The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love

Send us Fan Mail My dad writes from Vietnam on a slow alert day, just counting down the days until he can hold my mom again — 36 to go. He talks about getting some sun, watching baseball, grooving to her letter, and imagining their hotel room in Hawaii. He also checks in on “the wittle one,” jokes about Nancy Murray’s endless string of disasters, and reflects on how strong their love is — even fro...

Send us Fan Mail Sarah writes from Miami with news that changes everything: for the first time, she feels the baby move. It’s a quiet, private milestone — but she captures it with joy, humor, and wonder. She’s feeling good, proud of her pregnant body, and more connected than ever to the life growing inside her. This letter is more than just an update for Dick — it’s a snapshot of a woman becoming...

Send us Fan Mail My dad writes from Vietnam after getting one of my mom’s letters in Miami. He jokes about her sleeping on a waterbed, talks through his slow day at the hooch, and shares a tender moment imagining the baby she’s carrying — me. What we’re really seeing in these letters is a pregnancy journal written across continents. A record of everything my mom did while she was pregnant, and wha...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter from August 2, 1971, Sarah writes to Dick from Miami — not just soaking up the sun but dreaming of the life they’ll build together in this very place. She passes along a touching letter from her grandmother Pearl and gently asks Dick to write her — just one page. It’s a quiet, beautiful moment of care and connection. The rest of the letter is full of warmth and rhyt...

Send us Fan Mail Dick writes not one but two letters to Sarah on August 2, 1971 — one full of music, excitement, and planning for their R&R in Hawaii, and the other a quiet love note before bed. He books them a room at the Hilton in Waikiki by mail, tapes Jackson 5, Tina Turner, and Diana Ross onto a cassette, and dreams of holding Sarah in his arms. The music plays in the background — and so...

Send us Fan Mail After three months and over 150 episodes, The Allgoods has become more than just a podcast — it’s a window into a year-long letter exchange between a young couple separated by the Vietnam War. Through their real-time letters, we follow not only a love story, but a vivid record of life in 1971 — from deployment and pregnancy to shifting friendships, cultural snapshots, and everyday...

Send us Fan Mail Sarah’s in Miami, and this Sunday letter to Dick is full of rhythm and joy. She’s playing cards, reconnecting with old friends, eating steak, and slowly feeling more like herself again. The mood is lighter, the pace is easy, and there’s even a little teasing at the end — a promise of what’s coming when they’re finally together. It’s August 1, 1971, and the countdown to Hawaii is w...

Send us Fan Mail It’s Sunday in Vietnam, and Dick is recovering from last night’s party — and the punch he made that got the better of him. He’s back on alert duty, writing to Sarah about her decision to go to Miami, how his smoking’s going, and how much he’s looking forward to seeing her in Hawaii. This letter is full of tenderness, warmth, and a promise: a gift he’ll buy for her once they’re tog...

Send us Fan Mail In today’s letter, Sarah wakes up slow, naps in the beanbag chair, and ends the night with something unforgettable: a live Ray Charles concert at the Coconut Grove Playhouse. She’s in Miami, feeling surprisingly close to her husband. And though he’s halfway around the world, she brings him into the rhythm of her day — from a breakfast BLT, stereo shopping tips, and the music that...

Send us Fan Mail It’s Saturday night, July 31, 1971 — and on opposite sides of the world, Sarah and Dick are each having the kind of night they’ll never forget. She’s in Miami, swaying to the sound of Ray Charles at the Coconut Grove Playhouse. He’s in Vietnam, serving ribs, chicken, and “Allgood Punch” at a detachment party with his crew. But what stands out most is Dick’s unwavering certainty: t...

Send us Fan Mail Sarah’s in Miami, swimming laps and soaking up the sun — but the real heat in this letter comes from the parties, the old friends, and her love for one “lucky guy” back in Vietnam. She’s four months pregnant, feeling strong, and starting to enjoy the countdown to September. There’s a lot of honesty in this letter — including her thoughts on weed, booze, waterbeds, and love. It’s w...

Send us Fan Mail Dick’s letter today reads like a dream. He imagines their upcoming reunion in Hawaii in vivid detail — a suite overlooking the ocean, champagne in bed, and eggs Benedict served with love. He’s counting the days, longing for the wife and life he’s aching to return to. And while he says he’s not a poet, what pours out onto the page is pure love Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam...

Send us Fan Mail It’s July 29, 1971. My mom is four months pregnant and visiting her friends Judy and Dick in Miami. It’s hot, breezy, and full of freedom — a chance to rest and reset. She’s sleeping late on a waterbed, drinking G&Ts, and laying down some very clear house rules. But even in the sunshine, her mind is on my dad — still in Vietnam, still flying rescue helicopters, still writing l...

Send us Fan Mail Dick has big news — their long-awaited R&R is officially on the calendar. In today’s letter, he confirms the date, imagines the moment they’ll reunite, and signs off with all the tenderness of a man who’s counting down every last day. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is a personal podcast project based on real letters exchanged between Capt. Rich...

Send us Fan Mail Sarah wrote this letter on the plane to Miami — a trip she’d been planning for weeks to visit her friend Judy. She picked up Nancy and Gordon that morning, they dropped her off at the airport, and then drove her car back to her apartment. Even mid-flight, she made time to write to Dick — quick, funny, and full of love. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Lov...

Send us Fan Mail Sarah’s first night in Miami is quiet and warm. She’s staying as a guest at Judy and Dick’s ultra-modern apartment, getting comfortable in a queen-sized waterbed and writing to Dick after a long travel day. The letter is full of easy moments and soft humor, but one line on the wall in her room lingers: “Love is a memory time cannot end.” It’s a quiet reminder of how strong their c...

Send us Fan Mail Dick’s letter today includes a few missed letters, a cigarette relapse, and a familiar craving for ribs. A Pan Am cargo jet went down, possibly taking one of Sarah’s letters with it — and in the same breath, Dick mentions prepping for a Saturday night cookout. If you knew him later in life, you know ribs weren’t just dinner. They became a signature dish at Allgoods Bar & Grill...

Send us Fan Mail On July 27, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes from San Antonio with a quiet update: she didn’t get on her scheduled flight to Miami. After a rough night and the toll of the Texas heat, she follows Dick’s advice — she rests. All day. In this letter, she shares what it feels like to listen to her body, to sleep in, and to be cared for — not by her husband, but by a five-foot teddy bear she...

Send us Fan Mail Dick is two days into trying to quit smoking, and it’s wearing him down. But what rises to the surface in this letter is his devotion. Even through cravings and restless sleep, he’s thinking about Sarah’s day — picturing where she is, what time it is for her, and who she’s with. He wonders if her friend Judy might be pregnant. He plans to record her some music. It’s a letter that...

Send us Fan Mail n this letter from July 26, 1971, Sarah Allgood picks up a five-foot teddy bear and names him “Little Richard” — a stand-in for the real Richard, who’s still thousands of miles away in Vietnam. She’s just come from her four-month pregnancy checkup, she’s exhausted from the heat, and she’s doing everything she can to take care of herself and the baby. Along the way, she nearly fain...

Send us Fan Mail On July 26, 1971, Dick writes to Sarah during a quiet alert day in Vietnam. With no flying and no action, he decides to test himself — carrying an open pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket all day without lighting a single one. The letter drifts between light updates and deeper reflections: dreams of Sarah and the baby, a card he found at the BX, and their fast-approachi...

Send us Fan Mail Sarah writes from San Antonio on a quiet Sunday, still holding onto the sound of Dick’s voice after what might be their last phone call before Hawaii. With calls costing $25 — a major splurge for them — she stretches every word in her heart. She spends the day rereading his letters, doing laundry, getting ready for her OB appointment, and marveling at how little she’s showing for...

Send us Fan Mail In this letter from Sunday, July 25, 1971, Dick Allgood comforts Sarah after a tearful phone call. With a mix of tenderness and humor, he tells her, “You will always be the biggest girl in the world in my eyes. Even big men have to cry and express their feelings — big girls do it a whittle more often. When you stop crying and worrying, I’ll start worrying.” Between love notes and...

Send us Fan Mail On July 24, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes to her husband Dick after hearing his voice over the phone — a rare gift while he’s serving in Vietnam. She’s emotional but trying to stay strong, counting down the final 45 days until they’re together again. In her letter, she shares updates on daily life, asks him to thank her mother for maternity clothes, and helps a friend coordinate a ta...

Send us Fan Mail On July 24, 1971, Dick Allgood writes to his wife Sarah after spending his day off handling an assignment from his superiors. A local Vietnamese woman who worked in the hooch was flagged by the police for having an expired ID pass, and Dick was ordered to escort her through the renewal process. Between the Buddhist calendar, a language barrier, and a closed hospital, it turns into...