“I have been looking all over, everywhere, for Eddie Morris,” said Uhl, a native of Randolph. “I have been watching VVA (Vietnam Veterans of America) magazine. I went to Veterans Finding Veterans at the Fenton Museum and they could not find him. They did tell me that he didn’t die in Vietnam, because I didn’t know if he did or not. I left before he did so I never knew if he made it out alive.”

“From the time he came out of the service, two or three times per year, he would say, ‘I wonder what happened to Eddie Morris. I wonder if he made it out,'” added the 76-year-old man’s wife, Cathy Uhl.

The Army veteran remembered his buddy talking about his father working at Folsom Prison during the time when country music star Johnny Cash wrote the song “Folsom Prison Blues.”

“I remembered that and that made me think he was probably in that area,” Uhl said.

Harry Uhl, who is naturally a very happy person, recently had his happiness kicked up a few notches. The Randolph man found the buddy he wondered about since leaving him in Vietnam 54 years ago. Photo by Beverly Kehe-Rowland

He recalled asking Loretta Adams, a member of his church, to look up Morris’ phone number when she visited her son in California, but doesn’t remember her getting back to him.

A few months ago, as Cathy stepped into their all-terrain utility vehicle, when the couple was in their woods doing their annual ritual of tapping maple trees, she noticed a small, folded, white piece of paper lying on the floor. When she unfolded the tattered scrap of paper she couldn’t believe her eyes, as written on it was Eddie Morris’ address and telephone number.

“We figure it fell out of the glove compartment,” Mrs. Uhl said.

They’d owned the small side-by-side for 23 years and thought possibly Mrs. Adams had set the paper inside on one of the many occasions she had attended a special event at their home. After all, the Gator had transported many friends who were present at family weddings, church gatherings and the annual Fourth of July celebration. They learned later the handwriting didn’t belong to her or to any member of her family residing on the west coast.

Mr. Uhl put the paper in his pocket until he returned to the sugar house and then placed it inside his Bible.

Photo by Beverly Kehe-Rowland A tattered note mysteriously appeared on the floor of Uhl’s Gator.

“I tried all times of day and night to get him by phone,” he said.

Even though his computer skills are very limited, he turned to the computer with the hope of getting current information on the friend he had left behind in 1967 near Phouc Ving, when they were both just 21 years old. When he typed in the information on the note, another California address appeared. He then penned four lines stating he was looking for Edward M. Morris who served in the 1st Infantry in Vietnam along with his contact information and mailed it to the address on the computer screen.

While Uhl waited in Randolph for a response, Ed Morris was in Rescue, California, 12 miles from Folsom Prison, showing the brief note to his family.

“I was quite amazed to get the letter. I remembered him very, very well. When I showed my family, they said ‘Call him! Call him!” the retired Folsom State Prison Correctional captain said. “I told them I was going to write him but they said, ‘Call him!”

After mailing a note to Uhl, Morris waited six days to make the call. In the note he conveyed how happy he was that his old Army sidekick had found his address and that it was his greatest surprise over the last 54 years. He sent his phone number and said he couldn’t wait to hear from him.

Submitted photo Ed Morris, left, and Harry Uhl with “Mike the platoon monkey” was taken near Phouc Ving, Vietnam, in 1966. The two friends, after searching for one another for more than five decades, recently re-connected.

The call came to Uhl’s cell phone one evening while he was boiling sap in the sugar house and before he had received the letter from California.

“The phone rang and the voice said ‘Is this Harry Uhl? This is Ed Morris.’ I could have fallen out of my chair. I couldn’t believe it,” the retired businessman said.

They talked briefly, but spoke for 40 minutes the next day. They learned that they both had three daughters and a son — and many grandchildren.

“We picked up where we left off 54 years ago,” said the former owner of Zahm and Matson John Deere dealership. “Eddie always called me Uhl. He always had a grin on his face and I never knew what he was up to. We got along better than brothers.”

“One of the first times Harry and I went out on a mission they told us to dig in. Harry dug a foxhole about 6 to 8 feet deep. Then he dug into the wall. It was like a triple fox hole,” the Californian joked. “If we were hit hard, he definitely would have been safe.”

Stories of Mike the platoon monkey were told. Some of the men would give him beer and cigarettes.

“He would smoke the cigarette and then eat it. The guys would give him beer and he would get drunk and fall off his stoop,” Uhl said. “He had his own little personality.”

He then told a story about Eddie that took place on Christmas Eve in 1966.

“He said we’d probably never spend another Christmas Eve together.”

According to Uhl, the young Californian stole a can of “the sourest orange juice you can ever imagine” from the mess hall and combined it with vodka he had gotten from a non-commissioned officer.

“I laid down on my bunk after I drank that 12-ounce glass and boy that had a kick to it.”

From the west coast, Morris told his version of the story.

“One of our buddies made moonshine and I was talked into going to the kitchen to get something to mix with it. It was kind of late at night. I found some orange juice. We were pretty sick the next day.”

Light moments were necessary at this difficult time in the young men’s lives. Serious stories were told as well. In the process of spreading his men out after being told to do so by the platoon sergeant, Uhl stepped backwards.

“I went out of sight. I fell thirty feet into a well, a punji pit. I floated because it had water in it. I took off my back pack. All of my guys tied their rifle slings together and pulled me out.”

Prior to this when his squad was sweeping the jungle while looking for the North Vietnamese, they found 10 of these pits. Each had several razor-sharp bamboo stakes which had been saturated with human feces.

“If you fell on them, you would die,” the thankful veteran said.

He was once bitten by a rat, which caused him to be airlifted out.

“I could have had a Purple Heart for that, but declined because I didn’t want to explain how I got it,” he said with a grin.

Uhl was presented with a Bronze Star for outstanding meritorious service in connection with ground operations against a hostile force.

Both soldiers were drafted in 1965 and were promoted to Sgt E-5 on the same day. Uhl started as the ammo bearer of the 81 mm mortar and eventually worked his way to gunner and then squad leader. Morris was a part of the Fire Direction Center (FDC).

“He was the one that told you how to set the gun up to put the shell where it had to go and he was good. He was the best of the best,” his friend states.

Uhl has sent a half-gallon of maple syrup to California and Morris is sending Uhl some of his homemade beef jerky. They had planned to get together this summer until Debra, Morris’ wife of 49 years, came down with pneumonia, but still hope to meet as soon as possible.

“It’s great! It gives me an awful good feeling. He was closer to a brother to me than I ever had,” Morris said. “He was a very stout young man. His arms were like Popeye’s, very strong. That is why no one messed with Harry or me when I was with him.”

So, who wrote the note?

“After learning Ed had moved to the new address in 1968, I thought he must have been the author of the note. Sure enough, when I texted a picture of it to him, he verified it was his handwriting.”

After receiving his friend’s letter, Morris found amongst his military papers a matching piece of paper on which Uhl had written his address. The two young men had forgotten they had exchanged addresses before separating. The Uhls are perplexed as to where the note had been over the many years and even more so, how it found it’s way into the Gator 54 years later.

“It was orchestrated by God,” Uhl said.

Even though they only had six months together, a special friendship to a 21-year-old who is living in peril 8,500 miles from home, created a lifelong bond.

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