Episodes

Send us a text In this letter from May 16, 1971, Dick Allgood—an HH-43 Pedro rescue pilot stationed in Vietnam—writes to his wife Sarah with pure joy after learning he’s going to be a father. He’s on alert, ready to fly into danger at a moment’s notice, but in the quiet moments he’s trying—repeatedly—to place a phone call across the ocean to reach her. This wasn’t just a slow day in the war. It was a day of effort: coordinating calls, writing letters, and bracing for missions in sweltering ...

Send us a text In this unforgettable letter, Dick writes from Vietnam late at night, his heart overflowing with joy after finally learning the news he’s been hoping for—Sarah is pregnant. The call comes while he’s on duty with the Pedro unit, flying HH-43 helicopters for the Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron. Overwhelmed with love and hope for the future, he imagines Father’s Day cards, their child’s birth, and a life filled with family. He’s miles away from home, but completely present ...

Send us a text Dick writes from Vietnam after a hectic day flying training missions with his Pedro unit—the HH-43 helicopter crews of the Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron. He’s worn out, longing for rest, and desperate to connect with Sarah, having already spent hours trying to reach her by phone. Back home, Sarah is continuing her work as a military nurse, carrying the early secret of her pregnancy—a life-changing moment he has yet to learn. In this letter, Dick reflects on the deep co...

Send us a text On May 14, 1971, Dick writes from Vietnam with a letter that is equal parts playful, protective, and tender. He jokes about Sarah’s doctor getting a little too familiar with her “nice boobs,” expresses real concern about her health, and shares his growing emotional fatigue from being apart. Amid R&R planning and confusion over time zones, he reflects on how every day feels like Monday without her. His love is constant, his tone is raw, and this letter reminds us again of th...

Send us a text In this May 13, 1971 letter, Dick writes from Vietnam with a mixture of relief and longing after receiving a batch of letters from Sarah. He responds to her stories—some we haven’t yet read—which reminds me that a few letters might still be waiting in the stack or possibly lost to time. In typical Dick fashion, his words are unfiltered, affectionate, and sometimes difficult to read as his daughter. But they’re also deeply human. He reflects on missed mail, delayed surprises, ...

Send us a text It’s May 12, 1971, and Dick has just returned to Biên Hòa Air Base after completing jungle survival school in the Philippines. This letter marks a moment of transition: he’s no longer in training, but he hasn’t yet flown any Pedro rescue missions. For now, he’s back on base—and finally receiving Sarah’s letters, numbered 10 through 13. He calls himself “the travelest son of a bitch on the earth,” jokes about becoming a “warrior” in his freshly altered jungle fatigues, and off...

Send us a text It’s May 11, 1971, and Sarah’s letter arrives just after Mother’s Day weekend—a date that feels especially poignant as she quietly suspects she may be pregnant. She hasn’t received confirmation, and Dick still has no idea. None of her recent letters have reached him yet, including the one where she first shared that she missed her period. Still, she can’t help but daydream aloud about baby clothes and what might be coming next. Meanwhile, his return address now confirms he’s ...

Send us a text This is letter number 18, written by my mom, Sarah Allgood, to my dad, Dick, on May 10, 1971. The more I read these letters, the more I believe they saved them for a reason—not to be shared in the moment, but to be read long after they were gone. Maybe even by me. Because what they had wasn’t ordinary. It was rare. It was true. And I think they both knew that kind of love deserves to live on. In this letter, my mom is exhausted after a long day of surgeries and stress, but ...

Send us a text In this May 9th letter, Sarah writes late into the night after a long day of cleaning, sorting, and keeping herself busy in his absence. She’s exhausted but thoughtful—asking about stereo equipment for a friend, wondering if she should look into a surgical job closer to Vietnam, and confessing how deeply she misses him. As always, she signs off with love, humor, and a little cartoon to bring a smile across the world. Website: theallgoodslove.com Support the show: patreon.com/...

Send us a text On May 9, 1971, Richard finally receives his first letter from Sarah — Number 11. While she’s written many times since he left, this is the only one that’s made it to him so far. Now back in Vietnam after jungle survival school, Richard shares updates from Saigon with his signature blend of humor and heart: a tour flight, a supper of sauerbrat and onions, and a prediction that he’ll be “farting all night long.” But what grounds this letter is his love for Sarah. He calls he...

Send us a text It’s May 8, 1971, and Sarah is writing from the apartment she shared with Richard near Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio. Earlier that day, she unpacked a box of surprises he sent from Las Vegas before deploying to Vietnam—dishes, small treasures, and bits of their life together. A few things arrived broken, but her heart is full just knowing he thought of her. Sarah is her full, unfiltered self in this letter: playful, honest, and aching. She hosts a steak dinner with...

Send us a text In this letter from May 8, 1971, my dad writes from the patio of the Officers’ Club at Clark Air Force Base. He’s packed, ready, and counting down the hours until he returns to Bien Hoa and finally gets the year underway. Even in the quiet moments, you can feel how much he misses my mom. A tall, black-haired woman walks by, and something about her reminds him of her—but it’s not desire. It’s homesickness. He’s surrounded by other servicemen, many joking about one last fling...

Send us a text In this letter from May 7, 1971, my mom, Sarah, is doing her best to stay strong while missing my dad. She had just received some surprises he sent before leaving the States—they arrived safely, and she’s slowly unpacking them. She even tries going to the Officers’ Club with friends, but not even live music could lift her spirits. What she really wants is a letter from him. None came that day, and the loneliness weighs heavy. My dad had just finished jungle survival school at...

Send us a text In this May 7, 1971 letter, Capt. Richard Allgood has just completed jungle survival school in the Philippines and is preparing to return to Bien Hoa. Though relieved to be done with the bugs and challenges of jungle life, he’s still in the dark—he hasn’t received any of Sarah’s letters yet due to constant moves. Neither he nor Sarah knows she’s pregnant, making this stretch of letters even more poignant in hindsight. He writes with deep affection, describing the emotional toll...

Send us a text In this warm, humorous, and deeply tender letter from May 6, 1971, Sarah writes to Richard shortly after he completes jungle survival school in Vietnam. With no contact during his time away, the sound of his voice on a brief phone call fills her with overwhelming relief—“almost close to a climax,” she says. The letter blends everyday military-spouse responsibilities with emotional longing—insurance updates, utility refunds, and a household goods shipment all wrapped in deep affect...

Send us a text In this vulnerable and heartfelt letter dated May 4, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes from the stillness of 4 a.m., aching with worry and longing for her husband, Richard, who is deep in jungle survival school in Vietnam. With no word from him and no confirmation that her own letters have arrived, Sarah clings to the only connection she has—his photo, her memories, and her words. Her letter is tender, funny, raw, and deeply human. She speaks to him like he’s still beside her in bed, fil...

Send us a text In this May 2, 1971 letter, Richard writes from yet another plane — this time en route to a survival school in the Philippine jungle. Though he reassures Sarah that his living quarters at Bien Hoa are comfortable, there’s a gentle ache between the lines. It’s their first weekend apart since he left, and her first letter still hasn’t reached him. He admits he may not be able to write for a few days but promises it’s only temporary. He closes with love, levity, and a hopeful note: h...

Send us a text On May 1st, 1971, just three nights into his deployment, my father writes from Vietnam with a heart full of longing and a mind already spinning with plans to get back home. He’s not yet in the thick of missions, but the distance is heavy—he’s already tried calling home for two hours, unsuccessfully. This letter captures the quiet, intimate spaces between duty and emotion. He’s preparing to leave for Jungle Survival School in the Philippines, but what matters most to him is making ...

Send us a text April 30, 1971 — First Day, Last Flight In this letter from April 30, 1971, my father has just arrived at Bien Hoa after a long journey to Vietnam. It’s his first full day on base, and already he’s soaking in the surreal details: air-conditioned hooches, stereo systems, steak dinners, and a stuffed chickadee perched five inches from his pillow. The comforts may seem striking—especially compared to what many endured during the war—but they don’t diminish the weight of his role. As ...

Send us a text After a long, exhausting journey through Alaska, Japan, and the Philippines, Richard Allgood finally reaches Vietnam. In his first letter home, he shares the surprising comforts of his new base — but beneath every detail, his heart aches for Sarah. Every word carries the weight of distance, longing, and the fierce love that will sustain them through the months ahead. Support the show Thank you for listening to Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love. These letters capture a lov...

Send us a text In this first episode, I introduce you to the story behind this podcast— a true love story between two young Air Force veterans during the Vietnam war. Through their preserved letters, we’ll walk together through history, hope, and the enduring power of love. Support the show Thank you for listening to Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love. These letters capture a love story separated by war, but never by heart. https://www.patreon.com/TheAllgoodsLove New episodes coming soon...

Send us a text On April 28, 1971, my father, Richard Allgood, began his journey from Texas to Vietnam. He said goodbye to my mother, Sarah, not yet knowing that she was pregnant with me — news that would arrive a month later in a letter that would change everything. Today, we pause to honor the courage it took to leave home and step into the unknown. Tomorrow, the first letter will be written— and the story truly begins. Support the show Thank you for listening to Allgoods: Vietnam Through the E...