The Passing of Winston “Joe” “Cabby” Carbonneau

In my humble opinion, the word “hero” is way too overused these days. One cannot sign up to be a hero, and no job title endows a person with that title. No, in my mind, people must go above and beyond what is expected of them to earn that title. On Tuesday, the Northeast Kingdom lost a man who I think fits the definition of a hero—Winston “Joe” “Cabby” Carbonneau of Derby.

Born on the Glen Road in Newport, Winston was reborn in the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam. A career military man, in his 30s when he served as a platoon sergeant during two tours in Vietnam (1965–’66 and 1968–’69), he was fond of telling me that he was the “old man” in the platoon, since most of the other men were only in their late teens and early 20s. His first tour was with the U.S. Army 1st Cavalry Airmobile Division. His second tour was with the 196th Infantry Brigade Americal Division.

A recipient of the Purple Heart, an award he was given when an enemy bullet nearly claimed his life, Winston was recognized for his heroism in combat. He often scoffed at the honor since, he insisted, he was just doing his job. When it came to leadership, he was known as a leader who’d never ask any of his men to do something he wouldn’t do. Instead of directing his men into combat, he led them.

I’ve known Winston for many years, and I am blessed to have called him my friend. He was a true red, white, and blue American, a proud American soldier to the core. However, the diaries and letters he wrote during the war years depicted a man troubled by the death and despair of war. Although killing was all too common for him, it was clear in his writings and listening to him talk in later years that he felt mixed emotions about killing people the U.S. government said were our enemy.

While Winston shared with me many of the horrors of war, he relished telling me about one particular happy memory of his time in Vietnam. It was about an event that forever changed his life. One Christmas season he and his men found themselves living in hellish conditions in the jungles near An Khe, South Vietnam, up north near the Ho Chi Minh Trail. They didn’t know if they’d live to see another day. Then they were told to set up a secured parameter. An important visitor was incoming. Winston said they figured it was a member of the military brass or a visiting dignitary. However, much to their surprise, Santa came swooping through the air—not in a reindeer-drawn sleigh, but in a heavily armed Huey helicopter.

“We were all scared for him,” Winston said. “We were afraid he was going to get killed. He was wearing a red Santa suit. We thought he was going to get himself popped by a sniper, but he didn’t get shot and we really enjoyed his visit.”

Sometimes the real Santa is depicted as having an elf or two helping him with his annual deliveries. When he visited the jungle that day, he also had helpers. In addition to the pilot, there was a machine gun-toting door gunner ready to shoot any naughty enemy soldiers who might try to shoot Santa.

No matter the time of year, a combat zone is a lonesome and scary place for anybody, Winston said. Those feelings are multiplied on Christmas.

“Most of us were thinking how we’d rather be at home with our families,” he said. “I know that is what I was thinking.”

There was something about seeing Santa and realizing the man in that suit was putting his life on the line to bring a little happiness to the troops deep in enemy territory that made Christmas a bit brighter, Winston said. “After he left, we talked about how crazy he must have been to do something like that, but he sure made us smile.”

After retiring from the Army in 1973, Winston returned home, haunted by the horrors of war, suffering from what we now call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). The enemy, and sometimes his dying and dead men, appeared in his dreams. Meanwhile, he continued to serve, now as a police officer, first with the Newport Police Department then with the Orleans County Sheriff’s Department. He was known as a big-hearted lawman, a man capable at doing his job, but in doing so, treating those on the wrong side of the law with dignity. It was during his time with the sheriff’s department he was recognized for dashing into a burning building (Hunter’s Lodge in Newport) to save its residents. He was able to save all but one of the residents. To the day he died, Winston regretted he couldn’t save that gentleman.

Although horrors he experienced in war and the PTSD haunted him and impacted almost every bit of his life, he found solace in that war zone visit from Santa. After retiring from the Army, he bought his own Santa suit, bells and all. For more than a quarter century, come the Christmas season, he became Santa to the youngsters in the greater Newport–Derby area, never accepting money for his work. Instead, his payment came in the form of laughter and smiles from the children—the only pay he needed.

Over the years, Winston was also a periodic guest on my Vermont Voice radio program, and my Northeast Kingdom Voice television program. And I hooked him up with other radio stations outside of the region to help him get his message out. He didn’t go on the shows to brag about his service to his country but to share his story of his struggles with PSTD. His hope was that by sharing his stories he could help other veterans, including younger veterans of the more recent wars. He particularly wanted them to know that they are not alone, and there is no dishonor in seeking help. At the same time, he acknowledged for too many years he had suffered silently, often trying to dim the memories of war in bottles of booze. And he often told me that by telling his stories, including on my shows, and by hoping he was help others, he was able to quell many of the demons of war that lurked in his mind.

For the last year, Winston and I have been working on an in-depth series about his life, using his memories, writings, and photos of his life. The article will appear in a future issue of the Journal.

Rest in Peace, Winston. In addition to being my friend, you were a great American Hero in more ways than one.

Photos:

The photos include one of Winston as a soldier in Vietnam, another as Santa, another as a Newport City police officer (directing traffic), and I took the final photo of him in recent years.