Arguably, the most important person in the life of William C. “Buzz” Veal was Lenny Nute.
If not for Nute, Veal might never have attended Cumberland Law School and opened a law firm in Birmingham. He might have missed marrying his wife, Dell, or fathering two daughters and welcoming a stepson, Brian, into his family. He might never have seen his three granddaughters, Madison, Avrie and Claire.
Because without Nute, Veal believes he wouldn’t be alive.
Leonard K. Nute had 120 days remaining on his tour when Veal was assigned to Nute’s platoon in 1966. They were stationed in the Quang Tin province near the Cambodian border of South Vietnam.
With infantry embedded deep in the jungle, one of the most important members of the platoon was the man responsible for outside communication – the Radio/Telephone Operator (RTO).
“The RTO was usually carefully chosen,” reports tourofdutyinfo.com. “He had to be someone with experience, who wouldn’t get rattled under fire… It was also a dangerous job, since the radio antenna said to the enemy, ‘Shoot me first.’”
As RTO at the time, Nute was responsible for the regiment’s PRC-25, a 23.5-pound metal box the size of a case of soda. It was cumbersome to carry and came with grave risk. Nute’s commanding officers tried to strip him of the duty and pass it to Veal.
“They saw me and thought, ‘Oh here’s a big guy, he’ll get to carry the radio,’” Veal said.
But Nute declined. He held onto the heavy metal box, and Veal believes it’s what cost Nute his life.
“For 25 years I couldn’t even talk about it,” Veal said. “They brought a mobile Vietnam Memorial Wall to Birmingham several years ago, and a buddy took me down there and showed me (Nute’s) name.
“I just couldn’t stay.”
Over the past decade, Veal began to learn that the more he talked about his experiences in Vietnam, the better he felt. Eventually, he decided it was time to tell the story of the man who saved his life. He wanted those who knew and loved Lenny Nute to find closure – and know that he would always be remembered.
Veal set out to find Nute’s friends and family, calling around Nute’s hometown of Hudson, N.H., a city of approximately 25,000. After a frustrating lack of success, he drafted a letter in 2010 and sent it to both The Birmingham News and New Hampshire’s Hudson-Litchfield News. Both papers published the piece, but, in the Northeast, it had entirely different meaning.
According to a story by Doug Robinson printed July 30, 2010 in the Hudson-Litchfield News, Nute’s death certificate reads he died of “multiple fragmentation wounds.” Unknowingly, Veal’s letter explained to Nute’s hometown just how that came to pass – right there, on the front page.
It was a rare occasion that the chaplain would come to the deep woods to visit the troops, but this day he did. We were over near the Cambodian border. Nute kept a small cribbage board with him, and we played some that evening. Then, my squad was sent to be a listening post for the night.
We went out past the bottom of the hill where the rest of the platoon and some mortars were set up. The next morning, we were hit hard by the North Vietnamese. I was with my squad at the bottom of the hill, and as we started up the hill the next morning, a bullet went over our heads. Then it really broke loose. The first mortar round landed beside Nute, and he died on that small hill somewhere west of Pleiku, Vietnam.
Veal said the Hudson-Litchfield News called him after they received the letter, and told him Nute was not only remembered but that his legacy had also been preserved. As the first Hudson soldier killed in the war, Nute’s high school gym now bears a plaque dedicating the facility as the “Leonard K. Nute Gymnasium.”
But it kept going. For 44 years, the American Legion Post in Hudson had honored Nute’s memory with a 21-gun salute, which Nute’s brother, Gene, attended every year.
Veal called the Legion post and confirmed what the paper told him. He told the woman on the other end of the line he was absolutely going to be there for the 45th year.
“Well I just got my new Grand Marshal,” she replied.
So, in 2011, Veal and his wife went to New Hampshire, where they were received warmly. They met Gene Nute, saw the plaque that bore Lenny’s name and witnessed the salute. He and Dell then visited Lenny’s grave.
“It’s amazing how he’ll always be a young guy,” Veal said.
After the trip, Veal said his regret was in his timing. Nute’s parents had already passed away, never knowing the extent to which their son’s heroism extended. But if not for Veal and his courage to break the silence, many more still wouldn’t.
“In my mind, it’s not about me,” Veal said. “It’s about the people like Lenny who died when they were 20 years old and never had the opportunity to tell their stories. I lived through it just so I could.”
