from left to right. Spec4 Ramey, Pfc. Felix Leon, Pfc. Kenneth Easter, and wearing the floppy hat on the right, me, Pfc. Hancock. Note: this photo was taken in Feb. only a few days before his death.

Photo of four young men in Tiger fatigues, one of them being PFC Felix Leon

Photo of the gave marker of PFC Felix Leon, with three roses and a unit patch placed around it. Felix never got to see the patch our unit was eventually assigned.

Photo of the gave marker of PFC Felix Leon, with three roses and a unit patch placed around it.

Keeping a promise. One old man kneeling by the grave marker of PFC Felix Leon, and placing three roses around it.

One older man kneeling by the grave marker of PFC Felix Leon, and placing three roses around it.

Blending in to the Jungle while on patrol. The six man Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol is dropped off into the jungle and for a week to two weeks they stealthy move from place to place seeking to identify and target enemy activity while maintaining a low profile.    

Two photos in one of Leon Felix Jr. with other 1st Cav LRRP Team members all wearing Tiger Fatigues.

Puerto Rico National Cemetery

During a period spanning 1967-1968 I was in Viet Nam. I was a soldier for the 1st Air Cav Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol. I got to know a number of fine folks by working those missions with them. When you are just six men dropped off in hostile territory for weeks at a time with the task surreptitiously traveling around spying out the land, you learn a lot about each other very quickly. 
One of those individuals was Felix, and while on a mission, Felix and I sat and quietly talked at great length about the war, how we each came to be sitting together. He told me all about his family.  
We then spoke of this dangerous place and undertaking that our separate decisions had brought us to be sitting together there in the hills of a country that was so far from our respective homes, hills where death stalked, and Felix turned to me then and told me that our team, code named One Delta, our Long Range Patrol Team, and each person on it, were as close to him, were as important to him now, as his own brother and family was to him back home. We were his family here in Nam and that he knew each of us would do whatever was called for, take any action regardless of risk, to protect the rest of the team members, - because we were brothers in battle. He told me he had heard of such a thing before, but had never really understood it, never appreciated what it meant, till he had come to Viet Nam. And then he turned to me and made me swear, that as a brother, should he ever fall, that I should see his family be told three things. 
I should tell them that he loved them and that he would be looking at them with love from Heaven, and the second thing was that they should not dwell too sorrowfully on his death but see it as a good thing. That he had come to Vietnam by his own decisions, had found brothers here for which he gladly fought and risked all for to protect. And third I was to tell them that he had lived and died with honor, and they had reason to be proud of what he had done.
I was to see to it his family was told these three things, - but, I never have.
And then we also agreed that should one of us fall and the other survive, that one day the survivor would visit the grave of his fallen brother, and lay a single rose upon it. And that lead to kidding about what color rose. I first suggested red, but he said maybe no as red roses were a symbol of passion, and although he knew we cared a great deal for each other, it wasn’t in ‘that’ way. Then he suggested a yellow rose, as he said he liked the song, and he started singing it, but stopped and said no, but he said that a yellow rose might be alright. I suggested a white rose, that white roses symbolized purity, and that he was so pure in intentions and spirit that white might be best. he got a bit embarrassed and said that his family might be able to tell me about some of the escapades he had gotten into back in San Juan. We kidded each other a bit further about red rose, a yellow rose, or a white rose, but we never came to choosing one over the other.  
I made these promises to him and not long after he was killed by a sniper while running a mission with another team. I wasn’t there to cover his back, and I will always feel guilty about that  I've put off visiting grave for decades, so you’d think I've had plenty of time to plan it out, but every time I’ve thought of him, I’d get choked up and find a reason to put off travel to Puerto Rico, then it was next spring or next fall. And decades passed, and other friends have passed away, and the promises made so long ago to my friend who now lay in a grave in a far-away cemetery, began looming large in my heart.  And so, we took a cruise recently, to San Juan. And so, I found myself at his gravesite, 6 February 2022.  A Sunday.  That seemed fitting. As I had not known if I would be able to acquire three roses of those colors on my way to the Cemetery and so I brought with me three artificial roses I purchased before beginning my travel. Real roses would be better, but I did not think Felix would mind. 
I had something that I had thought was Leon’s home address once, which later to be wrong, and I had once planned to travel to his home in Puerto Rico after I left Nam myself. I was going to take the message to them. I had even commissioned at some expense a very large ornate Bible, in Spanish, with a commemorative flyleaf page in it, honoring Leon. I was going to deliver it in person to his brother. I wanted it to become their family bible so that generations later, Leon would still be remembered. But, I never did. Life got in the way. There was always something a bit more important to do it seemed than to travel to Puerto Rico just then. I carted that giant Bible around for decades, till one day a Mexican-American lady visiting our home saw it, was greatly impressed and enamored of it and asked about it, and in the end, I realized I had lost Leon’s address and it seemed increasingly impossible I would ever travel there, so impulsively I gave that Bible to my visitor instead of seeing it got to where it should have gone. And now I wished I had not given it way, for who knows, I might find members of his family yet. But I was in San Juan for only a few hours.  
And to you, you who have read this, this far, know this well that we all, every one of us, lost a true treasure when Leon was killed. Those who had ever met him quickly came to recognize his great kind heart (he drove us crazy asking us to write home asking for our families to send us children’s toys which he then collected from us and carried to an orphanage not far from our fire base there in Vietnam), and most all who knew him found themselves somewhat in awe of his shining soul of honor. And all those who knew him, miss him still.
Scott Hancock         ---         Strawberry Fields Forever


Scott,

My name is Joe Lugo and strangely enough I am sitting in the airport in Portugal where my wife and I are starting a trip to celebrate our 50 year wedding anniversary.

Felix was my neighbor in PR.  He was three years older than me but we spent a lot of time playing sports with all the kids in the neighborhood.  I still remember the day we heard that he was killed in Vietnam and when we went to his funeral services.

If you want to connect to his brother, go to Facebook and contact Fabian Leon.  He is Felix’s younger brother and still lives in PR.

God Bless,

Joe Lugo aka Piti



Would anyone have any names or addresses for any of the family of Felix Leon Jr., KIA 17 March 1968?  I have sort of a message to give them, if I can locate them.  
Once, while on a mission, Felix and I sat and talked at great length about the war, how we each came to be sitting together on that Central Highlands hillside. He told me all about his family, and of an older brother, and how he had joined because he wanted them to be proud so of him, especially that older brother of whom he himself was very proud (his brother had been accepted into the Catholic priesthood I think).  
We then spoke of the dangerous place and undertaking our separate decisions that each had brought us sitting together there in the hills of a country that was so far from our respective homes, hills where death now stalked, and Felix turned to me then and told me that our team, One Delta, our Long Range Patrol Team, and each person on it, were as close to him, were as important to him now, as his own brother and family was to him back home. We were his family here in Nam and that he knew each of us would do whatever was called for, take any action regardless of risk, to protect the rest of the team members, - because we were brothers in battle. He told me he had heard of such a thing before, but had never really understood it, never appreciated what it meant, till he had come to Viet Nam. And then he turned to me and made me swear, that as a brother, should he ever fall, that I should see his family be told three things. Three simple things.
First, I should tell them that he loved them and that he would be looking at them with love from Heaven, and the second thing was that they should not dwell too sorrowfully on his death but see it as a good thing. That his death was not a waste or tragedy for he had come to Vietnam by his own decisions, had found brothers here for which he gladly fought and risked all for to protect. And the third thing I was to tell them, the third thing was the truth, that I should tell them that he had lived and died with all honor, and that they had great reason to be proud of what he had done.
I was to see to it his family was told these three things, - but I never have.
And we also agreed that should one of us fall and the other survive, that one day the survivor would visit the grave of his fallen brother, and lay a single rose upon it. And then we kidded each other about whether it should be a red rose, a yellow rose, or a white rose. For the life of me I do not think we came to choosing one over the other.  
I made these promises to him back in Vietnam and not long after he was shot and killed by a sniper. I've put off visiting grave for decades, so you’d think I've had plenty of time to plan this out better, but every time I’ve thought of him, I would get choked up and I would put off making definite plans telling myself, next month maybe, then it was next spring or next fall. And now decades have passed. I grow old and other friends are ailing or have passed away, and the promises made so long ago to my friend who is now laying in a grave in that far away cemetery, looms large in my heart. I cannot pass away myself without at least saying goodbye to him as I promised him I would. And so, if my current plans work out correctly, I will find myself standing at his gravesite sometime in the mid-morning of 6 February 2022. A Sunday. That seems fitting. I do not know though if I will be able to acquire three roses of those colors on my way to the Cemetery, but if I can’t I will bring with me three artificial ones I shall purchase before beginning my travels. Real roses would be better, but I do not think Felix will mind. 
I had Leon’s home address once, and had once planned to travel to his home in Puerto Rico, when I left Nam myself. I was going to take the message to them in person. I had even commissioned a large ornate Bible, in Spanish, with a commemorative flyleaf page in it, honoring Leon.
I was going to deliver it in person to his brother. But I never did.  Life got in the way. There was always something a bit more important it seemed that to travel to Puerto Rico just then. I carted that giant Bible around for decades, till one time, a Mexican-American lady visiting our home saw it, was greatly impressed and enamored of it and asked about it, and in the end, I realized I had lost Leon’s address and so I gave that Bible to my visitor, instead of seeing it to where it should have gone. And I wish I had not.  Who knows, if my travel plans work out, I will be there one day soon. 
Thanks to VA’s on-line gravesite locator at  http://gravelocator.cem.va.gov/j2ee/servlet/NGL_v1 I now know that Leon is buried in Site 97, Section E of the Puerto Rico National Cemetery at Bayamon, in Puerto Rico.  Perhaps I will try to find his family when I am there, but I will only be in Puerto Rico for one rather short day, though I would still like to deliver my message to his family, if it isn’t too late, if I can just find someone can tell me who to deliver it to. 
And to you, who have read this, this far, know this well that we all lost a true treasure when Leon was killed. Those who had ever met him quickly came to recognize his great kind heart (he collected toys for an orphanage there in Vietnam) , and most all who knew him found themselves somewhat in awe of his shining soul of honor. And all those who knew him, miss him still.
Scott Hancock
Strawberry Fields Forever


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