Johnson A. Steidler was born on October 21, 1947. His home of record is Gibbstown, NJ.

He served in the US Army and attained the rank of Private First Class (PFC).

Steidler was killed in action on June 22, 1967 at Dak To, Vietnam.

Dutch

October 21, 1947-June 22, 1967 PFC, Army Gibbstown, NJ

“That boy was so determined to do well in whatever he did that he was his own worst enemy,” his father proudly recalls. “He used to get so mad at himself. But then again, he excelled at whatever he did. He was something else.”
Johnson and Evelyn Steidler had two sons, Johnson and Ronald. They lived in Gibbstown, NJ, and like so many others, enjoyed the baby boom at its best. Johnson worked for Dupont, was active in the community and was a good father. Evelyn was a housewife who loved her two boys and knew best how to handle certain problems before they reached Pop.
“She just had a knack, I guess,” says Johnson. “And those two knew when to go to Mom and when to come to me. I used to hear them whisper at the dining room table. But we were a happy family, and I know sometimes it was easier for them to talk to Eve first.”
Ron remembers the old neighborhood well; he still lives there. Most will remember him as ‘Whitey’. “Not much has changed,” he says. “I can almost see us playing ball. Football, baseball, wiffleball, you name it. There were always plenty of other kids around. It was a great place to grow up. Dad was our manager through Little League and the recreation center was open all the time for basketball.”
On the baseball practice field one day, Johnson (the manager) saw Johnson (the ballplayer) throw the ball to the wrong base. “You dumb Dutchman!” he yelled. “The play was at second!” Everyone on the field laughed, but the lesson stuck and so did the nickname. “Dutch” Steidler went on to become one of the best Gloucester County athletes of the time.
It was not overwhelming size, speed or strength that made Dutch a good athlete, it was his sheer will to make the most of what he had. If his abilities were limited, his determination was not. Bob Maddox of Mickleton, NJ, was Dutch’s best friend throughout their childhood and then his teammate on Paulsboro High’s basketball teams of the mid-sixties. Bob obviously knew the nickname but always referred to him as Johnson. They were that close.
“I always admired the relationship Johnson had with his parents and his brother,” Bob says. “They shared a real, honest love for each other. Both parents supported everything those kids did. They seemed to be at all the games and Mr. Steidler transported us to more practices and games than I could remember.”
Bob recalls the impact Dutch could have on those around him. “Johnson was the guy you went to when the game got tough. I always had confidence that he would make the shot if I could get the ball to him,” he says. “During a tough basketball game at Haddonfield, time was running out in the fourth quarter and we were down by one. When he reached half-court, he shot the ball and to the crowd’s disbelief, it swished through just as the final buzzer sounded. That may seem melodramatic or lucky, but Johnson was capable of that kind of excitement.”
After missing the first three games of his senior year, Dutch went on to lead the team in scoring. He posted thirty-three points against West Deptford in the Kiwanis Tournament in 1965 and scored twenty or more points in five other games. But he was much more than a scorer.
“He was the ultimate team player,” Bob adds. “He had everybody thinking we could win every game. He was the leader without trying to be.”
Baseball also became a passion for Dutch. He developed his love for the game in the neighborhood and as a Little Leaguer. He loved having his father as a coach. And he was determined.
“One day, I hear this thumping sound every few seconds coming from the basement,” his father says. “I went down and there Dutch was, throwing balls against the wall. He smiled and told me he was practicing pitching so I told him to make sure he aimed at the lower blocks. He did–and hit them almost every time.”
There was also the day Dutch broke a window in a neighbor’s house. “The man was more impressed at how far he had hit the ball,” Johnson recalls. “He didn’t really care about the window. I paid for it anyway.”
“Dutch hit a home run in Little League when he was only ten,” remembers Ron. “That’s rare but when he got older, he was more a solid line drive type of hitter. And he was a good shortstop, too. He had a great arm.”
When Dutch was a senior, he was Paulsboro High’s second leading hitter and starting shortstop. He earned a total of six varsity letters during his career at Paulsboro.
Joan Damminger Wisniewski had a crush on Dutch in the eighth grade. They began dating as sophomores. Joan remembers why. “He was a great looking guy,” she says. “He was very bright and a good athlete. Those qualities are paramount for a sixteen-year old girl. I played hard-to-get and it paid off.”
Their relationship grew stronger through high school. Dutch’s devotion to Joan sometimes conflicted with his other commitments. “His coach once told him to make a choice between baseball and his girlfriend,” she recalls. “He didn’t show up for practice that night but he eventually managed both.”
By 1966, the war in Vietnam was becoming a personal issue to most young American males. Dutch’s sense of patriotism and desire to be the best led to an easy decision.
You couldn’t talk college to him at all,” his father recalls. “The only question was which branch of service, Marines or airborne rangers, green berets or paratroopers. And once he had his mind made up, that was it.”
“I tried to talk him out of it,” says Joan. “But he had it all figured out. I was to attend school and he would enter the service. We would get married as soon as he had completed his active duty. Looking back now, I know we were naive and didn’t realize the effect Vietnam was having on everyone. Had I realized, I would have tried a lot harder to change his mind. But we were just kids.”
Dutch was not about to change his mind or his determination to be the best. “He actually trained to go into the Army long before basic,” Ron recalls. “He wanted to be in shape all the time so he ran, worked out and ran some more.”
Dutch graduated from Paulsboro High School in June of 1966. By September, he was in the Army and headed for paratrooper training at Fort Benning, Georgia. Getting into an elite combat unit was Dutch’s goal and, as usual, he succeeded. After jump school, he was assigned to the 173rd Airborne Brigade and left for Vietnam in March of 1967.
The brigade was formed in Okinawa in 1963 and trained for the type of warfare they would encounter in Vietnam. They were the “Sky Soldiers” and became the only quick reaction strike force in the Pacific. They arrived in Vietnam in May of 1965, on temporary duty to provide security for Bien Hoa Air Base near Saigon, until a replacement brigade from the States could be formed. Six years later, as the U.S. was winding down its role in active combat, the brigade departed as one of the most decorated of the war.
Dutch became a member of A Company, 2nd Battalion, 503rd Infantry (Airborne). Initially, his unit operated for days at a time in the Bien Hoa area near Saigon but soon was moved north to the central highlands province of Pleiku.
In one of his letters, Dutch detailed to Ron his experiences as well as his feelings about the war.

You just wouldn’t believe how dirty you get here. And it’s impossible to keep dry. I’m real proud to be a front line combat infantryman and Joanie told me you’re proud of me also. It’s getting into my blood. I don’t like to think about being stationed in the states again, with all the Mickey Mouse garrison regulations. I like living more like an animal here. It is hell, but I’m used to it. Whitey, don’t get me wrong, the VC do kill us.

The post-script carried another message. It’s right we’re here and I would kick anyone’s ass who would refuse to go in and fight for his country.

Joan also received mail from Dutch. She was attending Rider College and remembers his letters well. “College was great and I felt guilty because I was thinking sororities, Easter break and so on,” she says. “He would convey over and over how what he was doing was necessary and would ask me to tell people to stop protesting because it was affecting the morale of the guys he was fighting with.”
In late June, Dutch’s company was assigned the task of sweeping up a hillside near Dak To, in search of the enemy. There had been reports of a build up and Dutch wrote his brother about the ‘new’ foe.

The soldiers we are fighting here come across from the Cambodian border and are hard core North Vietnamese troops. They are not raggedy guerillas. They have uniforms, steel helmets and good weapons. So you can see, Whitey, we may run into some tough troops. But if we do, we will be better.

“Nobody walked on trails,” Ron says. “I ended up in Vietnam also, and that was the first thing you learned. Dutch had a new company commander and he took them on the very trails where other Americans had run into large NVA units.”
The hill was called “The Slope” and Dutch’s company, on the way back down the hill, unwittingly walked into the middle of a huge horseshoe shaped ambush. A battalion of North Vietnamese closed the open end of the horseshoe and, in what was some of the most savage fighting of the war, overran the company position with wave after wave of bloody assaults. The attackers came in hordes, sometimes carrying the bodies of their own dead as shields. Dutch was killed along with seventy-five others. The enemy losses were almost five hundred killed and countless wounded. The North Vietnamese retreated into the surrounding hills. It was two days before the American dead could be identified and airlifted from the area.
The battle had been in the news and at the time, Eve said, “It was the first heavy combat he was in and when the paper said his company was overrun, I was scared.”
They were notified on Sunday, June 25th, that Dutch was among those who had given their lives. “For months afterward, every time I heard a car door slam, I’d jump up,” Johnson says now. “But we were treated with all the kindness and respect you could imagine. Dupont gave me ten days off with pay and our friends did the best they could for us.”
Like so many other families, the Steidlers were devastated. Eve has since passed away and is remembered as a wonderful woman who cared passionately for her family. Her loss was of a son and only she could express that pain and sorrow.
“It was bad,” says Ron. “And I couldn’t understand why this had to happen to such a great guy. He was my brother and my friend. We were as close as you could be.” Ron wrote several poems in Dutch’s memory and donated them to the Gibbstown VFW. They remain posted on a bulletin board at the hall.
“I ended up in Vietnam partly out of revenge,” he says. “It was a tough time for all of us and I felt it was the best way for me to deal with everything.”
Joan Wisniewski recalls the immediate changes that occurred in her life. “We were all numb. It was as if it were yesterday. The days went by so slowly. I kept receiving letters from him written a few days before his death. Mine started to be sent back with the word ‘deceased’ printed across the front. Soon his belongings arrived. I remember how cold-hearted the process seemed.”
“Dutch was buried on the weekend of the 4th of July and the entire towns of Gibbstown and Paulsboro lined the streets. I went back to college in September but my life had changed. At times, I wished I were dead. I didn’t care if I got hit by a car. I had just lost my best friend and first true love.”
“I stayed very close to Dutch’s family,” she continues. “His dad still treats me like he did back then. But I had a hard time healing. After college, I found an apartment and dated often, but could never make a commitment. It was very difficult to begin a relationship. I could not bear to be hurt that much again.”
Ten years later, Joan finally found she could accept another’s love. And she found someone she could love, as well. “I know Dutch would approve because Steve is a wonderful, giving person. And he understands my loss.”
Joan visits Beverly National Cemetery often, sometimes accompanied by Steve and their daughter, Allyson. When she goes alone, she sits there and talks to Dutch. “The tears come readily,” she says. “My life was never the same. I don’t want to ever forget him. He would never say that the war was wrong, but I detest the havoc and pain it created.”
Around the corner from where Ron Steidler now has a family, there is a ball field with a plaque mounted in stone guarding the entrance. It reads; Johnson ‘Dutch’ Steidler Little League Field-Vietnam 1967-Dedicated 1970.
“That was the best thing the community could have done,” says Ron. “He’ll always be remembered in his hometown.”
Bob Maddox also has a special place for Dutch. “He has been gone now for more years than he was alive, yet there is not a day I don’t have a thought about him. He was my best friend.”
Dutch’s life is easy for Johnson Steidler to talk about; the impact of his death is not. He seems stoic yet is immensely proud of Dutch and his determination to be the best. Simply and tearfully, Johnson says, “That boy was hard to beat.”

Excerpt from They Were Ours: Gloucester County’s Loss in Vietnam
by John Campbell
Used with permission of author

Sources: John Campbell and NJVVMF.
12/17/2024