'What Bronze Star?': Wall Vietnam veteran battles red tape, gets medal 55 years later

In the wee hours of Dec. 4, 1966, the Viet Cong launched an attack on American soldiers at Tan Son Nhut Air Base near the South Vietnamese capital of Saigon. Mortars began pouring in, detonating an ammo dump.

Just as quickly, U.S. counter-mortar radar detected the incoming volley and returned the favor, silencing enemy fire. Less than an hour later, forces defending the base overran the Viet Cong’s mortar position. The battle was over, the assault rebuffed.

The specialist in charge of the counter-mortar radar, which played a crucial role in protecting soldiers on the front lines, was George Bednarski. For 16 months, Bednarski kept three radar systems running accurately under difficult conditions. His commanders recommended him for a Bronze Star, which is awarded for heroic or meritorious service in a combat zone.

On Saturday, exactly 55 years after he departed Vietnam, Bednarski finally received it. U.S. Rep. Chris Smith, R-Monmouth, presented the medal to the 77-year-old Wall resident, ending a bureaucratic odyssey and providing a small measure of balm on a much bigger wound.

“We’ve had trying times,” Bednarski said.

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Like millions of Americans and Vietnamese, Bednarski was exposed to Agent Orange during the war. Eventually, he contends, that toxin took the lives of both of his children. He and others have warned the Veterans Administration for years about Agent Orange poisoning finding its way into the genetics of their offspring.

The response was similar to the Bronze Star situation: a wall of red tape. Breaking through on the medal is a sign that someone finally is listening.

“It gives me a little bit of comfort that this process paralysis is starting to break a little, which is good,” George said.

'Correct this injustice'

George Bednarski hails from Bayonne. He enlisted in the Army in 1964, went to artillery school and mastered the counter-mortar radar system.

According to commendation paperwork filed by his superiors, his three systems operated accurately for 99.9% of his tour. That feat required sleepless nights because mortar attacks often took place in the dark, and Bednarksi sometimes made hazardous midnight treks in search of replacement parts. When his 12-month commitment was up, no one was ready to take his place, so he volunteered to stay an extra four months to train a successor.

“I don’t consider myself a hero, but I provided support to the people that were heroes, to make sure we removed as much danger as we could,” he said.

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After discharge, Bednarski parlayed his technical knowledge into an engineering job with IBM, eventually rising to the post of project director. In 2010 he reconnected with his first sergeant from Vietnam, Richard Greene.

“By the way, congratulations on your Bronze Star,” Greene told him.

“What Bronze Star?” Bednarski said.

“We put you in for a Bronze Star in June of 1967,” Greene replied.

Somewhere along the line, both men realized, there was a mix-up. So Greene wrote a letter to Rep. Smith calling Bednarski “one of the finest soldiers I ever encountered during my Army career” and urging “the Army to correct this injustice.”

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They hoped that was enough. Plus Smith has a successful record of restoring veterans’ medals; as a 21-term Congressman, he knows what levers to pull. Still, the bureaucracy proved extra thorny on this one. Army officials demanded current testimony from people who were in the chain of command.

The only surviving officer, Vernon DeBord, took years to track down.

“I wrote every Vernon DeBord in the United States a letter; there were about 12 of them,” Bednarski said. “Most of them answered with something like, ‘Congratulations and sorry, but he doesn’t live here.'”

An ad in VFW Magazine did the trick. DeBord, in his 90s and living in Minnesota, wrote a letter to the Army in 2020 and even sent in the original Bronze Star recommendation form.

“The Army said the form was outdated,” Bednarski said. “So we sent in the new forms, and they said we needed (the rest of the) chain of command to sign it. I said, ‘They’re dead; here are the obituaries.’ They said, ‘We need the grave markers.’”

This was red-tape hell.

“It was a fight for so many years,” said Karen Bednarski, George’s wife of over 50 years. “It was tough to take.”

And that was the easy part.

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A double tragedy

Shortly after George returned from Vietnam, the Bednarskis had two children. George Jr. was born first, in 1969, with a heart defect.

“He had four open-heart surgeries — at 3 days, 13 days, 3 years old and 17 years old,” George Sr. said. “We lost him when he was 39.”

Kara was born in 1970. She developed juvenile diabetes and later, a rare cancer. A Lacey resident, she died in 2017 at age 47.

Both George Jr. and Kara had young children when they passed. It was tragic, and over time George Sr. and Karen came to believe it was not coincidental.

“In Vietnam we had a 55-gallon drum of Agent Orange and sprayed our perimeter area with it,” George said. “We had barbed wire set up and that killed all the foliage around the barbed wire. We had no idea how toxic it was to humans.”

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Agent Orange, a chemical defoliant used to deprive the enemy of jungle vegetation as cover, is believed to be responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths and disabling illnesses among Vietnam veterans and the Vietnamese themselves. Bednarski has been treated for Agent Orange poisoning for years.

Less well known is the impact it has on descendants.

The Veterans Administration acknowledges the toxin’s transmission to children of mothers who served in Vietnam. For the children of fathers, the only recognized condition is spina bifida. However, data suggests that the children of male Vietnam veterans exposed to Agent Orange suffer a broader range of health problems at a higher rate than the general public.

Keep in mind that it took years for the government to acknowledge that Agent Orange posed any problem at all.

“It is pathetic to see how many children are suffering from their fathers being in the war,” Karen Bednarski said. “Everything from heart conditions to cancers to blindness.”

Unsurprisingly, Bednarski’s efforts to help his children’s bereaved families gain VA benefits came to naught.

“At the very least, I want to avoid having someone else going through the same experiences they went through,” he said. “They can’t bring my son back, but my grandson is in the Marines, and he just got promoted to corporal.”

On Saturday, Bednarski received his long-awaited Bronze Star at Manasquan VFW Post 1838, where he is a service officer. Ever the engineer, he’s grateful for “closure on an open switch.” In the bigger picture, he’s hoping the plight of Vietnam veterans is finally moving to the forefront.

“For too long,” he said, “we’ve been ignored.”

Jerry Carino is community columnist for the Asbury Park Press, focusing on the Jersey Shore’s interesting people, inspiring stories and pressing issues. Contact him at jcarino@gannettnj.com.

This article originally appeared on Asbury Park Press: Wall NJ Vietnam vet with Agent Orange poisoning finally gets Bronze Star