Episodes

Send us a text After three months and over 150 episodes, The Allgoods has become more than just a podcast — it’s a window into a year-long letter exchange between a young couple separated by the Vietnam War. Through their real-time letters, we follow not only a love story, but a vivid record of life in 1971 — from deployment and pregnancy to shifting friendships, cultural snapshots, and everyday truths. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is a personal podcast...

Send us a text In today’s letter, Sarah wakes up slow, naps in the beanbag chair, and ends the night with something unforgettable: a live Ray Charles concert at the Coconut Grove Playhouse. She’s in Miami, feeling surprisingly close to her husband. And though he’s halfway around the world, she brings him into the rhythm of her day — from a breakfast BLT, stereo shopping tips, and the music that stirred her soul. Intro (in your voice): Welcome back to The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes o...

Send us a text It’s Saturday night, July 31, 1971 — and on opposite sides of the world, Sarah and Dick are each having the kind of night they’ll never forget. She’s in Miami, swaying to the sound of Ray Charles at the Coconut Grove Playhouse. He’s in Vietnam, serving ribs, chicken, and “Allgood Punch” at a detachment party with his crew. But what stands out most is Dick’s unwavering certainty: they’re building a life on their own terms. Not their parents’, not anyone else’s. Just theirs. Supp...

Send us a text Sarah’s in Miami, swimming laps and soaking up the sun — but the real heat in this letter comes from the parties, the old friends, and her love for one “lucky guy” back in Vietnam. She’s four months pregnant, feeling strong, and starting to enjoy the countdown to September. There’s a lot of honesty in this letter — including her thoughts on weed, booze, waterbeds, and love. It’s warm, funny, and full of heart Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is...

Send us a text Dick’s letter today reads like a dream. He imagines their upcoming reunion in Hawaii in vivid detail — a suite overlooking the ocean, champagne in bed, and eggs Benedict served with love. He’s counting the days, longing for the wife and life he’s aching to return to. And while he says he’s not a poet, what pours out onto the page is pure love Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is a personal podcast project based on real letters exchanged between ...

Send us a text Dick has big news — their long-awaited R&R is officially on the calendar. In today’s letter, he confirms the date, imagines the moment they’ll reunite, and signs off with all the tenderness of a man who’s counting down every last day. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is a personal podcast project based on real letters exchanged between Capt. Richard Allgood and Capt. Sarah Allgood during the Vietnam War. Photos of the original letters, family snapsho...

Send us a text It’s July 29, 1971. My mom is four months pregnant and visiting her friends Judy and Dick in Miami. It’s hot, breezy, and full of freedom — a chance to rest and reset. She’s sleeping late on a waterbed, drinking G&Ts, and laying down some very clear house rules. But even in the sunshine, her mind is on my dad — still in Vietnam, still flying rescue helicopters, still writing love letters halfway around the world. This one from her is playful, bold, and deeply loving. Suppor...

Send us a text Dick’s letter today includes a few missed letters, a cigarette relapse, and a familiar craving for ribs. A Pan Am cargo jet went down, possibly taking one of Sarah’s letters with it — and in the same breath, Dick mentions prepping for a Saturday night cookout. If you knew him later in life, you know ribs weren’t just dinner. They became a signature dish at Allgoods Bar & Grill in Big Sky, Montana. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is a perso...

Send us a text Sarah wrote this letter on the plane to Miami — a trip she’d been planning for weeks to visit her friend Judy. She picked up Nancy and Gordon that morning, they dropped her off at the airport, and then drove her car back to her apartment. Even mid-flight, she made time to write to Dick — quick, funny, and full of love. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is a personal podcast project based on real letters exchanged between Capt. Richard Allgood an...

Send us a text Sarah’s first night in Miami is quiet and warm. She’s staying as a guest at Judy and Dick’s ultra-modern apartment, getting comfortable in a queen-sized waterbed and writing to Dick after a long travel day. The letter is full of easy moments and soft humor, but one line on the wall in her room lingers: “Love is a memory time cannot end.” It’s a quiet reminder of how strong their connection still is — even from half a world away. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through...

Send us a text On July 27, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes from San Antonio with a quiet update: she didn’t get on her scheduled flight to Miami. After a rough night and the toll of the Texas heat, she follows Dick’s advice — she rests. All day. In this letter, she shares what it feels like to listen to her body, to sleep in, and to be cared for — not by her husband, but by a five-foot teddy bear she’s named “Little Richard.” The letter is short, sweet, and deeply full of love — the kind of love...

Send us a text Dick is two days into trying to quit smoking, and it’s wearing him down. But what rises to the surface in this letter is his devotion. Even through cravings and restless sleep, he’s thinking about Sarah’s day — picturing where she is, what time it is for her, and who she’s with. He wonders if her friend Judy might be pregnant. He plans to record her some music. It’s a letter that shows just how close he’s trying to stay, even from a world away Support the show The Allgoods: ...

Send us a text n this letter from July 26, 1971, Sarah Allgood picks up a five-foot teddy bear and names him “Little Richard” — a stand-in for the real Richard, who’s still thousands of miles away in Vietnam. She’s just come from her four-month pregnancy checkup, she’s exhausted from the heat, and she’s doing everything she can to take care of herself and the baby. Along the way, she nearly faints, considers postponing her trip, and picks up a few classic comforts — like a stop by a place cal...

Send us a text On July 26, 1971, Dick writes to Sarah during a quiet alert day in Vietnam. With no flying and no action, he decides to test himself — carrying an open pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket all day without lighting a single one. The letter drifts between light updates and deeper reflections: dreams of Sarah and the baby, a card he found at the BX, and their fast-approaching anniversary. “I can’t think of a single unhappy moment in one year that pertains to our marria...

Send us a text Sarah writes from San Antonio on a quiet Sunday, still holding onto the sound of Dick’s voice after what might be their last phone call before Hawaii. With calls costing $25 — a major splurge for them — she stretches every word in her heart. She spends the day rereading his letters, doing laundry, getting ready for her OB appointment, and marveling at how little she’s showing for being four months pregnant. A quiet, tender letter from deep inside the wait. Support the show T...

Send us a text In this letter from Sunday, July 25, 1971, Dick Allgood comforts Sarah after a tearful phone call. With a mix of tenderness and humor, he tells her, “You will always be the biggest girl in the world in my eyes. Even big men have to cry and express their feelings — big girls do it a whittle more often. When you stop crying and worrying, I’ll start worrying.” Between love notes and practical R&R planning, Dick’s words offer steady reassurance in a world that felt uncertain...

Send us a text On July 24, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes to her husband Dick after hearing his voice over the phone — a rare gift while he’s serving in Vietnam. She’s emotional but trying to stay strong, counting down the final 45 days until they’re together again. In her letter, she shares updates on daily life, asks him to thank her mother for maternity clothes, and helps a friend coordinate a tape deck order — a reminder of just how limited communication was in a world without the internet, v...

Send us a text On July 24, 1971, Dick Allgood writes to his wife Sarah after spending his day off handling an assignment from his superiors. A local Vietnamese woman who worked in the hooch was flagged by the police for having an expired ID pass, and Dick was ordered to escort her through the renewal process. Between the Buddhist calendar, a language barrier, and a closed hospital, it turns into a headache — one he can’t finish himself. But what’s most striking is what never changes: his loya...

Send us a text In this letter from July 23, 1971, Sarah writes from San Antonio with updates on baby shopping, Dairy Queen cravings, and an orange sherbet cocktail recipe worth stealing. But under all the activity, there’s a deeper undercurrent of tension with her mother-in-law, loneliness without her husband, and a quiet determination to carve out some joy while he’s away. As their one-year anniversary nears and R&R grows closer, Sarah’s love comes through in the smallest details — from ...

Send us a text This is the second letter my father wrote to my mother on July 23, 1971 — from Da Nang, Vietnam. He wasn’t dodging bullets or flying missions. He was stuck on a quiet base, doing almost nothing — and he knew it. In this letter, he talks about how the Air Force feels like a “welfare society,” how little he’s being asked to do, and how strange it feels to be in a war where the mission is unclear and the days are mostly empty. He tells a story about trying to help a friend with ...

Send us a text It’s just after 7 a.m. in Vietnam when Dick writes this note — a quick hello to Sarah before the day begins. He’s full from breakfast, still warm from dreams of her, and completely wrapped up in longing. It’s short, sweet, and deeply personal — proof that even the smallest letter can carry the biggest kind of love. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is a personal podcast project based on real letters exchanged between Capt. Richard Allgood and Ca...

Send us a text July 22, 1971. Sarah spends the evening with friends at Joe and Jean Sebato’s — enjoying wine, cherries jubilee, and a warm circle of people. But something’s missing. Her husband. The baby’s father. The other half of her world. What makes this letter so compelling isn’t just who’s in the room — it’s who’s not. Jean — who recently had an affair with Mike, their married friend — is playing hostess. Mike and Nancy aren’t there. And Joe — Jean’s husband — still doesn’t know. Or m...

Send us a text In this letter from July 22, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood writes to his wife, Sarah, with a confession: he didn’t wait to buy the record player like he said he would—he found a deal too good to pass up. Now their stereo system is complete, and he’s hoping she’s not upset. He shares this with humor, tenderness, and that familiar mix of longing and loyalty. From teasing about climaxing when he hears her voice, to signing off with a loving pat for their unborn baby, this letter is a...

Send us a text In this brief second letter from July 21, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood sends a tender note addressed to Miami—though his wife Sarah hasn’t even left Texas yet. He’s thinking ahead, making sure a love letter will be waiting for her when she arrives later that month. It’s short, affectionate, and full of quiet hope for the life they’re building—possibly even in Miami. He signs off with the kind of devotion that never took a day off. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Thr...