The Remarkable Career of Col. Pat Little-Upah
Writer Shannon Severson // Photography Courtesy of Pat Little-Upah
In the sweltering jungles of Vietnam and the scorching deserts of Saudi Arabia, Col. Pat Little-Upah forged a 30-year military career that spanned two major wars and witnessed the evolving role of women in the armed forces. Her journey from a young nurse in Vietnam to a decorated colonel offers a compelling glimpse into the courage, compassion and resilience of women in military service.
Inspired by her World War II veteran mother, who served as an Army nurse, Little-Upah was in nursing school when she answered the call for registered nurses to serve in the U.S. Army in 1965 as the Vietnam War escalated.
“My mom was like the majority of women during the World War II era,” Little-Upah recounts. “They agreed to serve, following the examples of women since the Revolution who have stepped up to care for the sick and injured.”
Women’s primary role in the military during the Vietnam War — and prior — was as nurses, serving bravely with compassion and medical expertise. Little-Upah and a friend signed up through a “buddy program,” but her friend was unable to pass the nursing exam. Little-Upah attended basic training alone, and by the time her friend passed, she was married and pregnant, disqualifying her from service.
Unlike their male counterparts, women did not face a military draft during the Vietnam War era. Instead, Little-Upah and her fellow nurses — most in their early 20s — volunteered to serve. When Little-Upah deployed in 1968, she made the grueling journey to Vietnam dressed in the required Class A uniform, complete with nylons and heels. She and a fellow nurse named Chris were the only women on the flight and, though they were separated for their first assignments on the ground, would eventually reconnect and remain lifelong friends.
“By the time you landed, your feet were so swollen you could barely get your heels back on,” Little-Upah recalls with a wry laugh. As the plane crossed into Vietnamese airspace, the mood turned somber as the gravity of their mission set in. They were warned of the dangers they could face, and it all became chillingly real.
Little-Upah’s first assignment was at the 400-bed 93rd Evacuation Hospital in Long Bien, the largest of its kind. For a few quiet weeks, the young nurses settled in, until the Lunar New Year arrived and the notorious Tet Offensive erupted.
“I was asleep in my bed when I woke to sounds I’ll never forget — they’d hit an ammunition dump,” Little-Upah recounts. “It was the first time I thought, ‘I’m going to die,’ but not the last.”
As the casualties poured in over the next 30 days, Little-Upah and her all-female team of nurses sprang into action, working 12- to 14-hour shifts to stabilize the severely wounded. Between surgeries, they even volunteered to accompany patients on harrowing helicopter evacuations. Their tireless efforts earned the unit a citation, though the trauma of that year would leave an indelible mark.
“I don’t think anyone was prepared for that,” Little-Upah says solemnly. “We were all women, and we did what women do best: We got the job done.”
When the Tet Offensive subsided, Little-Upah was called to help build the 95th Evacuation Hospital in Da Nang — a facility later immortalized in the TV series “China Beach.” But the reality was far from Hollywood glamour. Reunited with her friend Chris, Little-Upah worked grueling 12-hour night shifts in the tent hospital, living in a spartan tent with no bed or shower. As the initial 100 beds quickly expanded to 400, the nurses found themselves in another crucible.
“That time was so intense,” Little-Upah recalls. “It was like jumping from one frying pan into another. The need was overwhelming, and we were constantly harassed by the Viet Cong. They owned the night.”
During nightly attacks, the hospital would go on red alert. Little-Upah and her comrades would don flak jackets and helmets, wrapping glass IV bottles to prevent shattering, and frantically relocate patients to the ground floor, covering them with cots and mattresses for protection. All of this played out in total darkness so as not to reveal their location.
“The guys were terrified,” Little-Upah remembers. “We had no weapons — nurses couldn’t carry them. We had to rely on the corpsmen to get their M-16s. We were lucky the Marine base was nearby, or we might not have made it.”
Just as her tour was ending, Little-Upah learned her younger brother David had been drafted and was somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam.
“I knew he was just a private, out there in the thick of it,” she says. “I didn’t know if he would come back.”
Delaying her orders to return home, she found David and spent precious days with him before leaving Vietnam. Though he survived the war, David would later succumb to three Agent Orange-related conditions.
“He was my hero,” Little-Upah says, her voice thick with emotion. “We lost him too soon, like so many other Vietnam War veterans.”
After leaving the Army, Little-Upah rejoined the Reserves a decade later. She was now living in Phoenix with her husband and daughter Lisa, who has Down syndrome. When Desert Storm erupted, her 403rd Combat Support Hospital unit was activated. With just two days’ notice, she had to quickly get her affairs in order and say goodbye to Lisa, who didn’t understand her mother might not return for a long time.
“She knew I’d go away for a few weeks each year, but this time she didn’t know if I was coming back,” Little-Upah recalls of her then-teenage daughter, now 52.
Unlike Vietnam, Little-Upah would now serve alongside her familiar unit — a boon for efficiency and camaraderie. Many were mothers like her, leaving behind young children.
“We had women in their 30s and 40s, some with infants or multiple young children, having to entrust their families to others,” she remembers. “Psychologically, it was very different. No computers or easy communication — maybe just a phone call or two.”
As they trained stateside, the specter of chemical warfare loomed. At Fort Ord, Little-Upah and her team practiced donning Mission Oriented Protective Posture (MOPP) suits and decontamination procedures. In the Saudi desert, the sound of incoming rockets would send them scrambling to don the stifling gear, sheltering and praying it was a false alarm.
“It was terrifying, psychologically,” she admits. “You were never without that gear — even going to the bathroom.”
Once again, Little-Upah helped construct a hospital from scratch, this time in the punishing desert. Though more advanced than Vietnam, the makeshift facility was still vulnerable to the elements.
“It was one small step above what we had in Vietnam,” she observes.
Mercifully, the Gulf War was brief, with few American casualties. But Little-Upah’s team still treated many prisoners of war, some brainwashed to believe they would be killed or operated on without anesthesia.
“The only ones I feared were the Republican Guard,” she says. “If they got a weapon, they would use it.”
Resolute and compassionate, Little-Upah has dedicated her life to caring for the vulnerable. Returning to civilian nursing, she gravitated toward behavioral health, perhaps unconsciously drawn by her own and her family’s struggles with post-traumatic stress disorder.
“I was a totally different person when I came back,” she reflects. “My brother and so many others were dealing with the mental health fallout of Vietnam and Desert Storm. Moral injury wasn’t even recognized then.”
Little-Upah’s selfless service was honored in 2009 with the Legion of Merit. Though she retired from nursing in 2012, she remains busier than ever, volunteering at the Phoenix Veterans Affairs Medical Center and serving in leadership roles for veteran-focused organizations. As president of the Arizona Veterans Hall of Fame Society and a board member of Friends of Fisher House Phoenix, she works tirelessly to support her fellow veterans.
The Fisher House initiative will provide affordable housing for families of veterans hospitalized at the VA in close proximity to the facility.
“Families who stay at Fisher Houses bond through the most trying times,” she says.
It’s a sentiment that is echoed in her own life — the unwavering support of her military brothers and sisters.
Today, women make up approximately 17% of the U.S. military’s active-duty force, with roles spanning from combat positions to high-ranking leadership. Little-Upah’s pioneering service paved the way for this progress, though she believes there’s still work to be done.
“We bring unique skills and can be a true asset,” she asserts. “If you meet the standards, every job should be open to women. I’d encourage them to serve — it enriched my life immeasurably and helped me become who I am.”
Even in retirement, Little-Upah remains dedicated to serving and honoring veterans and their advocates, organizing the Arizona Veterans Hall of Fame Society’s annual Patriotic Awards Luncheon that will be held this May. She also promotes the In Memory Foundation, which commemorates those who,like her brother, David, were lost to Agent Orange and PTSD. Her lifelong commitment to service and healing is a testament to her indomitable spirit and that of the many brave women who serve in our military every day.
18th Annual Patriotic Awards Luncheon
Friday, May 9 // 11 a.m. // Doubletree by Hilton Phoenix-Mesa // 1011 W. Holmes Ave., Mesa // $55+ // 602-252-4620 // avhof.org
Comments by Admin