Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by 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

 

Critical overwatch focuses on helping veterans, raising awareness about suicide November 9, 2025

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My father, Elvern Kletscher, on the left with two of his soldier buddies in Korea. (Photo from Elvern Kletscher’s collection)

WHEN I CONSIDER THE TRAUMA of war, I think of my dad. A combat veteran of the Korean War, he struggled with undiagnosed depression and post traumatic stress disorder. Not until the later years of his life did he find support among other veterans. They met to share their stories, trauma and struggles. Therein he found empathy and compassion. As a child and young adult, I admittedly and sadly failed to understand the emotional pain my dad experienced. If only I had, I would have listened, given him the compassion he deserved.

Memorable photos from the Vietnam Memorial traveling wall while in Faribault. The words on the soldier’s helmet reminded me of my dad. He brought home a souvenir patch from Korea which read “RETURNED FROM HELL 1952 KOREA 1953” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2016)

Today I get it. I recognize that Dad’s time on the front lines in the mountains of Korea, where he killed the enemy and was wounded by shrapnel that would later earn him the Purple Heart, were life-changing. He returned to the farm fields of Minnesota a completely different young man than the one who sailed across the ocean to war.

A scene from the 2023 Critical Overwatch at the Rice County Veterans Memorial. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)

Thankfully, the passing of time has brought positive change and much-needed help for our veterans, plus increased awareness. In my community, that awareness includes an “Operation: 23 to Zero Critical Overwatch” vigil at the Rice County Veterans Memorial beginning at noon on Monday, November 10, and continuing for 23 hours until Tuesday, November 11. The vigil concludes with an 11 a.m. Veterans Day program followed by a noon luncheon for veterans at American Legion Post 43 in Faribault.

Boots for Damian Wilson at the 2024 Critical Overwatch vigil. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2024)

I’ve attended this vigil, now in its ninth year, multiple times. Verbs like honor, cherish, reflect, help, support and encourage come to mind when I consider this event aiming to curb veteran and military suicides. That’s the core premise of this visually-impactful overwatch. Every hour at the bottom of the hour, a pair of boots is placed on the veterans memorial plaza. Those boots represent a veteran lost to suicide. Attached to the boots are names, photos and dates of the deceased. Personal. Powerful. Emotional. Each set of boots represents a soldier from the area or connected to someone from the area.

The number 23 is also intentional, reflecting the number of veterans who daily commit suicide. One active military member also does the same each day.

This sign was posted at the vigil in 2024. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

It’s sobering to see all those boots ringing the veterans plaza. But it’s also heartening to see the support at this vigil—to know that veterans are standing by, literally, to listen, encourage and provide resources and help to anyone who needs it. I’ve seen and felt the compassion. Overheard the conversations.

We need to keep talking. I’m grateful to the Operation: 23 to Zero Southern Minnesota Chapter for their ongoing efforts to raise awareness about suicide and to work toward suicide prevention. They listen. They care. They stand at the ready to serve those who’ve served.

FYI: If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide, immediate help is available via the Suicide and Crisis Hotline at 988. Text or call that number. Or call 911. Please also seek additional professional help.

NOTE: Faribault Harley Davidson, 2704 West Airport Drive, is hosting a post Veterans Day Chili Cook Off on Saturday, November 15, with all proceeds benefiting Operation: 23 to Zero. Chili tasting costs $10 and runs from 11 am-2 pm. Prizes awarded. For more information, click here.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Operation: 23 to 0 supports veterans, raises awareness about suicide November 11, 2024

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Each pair of boots displayed at the vigil represents a veteran who lost his/her life to suicide. Here, PV1 Damian Wilson of Connecticut. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

CODY, DAMIAN, NICOLE…and 20 others. Twenty-three military veterans recognized, honored, remembered during a 23-hour vigil beginning at noon Sunday and ending at 11 a.m. Monday. Twenty-three, because 22 veterans and one active military duty member, on average, lose their lives via suicide in this country every single day. The average age is 59 ½. Twenty-three because the veterans’ support group Operation: 23 to 0, southern Minnesota chapter, organized this event at the Rice County courthouse in Faribault.

At the vigil late Sunday afternoon, supporters and those holding vigil gather. Boots edge the veterans’ memorial and the courthouse steps in the background. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

That organization aims to reduce the number of deaths by suicide via providing a network of support and by raising awareness. As the daughter of a Korean War veteran who suffered from post traumatic stress disorder, I fully understand the need, the cause. This resonates with me on a personal level.

The Operation: 23 to 0 flag flew beside the American flag. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
A bucket of roses, with roses placed in each deceased veteran’s boots, sits at the vigil. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
Donated food and beverages for those holding vigil. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Because of that and because I care, I stopped by late Sunday afternoon to pay my respects and to show my support for Operation: 23 to 0 and for the veterans holding vigil. Those included Kirk Mansfield of Faribault, whom I’ve come to know through the years as an incredibly caring and compassionate individual dedicated to helping veterans. Mansfield is quick to point out that this is a team effort, that it takes a whole network of people, including the American Legion family, to make a difference.

The photos, the stories, the boots, the messages…personalize the loss. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
Images and words identify veterans who died via suicide, who are missed deeply, who were recognized. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
He was not only a soldier, but a violinist. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

He shared stories of a struggling young veteran in Iowa who needed a place to live, of a pregnant woman who lost her partner (a veteran) to suicide and who brought her now young daughter to the vigil in Faribault. He mentioned, too, a young veteran he was expecting later. Someone who is struggling.

Anyone who stopped by the vigil could see this message, that they are valued. They matter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

As I stood next to Kirk, the cold November wind sweeping up the hill, chilling me, and darkness descending, I saw the light of hope. That comes across not only in this vigil, but also in a message posted between stones honoring branches of the military. The poster reads: “If you are looking for a sign to NOT kill yourself today—This is it. You are loved. You do belong. You are worthy.” What a powerful message of hope.

An eagle and eternal flame center the Rice County Veterans’ Memorial by the Rice County courthouse. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

On this Veterans Day, when we honor all who served our country in the military, those caring words matter. They matter because people (whether veterans or not) are struggling. Perhaps struggling with finances, relationships, mental health or any myriad of issues that create feelings of hopelessness.

Loving messages on a veterans’ boot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
Flags, boots, roses, all honor the veterans who died via suicide. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
Love and grief on a pair of boots. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Each pair of boots placed at the Rice County Veterans Memorial or at the foot of the courthouse steps represents someone who loved and was loved, but who now is among the twenty-three.

I really like this message spotted on a dog tag on a veteran’s boot. “His story isn’t over.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Operation: 23 to 0 is dedicated to being there. To listening. To supporting. To networking. To doing. To raising awareness. I see that. And I am grateful.

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FYI: If you or someone you love is feeling hopeless, know that someone wants to help you. Talk to a friend, family member, professional. Call or text the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. Learn more about Operation: 23 to 0, which is based in Stillwater and has three chapters in Minnesota. You are loved.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

At the Legion on Veterans Day & more November 15, 2023

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I photographed this sticker on a Vietnam War veteran’s car on Saturday before the Veterans Day program at the Rice County Veterans Memorial in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

BACK IN HIGH SCHOOL, I wore a POW bracelet, the thick silver band wrapping my wrist. The name of a prisoner of war was imprinted thereon. If I could find that bracelet, I could give you a name. But I can’t. Rather I hold only the memory of that Vietnam War era bracelet reminding me of those imprisoned and missing during a war that drew protest and anger from many Americans. As a high school student of the early 1970s, I, too, held conflicting opinions about the war. Not about those who served, but about the war itself.

This eagle and dove sculpture centers the Rice County Veterans Memorial in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

All of that aside, today I recognize the personal toll the Vietnam War, any war really, takes on those who are actively involved. You cannot enter the battlefield, kill the enemy, see your fellow soldiers die, without experiencing trauma. It’s a lot. And those who served deserve our thanks and respect.

Area veterans’ memorials, like the one in neighboring Shieldsville, honor our veterans. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

I am thankful for organizations like the American Legion and its auxiliary, which continue to support, honor and recognize those who have served this country. That includes Post 43 in Faribault. In 2024, the local post celebrates its 100th birthday.

Before the meal, which included Trinity Piemakers’ homemade apple pie for dessert (compliments of Bob and Louise Flom), this pair explained the significance of items on the MIA/POW table, right.

On Saturday, following the Veterans Day program at the Rice County Veterans Memorial, Randy and I joined vets and their families and others at a Post 43 luncheon and program. During that event, Legion Commander Mark Quinlan and an auxiliary member stood near a round, cloth-draped MIA/POW table. They explained the symbolic significance of each item on the table.

A symbolic lemon and salt. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

A single red rose in a vase represented bloodshed. A lemon slice on a plate stood for the MIA/POW’s bitter fate. Salt sprinkled on the plate symbolized the many tears shed by loved ones. The lit candle stood for hope… As they spoke, I thought of that POW bracelet I wore 50-plus years ago and wondered if my soldier ever came home.

Resting on a table at the American Legion on Saturday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

I had the honor on Saturday of dining with two veteran friends—Virgil, who served in the US Marine Corps from 1955-1958, and Roger, who served with the US Army in the Korean War from 1952-1954.

Karen Rasmussen talks about the history of the US flag, displaying the flag at various stages in time. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Veterans and their families ringed the round tables for conversation and a meal of BBQs, baked beans, chips and homemade apple pie. That meal followed a detailed presentation about the history of the American flag by Legion Auxiliary member Karen Rasmussen. She also presented gift bags to several veterans.

Even the gift bags were patriotically-themed. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

One of the most memorable and touching moments came when Steve Bonde played the songs for each branch of the military on his trumpet. By heart. He asked veterans to stand when they heard their songs. Pride and gratitude rippled through me. There’s something about music that stirs the soul in a way that words cannot.

Placed on a table at the Legion, a US Army cap and money for the free will offering lunch. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

But words, too, hold meaning. Saturday evening my church, Trinity Lutheran, honored veterans in the congregation during the worship service and with a potluck afterwards. Virgil and Roger were among those servicemen attending. This time, though, I sat by Bob, a US Army veteran who served in Iraq and Kuwait, and by Mark, the Legion commander with service in the US Navy and Air Force. It was an honor to share a chicken dinner and assorted potluck sides with my friends and with Raquel, married to Bob.

A wall of photos at the Legion honors past commanders of American Legion Post 43, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Sunday morning I listened to the Trinity worship service on the radio, this time led by a different pastor. I appreciated the Rev. Bruce Stam’s prayers for veterans. He asked for God’s blessings upon all who’ve served in the Armed Forces and for healing for those vets wounded in body and soul. But it was the final part of his prayer which struck me the most. “We pray especially for the young men and women who are coming home with injured bodies and traumatized spirits.” To hear that acknowledged was necessary, reassuring in many ways and, I hope, a comfort to anyone listening.

A POW MIA flag photographed during the Veterans Day program at the Rice County Veterans Memorial reads, “YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

War is hard. War traumatizes. War changes. We need to understand that and to remember. Just as I remembered that POW bracelet I wore honoring a prisoner of war who may, or may not, have returned home from Vietnam.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Operation: 23 to Zero, a closer look November 14, 2023

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Following the Veterans Day program, attendees view the Operation: 23 to Zero display. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

HEARTBREAKING, POWERFUL, IMPACTFUL. Those three words fit my reaction to the 23 boots ringing the central plaza at the Rice County Veterans Memorial in Faribault on Veterans Day. Each set of boots represented a service man or woman who committed suicide. Each boot held a name, and often a photo, personalizing this Operation: 23 to Zero display.

A bumper sticker on a truck parked by the courthouse on Saturday. Shoulder to Shoulder identifies a support group in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

The nonprofit, according to an informational brochure, “is an effort to curb the massive suicide rates of veteran and military suicide through awareness and providing a network of fellow military members to connect with for help and support.” Twenty-two veterans and one active military member die by suicide daily on average.

Honoring Cole J. Lutz, 35, of Grantsburg, Wisconsin. The red rose shows love for the surviving families while teal or purple carnations are the colors of suicide awareness. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Those statistics are heartbreaking. And when a face, a name, are connected to the numbers, the depth of this loss becomes all too real. The circle of boots in Faribault, placed their during a 23-hour Critical Overwatch on November 10-11, presented a strong visual defining this loss of life.

Honoring Nicole A. Burnham. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Among those were several Minnesotans, including Joel B. Costa, 32, of Duluth, formerly of Stillwater, and Nicole A. Burnham, 21, of Andover. As I looked at their individual boots, I read loving messages, studied a photo of Nicole, a young woman with an engaging smile that reached her eyes. And I wondered about the mental anguish the two soldiers endured.

Veterans Day service attendees stand on the Veterans Memorial plaza near the circle of boots. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Nicole’s story is one of multiple sexual assaults and harassment while serving in the military. Local and national media covered her story following her January 2018 death by suicide. What she experienced is horrible, unfathomable, traumatic.

Loving messages written on boots honoring Joel Costa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

I don’t know Joel’s story. But I do know this. Like Nicole, he was deeply loved. “Love you more than life” reads one message written in black marker on his boots. An “in loving memory” tag encourages: “No act of kindness is ever wasted. Pass it on.” His online obituary directs mourners to donate to Operation: 23 to Zero.

Those who participated in the Critical Overwatch event and those who donated flowers, beverages and snacks were showing they care. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

A tag on Nicole’s boots leaves a similar message: “Leave footprints of love and kindness wherever you go.” And “Stop the stigma. It’s OK to ask for help.” Help is available via texting or calling 988, the Suicide and Crisis Line, staffed 24/7.

A powerful message… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

At the Critical Overwatch event/Veterans Day ceremony in Faribault, a sign propped near the circle of boots made it clear that all are loved. “If you are looking for a sign NOT to kill yourself today—This is it. You are loved. You do belong. You are worthy.” I expect someone in the crowd gathered outside the courthouse read that message and felt a sense of hope, of purpose.

Honoring Asia Graham of North Carolina. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

That poster reinforces the message printed in a brochure I got a while ago from Kirk Mansfield, a Navy veteran from Faribault who works tirelessly to help local veterans, primarily through Operation: 23 to Zero. Here’s the printed directive: “Call or visit your Veteran/military family and friends. Check in with them on a regular basis, especially if you know they are struggling with issues. Do not put if off until another day. For those who live on the edge of life, for those who suffer in silence, they cannot wait a moment longer. Become educated. Help where you are able. Make the call.”

You are worthy. They were worthy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Time, plus care, plus listening, plus loving, plus supporting can help. Nicole mattered. Joel mattered. And so did the 21 other service men and women represented in that circle of boots staged at the Rice County Veterans Memorial in Faribault. My heart breaks…

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Experiencing Veterans Day in Faribault November 12, 2023

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The Honor Guard and Color Guard in place for the Veterans Day ceremony in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

IT WAS, FOR MANY, an emotional day. A day of remembering, grieving, honoring, respecting. Veterans Day held all of those for me and many others who gathered in my community to honor those who have served our country in the military. That includes my father, a U.S. Army combat soldier in the Korean War.

A crowd gathers Saturday morning for a short Veterans Day program outside the Rice County courthouse. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

This emotion-filled day began for me on the eleventh hour on the eleventh day in the eleventh month at the Rice County Veterans Memorial fronting the courthouse along busy Fourth Street in Faribault. In history, all those elevens mark the signing of the armistice between the Allies of World War I and Germany. The cease fire occurred at 11 a.m on November 11, 1918.

A member of the Honor Guard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

The only firing on this November 11 in Faribault was that of the Honor Guard shooting blanks from rifles.

A sizeable crowd gathers at the Rice County Veterans’ Memorial. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Upon my arrival at the courthouse lawn, I noticed first veterans, the American and other flags, the crowd and the red. Red coats. Red roses. Red symbolizes patriotism, sacrifice and bloodshed. And red in a rose symbolizes love.

Among the 23 pairs of boots honoring a veteran who committed suicide. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Those red roses were lovingly placed aside blue carnations in 23 boots representing the 23 American veterans who daily commit suicide. Local organizers of Operation: 23 to Zero, an organization that raises awareness about vet-related issues, including suicide and PTSD, set up the display and stood watch for 23 hours in honor of those who took their lives. Cole, Damian, Joel, Brandon, Nicole…

Operation: 23 to Zero display on the memorial plaza. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Those boots circled the central monument focus of eagle and dove. Individual slabs of stone for each military branch edge that circle with fitting inscriptions like THIS WE DEFEND. A sign propped against one of the stones offered encouragement, a strong message of hope, and it touched me deeply: “If you are looking for a sign NOT to kill yourself today—This is it. You are loved. You do belong. You are worthy.”

Steve Bonde plays taps, hauntingly mournful. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

Although I knew none of the service men and women who died by suicide, I felt sadness and grief filling my thoughts. I could sense the collective grief, the somberness. This small circle of 23 boots on the veterans plaza seemed a sacred space.

Faribault firefighters were among those in attendance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

In the deafening noise of traffic from the nearby busy street and the mostly too low amplification system, I struggled to hear any of the speakers. So I focused instead on observing. I was pleased to see a cross-section of ages from children in parents’ arms to teens to young adults to middle age to aged. The presence of young people, especially, pleases me, for they, too, need to understand the meaning and importance of Veterans Day.

Among the hundreds of pavers surrounding the memorial. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

In the all of the gathering at the veterans memorial in Faribault, I felt not only deep emotions, but also pride in country and a unity that is not often seen these days. On this single day, this November 11, we came together to honor our veterans, despite our personal political viewpoints.

Memorable bumper sticker. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

A bumper sticker I noticed on a Vietnam veteran’s vehicle summarizes well the intent, the goal of those who have served abroad in war. “We went over there so you could be here.” It’s a seemingly simple phrase, yet profound in depth.

FYI: Please check back for more photos of the Operation: 23 to Zero display and a post about more Veterans Day events I attended in Faribault. It was a full day.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Veterans Day reflections: “Returned from hell,” my father’s story November 8, 2023

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Among my Dad’s papers, etc.: A letter home to his parents, a page of military instructions he carried into war, a newspaper clipping and his dog tag, circling the words “hell hole” in his letter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)

I RUN MY FINGERS across his dog tag, thumb caressing the raised letters and numbers stamped into metal. His name, KLETSCHER, ELVERN A. B blood type. P for Protestant. His Selective Service number, the same number on his Armed Forces of the United States Geneva Convention Identification Card, the laminated card he carried with him into war. Just like the duplicate dog tags that would identify him if he was injured or killed in action.

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.

Seventy-one years ago, my dad was a fresh-faced young Minnesota farm boy fighting in the Korean War as a combat soldier for the U.S. Army. Each November, around Veterans Day, I pull out two shoeboxes filled with photos, letters, documents and more from Dad’s time in the service. And although I’ve looked through the contents many times in the 20 years since Dad died, I still feel the same overwhelming sense of sadness in all he experienced. The death of combat buddies. His killing of the enemy. Orphan children begging for food across barbed wire fences. The cold and hunger and fear. And then the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder he suffered upon his return home to southwestern Minnesota.

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

I feel all of that as I touch his dog tag, run my fingers along the short chain like fingers worrying rosary beads in prayer. War is hell.

On the back of this photo, my dad simply penned “a letter from home.” I appreciate this photo of my dad taken by an unknown buddy in Korea.

Hell. Dad used that word in a March 4, 1953, letter to his parents and siblings. He criticized the draft board, his anger fueled by the possibility that a younger brother might also end up in Korea. He wrote, in part: “Do they know what it’s like over here? Hell no. Why the heck don’t some of them come over here and look this over? They’d probably come to there (sic) senses…” Not everything he wrote is printable. But his anger and frustration are palpable. And I don’t blame him.

U.S. Army Cpl. Elvern Kletscher, my father, in the trenches in Korea.

War is hell. I try to imagine my dad penning that letter on his 22nd birthday. Missing his family. No cake, no nothing to celebrate. But rather worry about whether he would live to the next day. He had reason to fear for his life. Only a week prior, he was wounded in action at Heart Break Ridge while engaged in mortar firing with the enemy. Shrapnel struck him in the face and he was hospitalized for several days.

My grandparents, Ida and Henry Kletscher, posing with some of their children, flank my father, Elvern Kletscher, who is about to leave for military service in 1952.

Interestingly enough, Dad mentions none of that in his letter home. Rather, he closes with these sentences: “I’m feeling fine and don’t worry about me. I’ll write again soon.” I don’t believe Dad was “feeling fine,” in a place he called a “hell hole” in his letter.

My father, Elvern Kletscher, on the left with two of his soldier buddies in Korea.

As I filter through the shoeboxes holding his military belongings, I pick up a hardcover 4 x 6-inch black book. It’s tattered, bent, dirty, obviously well-used. When I open the cover to read the words Dad penciled across lined paper, the realities of war strike me full force. Here are details and instructions on weaponry—60 mm mortars, submachine guns, tank mines, smoke screens, chemical warfare… He writes about reconnaissance, combat and security patrols and “avoid contact with enemy—may have to fight in self defense.” There are diagrams and fire commands and details I don’t understand, and don’t necessarily want to understand.

My dad carried home a July 31, 1953, memorial service bulletin from Sucham-dong, Korea. In the right column is listed the name of his fallen buddy, Raymond W. Scheibe.

But “Conduct on lines” and the details that follow need no deciphering: “1) Hold fire until enemy is within 500 yards. 2) Listening post must have cover and concealment, must have good route for withdrawal…” I expect Dad carried this book into war. Just as he carried deep trauma home from “The Forgotten War,” as the Korean War has been dubbed.

Words imprinted on the Veterans’ Memorial in Northfield, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2023)

War is hell, even if done for the right reasons—to defend democracy and freedom and country. For his time in the Army in 1953, Dad was paid $266.27. It’s documented on his federal income tax return. So little for so much given, not that there’s ever enough payment for a combat soldier.

My dad’s military marker in the Vesta City Cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I wish I could wrap my arms around Dad, hold him, tell him how deeply sorry I am for the horrors he endured while fighting as an infantryman on the front lines during the Korean War. Mostly, I wish I could simply listen, sitting quietly as I finger the chain of his dog tag, the beads providing tactile comfort as he talked (if he would talk) about the personal hell that is war.

The Rice County, Minnesota, Veterans’ Memorial in Faribault. This photo and five others I took now grace public spaces in the newly-opened State Veterans Home in Bemidji. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

NOTE: Please use this Veterans Day as a time to thank those who have served our country. But more than thanking, listen, support and encourage. The voices of our veterans need, and deserve, to be heard.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

With thoughtful gratitude on Veterans Day November 11, 2022

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A bronze statue titled “Poppie” personalizes the Rock County Veterans Memorial in Luverne as do the names of some 1,600 veterans engraved in pavers. I’ve seen a lot of veterans memorials and this is among the most impressive. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2013)

NEARLY EVERY COMMUNITY has one. A veterans memorial. I appreciate that public recognition of military service in communities from rural to urban. Yet, acknowledgment of our veterans must stretch beyond public memorials.

Today, Veterans Day, I pause to personally thank the individuals who have served our country. That’s important to remember—individual service and sacrifice. I expect most of you can rattle off names of those in your circle who engaged in combat or other military work. They left their homes, their everyday lives, to answer the call of duty.

I feel gratitude to individuals who, either by draft or by choice, stood strong for democracy. Words like courage, commitment, strength, fortitude…filter into my thoughts when I think of our veterans.

But I also think of the physical, emotional and mental challenges too many combat veterans face post-war. I can never comprehend the pain, the trauma, the grief experienced by those who fought in war zones. I only know how my own father, an infantryman in the Korean War, battled the demons of war during his lifetime. That glimpse was enough to elicit deep concern within me.

We are making strides in recognizing and treating post traumatic stress disorder, for example. Not until near his 2003 death was my dad aware of his PTSD. He never got the intervention and help he needed upon arriving home from war. I’m thankful for the help available today, although I expect sometimes it’s not easily-accessible and not nearly enough.

Suicide among veterans remains high. After hearing a few of my dad’s stories of war atrocities and killing, I recognize the emotional and mental tolls on health. Returning to everyday life after experiencing the traumas of war brings challenges civilians will never fully understand. We need to be there for our veterans in ways that matter—support, compassion, care, understanding—with gratitude in our hearts.

TELL ME: If you’re a veteran, what would you like to hear today, Veterans Day? How can we as a country better honor and help you? If you know a veteran, what have you done to honor and help veterans?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A letter to Dad on Veterans Day November 11, 2021

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U.S. Army Cpl. Elvern Kletscher, my father, in the trenches in Korea. (From my father’s photo collection)

DEAR DAD,

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to ask. And then to listen.

I’m sorry I didn’t recognize earlier that you were suffering.

I’m sorry I was too busy with my own life and family to realize that I could have, should have, tried to understand.

An in-ground marker honors my father, Elvern Kletscher, a Korean War veteran and recipient of the Purple Heart for wounds he suffered at Heartbreak Ridge in Korea while killing a sniper. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)

Nearly 19 years have passed now since your burial, since that brutally cold early April day when I wrapped my arm around Mom in the wind-swept hilltop Vesta Cemetery. I felt her body shivering, shaking with grief as she accepted a folded American flag.

Moments like that imprint upon me as I remember you—husband, father, grandfather, son, brother…and veteran.

You were buried with military honors. The firing of guns. The mournful playing of taps. An in-ground military marker notes your final rank as a sergeant in the US Army. Awarded the Purple Heart, albeit 47 years after you were wounded on Heartbreak Ridge in Korea.

My father, Elvern Kletscher, left, with two of his soldier buddies in Korea. (From my father’s photo collection)

Today, on Veterans Day, I think of you. Honor you. And consider how fighting as a boots-on-the-ground combat soldier in the mountains of Korea forever changed you.

I recall the few stories you shared through the decades. You watched as a mortar killed your friend Ray, who was scheduled to leave Korea the next day. He left behind a wife and infant daughter. Dad, your grief led me to search for that “baby” two years after your death. I found Teri living in Iowa and with only minimal knowledge of her birth father. I have yet to meet her, but want to some day.

Some day. Days and weeks and months and years pass and then some day is too late. Now I hold a shoebox brimming with curled black-and-white photos and other items from your time in the Army. Your Selective Service System registration certificate. A well-worn mini black book of prayers, hymns and devotions from the Ladies Aid in Vesta. Faith and prayer carried you through many a hellish day and night in Korea.

On the back of this photo, my dad simply penned “a letter from home.” I appreciate this photo of my dad taken by an unknown buddy in Korea. (From my father’s photo collection)

In a letter to your parents, a copy tucked into a folder labeled “Korea” in my office file cabinet, you termed the war-torn Asian country a “hell hole.” Likewise, an over-sized embroidered decal declares “RETURNED FROM HELL.”

I have no doubt that war was hell for you. “Shoot or be shot,” I remember you saying. You spoke, too, of bitter cold, of hunger, of orphans begging for food across barbed wire fences. Of horrible war-time atrocities that I can’t bear to write here.

My dad carried this memorial service bulletin home from Korea. In the right column is listed the name of his fallen buddy, Raymond W. Scheibe. (From my father’s collection)

And then when you arrived home—bringing with you a folded memorial service bulletin from Sucham-dong, Korea, dated July 31, 1953, and including your buddy Ray’s name—the horror and grief you experienced remained. But few, if any, acknowledged your struggles back then. You were expected to resume life as usual, returning to rural Minnesota to farm the land, to milk cows, to marry and raise a family. Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was not yet recognized.

I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry about the neighbor who laughed as you dove to the ground when a rifle fired during pheasant hunting.

I’m sorry, Dad, for the fear you felt when guns fired during a small town parade.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you like I should have been.

Near the end of your life, you found empathy and care in your veterans’ support group. That comforts me. Those men understood what you’d experienced. For that I am grateful. They provided the emotional support I failed to give you. I’m sorry, Dad. So sorry.

With love,

Audrey

© Copyright 2021 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Honoring our veterans, including my dad November 11, 2020

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My father, Elvern Kletscher, on the left with two of his soldier buddies in Korea.

Vesta—Pfc Elvern Kletscher, son of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Kletscher, was wounded in action on Heart Break Ridge in Korea on February 24th. He was engaged in mortar firing at the time. A burst of enemy schrapnel (sic) struck him in the face. He spent a few days in the hospital and was released, but has not returned to active duty. Elvern entered service on February 15, 1952 and has been on front line duty in Korea since November 7th.

The above short article about my father published in a rural Minnesota newspaper in the early winter of 1953. I can only imagine how my grandparents received the news about their son, wounded in action in Korea.

On the back of this photo from my father’s collection, my dad simply penned “a letter from home.” I appreciate this photo of my dad taken by an unknown buddy in Korea.

In a letter written to them just days after his February 26, not February 24, war injury, my dad mentioned nothing about the incident. Rather, he wrote of snow, called Korea a “hell hole” and advised his family not to worry. But how could they not worry, realizing that their son was in the thick of battle as a frontline infantryman with the US Army? According to an earlier newspaper article, he was training with the 24th infantry, the first American division to fight in Korea, from Pusan to the Yalu River in 19 months of combat.

U.S. Army Cpl. Elvern Kletscher, my father, in the trenches in Korea.

My dad shared only a few stories about his time in Korea. He talked about the events leading up to his shrapnel wound. Ordered to take out a sniper who, for days, had been picking off fellow platoon soldiers, Dad hunkered inside a trench. A bullet struck his trench. Dad studied the angle of the bullet, angled his rifle up and shot. He heard a “ka-pook,” understanding that he had hit his intended target.

Two days later, when 12 men were sent to retrieve the sniper’s body, Dad stood guard to assure the enemy was not circling behind. Suddenly, 10 small mortars lobbed toward them, one landing near him. Had it gone off, my father would have died. Instead, shrapnel struck his face. “I knew the blood was running,” he said in a 2000 interview with a Minnesota TV station at the time he was awarded a long overdue Purple Heart. He was shaking and scared, but couldn’t leave his post.

This photo, pulled from the shoebox which holds my dad’s military photos, is simply labeled “front line.” That would be “front line” as in Korea, where my soldier father fought.

Eventually, my dad would make it safely back to rural Minnesota, resume his life as a farmer, marry my mom and raise a family of six children. But he was a changed man, scarred by war, dealing with PTSD (unknown back then) and other issues resulting from his time on the frontline in Korea.

The Rice County, Minnesota, Veterans’ Memorial in Faribault stands in front of the courthouse. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

Today, Veterans Day, I honor my father (who died in 2003) and all others who have served and continue to serve our country, whether they have been in direct combat, served in support capacities or otherwise. I appreciate their efforts to secure our democracy, our freedom.

TELL ME: Who would you like to honor today? Or, if you’ve served, please share your thoughts on this important day.

© Copyright 2020 Audrey Kletscher Helbling