A Marine vet made a daring beer run to Vietnam for his buddies

Blake Stilwell
Updated onOct 6, 2022 7:45 AM PDT
3 minute read
Marine Corps photo

SUMMARY

There’s not a lot a veteran won’t do for his buddies, especially if they’re still in the service and the veteran is out. This is particularly helpful for troops who are deployed because their buddy back home knows exactly what they need. And you …

There's not a lot a veteran won't do for his buddies, especially if they're still in the service and the veteran is out. This is particularly helpful for troops who are deployed because their buddy back home knows exactly what they need. And you know what people fighting a war could use more than anything else? A beer. John "Chickie" Donohue set out on a beer run to get a few cold ones to his best Army buddies — while they were fighting in Vietnam. That's one hell of a beer run.


In 1967, the war in Vietnam was heating up. Unbeknownst to the U.S., the Tet Offensive was still to come, but that didn't mean the fighting was inconsequential. More than 11,000 American troops would die in the fighting that year. The largest airborne operation since World War II happened in February, 1967, the 1st Marine Division was engaged with the Army of North Vietnam, and the U.S. Army was chasing down Viet Cong south of the DMZ — in short, it was a busy year.

M113 armored vehicles advance in Vietnam during Operation Junction City, 1967. (U.S. Army photo)

Donohue had already served four years in the Marine Corps and was working as a sandhog — a kind of miner — for the city of New York. He was a native of Inwood, a Manhattan neighborhood at the very northern tip of the island. As 1967 progressed, he saw many, many funerals of Inwood natives who were killed in Vietnam. Meanwhile, he grew sick of antiwar protestors who criticized troops who were sent there.

One day, Chickie Donohue was at his local watering hole when the bartender remarked that troops over in Vietnam deserved a pat on the back and a cold beer. Donohue agreed. He agreed so much that he took a gig as a merchant seaman on a ship taking supplies and ammunition to Vietnam. He packed a bag and a supply of beer and set sail.

Chickie Donohue worked as an oiler aboard the Drake Victory steamer.

The trip took two months and Donohue actually drank all the beer he brought along. But he grabbed more upon arrival and set out to find a half dozen of his old friends who were stationed in country. His first stop was actually where his ship docked, Qui Nhon harbor, where his friend Tom Collins was deployed with the 127th Military Police Company.

"I said, 'Chickie Donohue, what the hell are you doing here?'" Collins told the New York Times. "He said, 'I came to bring you a beer.'"

That wasn't his last stop. He journeyed throughout the country to bring cold ones to his old friends fighting a war that Americans back home were increasingly hostile toward. His friends, who sometimes just happened to bump into Donohue on his trek to see them, were amazed.

Beer run recipients in Quang Tri Province, 1968. (Rick Duggan)

Donohue even took fire from the enemy a few times.

For his friends, Chickie was a sight for sore eyes. A New York Times reporter documented their reactions to the retelling of Donohue's story when they were interviewed for the book about Chickie's biggest beer run. It even helped some of them get through the war and work on their post-traumatic stress.

"Seeing Chick gave me a lot of encouragement that I was going to make it back," said Bob Pappas, who was a communications NCO in Long Binh. Pappas was demoralized after hearing about the deaths of longtime Inwood friends. Donohue's cold one gave him a little hope.

But even local residents of Inwood who knew Chickie Donohue his whole life couldn't believe the story of his beer run. For decades after, New Yorkers and fellow sandhogs alike told him he was full of it. But in March, 2017, he released his book about the trip, "The Greatest Beer Run Ever: A True Story of Friendship Stronger Than War," and held a book signing with recipients of the beers present.

"For half a century, I've been told I was full of it, to the point where I stopped even telling this story," he said. But still "I didn't have to buy a beer for a long time in Inwood."

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