Remembering Sergeant William Robert Miller: A Life of Duty and Sacrifice

William Robert Miller, known to his family as Bill, was born on October 9, 1948, in Denver, Colorado. As my first cousin and the oldest of my Uncle Edwin Miller and his wife’s three children, Bill was someone I looked up to from a young age. We shared a special bond as teenagers, combing through Civil War battlefields together in Alabama and Tennessee. Bill had a deep love for history, especially the Civil War, and he’d light up whenever he found an artifact—a rusted bullet, a button, or a piece of shrapnel. I can still picture him, his eyes wide with excitement, as he’d carefully brush the dirt off his latest find and tell me stories of the soldiers who once walked those fields.

Bill’s family eventually settled in Vacaville, California, at 710 Ash Street, where he grew up under the care of his parents, Edwin and Mrs. Miller. As a young teenager, he worked on an Air Force Base in California, a job that exposed him to the grim realities of the Vietnam War. He helped receive the caskets and body bags of fallen soldiers, a heavy burden for someone so young. I remember him telling his wife, Carolyn, years later about how those experiences shaped him. He’d say, “If those men could make that sacrifice, I could too.” Despite being too young to enlist on his own, Bill was determined to serve. His father, my Uncle Edwin, tried several times to talk him out of joining at such a young age, but Bill wouldn’t be deterred. In the end, Uncle Edwin had to sign the papers for him, and Bill enlisted in the United States Army, a decision that echoed the patriotic fervor of movies like Born on the Fourth of July.

Bill’s military journey began with basic training at Ft. Lewis, Washington, followed by eight weeks of advanced artillery training at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. A newspaper clipping from the time, proudly kept by his family, noted that he was home on leave in Vacaville after completing this training. The article mentioned his return to Ft. Sill to attend a non-commissioned officers and field artillery combat leadership course, a testament to his dedication and potential as a soldier. Bill served as a Sergeant in the Americal Division, D Battery, 6th Battalion, 11th Artillery, stationed at Fort Sill with the 5-56th Artillery Combat Leaders. The photos from that time show a proud young man in his crisp Army uniform, standing alongside his fellow soldiers, ready to serve his country. But Vietnam was a brutal chapter. In 1968, while serving in the Chu Lai area of South Vietnam with the 6th Battalion, 11th Artillery, Bill and his unit operated large artillery pieces like howitzers, providing critical support from behind sandbag fortifications in the rugged, mountainous terrain.

Despite the harsh conditions, Bill stayed connected to his family, sending home a Christmas card from the Americal Division, adorned with a festive wreath and a map marking their operations around Chu Lai, Baldy, Duc Pho, and Saigon. He signed it simply “Bill,” a small but meaningful gesture to let his loved ones know he was thinking of them during the holidays. Tragically, that same year, while stationed at Duc Pho, Bill was severely wounded in combat. A shell explosion rocked his position, sending shrapnel tearing through his abdomen, knee, and hand. For his bravery and sacrifice, he was awarded the Bronze Star and the Purple Heart, alongside the National Defense Service Medal, Vietnam Service Medal, and Vietnam Campaign Medal. But the wounds he carried weren’t just physical—he suffered from PTSD, a silent battle that followed him long after he returned home.

After the war, Bill tried to rebuild his life. He worked for Goodyear Tire in Gadsden, Alabama for 30 years, dedicating himself to providing for his family. He was a steady presence, the kind of man who showed up every day, no matter what demons he was fighting. But the scars of Vietnam never fully faded. In 1999, Bill was diagnosed with complications from Agent Orange exposure, a cruel legacy of the war that many Americans wanted to forget. The diagnosis came through the VA in Birmingham, and by 2000, his health began to decline rapidly. Agent Orange, the toxic herbicide used during the Vietnam War, had poisoned his body, and after years of battling its effects, Bill passed away on August 25, 2016.

Bill’s story is deeply personal to me—he’s one of the reasons I do what I do with the Lettermen of the USA (LotUSA), an organization dedicated to supporting veterans who are too often neglected by many. Watching Bill struggle with the aftermath of his service, from his physical wounds to the invisible scars of PTSD and the devastating effects of Agent Orange, opened my eyes to the challenges veterans face long after their service ends. LotUSA’s mission to provide direct support—through programs like Homes for Heroes, Shelter for Heroes, and more—became a way for me to honor Bill’s memory and ensure other veterans receive the care and recognition they deserve.

This year marks the 50th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War, a time to reflect on the sacrifices of men like Bill. He was a Letterman of the USA, a proud soldier who gave everything for his country. Today, organizations like www.LotUSA.org are working to ensure that his memory—and the memory of all Vietnam veterans—is not forgotten. They honor Sergeant William Robert Miller for his service, his courage, and the ultimate price he paid due to Agent Orange poisoning. I encourage everyone to join www.LotUSA.org in sharing his story, so that Bill’s legacy lives on.

Bill Miller was more than a soldier. He was a cousin who taught me the value of history, a husband to Carolyn, a father, and a man who believed in duty above all else. From the battlefields of the Civil War to the jungles of Vietnam, his life was a testament to bravery, sacrifice, and love for his country. Let us never forget him.