. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo from Elvern Kletscher’s collection)

War is hell. My dad as much as stated that in letters sent from the mountains of Korea where he fought as a frontline infantryman during the Korean War. He called that country a “hell hole,” bringing home a patch with this message: “Returned from Hell, Korea 1952-1953.” I’ve never doubted Dad’s assessment of his war-time military service.

My dad brought this 7-inch by 9-inch cloth “RETURNED FROM HELL” patch home with him after serving for nearly a year in Korea. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

To see your best buddy blown up before you, to suffer shrapnel wounds at the hands of an enemy sniper, to endure cold and hunger, and to see Korean orphans begging for food scraps across barbed wire fencing forever changed my father.

How could he not be changed? Nothing could have prepared this young Minnesota farmer for war, for shoot or be shot. This was not war from afar. This was a seeing the whites of the enemies’ eyes up close and personal war.

Symbols of peace and freedom center the Rice County Veterans’ Memorial. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

There is no glory in war. No joy in the taking of lives. No victory other than that of one nation (or several nations) claiming victory in defense of freedom or land or for some other reason.

My dad suffered because of his war experiences. Just like many before him, after him and yet to come. Anxiety. Depression. Alcoholism. Post traumatic stress disorder. All came to be for him during a time when soldiers were not warmly welcomed home, but rather dismissal as having served in “The Forgotten War.”

Honoring fallen soldiers with a special monument at the Rice County Veterans’ Memorial. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

He never forgot, though.

This Veterans Day as I remember Dad, gone 23 years already, I think of all the men and women who have served whether in war or not, but mostly in war. I think, too, of their loved ones back home who supported, and continue to support, them. I think of those wounded, those who died in battle, those held as war prisoners, those still missing in action. I think of those who returned home safely, only to take their own lives via suicide.

I took this photo of a photo included in the Vietnam Memorial Wall traveling exhibit when it came to Faribault several years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

War is hell.

If only we could settle our differences with diplomacy, by discussion, by compromise (if possible), by understanding that killing seems to solve nothing long-term.

I often think that modern-day warfare—with targets on a screen, the click of a mouse, the push of a button—has distanced us from the truth of outcome. Maybe I’m wrong in that assessment, never having served in the military.

This photo, among my dad’s military photos, is simply labeled “front line.” That would be “front line” as in Korea, where my soldier father fought. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo from the collection of Elvern Kletscher)

But I do understand, as the daughter of a Korean War veteran, the ravages of war upon the human psyche. The damage wrought may be acknowledged and treated. Or not. But trauma cannot be unseen, actions undone, death reversed.

To every single veteran who has struggled upon returning home from war, I am sorry. You deserve our respect, our help, our compassion and understanding well beyond just words of gratitude.

© Copyright 2026 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Veterans Day 2025: Reflecting on Dad’s letter home from the frontline in Korea November 11, 2025

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On the back of this photo, my dad simply penned “a letter from home.” I appreciate this photo taken by an unknown buddy while they were in the service. (From the Elvern Kletscher photo collection)

A SHORT BIT AGO, I reread a letter my dad wrote home to his parents in southwestern Minnesota on his 22nd birthday in March 1953. Dad penned the letter thousands of miles away in Korea, where he was fighting on the frontline during the Korean War.

Among my dad’s “Korea stuff” are a book of military instructions he carried into the battlefield, a newspaper clipping about him, and his dog tags atop his letter home, the chain circling the words “hell hole.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)

One long paragraph of that missive stands out for me on this Veterans Day. That is Dad’s anger at the draft board and at those who thought it necessary to send young men like him into what he termed a “hell hole” and a war against Communism that he didn’t think could be won.

This photo from my dad’s collection is tagged as “Kim, Rowe, Allen & me, May 1953 Machine Gun Crew.” That’s my father on the right. (From the Elvern Kletscher photo collection)

I expect many others thought like Dad. How could you not after shooting, killing, watching your buddies die in battle? After living with hunger and bone-chilling cold in a mountainous land far from home.

At the time of his letter, Dad was especially concerned that his younger brother, Harold, would be drafted. He vowed revenge if that happened. I suppose when you’re an older brother and you’ve seen war like he has, you don’t want someone you love to experience the same. Dad’s words were just that. Words. Words written by a combat soldier weary of war. A soldier frustrated. A soldier counting the months until he could leave Korea and then be discharged from the Army.

Dad vented to his parents. He called for those in positions of power to come to the Korean battlefields, to see for themselves the realities of war. I imagine many a soldier wished the same, that officials, leaders and decision-makers understood the results of their policies, actions, decisions, orders.

My dad came home from Korea with the wounds of war. Mental, emotional and physical. He was wounded by shrapnel at Heartbreak Ridge. He experienced depression and post traumatic stress disorder.

Yet, he returned to America still patriotic, a proud American whose sacrifices and service were not then recognized. He served in what would become known as “The Forgotten War.” How demeaning, to be ignored, unsupported, just like Vietnam War veterans. Only decades later did Dad receive the Purple Heart he earned on the battlefield.

The Rice County Veterans’ Memorial in Faribault. This photo and five other vet-themed photos I took hang in public spaces at the new State Veterans Home in Bemidji. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Dad went on to become an active American Legion member, serving as commander of the local post. He taught me and my siblings to respect veterans and those who died in battle. We attended every Memorial Day program in my hometown of Vesta. Afterwards we gathered at the cemetery for the playing of taps, prayer and a gun salute. We wandered among the tombstones.

I joined the Junior American Legion Auxiliary, which mostly involved selling poppies on Poppy Day. I also read “In Flanders Fields” at the community Memorial Day program and placed paper poppies on a wreath. My mom was an active American Legion Auxiliary member.

Dad integrated back into life in rural Minnesota upon his return from Korea as if nothing had changed for him. But it had. And it did. Going through his box of “Korea stuff” 72 years after he wrote that birthday letter home to his parents, I glimpse the “hell hole” of war he experienced. My anger rises, too, for all he endured and suffered on the battlefield and upon his return home to rural Minnesota.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling