Every war is full of stories of heroic acts, and there are many levels of heroism. Every soldier on the field of battle is a hero just by the simple fact that he has the courage to face the enemy Some individuals take a step further and go “above and beyond” the call of duty. Many heroes pay the ultimate price an give their lives for another, yet others perform heroic acts and live with the memory of their fallen comrades. These unsung heroes reside in communities across our nation, and this story is about one of them.

I became acquainted with him while accompanying his medical team on several civil affairs projects called MEDCAP (Medical Civil Actions Program) missions.  Our presence in South Vietnam was not only to combat the enemy, but to win the hearts and minds of the Vietnamese people through civil affairs programs such as MEDCAP to provide much-needed medical care for South Vietnamese citizens. 

As the Combat Photographer an PIO, I had the unique opportunity to travel with Captain Lovy on his many visits to neighboring hamlets and villages and to photograph him countless times as he treated his South Vietnamese patients.  We would often travel into enemy-controlled villages with armed escorts.   Even though suspected enemy onlookers watched our every move, Captain Lovy worked diligently and calmly as he diagnosed patients and administered medication to them.  Most of the supplies and medicine distributed among the villagers by his medical team would eventually end up in enemy hands, but Captain Lovy felt that the value of our presence among the people as good will ambassadors far outweighed the loss of a few supplies.

But this was the lighter side of our Vietnam experience.  Most of the combat troops referred to Captain Lovy affectionately as “Doc” and revered him as a man of miracles in their day-to-day lives on the battlefield of Vietnam.  For they knew that he would not hesitate to do anything he had to do to save a trooper’s life.  If he had to bend the rules or break the rules, Doc was there to make sure that a wounded trooper survived.  He demanded nothing less than perfection from his medics on line with the troops in the field.He had trained them well in life-saving techniques such as direct cardiac massage and had instilled in them the concept of how little time they might have to really make a difference in saving a life.

 It was common for Doc to locate his sleeping bunk next to the medevac radios so that he could go out with the medevac helicopter if the injuries to a trooper were severe.  His job as Battalion Surgeon certainly did not require him to do this, and he definitely didn’t go along just for the ride.  It was his dedication and willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty, just because he felt that he might be able to do more at his level of expertise that could possibly save a few more critical seconds in treating a seriously wounded trooper.  He had learned to start an IV, stop a bleeder, or wrap a sucking chest wound in a choppy helicopter at night under enemy attack.  Doc felt that this was nothing spectacular that came with lots of practice.  He was just doing his job.

Many members of our unit, as well as others stationed at our base camp, viewed firsthand the unwavering dedication Doc had shown in his determination to save the life of every wounded trooper.  John Windleshaffer, a medic with Alpha Company, recalls an incident that occurred in May of 1968 when Doc had accompanied the medevac helicopter to evacuate Tim Keller, a seriously wounded trooper.  John had worked as skillfully and as quickly as he possibly could, but Keller was losing consciousness and bleeding profusely.  He feared for the trooper’s life and knew that even if the medevac arrived within minutes that Keller might not survive the trip back to the hospital.  John vividly recalls, “The chopper began to descend, and I could plainly see the jungle penetrator being lowered toward us.  Keller was getting weaker, and his veins were beginning to collapse.  I fought to get him strapped into the penetrator, and it began to rise before Keller was totally strapped in.  I grabbed Keller and held him in the penetrator as we both rose toward the hovering chopper.  Just as I was looking up, I saw a helmet and glasses peering out of the helicopter.  Immediately, I recognized Battalion Surgeon Lovy and wondered what he was doing there.  As Keller was finally hoisted into the evac helicopter, I could not help but say a quiet thanks for the dedication of one doctor that would come out to the field as did Captain Lovy on that day.”

John Gamble, who at the time was with the 54th Signal Detachment, a support unit to the 3-506, and stationed at the Communications Center at LZ Betty, the Currahee base camp, recall another personal account of Doc Lovy in action.  The incident occurred on a particularly bloody day for the 3-506 in February of 1968 during the height of the infamous Tet Offensive.  Many casualties were coming back from the battlefield—one after another—in a steady flow.  John recalls, “I remember the calls for help and the medevacs coming in.  I helped unload the wounded from several medevacs, and my clearest memory of that day was witnessing a doctor and others in medical scrubs as they ran up to the landing pad just as another medevac touched down.  As soon as the chopper landed, the doctor and his assistants jumped in and started working on a wounded trooper.  It seemed as though they were there for hours, but only a few minutes elapsed before the trooper was sent on to the hospital.  I had witnessed the doctor open up the trooper’s chest right there in the helicopter and do direct cardiac massage on his heart to get it going again.  I can still see it all, even after 32 years, just as though it were only yesterday.  At the time, I did not know who the doctor was that worked on that trooper.  I have often wondered who he was in hopes that I could personally thank him one day for saving that trooper’s life.”

Gamble was finally able to send that special “thank you” to the doctor who had made such an astonishing impression on him as a young trooper in Vietnam.  Earlier this year, he finally learned the identity of his miracle man as our own Doc Lovy and says that he will never forget the greatest doctor that he has ever met.

On July 22, 1968, a call came in needing a medevac for a seriously wounded trooper.  Doc, of course, went out with the chopper.  As the medevac helicopter attempted to land, a mortar exploded close to the chopper.  Doc was wounded and nearly thrown out of the chopper by the blast of the explosion.  He became a casualty along with the other wounded troopers he had come to help and was medevaced back to base for treatment.  Fortunately, Doc’s wounds were not serious, but medical personnel in charge of his treatment decided that he had already taken too many chances endangering his life and advised against Doc returning to his duties.  His tour of duty in Vietnam was to end within a couple of weeks anyway, so Doc was headed back to the States.

The stories about Doc’s “miracles” continue to surface as we continue to locate more of our fellow Currahees and bring them “home” to our annual reunions.  The reunion in Knoxville, Tennessee in 1997 was our first Currahee reunion.  In addition to my glorious reunion with my old friend, Doc Lovy, there were six other from our unit that I was reunited with.  Since then, the Currahees have held three more annual reunions—the last one being held in Clarksville, Tennessee to coincide with the Week of the Eagles celebration at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky in June of this year.  To date, almost 300 members of the 3-506th> have been located; and the effort to find other members of the unit continues on daily.

As for Doc Lovy, he hasn’t missed a single reunion and still remains steadfast in his dedication to his men of the 3-506th.  He is still there for them, especially those that continue to heal from the emotional scars of Vietnam and suffer from the anguish of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  There are always those Currahees who attend a reunion just to say a special “thank you” and to shake the skilled hand that over thirty years ago saved their life in the jungles and rice paddies of South Vietnam.  Such is the esteem shown by our Currahee band of brothers for Doc Lovy and the “miracles” he performed in saving the lives of so many of us.

Doc summed up his his duties as battalion surgeon in Vietnam by saying, “You have to remember that we were part of a chain that started with the medics in the field.  Their medical training enabled them to do great and skillful battlefield first aid in starting the medevac process.  From there, it was up to doctors and surgeons on down the line like myself to continue the process and do remarkable things to rehabilitate our guys.  Certainly a weak link anywhere in the chain would have resulted in disaster.  It was our job to make sure there was no weak link, especially not at our end of the chain.  We only had one shot at it with each wounded trooper, and it was ZERO tolerance for mistakes.  The only rule I went by was whatever it took to keep the trooper alive until we could get him to the next level.  Even 30+ years later, I still think of how much more I wish I could have done for others.  We all have memories, nightmares, anger, and the whole spectrum of thoughts and feelings.  You just can’t imagine how great it feels to go to a reunion and see these guys thirty years later with families and children and to know that there was a time when they shared something very significant that we were all a part of.  I have deep and total admiration for the men I served with and hope that history will be much kinder to them than their generation was.”

 Doc Lovy, 65, was born in Budapest, Hungary. He moved to the United States and was raised in Detroit, Mich. After his 10-month tour of duty in Vietnam, Lovy returned to private practice, eventually specializing in psychiatry. He wrote a book, "Vietnam Diary," which was a personal account of his tour of duty as a battalion surgeon. According to Lovy, his purpose in writing the book was "not to dramztize or sensationalize the hardships and tragedies of war, but to give a personal, truthful account of daily events as seen from a personal viewpoint. I got into psychiatry 99 percent because of Vietnam, because of what I saw, the devastation to the will and the mind," Lovy said recently.

The doctor currently lives in Olympia Fields, holding one fulltime job and three part-time jobs. He is chairman of the department of psychiatry at Midwestern University in Downers Grove, where he is a full-time professor. He also works with the Central Illinois Medical Review Organization and at three area nursing homes. Lovy is medical director for an HMO and he recently joined another medical group for which he does psychiatric reviews. Until last month, he was chairman of the psychiatry department at Olympia Fields Hospital.

He has begun to do more work with veterans, and recently began study into post-traumatic stress disorder of former soldiers. This year, for the first time since 1966, Lovy decided to do a parachute jump at a reunion for his old parachute division. "I was terrified, but I had to do it because my boys were there, which shows you my mental state," he said. The experience was a bit like re-learning how to ride a bicycle, he said, but not everything came streaming back from memory, he said. "What I recaptured was the fear." - Staff writer Mariana Farrell contributed to this report.