And sometimes his eyes would simply roll back in his head and he might twitch and shiver as if dreaming. When he “came to,” he would be slightly confused, laugh it off and move on.

Before I returned East in early January, 1971, Doug gave me his heavy green Army jacket with the name tape “Johnson” sewn above the pocket. He said he didn’t need it in California. More likely he wanted to be shut of anything to do with the Army. The jacket was oversized on me, but comfortable, and I was always surprised when passing strangers would smile at me and say “Hi Miss Johnson.”

When I returned to graduate work at the University of Delaware I was finishing up my thesis, “‘An Ocean of Iniquity:’ Dr. Benjamin Rush, Dr. William Shippen, Dr. John Morgan in the American Revolution.” These three Philadelphia doctors were probably the best educated medical men in the colonies. Indeed, Morgan and Shippen founded the first American medical school at the University of Pennsylvania. When war was declared all three doctors sided with the Americans. Benjamin Rush, in fact, was a Signer of the Declaration. Though I don’t remember how I stumbled on their story, I was drawn to it and them because of the drama inherent in their rampant egos, their hypocrisy amid the suffering and turmoil of war.

In 1775 Dr. John Morgan was appointed to be the second Director-General of the Continental Army Medical Department. (The first Director-General turned out to be a British spy, a prophetically bad omen.) Amid the inevitable chaos of war the Medical Department suffered from lack of supplies, lack of organization and uncertainty as to authority and precedence. Congress grappled with these issues. General Washington grappled with them, as did the other doctors under Morgan’s command, including Dr. Shippen. Disaster, defeat and disease followed the Continental army at every turn. Statistically speaking, out of every ten men dead, one died of wounds, nine of disease. Not surprisingly since 18^th c. medical practice relied on bleeding, leeches, and purgatives, and these crude practices were applied to men already compromised by near starvation and insufficient clothing. Typhus, smallpox and dysentery decimated the troops. Flailing for answers, Congress first split Morgan’s command with Shippen, and then in January of 1777, dismissed Morgan altogether, replacing him as Director-General with William Shippen. Immediately Morgan began to insistently petition Congress for complete vindication of his conduct and reputation.

By the autumn the military hospitals had become charnel houses. Appalled, Dr. Rush peppered Congress with complaints and pleas for reform, referring the Medical Department as “An Ocean of Iniquity,” alleging reprehensible practices on the part of his superior, Director-General, Dr. Shippen. For his part, Dr. Shippen advised Congress that the hospitals were in very good order and All Was Well. Benjamin Rush’s noisy protests and accusations resulted in Congress asking him to resign.

At last, in June 1779, two and a half years after Dr. Morgan’s dismissal, Congress resolved that no blame accrued to him. Three days later, Morgan declared to Congress that conscience impelled him to bring to justice to William Shippen whom he charged with malpractice and misconduct in office. Benjamin Rush, his own ego badly wounded, quickly became Morgan’s ally, and promised not only support, but to supply evidence against Shippen.

Morgan and Rush’s shrill accusations came to very little. Shippen was not arrested; in fact (perhaps not surprising given his powerful Congressional allies) he remained in power. Moreover, Congress was floundering in the mire of a war that was going very badly. However, finally, Shippen’s court-martial was set for spring, 1780. The charges were fraud in selling hospital stores, speculation, keeping no accounts, neglect of duty and making false reports of the dead and wounded as well as “scandalous and infamous practices intended to degrade his superior officer.” (This last charge was at Morgan’s insistence.) After a long process, however, Congress offered Dr. Shippen neither vindication nor rebuke. Shippen was re-instated as Director-General, and three months later, in January, l781, he resigned. Even so, Morgan’s angry vendetta against Shippen played out in the press for years.

In 1789 John Morgan died alone, and in oblivion. William Shippen retreated in what amounted to disgrace, dying in 1808. Benjamin Rush outlived and outshone both them in the scope of his accomplishments and the endurance of his name. When he died in 1813, he was lauded for his stellar public service; the Army Medical Department was but a footnote in his life and career.

In 1969 and 1970 while I researched my thesis, Army Medical Departments were much on my mind. The dedication on “‘An Ocean of Iniquity’” read:

For Douglas Scott Johnson
U S Army
Fourth Infantry Division
Viet Nam
Who knows all about Army Medical Departments

After I exhumed the papers from the basement in 2024, this dedication had new, sad significance for me. Among those papers was a letter Doug wrote to Dad on December 30, 1969 from Long Binh jail:

 “Well my urine has been very dark for almost a week. I’ve thrown up 3 times today and I’ve been having cramps almost constantly. My eyes are turning yellow and my skin is too. I put my name in for sick call with NO results whatsoever every single day. I ask permission to go to the latrine because I’m going to vomit and the usual reply is something like throwing up never hurt anybody… their attitude is clearly ’I don’t give a ___ about you.’”

In mid January 1970 Doug was airlifted from Long Binh jail to a hospital in Japan to be treated for hepatitis. My father began an energetic letter-campaign to get Doug posted stateside on his release. He failed. Sadly Doug was sent back to Vietnam. March and most of April 1970 passed without infractions on his sorry service record. “Then came Cambodia,” my father later wrote. Doug’s actions in May and June 1970 led to his accepting the Undesirable discharge rather than face a second court-martial.

When my father learned of circumstances that would have averted that Undesirable discharge, he put his mind and his will to work and took up the pen to get it changed. Dad began with the Army’s Inspector General Office. They declined, writing first an Interim and then a Final rejection in early 1971.

My dad (in no uncertain terms) slashed at these denials. His February 19 rebuttal of the Interim was four single-spaced angry pages; the April 19 rebuttal of the Final was six of the same. My mother typed each letter separately. These letters went out to members of the Inspector General Office and others of my father’s antagonists, and to to Senator Mansfield, Congressman Pettis and others of my father’s allies. Also in April 1971 my mom was typing all the documents that would comprise my father’s elaborate package to go to the Army Discharge Review Board advocating for an Honorable Discharge.

She never mentioned all this work to me when, that same spring, 1971, I sent her “An Ocean of Iniquity’” (one hundred pages long. two hundred footnotes) to type. In retrospect I marvel at her stamina and her love. She returned to me a flawless copy of my thesis. I graduated. I got a teaching job.

And Doug’s reaction to the dedication of An Ocean of Iniquity? My mother would probably have insisted on a thank you note. Or, maybe not insisted. Maybe just suggested. The family was treading carefully around Doug, uncertain as to what might set him off into rage or remembered trauma. “Frankly it was extremely difficult for our family those first six months after our son was at home,” my father confessed to an ally. “We are very close family. We all suffered with him.”

I did not suffer with them. I was far away. I wore Doug’s Army jacket named Johnson the whole time I lived on the East Coast. After that? I have no idea. It vanished.