Last Soldier to Leave Vietnam Is Feared Dead

WASHINGTON — He was last in the line moving up the ramp into a waiting C-130 at Tan Son Nhut air base--a tall, husky man with an open Midwestern face who was about to step into history. It was March 29, 1973, in Saigon. And Master Sgt. Max Beilke was officially designated as the last American combat soldier to leave Vietnam.

He had survived two wars, Korea and Vietnam. Now he was going home to his family in Minnesota.

Twenty-eight years later, Beilke--at 69 long since retired from the Army but pursuing a second career helping veterans--was suddenly plunged into his third conflict: the war of terror.

Defense Department officials have added his name to the list of those believed killed when a hijacked airliner hit the Pentagon on Tuesday.

"How do you explain a brother to somebody?" his sister Lucille Johnson of Evansville, Minn., wondered aloud Saturday. "He was very tall, not heavy but good-sized, a good German boy. Very dedicated to his work.

"He was a very soft person, a very low-key person. He really enjoyed working with the retirees, making sure they got what they had coming and needed.

"We'll all be there when it's time," Johnson said, speaking for the four of Beilke's five surviving sisters. "We just hope they find his remains and put closure to this. That's what we're looking for now."

Active in His Neighborhood

His neighbors in suburban Laurel, Md., remember Beilke as a quiet, friendly man who never talked about his military experience. The kind of man who loved his flower beds and flourishing crepe myrtles, who audited the books of the homeowners association for free, saving his working-class neighbors $1,000 or so a year. The kind who kept doing so even after the association turned down his request to put a flagpole by the driveway.

The houses on Falling Waters Court are just 12 years old, and neighbor Lee Minton recalled that Beilke wasn't happy about the "stick" trees. They were not big enough for squirrels, and he liked squirrels. So he put out nuts and food on his deck and the squirrels came running.

In fact, they would swarm out from the park behind Minton's house, cross the street and scamper up Beilke's driveway to get their meals. The squirrels would make a "daily passage," Minton said, laughing.

It was Minton's wife, Nancy, who figured out something was wrong when she saw a car belonging to one of the Beilkes' daughters parked outside the house Wednesday. "She usually comes at the holidays. And then I saw some people in military uniform and I really got scared," Nancy Minton said Saturday, blinking back tears.