Brian Thacker was performing ROTC drills on the University of Utah campus at the height of the anti-war movement in 1969.
He went to Vietnam as America's commitment to the war - but not the daily casualty figure - was waning.He was the last man off a mountaintop fire base when North Vietnamese troops stormed the position and was trapped behind enemy lines without food or water for a week.
By the time Thacker was awarded the Medal of Honor in 1973, the war-weary nation had turned its attention to White House scandals and all but ignored the tribute.
As ill-fated as his timing might seem, dozens of grateful men are alive today because Brian Thacker, as usual, was at the right place at the wrong time one March day in 1971.
"I was just doing my job," says Utah's only Vietnam-era Medal of Honor winner, "and on that day, my job was to survive."
Little publicity
A soft-spoken, understated man, Thacker answers questions candidly and with some humor but doesn't volunteer much information about the heroism that won him the highest military honor.
"He talks very little about his war experience," explains his mother, Mary, interrupting to express surprise at being asked about her son's achievement. "There was practically no news about it when he received the Medal of Honor, especially here in Utah, and to be called about it now, after all this time!"
Her husband, retired Air Force Lt. Col. Elmer Thacker, speculates that the dearth of publicity was due to an unfortunate coincidence of events: "The day of the ceremony at the White House was the day that Vice President Spiro Agnew resigned."
Brian Thacker, 45, was born in Columbus, Ohio. A "military brat," he lived in a number of places before his father was transferred to Hill Air Force Base in 1966. He enrolled at Weber State College in Ogden and commuted to Salt Lake City twice a week for ROTC drills at the U.
"Utah is part of my history," he says. "It occupies a soft spot in my heart."
After graduating from WSC, he enlisted in the Army and was sent to Germany for six months and then to Vietnam.
"By that point, in 1970, the war was `winding down,' which was the polite way of explaining what America was doing at the time, but, yes, I expected it to be hazardous," Thacker said. "When I was in Europe, I talked to a lot of people who had been to Vietnam and they kept me pretty well abreast of what it was really like.
"But nothing prepares you for war, really. You can train all you want and hear all the descriptions, but until you do it, you don't really know."
He was assigned to the First Battalion, 92nd Artillery. "I was an artilleryman, and artillerymen traditionally don't get out and see hand-to-hand combat. They sit back in a nice secure area and fire artillery at the enemy. That's what I thought."
He discovered the truth while still at training school, when enemy forces launched a mortar attack that sent him ducking for cover under his desk. His instructor assured him it was only harassing fire.
At the end of March in 1971, Thacker was leading an observation team at a Vietnamese artillery post on top of a mountain 10 miles from any friendly position in Kontum Province.
"We knew that we were isolated and vulnerable. There were signs that we were not alone. We had seen enemy patrols. It was obvious that we were sticking our nose into somebody else's territory."
At dawn, the enemy launched a ferocious attack. Two American helicopters were shot down and the seven crewmen joined the eight other American and 50 South Vietnamese soldiers at the base.
Although wounded, Thacker continued to defend the post until all of the survivors had been evacuated. Three men were killed in the battle. Thacker escaped and went into hiding behind enemy lines for a week. During that time, he had no access to food or water and survived by being "very small and very quiet."
Word of his heroism reached his parents while he was missing. His father vividly recalls those endless days of waiting. "From the day he was reported missing in action, we knew he would make it. We always believed he was alive."
Friendly forces eventually recaptured the base, and Thacker crawled back up the mountain, but there was no hero's welcome then. "I was a sick puppy, and they had a lot of wounded; there was no time for heroes."
The time came in October 1973 at the White House.
"We were proud of him, of course," his father said, "but the big day as far as we were concerned was the day he re-entered the American lines."
Today, Thacker lives alone in Wheaton, Md., and works for the Veterans Administration in Washington, D.C. For relaxation, he goes hang-gliding in the Appalachian Mountains. "I've always wanted to fly, partly because my dad was in the Air Force."
His parents are retired and have been living in St. George for the past 18 years. They also have three daughters scattered around the country.
Some years ago, when they were alone on a trip, Thacker's mother asked him whether he still thought about Vietnam.
"He answered, `Yes, it's the first thing I think about every morning.' I asked him, `Well, what do you do about it?' and he said, `I get up and brush my teeth.' "
Reminded of that conversation, Thacker said, "Not first thing every morning, anymore, but I suppose I do think about it every day, the whole ball of wax."
He said he never expected to receive the Medal of Honor and suspects that the helicopter crews were responsible for the commendation. He has not seen the men he saved since he left Vietnam.
"I think more about the three I didn't save than those I did," he said.
The medal is "stashed away" and he takes it out only when someone asks to see it. Asked if it has changed his life, he replies, "I've never been able to answer that question."