Looking back, it's no wonder the first Delta Divers never felt part of anything larger.

When we reported Eustis, there were no experienced cadre waiting to welcome us into the profession. No seasoned Army Divers to take us under their wings. We simply waited for orders to Vietnam.

We didn't deploy as a company. We didn't sail to Vietnam in a group like the first group of Army Divers sent to Vietnam.

One by one, we found ourselves crossing the Pacific, carrying orders to places we'd never heard of, reporting to units we'd never seen, and wondering what waited on the other side.

By mid-1968, more and more of our work (at least in the 523rd) was done by two-man strike teams, moving from one mission to the next — wherever we were needed. Of course there were times we were back with main Engineering (PC) Companies. Spending most of our time evading NCOs and Officers that were chomping at the bits for a chance to get the divers squared away.

We were always looking forward to getting back to Indian Country — where we had input on the rules.

Looking back, we weren't just scattered across Vietnam. We had been scattered from the very beginning.

My first hint of an Army Diver Community didn’t come until June of 1995, on my way to a Jimmy Buffett Concert in Raleigh, NC. Our drive would take us right past Ft. Eustis.

It was pre-9/11, so we drove onto the base without a hiccup. It didn’t take long to find the old barracks, but it took a little more exploring to track down the dive section.

I spotted the dive tank first — rusting at the edges, paint peeling in thick patches. But the chlorine smell was still there, like a memory that refused to leave. The old three-story dive offices were deserted, but a few questions at a nearby building pointed us toward the new Dive Detachment.

Waiting outside the entrance to welcome us was a static display of a Mark V dive rig — the past cast in bronze and steel. Familiar sight — familiar pride. As Barbara and I stood admiring the setup a young soldier in crisp, starched camouflage walked up and asked, “Can you imagine diving in that?”

The look on his face when I said, “I don’t have to imagine it — I dove in that rig many times,” was priceless.

“Where? And when?”

“The Mekong Delta — ’68.”

His stunned expression said everything.

He asked if he could introduce us to some of the other divers, explaining that none of them had ever met an Army Diver who served in Vietnam.

Moments later, five or six young soldiers gathered around us — firing off questions from every direction. Respectful, curious. Eager to connect with a part of their own legacy. Towards the end of the conversation, someone mentioned that the U.S. Army Diver’s Association was just getting off the ground, and that their first reunion was being planned. He asked if I’d be interested in attending.

As simple of a gesture as that was, it was the first time I felt like part of the Army Diver lineage — not a forgotten name from a forgotten war, but a living link in a chain that had never actually broken.

I told him, “Probably.”

Truth be told, I couldn’t see any of us Vietnam guys relating to these highly trained, squared-away, modern-day Army Divers. Most of us had been a scruffy bunch of insubordinate draftees — caught up in the Army’s rush to get divers into Vietnam.

You don’t make it through Navy Dive School unless you’re a damn good diver. Beyond that, we didn’t have a clue about how we were going to use our new skills. We were a tight-knit bunch. Unconventional as hell. When it came to diving, we were unflinching, resourceful, and dead-serious about keeping each other alive.

When we arrived at Ft. Eustis, the Army’s Salvage Diver training program had been shut down for nearly a decade. What was left felt more like a glorified daycare center than a training pipeline. All but one of the Master Divers, and most of any experienced divers, had already been shipped off to Vietnam by the end of ’66, and the first few months of ’67.

By the time we hit the Delta, there was a lot of work waiting for us. There was very little overlap with the first group of Army Divers who had arrived. And no time for lessons learned.

After our tours, we spread to the wind — having no idea that an Army Dive Community event existed.

The Delta Divers would eventually discover that they hadn’t simply been Army Divers — they had become part of a much larger military diving community.

Four of the Delta Divers found themselves together for the first time in 56 years at the U.S. Army Divers Association’s reunion in Branson, MO, in September of 2024.

Looking back, perhaps the greatest gift of that first reunion wasn't simply finding one another. It was discovering that the Delta Divers were never an isolated chapter in military diving history.

We were welcomed into the Army Diver Community, and through it, introduced to the larger military diving community.

We may have started alone — We discovered we never really were.