UWM’s ‘A Piece of My Heart’ Recalls Horror of Vietnam War From a Different Perspective

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Photo Credit: Nicolas Umbs

The Vietnam War officially came to a close in 1975, but for some the conflict never ended. Many of those who were there carry it with them forever. Told in flashbacks, UW-Milwaukee’s production of Shirley Lauro’s  A Piece of My Heart, as directed by Jim Tasse, brings to life the experiences of six women who served. It should not be lost on the audience that during the height of the Vietnam War, these actors are the same age as the folks they portray.

By way of introduction, the initial overlapping dialogue—with characters coming and going from the stage—sets up the fast pace, unpredictable commotion and chaos these young women will experience in war.

It seems like a long time ago that young men—boys, really—were drafted into military service to fight overseas. For women, there was no draft; these Americans chose different reasons. They run the gamut from an Army brat nurse (Lydia Skarioda as Martha) to a Red Cross volunteer with visions of Florence Nightingale dancing in her head (Mallory Giesen as Whitney) to a nurse of Asian heritage (Kazoua Thao as Leeann). An outlier here is MaryJo (Lacey Tatro), the bubbly lead singer of a country band, The Sugar Candies, headed over to entertain the troops.

Quickly we learn that the ride is not exactly what the upbeat propaganda promised. Steele (Salaqua Winston) is told “we can’t have any negroes in band playing trombone.” Leeann was told she would be serving in Hawaii, around people who resembled her. Nurses are fooled into volunteering in an Agent Orange zone. Rookies are put on night duty where most patients die.

In the heat of battle triage, units must juggle who gets treatment first. It is on-the-spot training. There are casualties and multiple-amputees, fleeting romances and guilt (Whitney’s guy accuses her of being a sexual tease and tells her he is not coming back from his mission. He is right.), power outages and Mother Nature to contend with—there is no choice but to grow up fast.

Nurses are told to shut out all the rest—build a wall and focus on patients’ charts. “Your work is to patch up the soldier so he can get back on the battle field.” They see shot up women and children, a soldier with half his face gone. Another’s amputated foot is still in his boot. When the head nurse tells Leeann to move on to the next patient, she replies he was her first patient. Later, she is ordered to treat a Viet Cong boy who had killed the soldiers still in the ward.

With a background in military intelligence, Steele prepares a report outlining and predicting what would later come to be known as the Viet Cong’s Tet Offensive, a battle that cost more than an estimated 70,000 lives. She approaches officers, is given the runaround and eventually rebuffed.

The second act provides a sense of perspective; it depicts the challenges of how these women attempted to fit in with society they left a lifetime ago. They open up about how they coped. Whitney admits “I started drinking in Vietnam.” For others, it began with non-stop Coca Cola and cigarettes. Graduating to pot, a quart of Crown Royal each day, champagne and Beaujolais for special occasions and Benzedrine for all-night, multiple-day surgery sessions.

They recall the tenderness of singing Christmas carols to amputees. MaryJo says she was sexually assaulted by a group of soldiers, “but they apologized—well, one did. The whole place is so unreal it doesn’t matter—no consequences.”

They recall rivers of blood on operating tents and face anti-war protesters. Civilians wearing green trigger episodes of PTSD at shopping malls. They don’t fit in. Relationships fail. They are adrenaline junkies.

Television reports of Beirut and other conflicts cause them to continue to question the logic of war. History tells us clearly it is the same book, different chapter.

Intelligence expert Steele is offered the same desk job she had before she shipped out. “Spent my lifetime disseminating the truth! Know where it got me? Ignored! Know where it got the boys I tried to save? Killed!” The wizened Steele eventually sets her sights on a PhD describing her experiences.

They return to racism at home, drink in isolation, suffer flashbacks and have suicidal thoughts. Some eventually seek out AA meetings for help.

Sissy’s (Danielle Hoffman) daughter is born with numerous health issues, and she develops problems as well. The doctors keep putting her off, suggesting a hereditary condition—and she is told Agent Orange Disease doesn’t exist. She becomes a born-again Christian and begins ministering.

The final scenes—a group therapy session where the women attempt to deal with how they came home, though not entirely intact, and a reunion at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C.—begin to offer closure.

Over four decades since the fall of Saigon, it is sobering to see a cast of student actors portray characters who might have been their peers when they embarked on experiences that would so greatly affect their lives.