The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love

Send us Fan Mail In this late-night letter dated May 21, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes to her husband, Capt. Richard “Dick” Allgood, from bed in San Antonio — too tired to get up, too in love to sleep. As she watches an old Robert Mitchum movie, she imagines Dick beside her, talks to his photo, and jokes about needing “an allotment for her husband” thanks to their private quarter bank pact. It’s a le...

Send us Fan Mail Dick Allgood begins this May 21, 1971 letter to his wife Sarah by confessing it was “one of the hardest” days he’s had — but he never says exactly why. Instead, the letter unfolds with devotion, longing, and his deep hope that he’ll soon be a father. He calls Sarah his “wittle chickie-dee,” tells her how beautiful their children will be, and shares how he’s gotten used to being sa...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter dated May 21, 1971, my mom, Sarah, writes to my dad, Dick, with life-changing news: she’s officially pregnant. Unlike today, a urine test in 1971 couldn’t confirm pregnancy until a certain amount of time had passed after a missed period. She had to wait. But she already knew. And when she finally could take the test, her neighbor — who worked at the hospital — ran i...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter dated May 20, 1971, my dad, Dick, writes to my mom, Sarah, from Vietnam on his 27th birthday. It’s not the birthday he hoped for, but her gifts — a photo album, a poster, cards, and her words — make their way to him across the world. He calls the album “the best gift you could’ve given me” and admits he looks at it every day. He tells her about plans to grill steaks...

Send us Fan Mail In this second letter from May 20, 1971 — his 27th birthday — my dad, Dick, writes from Vietnam late at night, having just finished letters to everyone else. But this one? This one is for my mom. He writes to his “wittle chick-a-dee” and imagines he’s sitting beside her, just talking. He’s flown that day, but all he wants is to stay connected to her through words — and love. He co...

Send us Fan Mail In this tender birthday eve letter written on May 19, 1971, my dad, Dick, writes to my mom, Sarah, from Vietnam with a mix of humor, longing, and vulnerability. He’s baking in the sun, waiting for her to send his bikini swimsuit, and imagining the “sexy tan” he’ll have when they’re together again. There’s lightness and playfulness — but also deep love and aching distance. He refle...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter from May 20, 1971, my mom, Sarah, writes to my dad, Dick, on his birthday — from halfway around the world. She’s working long hours as a surgical nurse, and on this day, she gets called in unexpectedly to scrub an emergency open-heart surgery. She’s not even on the schedule, but they need her — because she’s the best. And she shows up, even while physically exhauste...

Send us Fan Mail In this unfiltered letter from May 19, 1971, my mom, Sarah, writes to my dad, Dick, after what she calls a “shitty day” in the operating room. She’s tired, overwhelmed by military red tape, and anxiously wondering if she might be pregnant — with me. But even in the middle of it all, it’s a letter from her “wittle chickadee” that keeps her going. Now, as their only child, I’m readi...

Send us Fan Mail In this May 17, 1971 letter from Vietnam, Dick Allgood writes with such raw emotion that at one point he has to pause—his tears making the page too blurry to see. He’s just missed reaching Sarah by phone again, after multiple failed attempts to call her across the world. Now he has to wait another week, unless he gets lucky and makes it onto the elusive commercial call list. This...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter dated May 18, 1971, Dick Allgood writes from Vietnam with deep vulnerability, reflecting on how hard it is to watch another man—Ray Hunter—prepare to go home for good. As Dick puts it, “I sure wish it were me.” The letter begins gently—calling Sarah his “sweet wittle chick-a-dee”—but what follows is one of his most emotionally open reflections yet. He admits he used...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter from May 16, 1971, Dick Allgood—an HH-43 Pedro rescue pilot stationed in Vietnam—writes to his wife Sarah with pure joy after learning he’s going to be a father. He’s on alert, ready to fly into danger at a moment’s notice, but in the quiet moments he’s trying—repeatedly—to place a phone call across the ocean to reach her. This wasn’t just a slow day in the war. It...

Send us Fan Mail Dick writes from Vietnam after a hectic day flying training missions with his Pedro unit—the HH-43 helicopter crews of the Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron. He’s worn out, longing for rest, and desperate to connect with Sarah, having already spent hours trying to reach her by phone. Back home, Sarah is continuing her work as a military nurse, carrying the early secret of her...

Send us Fan Mail In this unforgettable letter, Dick writes from Vietnam late at night, his heart overflowing with joy after finally learning the news he’s been hoping for—Sarah is pregnant. The call comes while he’s on duty with the Pedro unit, flying HH-43 helicopters for the Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron. Overwhelmed with love and hope for the future, he imagines Father’s Day cards, the...

Send us Fan Mail On May 14, 1971, Dick writes from Vietnam with a letter that is equal parts playful, protective, and tender. He jokes about Sarah’s doctor getting a little too familiar with her “nice boobs,” expresses real concern about her health, and shares his growing emotional fatigue from being apart. Amid R&R planning and confusion over time zones, he reflects on how every day feels lik...

Send us Fan Mail In this May 13, 1971 letter, Dick writes from Vietnam with a mixture of relief and longing after receiving a batch of letters from Sarah. He responds to her stories—some we haven’t yet read—which reminds me that a few letters might still be waiting in the stack or possibly lost to time. In typical Dick fashion, his words are unfiltered, affectionate, and sometimes difficult to rea...

Send us Fan Mail It’s May 12, 1971, and Dick has just returned to Biên Hòa Air Base after completing jungle survival school in the Philippines. This letter marks a moment of transition: he’s no longer in training, but he hasn’t yet flown any Pedro rescue missions. For now, he’s back on base—and finally receiving Sarah’s letters, numbered 10 through 13. He calls himself “the travelest son of a bitc...

Send us Fan Mail It’s May 11, 1971, and Sarah’s letter arrives just after Mother’s Day weekend—a date that feels especially poignant as she quietly suspects she may be pregnant. She hasn’t received confirmation, and Dick still has no idea. None of her recent letters have reached him yet, including the one where she first shared that she missed her period. Still, she can’t help but daydream aloud a...

Send us Fan Mail In this May 9th letter, Sarah writes late into the night after a long day of cleaning, sorting, and keeping herself busy in his absence. She’s exhausted but thoughtful—asking about stereo equipment for a friend, wondering if she should look into a surgical job closer to Vietnam, and confessing how deeply she misses him. As always, she signs off with love, humor, and a little carto...

Send us Fan Mail This is letter number 18, written by my mom, Sarah Allgood, to my dad, Dick, on May 10, 1971. The more I read these letters, the more I believe they saved them for a reason—not to be shared in the moment, but to be read long after they were gone. Maybe even by me. Because what they had wasn’t ordinary. It was rare. It was true. And I think they both knew that kind of love deserves...

Send us Fan Mail On May 9, 1971, Richard finally receives his first letter from Sarah — Number 11. While she’s written many times since he left, this is the only one that’s made it to him so far. Now back in Vietnam after jungle survival school, Richard shares updates from Saigon with his signature blend of humor and heart: a tour flight, a supper of sauerbrat and onions, and a prediction that he’...

Send us Fan Mail It’s May 8, 1971, and Sarah is writing from the apartment she shared with Richard near Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio. Earlier that day, she unpacked a box of surprises he sent from Las Vegas before deploying to Vietnam—dishes, small treasures, and bits of their life together. A few things arrived broken, but her heart is full just knowing he thought of her. Sarah is her f...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter from May 8, 1971, my dad writes from the patio of the Officers’ Club at Clark Air Force Base. He’s packed, ready, and counting down the hours until he returns to Bien Hoa and finally gets the year underway. Even in the quiet moments, you can feel how much he misses my mom. A tall, black-haired woman walks by, and something about her reminds him of her—but it’s not d...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter from May 7, 1971, my mom, Sarah, is doing her best to stay strong while missing my dad. She had just received some surprises he sent before leaving the States—they arrived safely, and she’s slowly unpacking them. She even tries going to the Officers’ Club with friends, but not even live music could lift her spirits. What she really wants is a letter from him. None c...

Send us Fan Mail In this May 7, 1971 letter, Capt. Richard Allgood has just completed jungle survival school in the Philippines and is preparing to return to Bien Hoa. Though relieved to be done with the bugs and challenges of jungle life, he’s still in the dark—he hasn’t received any of Sarah’s letters yet due to constant moves. Neither he nor Sarah knows she’s pregnant, making this stretch of le...

Send us Fan Mail In this warm, humorous, and deeply tender letter from May 6, 1971, Sarah writes to Richard shortly after he completes jungle survival school in Vietnam. With no contact during his time away, the sound of his voice on a brief phone call fills her with overwhelming relief—“almost close to a climax,” she says. The letter blends everyday military-spouse responsibilities with emotional...