It is funny….or maybe strange….or unexpected….how life can turn out. Youthful dreams and fantasies are usually just that: Dreams and fantasies….. Never to be fulfilled or realized….and probably not even pursued. They tend to evaporate as maturity overtakes youth….as sheltered reveries transition into realities…. Much like the sun burns away the morning mist converting the day into its present reality.

This is OK. Youthful dreams are good. They give hope…. They give promise…. They give solace…. They offer security….. They hatch ideas….. They form visions…..

Every boy is not going to grow up to become a professional football player…..or a teenage idol…..or an astronaut….. Every little girl is not going to become a nurse…..or a dancer….. or a movie star…. A young child may never even be a doctor….or a famous lawyer….or banker….

But… They are going to grow up. They will become something. And, no doubt ninety-nine percent of the time what they become will become something their young minds never anticipated. They will find themselves in a place where they ever expected to be.

When I was a little boy Roy Rogers and Gene Autry were my two biggest heroes. My aspiration was to be a cowboy….just like them. Yeah…. Ride a horse all day long out on some untamed wasteland, constantly being shot at. Sure! Then I went through the “highway patrolman” phase. Man, that looked exciting. Sure…. Sit behind the steering wheel of a car….drive it at dangerous speeds….give people tickets all day, just to satisfy being bullied as a child? Fortunately, I wasn’t bullied as a child. Next, I pictured myself as a baseball player…..hitting home run after home run….the crowd cheering for me. Right. With my unprecedented talent and coordination, I know you are already laughing about that one. But…. When I was young, ALL of them seemed possible….to me! I had dreams. Big dreams. Goals. Big goals.

As I grew older, I became more mature. I started to grow up. My visions and my ambitions and my targets started to shift. My fascination slowly embraced the desire to become a teacher…. And, I did.

One thing that never entered my mind…..not even once….not even remotely…..not as a dream, not as a nightmare…..was ending up spending four years in South Vietnam. Well…. If I had thought of it at the time, believe me, it would have been a nightmare!

 

To move along with the story. Yes. I got my B. S. degree in education. Yes. I taught for two and a half years. That part of my dream came true. Then came one of those little forks in the road. Due to unforeseen circumstances….something like the inevitable threat of being drafted….I enlisted in the U. S. Army. Because I did well in basic training…..because I did well in my advanced MOS (military occupation specialty) training…..and….I think, because I had a college degree and had taught school for two and a half years……I was selected to work in the office of the Commander of Troops at Ft. Benjamin Harrison, Indiana. After a few months, I became his Administrative Assistant….another name for secretary.

I loved my job. I was good at it. I had good organizational skills….and I developed even better ones….ones that have stayed with me, even this very day. I wrote all his correspondence….on a manual typewriter and not a word processor. I was good at it….and my boss thought I was good at it. I kept track of all sorts of statistics for him…and without the aid of a computer or calculator. I was good at that, too…..and my boss thought I was good at it. I answered the telephone. I was the first person you would meet as you came into the office. I was the official “greeter”. I loved it when majors and colonels would ask me, “What kind of mood is the general in today?” or “Do you know what he wants to see me about?” I was good at making coffee…..and running errands (in his Mercedes automobile). I was good at entertaining him with idle conversation when everything slowed down at the end of the afternoon.

My immediate boss…..the command sergeant-major…..also liked me…..probably more than the general did. Actually, I worked for two different sergeant-majors during that year and a half. Both of them liked me….and trusted me….and gave me responsibility. The major objective of the first sergeant-major was to get me to date his daughter! I did…..but nothing came of it. She, of course, was what we call an “Army Brat”. That girl had been around the block a few time…. Indeed, she had been around the world a few times. Maybe she was too much for a country boy like me to handle. The second sergeant-major? Well…..I learned to sit and listen as he talked of his home, his wife….and how he looked forward to retiring from the Army. He was a tall Texan. He never lost his Texas twang when he talked. He was getting close to retiring…..and I had the feeling that he would leave the Army with a sign of relief….and a shout of joy.

I was the youngest guy working in the office….and of course, the lowest rank. My best friend worked in the logistics (supply) section. His room has next to mine….upstairs in the same building as the headquarters. We did most stuff together. I can imagine that he was also the youngest soldier in his department, also. Most of the soldiers our age were working in the personnel office or the finance office, which incidentally is what I was initially trained for, but Thanks Heavens, never had to work there. I can imagine that it was boring work….doing the same thing over and over each day, day after day after day. One advantage they had, though: They were mostly working with other soldiers who were about the same age. They had somebody their age to talk to. And…. They lived in a different barrack where they saw each other day and night.

I can’t say that I was lonely. I was too busy. I had too many things to do. There were too many people coming in and out of my office….all of them a higher rank than I. And, almost all of the of them were officers. There were other people assigned to the command office, too. The Executive Officer, the Operations Officer and sergeant; the Training Officer and NCO (I think that is what they were called.) And, from time to time, there were clerks who seemed to come and go.

Basically, though. I was a “kid” 24 years old working with officers and NCOs in their 30’s and 40’s. All of them were married. None of them lived on the post. So, I was happy to have a friend my age whom I could hang with. His name was Charles (Chuck) Reardon. Over the years, I have tried to locate him. I have tried almost every resource the Internet offers. But, I have not been successful. I am assuming that he is no longer alive….which is too bad. Just think how many nights we could sit in a bar or coffee shop and reminisce and tell old stories.

In the Army….at least back then….we got an hour of PT (physical training) each day, five days a week, and we also got one hour for lunch. Both Chuck and I were college graduates. We were not dumb. We took our hour of PT at 11:00; and we took our lunch hour at 12:00. So…. We had a relaxing two hour break in the middle of each day to do essentially what we wanted to do. Physical Training (PT) was largely unsupervised. We were basically free to go do whatever we pleased. Like I said… We were not stupid. We followed the rules. We always did some sort of PT.

Through some magic or slight-of-hand, we each obtained a tennis racket, and we also came up with a complete set of golf clubs. I still have the tennis racket….even after almost sixty years. Actually, I never did learn to play tennis. Chuck and I would go to the tennis court and hit the ball back and forth to each other. Mostly, we spent our time chasing and retrieving balls, but it was still fun. We were still getting some physical activity. A couple times we took the golf clubs to an open space and tried to hit a few balls. Because we didn’t know what we were doing, this was not one of our favorite things to do, however.

Mostly at 11:00, we would grab our “PT clothes” and go to the post gym….change our clothes….and spend our time lifting weights or playing racquetball….the kind using an actual racket and a ball. Neither one of us was any good….and we didn’t much care. We just hit the ball back and forth….frantically chasing it. But, it was good exercise! Often, especially when the weather was nice, we would go running. Just go running, with no special destination in mind. On an Army base, there are usually plenty of open spaces to run. Actually, it more accurately could be called jogging, since we always ran slowly enough that we could talk while running. It was just fun to get out of the office for a while, no matter what we did.

Sometimes, however, we were not so fortunate….especially me! My boss was a handball player…..the kind where you use your hand, and not a racket! That kind of handball is not fun. Take my word for it. Sometimes he couldn’t find a partner….another officer….to play with him. Maybe they just didn’t want to play. Maybe they were hiding. On those occasions, you can probably guess who he chose as the lucky person to be his opponent. “Come on, Darrah,” he would call. In the Army everybody is called by their last name….unless they are a friend. I mean, I would never have even considered calling my superiors….or anybody with a higher rank….by their first name. In fact, not only did I call them by their last name, but by their last name AND their rank.

Anyway…. “Come on, Darrah, let’s go play racquetball.” I hated to hear those dreaded words. If I could have predicted what days he would say them, believe me, I would have made myself scarce. I would have evaporated into thin air for a while. I would have been on an “important errand”. But… When there was nothing else to do except to go to the gym with him…..and pretend to enjoy what I was doing…..and pretend that I was actually trying to give him some competition. I never beat him…..not even once. I never even came close.

Now the kind of handball he played was not the kind where an actual racket is used. No…. We hit the ball with our hand. Our hand, protected only by a thin glove. If we had been using a real racket, I would probably have whipped his ass. No…. Even I was smart enough not to do that! The net result of these sporadic torture sessions was that I had a swollen hand for the next couple days. Keep in mind that typing was one of my major duties….and this was long before the days of word processors. Even electric typewriters were still a thing of the future. What did my friend Chuck do on these days? Mostly went ahead and lifted weights and shot baskets…..and come over and watch occasionally and grin at me.

Anyway, Chuck and I would finish our workout, take a shower, and head out for lunch….sometimes a little early. We didn’t have to be back at work until 1:00, and often I was able to squeeze in a (very) short nap before returning to the office.

I was appointed to the board of director of the Indianapolis Serviceman’s Center….the Indianapolis version of the USO. I was the representative of “soldiers”, and my major duty seemed to be to show up at board meetings that usually no more than three of four people attended. I was never sure how many people were on the board or if even a quorum showed up. But, that never seemed to be an issue. I really do not recall any major decisions ever being made in one of these meetings. We had an Executive Director who ran the place. I wish I could remember her name…..but I can’t. At any rate, she immediately liked me. No…no. She was easily old enough to be my mother….and maybe even my grandmother. But, she was easy to work with, needless to say. One of the “community representatives” was a young lady about my age. The executive director lost no time in making sure we had met each other…and that we were assigned to the same committees. Sometimes, I suspect she and I were the only members of some committees. And, who knows? Maybe they were not even real committees.

But the executive director (If anybody knows her name…. Please, let me know. Although I am sure she is no longer around.) made sure that there were always “decisions” to be made. We began to spend a lot of time together….making decisions, of course. Eventually, we became a couple. I am sure she saw us getting married. And, I came close…. dangerously close…. to marrying her. But, that is another story for another time.

I, of course, had my own room. I bought a TV. It had a 21 inch screen….the standard “big screen” back in those days. It was black and white, of course. Color TV was still over the horizon. I installed a pair of “rabbit ears” antenna, and it could pull in all five or six TV stations in Indianapolis. My room became a favorite place for other soldiers to hang out. Not because of me…..but because of my TV….although “permanent party” were not encouraged to fraternize with the trainees….the students.

Down in the basement of our block-long office/dormitory building, there was a recreation room for us permanent party who lived in the building. Since Chuck and I were the only two who fit this classification, for all practical purposes, it was our own personal recreation room. Sometimes at night we would go down and play pool. And, sometimes on weekends I would go down by myself and shoot some pool. For some lucky reason or coincidence, Chuck’s parents lived only twenty or thirty miles from Indianapolis, and normally he spent weekends at home.

On the very top floor of the building, there was an indoor firing range….for pistols and…. .22 rifles only, of course. No machine guns allowed. Many weekend afternoons, especially during cold weather, that is where I spent my time. My friend Chuck was home for the weekend; it was too early to go into town; I didn’t feel like playing pool by myself…. So, I could check out a rifle and a box of ammo, go upstairs, and spend the afternoon shooting targets.

If you are wondering how I came by the rifle and the ammo so easily…. Well, this was certainly another benefit of working in the central command office. I knew our training officer very well…..and my best friend, Chuck, worked in the department that had custody and control of this sort of stuff. Although ammo and weapons were certainly not available to the average, run of the mill soldier or student under any circumstance, it was actually no big deal getting them. I signed a form….sort of a roster-like paper….and Poof! They handed them to me! Remember…. This was was long before the days we worried about terrorists….about crazy mass-killings…. I was rarely the only person up there shooting.. It was not at all unusual for there to be other guys up there target practicing, too. Mostly single NCOs and officers who, like me, had nothing better to do. I do not want to brag…. Yes, I guess maybe I do…..but I was really a pretty good target shooter. It was a good way to spend an afternoon, especially since I did not have a car….and, even then, I was not a cold weather person.

Earlier I mentioned that, like all permanently assigned personnel, I had my own private room. The room, in itself, was nothing special…..just a standard, drab room…..one of dozens that lined a long hallway in the almost block long building. Within limits, the post let us make our rooms more comfortable. Like I said, I bought a TV set. I also added a cheap desk and a semi-comfortable chair to sit in. I mean, I think they would have drawn the line at fancy curtains….and I know I would have landed in trouble if I had even thought of painting the room. I had to walk down the hallway to take a shower. But, all things considered….and this, after all was the Army…..it was a semi-pleasant place to live.

It was in this room that my life took a body slam that almost knocked the breath out of me. It was in this pleasant room….the room that I thought would be my home until the end of my three year enlistment…. that I first heard the news that would change my life forever.

In addition to having Saturday afternoon off, I also had another half day free. Mostly I just stayed in my room and read or watched TV or slept or caught up on writing letters. Sometimes I would hop on the city bus and go into downtown Indianapolis and mess around with Chuck or other friends who worked in the headquarters and also had the afternoon off. Mostly, however, it was just a half day to do nothing….to get caught up….

On this particular afternoon….a Thursday afternoon as I recall….I was in my room. Actually, I was cleaning my room. I was standing on a chair cleaning the top of my locker that served as my closet. My door may have been open. If not, it was not locked. Yes…. There I was, standing on a chair. I looked up….or down, in this case…. and saw my sergeant-major walk in. He was my immediate boss. This was not unusual. He often wandered about the hallways, checking things out, looking into rooms, inspecting the building.

Actually, I didn’t see anything unusual about it at all. He had stopped by my room before, glanced about, made jokes about how I may as well be living in a luxury apartment (Yeah….right.) ….engaged in a few minutes of small talk….and then moved on.

On this day, however, there was no small talk. He looked around for a few seconds, and then in his normal, Texas drawl, conversational voice, said, “How would you like to go to South Vietnam?” Of course, when he said it, I thought he was just passing the time of day….just a bit of idle chit-chat before moving on.

“No…. I think I will pass this time,” I said, expecting him to smile and move on. But…. He did not smile. He did not move on.

“Well, we just got orders for you. You are being reassigned to South Vietnam.”

I was stunned. I felt almost like somebody had punched the air out of my lungs. There was no way that I had suspected this would happen. For a minute I was speechless. I probably opened my mouth….but nothing came out of it. I just stood there. What was I supposed to say?

This was 1964. The Vietnam War was in its infancy. Like most people, I had heard of it. I knew that there was a war going on there. I wasn’t even sure where South Vietnam was located. I knew there were jungles….and that Americans were being killed. Not very many….but they were being killed. I knew that our government, apparently with the approval of President Kennedy, had supported, if not engineered, the violent overthrow of the South Vietnamese government, in which both the South Vietnamese president and his all-powerful brother had been brutally murdered. I knew that the country was going through a cruel period of repression, especially against the Buddhist population. The vast majority of the citizens practiced the Buddhist religion….or variations thereof. The ruling family, those who held the power, were Christians….Roman Catholics. Buddhist monks had set themselves on fire in the middle of busy intersections in Saigon. The wife of the President’s brother, Madame Nhu, had derisively….and publicly…..called them “barbecued monks”.

I was also vaguely aware that despite of all this, the government of the USA continued to support, if not covertly encourage, the repressive government. We looked up on them as being one of “our” dictatorships. And, that seems to make all the difference in the world.

But….. South Vietnam? What had I done to deserve this?

Actually, it didn’t make any difference. The orders had been issued. It apparently was a done deal. Needless to say, the remainder of my pleasant, relaxing afternoon off was no longer so pleasant. I am not sure I was scared or not…. Yes, I was probably scared. Back in those days…..and I am talking 1964…..nobody knew anything about Vietnam. We knew that it was “our” war….the only one we had at the time. And, as you no doubt know…. The United States always has to have a war somewhere. That is just the way it is.

Since I knew most of the guys who worked in the personnel office….and they knew me…..the news spread fast…..like an uncontrolled wildfire. As I have already told you, the headquarters building was a long….about one block long…..building, three or four stories high…..a couple corridors in width. Everything happened under that one rather large roof. And, the “fire”…the news….spread from one end of the building to the far end in record time. I think I am correct in saying that I was the first “permanent party” in the building to be shipped off to South Vietnam.

I don’t want to mislead you. Fort Benjamin Harrison was an advanced training school. Its mission was to train pay specialists, records specialists, company clerks….jobs like that. Actually, now that I think of it, that was the name of the base: The Adjutant General School. Duh…. It’s been a long time ago. Give me a break. As the administrative assistant to the Commander of Troops, one of my regular responsibilities was to insure that all the paperwork had been accomplished before sending the freshly minted soldiers to their next…..and “permanent” assignment…..permanent for at least for twelve months. They would go out as payroll specialists, company clerks….things like that. They would be assigned to various army bases around the world….including South Vietnam.

At this time, I suppose most of these bases were in province capitals. And, each post probably had only a handful of American “advisors” assigned to it. For example, when I was working for the Commander of Troops at Ft. Benjamin Harrison in 1963, the USA had somewhat more than 16,000 troops stationed there. When I arrived there in 1964, there was somewhere around 23,000 troops stationed in the country. By the time I left South Vietnam at the end of my Army career in 1965, the number of US troops had escalated to more than 184,00 troops. If this sounds like a lot….and I suppose it was…..at the height of the USA involvement in South Vietnam in 1968, the year I left South Vietnam permanently….there was an overpowering presence of more than 536,000 USA military personnel in South Vietnam. And, this….just so you do not misunderstand, did not include the American civilian population….which later included me.

Back to the story….. One of the major steps in getting soldiers prepared to go to South Vietnam was to ensure they had all of the required immunizations. On a regular basis, I sent entire classes of students to the base hospital….or medical facility…..for these shots. I was on the telephone at least weekly….and usually more often…..setting up appointments for these mass immunizations. For this entire time, I dealt with the same lieutenant and the same NCO. Unfortunately, I do not recall the name of either one of these guys. But, on the other hand, I doubt if they remember me, either. Anyway, now the tables were turned. I was setting up an appointment for myself. Sort of ironic…right?

I showed up at the base hospital to start getting my shots. The sergeant…the one whose name I can’t remember….said to me, “What’s the matter with you? Are you crazy?”

“Whaaaaat…….?” I sputtered back to him.

“Why are you volunteering to go to South Vietnam?” he asked, rather incredulously….undoubtedly questioning my sanity and thinking that maybe he should be referring me for a mental evaluation.

“I didn’t volunteer,” I said. “I don’t want to go. I got orders.”

“Then, why didn’t you tell me before? I could have doctored your medical records, and there would have been no way they would take you!”

Now he tells me! The thought ever entered my mind. I had never considered it to be an option. But, for the next few weeks, I kicked myself regularly for not telling him sooner. It just never occurred to me that he would be able to help. I don’t know. Maybe I just thought he already knew. Everybody else did!

My friends in the personnel and finance sections began to sympathize with me almost immediately. I think they felt genuinely sorry for me…..if not a little bit frightened and worried about my ultimate fate. At almost every encounter….at work, in the dining hall, in the hallways of the “barracks”, in the shower….at almost every chance meeting….they would tell me how sorry they were that I was going to South Vietnam and wish me well. When we talked, they almost always avoided looking me in the eyes, usually looking down. Even though I knew they were sincere…. I could never help believing they were thinking, “I am sorry you are going. But…. I am glad it is you and not me.” And…. Who can blame them? I am sure I would have thought the same thing.

That brings up a question, I think. Is it better to head off into a world about which we know totally nothing….into the unknown…..a place shrouded in sinister mystery….intriguing, but unfounded rumors….. a place where we have heard is not a good place to go. Or…. Is it better to head off to a place that we know is positively dangerous….a place where for the first time in history a war is being fought on TV every night on the six o’clock news? A place where we know could be a place of no return.

No matter what….. I seemed to be one of the very first permanent party to receive an offer than I could not refuse. Wasn’t that a famous line from some movie?

Like I said, my boss liked me…..and he wasn’t ready to give up on keeping me. Not quite yet, at least. He checked somewhere…..maybe the Pentagon?…..to find out if he could declare that I was “essential personnel” at Ft. Benjamin Harrison and in the command office. As I look back, I have to chuckle. This was sort of like saying that a person could not take a cup of sand from the Sahara Desert because it might disrupt or destroy the desert! Come on….. I was stationed at the Adjutant General School. This is the school that churns out hundreds of clerks, administrative specialists and other similar flunkies every year. No…. As much as I appreciated it, that ploy didn’t work. And, of course, I am sure that my boss knew it would not work. Nice gesture…. Nice try….. It is nice to be wanted!

There was still one more shell in the rifle, though…..one more arrow to aim at the target. Somebody decided that I should apply for a “direct commission”. This is a process in which I would by-pass all of the conventional channels and requirements and become an officer. No ROTC (Reserve Officers Training Corps), no OCS (Officers Candidate School)…..or, my favorite…. Graduating from West Point. These are the only means that I know of to become a military officer. And, I am thinking that getting a direct commission in the Adjutant General Corps is probably more rare and difficult than being appointed to….and graduating from….West Point.

Anything was worth a try, though. Who knows? Maybe I would become that historic example that would inspire generations of other clerks and administrative specialists to seek a direct appointment to the elite officers corps. My picture would hang in the lobby of every office of every military installation in the world….along side other great military heroes. I was new to this game. I more or less just stood aside as the wheels were set spinning in an attempt….a futile attempt….to make me an instant Army officer…..and save me from falling into the unknown abyss of South Vietnam.

It was all somewhat flattering. Lots of people wrote nice letter about me. They said what an excellent job I was doing….and that my training, my dedication, my grasp of the “mission” were exceptional. That I was a “natural leader”…. That I was well liked and respected by not only the officers and NCOs I worked with, but I was admired and valued by my peers….. They looked up to me and followed by example.

Yeah…. It was all pretty over-the-top. I thought maybe they would build a statue in front of the office, too…. Or maybe declare a holiday in my honor…. I appreciated it. I was grateful to my superiors for their faith in me and for their desire to help me. The papers….an entire folder of them….was shipped off to somewhere….wherever these decisions are made….for their final consideration. In the meantime, it did buy me more time. The orders were put on hold pending the decision on the request. The “sentence” was not commuted, nor was it abandoned. I merely received a “stay”…..the “sentence” was only postponed.

Ultimately, whoever reviewed my request for a direct commission as an Army officer didn’t buy it. Really, I don’t think anybody, including myself, ever thought they would. I was doomed. I was heading for South Vietnam.

The Army flew us to South Vietnam on a commercial airplane. It was filled with soldiers, but still…. It was a real airplane and not some sort of troop carrier. After a rather lengthy delay somewhere in Alaska…..I am guessing Fairbanks….due to bad weather, our next stop was Tan Son Nhut Airbase, Saigon, South Vietnam. My pre-introduction to Saigon was a rather unnerving and unconventional landing. The guy flying the airplane must have been a stunt pilot back in his younger days.

We were flying high above Saigon….well out of range of anything the Viet Cong had to fire at us. Suddenly and unexpectedly, we took a nosedive. “Wow! Have we been shot down already?” I wondered. “Well, my tour of service in South Vietnam was pretty short.” But, at least, I could always say that I was shot down in South Vietnam. Just the sort of thing my mother would like to hear, I am sure!

I mean, we were heading toward Earth fast. This was not a normal or traditional landing. For once, those seat belts came in handy. Everybody was hanging on to their seats. All the talking and laughing stopped. The guys who were sleeping woke up with a start. I don’t recall that anybody threw up……but there were plenty of startled and frightened expressions on the faces of these brave soldiers.

“Maybe the pilot is a Viet Cong,” somebody said. “We have been captured before we even land.” I have never heard of a Viet Cong Kamikaze….but if such a person had existed, he would have fit this profile. All of the airline staff….and all of the airline personnel….pilots, stewardesses, etc….were civilian. And, none of them seemed the least bit alarmed or concerned. The sharp and sudden landing approaches were designed….and necessary….to make the aircraft less of a target while landing. Maybe you can visualize all the dire possibilities of an airplane that gradually and leisurely descends on the runway…. Giving what? Fifteen minutes of opportunity for someone to take aim at it with a rocket….or two or three….and shoot it down. Even an enemy with the poorest aim would have plenty of time and freedom to shoot us out of the sky. We would be like sitting ducks….or at least, like slow, low flying ducks. So, pilots maintained high altitude until the last possible minute to make their descent.

We did land safely, obviously….or I would not be writing this.

I stepped out of the airplane at Ton Son Nhut Airbase on the outskirts of northwest Saigon. I stepped into a different world. My farm boy, rural mentality had in no way prepared me for my entrance into the world of South Vietnam. I was hit with a wave of heat from a tropical furnace….heat that could melt a candle almost on contact….heat that can rival any sauna….heat that felt like a giant, smothering electric blanket….

It was not only the heat. Everything looked different…. Certainly like nothing I had ever seen or even imagined. “You aren’t in Kansas any more, Beryl!” (Another line from a famous movie.)

We piled onto a bus that would take us to the section of the huge airbase where the headquarters of the US Army was located. The bus was my third shock of the hour! First the Kamikaze landing; second the blast furnace we stepped out into; and third…..the bus. The bus appeared to be an old converted school bus….or the type of bus that we would call a school bus. The windows were covered with layers of heavy mesh wire…..almost like sections of chain link fence. This window dressing was obviously designed to prevent dangerous toys…. like grenades…. from being tossed inside the bus. Wow…. This was my second wakeup call that somebody out there might be a threat to my health and well-being. How dare they! Surely, they wanted me to at least sample their hospitality before sending me to an early grave.

Apparently we could not go directly to the Army Headquarters from the airport. Tan San Nhut was not only a military installation, but the airport terminal was actually the Saigon civilian airport….open to the public more or less. So, here we went….a bus load of maybe fifty apprehensive South Vietnam rookies….to begin a new life in a new and very strange country. We pulled out of the airport gate into a perplexing, if not mystifying, world. At least, they certainly were for me. Like I said, “Beryl, you are not in Kansas….”

The sights and sounds and smells that greeted me were different from anything I had experienced before. I had nothing to which they could be compared….no reference points….no rubric to grade them. Gone were the vast fields of wheat, replaced by lush vegetation….jungles, plants…rice paddies…. green, green, green…. Gone were the orderly streets of Sterling and Lyons….and even Indianapolis. In their place were a jumble of narrow streets filled with makeshift houses and shacks….populated by a somewhat rag tag mass of humanity that had not existed in any of my previous worlds. It seemed that we drove through a never ending collection of primitive storefronts….where most of the merchandise was sold from the sidewalk. Kids, kids, kids….. Kids, everywhere….many of them very young either half dressed, poorly dressed….or naked….and dirty! Wow…. This was something I had never seen back in good old Sterling.

We soldiers looked with awe and wonder….and maybe a bit uneasily…..as the kids approached the semi-barricaded windows of the bus…..hands outstretched. We, of course, had nothing to give to them. We just stared at them…. Maybe smiled at them; maybe told them to go away; but, most likely….just stared at them. The bus moved slowly along, inching its way through the maze of disorganized traffic. It was my first introduction to a confusing and perplexing maze of traffic. One which seemed to be an every-man-for-himself system. I was happy that I was not driving that day!

How did I feel making that short….but, oh, so long, drive into Tan Son Nhut Air Base? I wasn’t scared. No… That would not be correct. Nervous? Yes. Apprehensive? Yes. Heightened awareness? Definitely. Wondering what to come next? Probably more than anything.

We arrived at the Headquarters, US Army, Vietnam. I had been expecting something a little more grand…. A little more in keeping with the names “US Army” and “Headquarters”. As we drove through the front gate, all I saw was a bunch of squat, tent-like structures, surrounded by sandbags. They were not exactly tents…..but more like low, wooden structures that rose maybe three feet off the ground, surrounded by screen….wrap around windows, so to speak. The roof extended far out over the edges, to keep the rain from getting inside I learned later. Actually, it was difficult to tell which were the offices and which were the barracks, except that the offices had names on them, and they were congregated together, just as the barracks where I would live were congregated together.

Like everybody else on the bus, I stepped out into a world that was completely foreign to anything I had ever seen before…..into an environment that I had not imagined, because I had experienced nothing on which to base such a reality. Looking back from a distance of some fifty-five years, I don’t remember exactly what I did those first couple days. Somebody escorted us to an empty “barracks”…of those long makeshift huts….and told us to find a bunk. Somebody showed us the “dining hall”…..another of the long makeshift huts….. Somebody showed us the showers…..another of the long makeshift huts, only more open, for ventilation, I suppose.

There were formations….just to make sure nobody had gone AWOL. Where a person would go is a mystery, though. Into the jungle to live with the monkeys and snakes?

I found a bunk….a lower bunk….and claimed it as mine. There was a locker beside it. Whether they each had a padlock or a combination has evaporated from my memory. Mostly, though, we just shoved our duffle bags into the lockers. These were only temporary lockers, at best. Everybody….or almost everybody…. would be reassigned. This was just a jumping off point. Of course, I didn’t know anybody. Nobody knew anybody. As there usually is with a bunch of nervous, apprehensive strangers, there was meaningless conversation….uneasy, uptight, maybe a bit fearful. Soldiers, I think, try to put a good front…mask their fear and uncertainty with lots of loud, fake bravado….lots of laughing….lots of pretension. The bottom line, however, was that most of them were scared.

The first night in the barracks was not my best night of sleep. It was the first night that I had ever slept with mosquito netting surrounding my bed. This was good, though. I could hear the mosquitoes buzzing around…eager for a late night snack. The mosquito net was the only barrier between me and their blood sucking little beaks. Later on, I learned to keep a can of aerosol spray handy…..as insurance, just in case one of the little critters found its way around or through or under the protective curtain. You can bet that the can of aerosol was kept under lock and key during the day. It was a valuable and much wanted commodity around the barracks. Why go buy a can when it can just as easily be stolen?

There were at least a couple other things that made those first few nights unnerving. Those screen “windows”, maybe just a foot above my head. “Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men?” (“The Shadow….1940’s radio show) A thin layer of screen is not a lot of protection from a lot of things….like bullets, mortar shells, snipers, etc. What was to keep a VC (Viet Cong) from coming up to the “window” and doing away with me?

Another of the unnerving occurrences that I definitely had not counted on was the South Korean Air Force base directly adjacent to the barracks. The first blast of the after-burners on the F-4 Phantom jet about sent me through the top of my bunk. Not only was I not expecting it, but I didn’t even know the South Koreans has a facility just over the fence. The first time….that first night…..we heard a jet preparing for takeoff, I think almost every guy in the barracks thought we were under attack! I am not an aviation expert….and I find it sort of difficult to put the sound into words. It is a deafening sound as the jets are either inhaling or exhaling air. Or, who knows? Maybe it is doing both. It is sort of like revving up a car…..but in this case, it was jet airplane.

The first few nights, the sound was almost unbearable. But, you know what? It didn’t take long before my mind and body and senses got used to it…..and I never even heard it. I slept right through it….all night long. At least, I had the comfort of knowing that it was a “friendly” jet….out-going, not in-coming.

Those early days in the Army in South Vietnam provided educational experiences and opportunities that I never knew existed. If I had not been sent off to South Vietnam, who knows how long it would have taken me to learn these lessons….or maybe I never have learned them.

One of the first lesson I learned in South Vietnam was sort of like what President Franklin Roosevelt told us back during the Second World War. “The only things we have to fear is fear itself.” Before I left to go to South Vietnam, I was often almost paralyzed with fear….fear of the unknown. Yes, it was irrational. I had no concrete evidence, no first hand…or even second hand…experiences, no threats against my life….nobody telling me about certain dangers or treachery that awaited me. I had nothing more to base my fear on than ignorance…..or maybe lack of information or lack of understanding would be a better way of putting it. We all know that Beryl is not ignorant!

Yes, there was the steep descent into Tan Son Nhut Airport; there was the heavy gauge wire on the windows of the bus; there were reports that an occasional American was killed or that a helicopter pilot had been shot down or crashed. Yes, there were coups against the government….or within the government is more accurate. But, mostly my fear was simply of “fear itself”. Come on now…..I was just a naive farm boy….from Sterling, Kansas. What did I know about all this stuff? This was new….and uncharted territory….for me. I have a feeling that this was the situation of most young men being shipped off to South Vietnam.

After those first three or four….and probably no more than that….sleepless nights wondering if a Viet Cong was going to sneak up to the screen just outside my bed and shoot me; after those first few days of waiting for a mortar shell to drop into our compound; after the first few nights of adjusting to the annoying after burners of the South Korean jets….. I began to settle down and relax a bit.

The day after we arrived, we were told that we would get our orders for a permanent assignment soon. Actually, I was hoping for an assignment in one of the coastal town along the South China Sea….in the southern Vietnam Delta. The gossip….the constant gossip….said this was a “good assignment”. If you think women have a tight monopoly on gossip….well, you should be in the Army. Everybody knows something….or has heard something…. Soldiers put old women to shame in the gossip competition.

I did not get an assignment in the Delta. In fact, I have no idea where my first set of orders would have sent me. Later, I came to realize that the southern Delta region was one of the most insecure areas of South Vietnam. The Mekong River delta, as one might expect, was a patchwork quilt of rice paddies…..a hotbed for producing the staple food of the Vietnamese people….and also a hotbed for Viet Cong guerrillas who easily blend in with the peasant workers.

Of course, I have no way of knowing if this is where I would have been assigned. Quite frankly, it never once occurred to me to ask. In all probability I could have easily found the information. I was too new….to confused….to apprehensive….to have ever thought of inquiring about it. As a matter of fact, maybe this is the first time I have ever thought about it…. I mean…. Right now.

After a day or so, the tension started to build among the soldiers in my group. Boredom was setting in. And with boredom came restlessness. And with the restlessness came increased worry and apprehension. “Where am I going?” “Will I be stuck in the jungle?” “Will there be showers….electricity….running water…?” “What kind of job will I have?” “What kind of food will I be eating?” “Are there VC running rampant in the jungles?” “Am I going to have my throat slit by a VC the first night I am there?”

Yeah…. I was probably one of those soldiers! There is an old saying in the Army, “Hurry up and wait.” Believe it. It is basically true. The Army is rarely ahead of the situation. I am not sure why it took the better part of two days to issue assignments. They had the roster with the name of each soldier on the airplane….along with their MOS (Military Occupational Specialty)….days (I assume) before we arrived. Surely the military is not in the habit of sending airplane loads of troops to random location with no advance warning. Well… On the other hand…. Who knows?

It was on the third full day after I arrived at Tan Son Nhut Airbase that somebody from one of the offices walked into my “barracks” and announced in a loud voice…. In other words, shouted…. “I need Specialist Darrah.” He probably didn’t pronounce my name right….but nobody does. And, at that point in time, I was not about to correct him. Specialist Four was my rank at the time. Whatever name is chose to call me was close enough.

“You are supposed to report to the Adjutant General’s office,” he said. “Come with me.”

Oh, Wow. This could go either way…. Good or bad. At the time, I did not associate the “invitation” …..the order….to anything job-related. The thing that came to my mind almost immediately was, “What did I do wrong?” And, in the Army….believe me….lots of things can go wrong.

Silently and with some degree of trepidation, I followed the guy as he led me over the funky sidewalk made of wooden planks to the office….the makeshift structure which looked very similar to my “barracks”….of the Adjutant General of the US Army in Vietnam.

First, I was introduced to the sergeant-major. Sergeant-major Walker. I noticed that he had my military records on his desk. “Oh, I see you worked for the Commander of Troops at Fort Benjamin Harrison.” “Oh, I see you have a college degree.” “Oh, I see that you have taught school for two and a half year.” “Oh, I see you were awarded an Army Commendation Medal.” “Oh, I see you applied for a direct commission. Yeah….those are pretty hard to get in the Adjutant General’s Corps. Only in the Infantry and Artillery.”

Yes. This was looking pretty good…..

He was a friendly guy. Maybe he didn’t fit my stereotype of a “sergeant-major….especially in the office of the Adjutant General….in South Vietnam….in war time…. I was much too nervous to worry about details like that, though. Now I understood that I was being considered for a job in the Adjutant General’s office. Actually, it took me about a minute…..no, probably less….to realize that this was maybe one of the best jobs the Army had to offer in South Vietnam. Oh yeah…. They could have interviewed me for a job in the Commanding General’s office. But, as I was to find out shortly, he already had “somebody”….another guy about my age….and that he was very good at his job!

After maybe fifteen minutes of conversation…. He was asking the questions. Me saying intelligent and witty things like, “Yes, sir.”, he suggested that I meet the real boss, the Adjutant-General. Actually, he had been sitting at his desk about ten or twelve feet from us…..and I am sure he heard every word we said. I got up and took the few steps to his desk. He looked up, smiling, while the Sergeant-Major introduced me to him. Me….being the good soldier that I was….saluted him. I guess this was the correct thing to do. He gave me sort of a quizzical look and returned a rather halfhearted salute. That was probably the last time I ever saluted him.

Adjutant-General Durand was a nice guy. I liked him immediately….and, I think he also liked me. He said something like, “Welcome aboard,”…..and just like that, I was “hired”.

Again….just like my good fortune of being selected as the administrative assistant to the Commander of Troops at Fort Benjamin Harrison, I think the fact that I had a college degree….had taught for two and a half years…..and that I had been successful at my previous job….made all the difference in the world. Still, here I was in a strange world….still somewhat disoriented….still rather confused….still with no real idea of what my role would be in my new job.

“Report here tomorrow at 0800,” was about the only information or advice that I was given.

And, report, I did. I walked into the office…..or the glorified tents we called offices back in those days. I wasn’t exactly sure to do when I walked in, though. Wow….I really had no idea what to do, is putting it more truthfully. I stood for a minute….probably looking like I was lost or had wandered into the place by mistake. I walked over to the sergeant-major’s desk. He glanced up….and thankfully, he recognized me. He showed me what was to be my desk for the next year….. The very first desk that a person encountered in our spacious, just-one-step-up-from-camping-out luxurious headquarters.

Just like Ft. Benjamin Harrison, I was going to be the “gatekeeper”, the official greeter, the “What do you want?” and “Who are you here to see?” person. That was OK with me. But, I had a steep learning/memory curve ahead of me. I had a lot of faces and a lot of names to learn and recognize. Who was whom? Who did what? And, later on…. Who could be useful to me? But, also, just like Ft. Benjamin Harrison, I found that I could also be useful to NCO’s and officers who greatly outranked me. Me? I had nothing to lose. I was in the Army for three years….and then, “Bye-bye. See you. It was nice knowing you.” Career military people always seem nervous and insecure when dealing with their superiors…especially when they do not know them. This part of my job was familiar…. I could….and did….definitely handle it.

The other parts of my job I sort of grew into gradually. “Gradually” was a little bit faster in South Vietnam than the rest of the world, probably. In most jobs….or a lot of them….there is a transition period. Normally, I would have worked with my predecessor for a few days….or at least, a few hours! Guess what? There wasn’t any predecessor around. If he was there, I certainly didn’t see him. Actually, nobody, that I can recall, ever mentioned the person who worked there before I did….or if there even was such a person. Surely. Somebody was there. There weren’t any pictures….no welcoming note….no instructions…..no little personal items left behind by mistake. I think I just sort of “invented” my job.

Looking back through old records and personnel rosters….and staffing charts… that I brought home with me….. Don’t worry. They were my copies…. I am not a spy. I didn’t steal any secrets…..it appears that I went through a series of titles while worked for the Adjutant-General. I was first an administrative clerk….then a Congressional Correspondence Specialist…..then an administrative assistant…..and finally, my exalted title of Secretary to the Adjutant-General, US Army Vietnam.

You know…. It has been more than 50 years now. I have very little recollection of how I learned my job…..or if I ever had anybody who really showed me what I was to do. I suspect that I just did it. You know, like Nike’s slogan, “Just Do It.”

It probably goes without saying that a war time operation would be somewhat different in nature than the same operation in normal circumstances. For one thing, what we were doing was real! It was not a “what if” kind of thing…. It was not training or simulation….. It was not simply busy-work, preparing for the “real thing.” What we were doing was the “real thing”. Our job was not theoretical….somebody’s idea of what “it might be like”. No…. Here we were….and, it was not just fun and games….. Not a rehearsal.

Almost immediately, as I recall, I started to do my job….my “real” job. I was responsible for getting the command Daily Bulletin published. This was my first major job each morning. Various offices would submit items they wanted to include in the Daily Bulletin. Some of them had already been pre-written. Some of them were just facts and figures jotted down and handed to me. Depending on where the item….or story….came from….and who had actually written it….I would write, or re-write, the item to be included. Obviously, if the Commanding General or the Chief of Staff had written something for publication, I was smart enough….or coward enough…..to leave it alone and print it as it was written….or the changes I made were cosmetic and technical….corrections that probably wouldn’t be detected anyway.

When the deadline for submitting material for the Daily Bulletin has passed, I would set about preparing everything for distribution. And…. Let me be clear: I did not set the time. My boss did! Now, also let me be clear: All of this happened back in around 1964. I did not have an electric typewriter! Word processors were still the figment of Bill Gates’ imagination…..if he was even alive then. No…. All the typing was done on a rather ancient….even by 1964 standards….typewriter. I typed the Daily Bulletin on some sort of blue gel-like sheet which was used on a duplicating machine of some sort. If I made a mistake….Who? Me?…..I covered it up with some sort of thick liquid, let it dry, typed over it….and continued. I set the “TABS” on the typewriter and made two columns. Pretty neat….yeah? Obviously there were no pictures or graphics or cute memes. “Headlines” were written in all CAPS….the stories written in….well, you know….the regular type. It was all pretty basic…..but, it got the job done.

After I had written and typed the Daily Bulletin, it was handed off to somebody whom I can’t recall. It was reproduced….or copied….and distributed around the Headquarters compound….posted on some bulletin boards….thrown into waste baskets! If I knew that I would be writing this blog now, I would have saved some of them. But, like they say, “Hindsight is better than foresight.” It was just something I did five days a week for a year….part of my job….

The Daily Bulletin was the least of my worries. Thirty minutes….and it was over. Except for the people who worked in my office, I doubt if anybody really knew….or cared…. who wrote it. It certainly did not say, “Beryl Darrah, Editor-in-Chief. Somehow I doubt if anybody really appreciated my superior writing style….or realized that six decades later I would be writing a blog about it. At any rate, the Daily Bulletin was just sort of a warm-up for the rest of the day…..like stretching before running a marathon, or at least, a 10K run.

The rest of the day, I did what all good secretaries did….or at least, what I imagine them doing. Of course, most secretaries are women, or that is the stereotype, at least. Aside from my Army experience, I have never been a secretary….or ever had any desire or ambition to be one. I have had two or three secretaries. I can only wish they were as good as I was.

So…. What did I do all day? Just as at Fort Benjamin Harrison, I was the first line of defense when people entered our office. I saw everybody who entered….and basically, I greeted everybody who entered. I saw a lot of people….and I got to “know”, or at least recognize, a lot of people. Most of these people were officers or higher ranking NCOs (non-commissioned officers). I am in no way implying that I became buddies…or “bros”, as some people may say today….with any of them. Officers did not hang out with us non-commissioned peasants. The high ranking NCOs were probably old enough to be my father. I have to admit, however, that “knowing” people of higher ranks does have some advantages. If my boss (either of them) was busy, usually the visiting individual would sit down and wait….on a chair directly in front of my desk. How could I escape making at least some sort of small talk or “social conversation” …….but, almost always, started by the “guest”. You know little things like, “Looks like it is going to be a hot day.” (It is always a hot day in South Vietnam.) or “How many VC did you kill today?” or “I saw you with a cute Vietnamese chick in a bar last night. Cheating on your wife….ehh?” Are you kidding? I had a pretty strong instinct for self-preservation…and a low tolerance for pain! Anyway, there was sort of an understanding, “What happens in Vietnam, stays in Vietnam.”

Of course, if the telephone rang….. Guess who answered it? And, the telephone rang constantly, it seemed. And, also guess what? It was rarely for me!

A lot of the day was taken up writing letters. All sorts of letters….letters to everybody. After all, the Adjutant-General is responsible for most of the “paperwork” that is generated by the Army. Some general scenarios might be: Parents writing to check on their son (or, in rare cases, daughter); a Congressman writing to check on an inquiry from a parent; a (brave) soldier writing to file a complaint or ask about something (that should have been taken care of in his unit);  somebody in the Pentagon….Congress….etc…inquiring about something….anything….everything…..wanting information, clarification….amplification….or just being nosy. It was rather amazing….and curiously entertaining, in a way…..how many people write to their Congressmen, or to the President, or to the Pentagon…. To anybody…. Thinking that something miraculous is going to happen.

Actually, some of the letters were touching, and people were genuinely concerned. For example: We haven’t heard from our son for more than two months. Is he OK? Our son has (you name the jungle disease). We want to know if he is being cared for. Our son is planning on marrying a Vietnamese girl. We do not want him to. Please stop him. We have mailed packages to our son, but he hasn’t received them. Why? But, some of them were….well: You can make up your mind. Is my son taking his vitamins? Are the mosquitoes going to give him yellow fever? Is he changing his underwear regularly? Is he eating a good breakfast? Etc. etc. etc…..

Basically, it was part of my job to answer these letters….at least, the ones that came to the Headquarters. Most of this stuff, we had no idea about….and, for the most part, didn’t care! But, in the military when somebody writes a letter, it is always a good idea to answer. You know little things like….military appropriations, Congressmen getting reelected, Congressmen covering their ass…. Campaign contributions….sometimes probably big contributions!

A usual reply went something like this: To a Parent: “Thanks for your message. We appreciate your concern. The welfare of your son is most important to us. We are forwarding your letter to his immediate commander for his attention and action.”

To a Congressman: “We appreciate your concern for (whomever his constituent may be). We are eager to be of service in resolving this matter. Therefore, we have forwarded your letter on to his field commander. We assure you that the matter will be investigated and resolved satisfactorily. We had asked his commander to reply within (X number days).

Those were standard replies. Maybe you are wondering what we could have LIKED to have said: “Dear Parent: Why did you raise such a wuss? Maybe at some point you should let him grow up a little bit and become a man. By the way, does he still need our help in changing his diapers?”

Or…. Dear Congressman: Don’t you have anything better to do than make stupid inquiries from parents who are probably as immature as their son? How do you think he think he got that way? By the way…. Are you aware that we are trying to fight a war here? You know….the kind where people are shooting at us and doing all sorts of other impolite things?”

No…. We always went with the first examples. I could spin these letters out in record time. Hopefully the parents felt reassured that we were indeed watching out for the welfare of their sons…..and we were! And, hopefully, they communicated this to their sons. And…. The Congressmen? I am sure they really couldn’t care less. All they wanted was to tell their constituent they had “made an inquiry”….and that “action was being taken”. Now, just send me your campaign contribution….the bigger, the better!

Usually my boss, the Adjutant-General, would simply sign the letters as I had written them….or he would make a very minor change. Of course, if he made any change at all, I would have retype the entire letter.

There were some sadder, more serious, jobs that had to be done, too. Back in 1964 when I first went to South Vietnam, we had a policy that mandated that a letter be sent to the parents of every soldier who was killed in action. As the chief administrative officer of the Army, this task usually was delegated to the Adjutant-General. He, in turn, usually delegated the job to me, especially after he found that I actually knew how to write a coherent sentence in English…..one that had at least a subject and a verb.

In 1964 there were just over 200 combat deaths in South Vietnam. I am not sure what the break down was according to service…. Army, Air Force, Navy….but I am sure that at least 100 of these deaths were Army personnel. In a normal letter, we would write the expected condolences and sympathy one would expect in any letter like this. But, we would also try to contact this guy’s company commander and include at least one….if not more….personal fact about the soldier. This was sometimes difficult to do, given the rural nature of some of the Army bases….and the poor communication equipment. But, we were usually able to say something nice about each of the soldiers that made the letter sound more personal and familiar and appreciative….and not just “another letter”….something we were required to do.

Letters like the ones I described are probably part of a family’s “treasures” in many homes today, as relatives and friends look back on the lives lost. They can…and I am sure, do….look at these letters and show them to others, as they fondly remember their loved one who lost his life in South Vietnam. There was, also, a “letter” from the President of the United States….although it was probably a pre-written form letter. Sadly, 1964 was probably the final year that the personally written letters were ever sent. In 1964, the year I served there in the US Army, the troop strength was around 23,300. The following year, 1965, the year I returned to the USA, the number of troops rose to more than 184,000, and there were 1863 deaths. And, as we all know, both numbers accelerated each each year at a rather dramatic rate.

Again, I have no samples or copies of any of the letters I wrote. I am not sure if a copy was put into each soldier’s personnel file. If so…. They should still be there. On the other hand, a fire at the warehouse….or repository…..of military personnel records in St. Louis in 1973 destroyed the vast majority of the archive’s records.

You can be sure that if I was using a word processor back in those days….. Man, legal or not, I would probably have kept a copy of each and everything I had ever written. For those of you that know me…. This is just the way I am! I may still be in federal prison….but I would have a copy of all my “work”.

I remember one letter that I wrote that just about got me into a pile of trouble. Even as I think about it today, I both shudder…..and chuckle.

A soldier somewhere in South Vietnam had been arrested and was being detained for some crime he was accused of committing. I do not recall precisely what the crime was, but I do know that it was serious enough that he was being held in a military prison….an American military prison…..in South Vietnam and was waiting for his trial. I have no idea if the guy was innocent….or if he was guilty. His parents obviously believed he was innocent, of course. In fact, they were so sure that they had written to the Adjutant-General laying out what they believed were the facts in the case. And, they demanded that we “investigate the matter” and “get to the bottom of the situation.” (A common phrase back in the day….)

I am not sure why they sent us such a letter. We had nothing to do with any judicial matters. We didn’t “investigate” anything. In fact, we really had no idea what was going on. This was not in our realm of jurisdiction; thus, we really didn’t care.

But, my boss, being the professional solider….and diplomat….that he was (and I am sure taking great care to cover his ass), turned the matter over to the JAG (Judge Advocate General) Office…..the military justice part of the Army…. As sort of an after thought, he gave me a copy of the letter and said, “Write and tell the parents that we are taking care of it….” So….I did.

Using my best military double talk language….super polite and proper….I informed that the parents that we had indeed turned the matter over to the proper authorities….the Judge Advocate General’s Office….for their consideration. Then…..I went ahead to add that I was sure that they would investigate the matter, that he would have a fair and impartial trial….. (And, I just couldn’t shut up!)….. And…. And…. That he would be given a fair sentence as set forth in the Uniform Code of Military Justice!

I finished the letter and gave it to my boss. A couple minutes later, he came rushing, almost running…..to my desk. It could only be my imagination, but it appeared that he was white….and could have a heart attack at any second. “NO, NO!” he said. (Well, maybe a little louder than simply “said”) “You have already found the guy to be guilty and have already sentenced him…..and there hasn’t even been a trial yet!”

“OHHHHH…..,” I managed to say. “Maybe I should write the letter again.”  Man, for a minute there, it looked like I had a lot of power….. Maybe the Army would send ALL their cases to me. I handled that one pretty fast!

For a minute, also, it looked like I might be the one behind bars myself….pleading for my life! Needless to say, it was a good lesson. “Stop and Think, Idiot!” (and I am talking about myself!) That was my first and last experience as a lawyer, jury and judge.

What else did I do? For a while, the Adjutant-General’s Office kept track of casualties….. I mean my office. But, as time went on and casualties mounted, a separate division was set up to handle this…. There had to be. It became a full time job.

And… Again…. There were all those Congressmen….all those Pentagon official…. They were constantly wanting “information”….about something….anything…. They all wanted to look important. We supplied tons of facts and figures….not that we had a choice. I can well imagine that after we sent the information…the data….most Congressmen had not a clue what it meant. The dangerous thing about giving data and figures and information to somebody is the unknown factor of how all this data will be used. Facts and figures can be used honestly and truthfully….after all they are FACTS. Or they can be twisted and turned and manipulated to serve whatever purpose a person wants. But…. I had been granted a Top Secret security clearance. My job was only to gather them…give them to my boss….and forget about it.

Again, I want to remind you readers: All of this happened long ago and far away, in another galaxy. (Where did that come from? “Star Wars”?) There were absolutely no computers…. None, zero, zip, nada….nothing…. Everything was done manually….by hand…..

Another of my major tasks…and who knows, it has been so long ago….was to maintain an up-to-date set of Army Regulations….AR’s, as they were called. At least, all the regulations that pertained to us. I can imagine that every major division kept a set of AR’s that were relevant to their own offices. These Army Regulations were a pain in the behind. They were kept in heavy-covered volumes….loose leaf volumes. The old regulation had to be removed and the new regulation inserted to replace it. Nobody wanted to quote an old regulation. I can imagine that citing an old Army Regulation in some important matter would not be good for some commander….or an Adjutant-General…..or ME, for that matter!

Our day ended around 5:00. As the afternoon wore on, and as we sort of caught up with our work, everybody in the office became sort of lethargic…. All that activity and all that adrenaline….. things began to mellow out….and we would spend the last few minutes just talking…. It is during these times what I would realize that my superiors….even though they wore stars or eagles on their shoulder….were just “people”. All my superiors…..from the Adjutant-General on down….were married….and away from home. They were lonely…. They missed their families….They missed their kids….. They missed their normal routines….

It was during these times that we could talk as relative equals… I mean they all still outranked me by light years, but they were still human beings. They were all fascinated that I had already taught school for two and a half year. The constant question was, “Why are you here? Aren’t teachers exempt from military service?” Good question. Probably so…. Unless the son of the local draft board’s clerk is also eligible for the draft! Then guess who gets to stay at home?

One day my sergeant-major stopped at my desk, rather embarrassed. “I already know what your answer is, but I am required by law to ask you anyway,” he said. Then he proceeded to give me a very (very) abridged version of the “re-up” speech. The speech where the military tries to entice soldiers to stay in for another three years. Of course, he already knew the answer, and he even told me, off the record, of course, that there is no way he would reenlist if he had another career to follow. So…. With that, he had fulfilled his duty…..followed the letter of the law…. As for me? Well, of course, I told him that I did not plan to reenlist for three years. A decision I am sure I agreed with a the time….but later kicked myself regularly for making! Maybe…. More on that later…. Maybe.

Well…. I hope you get an idea of what my job was like….my “mission” (as they like to say in the military). Yeah…. Maybe it does not sound very exciting…or even very interesting. But, for me, it sure beat being stationed somewhere out in the jungle…with people shooting at me.

It seems to that our office hours were just like regular office hours…. 8:00 – 5:00, with an hour off for lunch. I am relatively certain that we worked on Saturday morning, too. We all did our jobs, of course. But, there were always other things going on. One of the “big” things that stands out in my memory….and even it was not so “big” after a while….was a series of “coups” and attempted coups that took during the year I was stationed in South Vietnam.

You may be asking, “What is a coup?” (It is a French word, short for “coup d’etat” and it is pronounced something like “coo de ta”.) Well, my friends, a coup is a sort of revolution from the inside, in which members of a rival group or party within the same country mounts an armed attack which overthrows or attempts of overthrow the existing government. And, man, the South Vietnamese were good at this… Maybe not “good”…but it was not from a lack of practice.

Somehow I doubt if South Vietnam ever had a stable government which was run by competent, qualified leaders. The entire time I spent in South Vietnam….and this includes the year in the Army and also the three years as a civilian….the government was always under control by a general of some sort.

Well…. One day, early on in my year in South Vietnam, I was sitting at my desk, diligently doing my job….probably keeping an eye on the clock in anticipation of quitting time. All of a sudden there was a thunderous noise. I looked out to see a line of tanks….Yes….big Army tanks….rolling down the little alley-like road behind our office. These were followed by several two and a half ton military trucks, all filled with Vietnamese soldiers, their rifles pointed…well, somewhere. The air raid sirens began to blast…..and there was the sound of military police sirens….

“Oh, my gosh! We are under attack,” I thought. It all happened suddenly, with no warning….just like the movies when the enemy moves in, unsuspected, and captures an enemy stronghold…..killing everybody in sight. My first instinct was to dive underneath my desk….to seek protection.

“Where is my rifle?” was maybe my second thought…..or maybe my third thought, right after, “We are all going to die!”

“Oh yes. We are desk soldier…. We don’t carry rifles!” “Oh well…. Maybe I can throw my typewriter at them!”

Utter confusion was taking place right outside our office…..our glorified tent-office. Tanks rolling down the streets, truckloads of soldier with rifles drawn…..lots of noise…..

I looked around. Nobody seemed concerned. A few people were peering out the window. I mean, the entire sides of our tent were windows so it wasn’t difficult to peer out! You are always looking out the “window”…. Basically, everybody just went on with what they were doing….other than a few chuckles and some raised eyebrows and some shaking of heads.

“What the heck is going on?” I asked. And…. No, I did not dive on the floor under my desk.

“Oh…. It is probably just another coup attempt,” somebody said. “They happen…..”

I was still rather shaken up, though…..that first time….my first “class”….I suppose we could call it “Introduction to Attempting to Overthrow the Government – 101” The sub-title could have been, “How Selfish, Immature Little South Vietnamese Generals Play Little Selfish, Immature Games.”

I rather doubt if any general in the South Vietnamese Army or Air Force was the least bit qualified for the job. Here in the USA we think of generals as being the most experienced, the best educated, the most battle tested soldiers we have available. They have graduated from West Point or another reputable military school. Or they have undergone training in ROTC in college (Well…. That may be stretching it a bit!)…. Or they have graduated from a “go through Hell” OCS (Officer’s Candidate School) training program. In any event, nobody in the USA Army just “becomes” a general. They work their way up the ranks, proving themselves through experience, training, education and testing….. They are supposedly “The Cream of the Crop”. Who knows if this is actually the case. But, one thing is for sure: They don’t just “become” generals.

This, however, was not the case, for the most part, in South Vietnam. This was not the usual way that somebody became a general.

Most generals…..probably almost all of the higher ranking officers…..came from wealthy, socially and politically connected families. WHO they knew was infinitely more important than WHAT they knew. A vast majority of these generals were educated abroad, most notable in the United States and in France; they spoke almost perfect English or French. Most of them had really never served in a regular army. Well, actually, they did, but not in an army that was involved in any sort of military operations. I can imagine that being a “general” was more of a social position….or a position that either they or their family had purchased in one form or another….You know….Down at the “General Market”….. It couldn’t have been from Amazon, because it didn’t even exist back them.

But, the point is…. They certainly were not military officers as we here in the USA would think of them. Most of them had no idea of how to fight and win a battle….much less, a war. But… Why should they? This is what they had US military advisors for. On the other hand….. Why just settle for being a general? Why not Prime Minister? The pay…and the opportunity for graft, pay offs, corruption, extortion, all sorts of illegal activity…..was much better. Yeah…. Go Big….or Go Home!

It was one of these fun and games coup attempts that was taking place on this peaceful afternoon right outside our office. I have no idea what the final result was. I am sure that there was no change in the government, though. Actually, I do not recall any shots being fired….except maybe into the air.

We heard later that there were also some tanks rolling through downtown Saigon, too…..toward the Presidential Palace, no doubt. Whether the US Command knew about these unsuccessful attempts….or whether the US Embassy knew…. Who knows? Any group that might….in their wildest dreams….succeed in overthrowing the government would almost certainly have to have the support of the USA. There is absolutely no way it could exist and function without this support.

One of the strange things was: I never heard of any consequence of these sporadic coup attempts. I am relatively certain that there was no substantial repercussions, though. Maybe somebody was temporarily relieved of his command….or transferred to another Vietnamese army post somewhere in the jungle for a while. Looking back, I often think they are a lot like the insecure rednecks with their expensive, souped-up, gas-guzzling, loud pickups who go roaring around the streets…..passing other cars, cutting people off in their lanes, revving their engines, making a lot of noise…..just being obnoxious, in general. “See…..I have a short dick….and I want everybody to know it…..and this is supposed to make up for it!” But, now that I think about it….. All Vietnamese men have short dicks.

Yeah….. That was my “introductory coup attempt”…… but not the last one.

Somewhere along the way, I picked up sort of a partner-in-crime….or maybe it was like a Tonto to the Lone Ranger…..or maybe even a Laurel…..you know, like Laurel and Hardy….or an Abbott….Remember Abbott and Costello!

Trying remember where….and how….we first met is lost in a sort of fog of my distant memory. Maybe it was in the dining hall….Sorry…the Mess Hall (more true than you think!)…..or maybe it was waiting at the front gate to hail a taxi to go downtown….or maybe it was downtown in a bar….. Or who knows? Maybe it was in the shower. Don’t laugh. You meet a lot of people while taking a shower…. You are sort of trapped there….

Anyway, somehow we met….and somehow we became best friends….or best buddies, as we said back in those days. However and whenever it was…. Not so important….and unless I am hypnotized, it certainly is not going to simply pop back into my memory….. The point is: He became by best friend for the rest of the time I was in South Vietnam.

His name was Ursel Cline. Yeah…..Ursel. Sort of like having a name like….Beryl. Maybe the somewhat unusual names are what attracted us. No…. I doubt it. It was some sort of strange chemistry…. We both liked to have fun…. Neither of wanted to spend a single minute on the Army base, if we didn’t have to…. We both wanted adventure. Not “bad” adventure. We never, ever, got into any sort of trouble….even when other guys probably were! I mean…. I am not going to deny that we engaged in some youthful follies….that we didn’t “push the envelope” just a bit at times….that either of us could have applied for sainthood. But we were after the kind of adventure that says, “Let’s go have some fun. Let’s go see what is out there. Let’s see what Saigon is all about…..” And, within limits…. We did! Beyond this point…. You will have to use your own imagination and write your own blog….and fill in the blanks….

There was one incident that stands out in my mind that was real….not make believe or an idle joke. It was scary…and sobering….. It was a wake-up call for me, in a way….. Like: “Good Morning, Vietnam!” Or in this case Good Afternoon…

It did not take me very long to figure out that there was very little do on the army base after regular “business hours”…..whether at night or on the weekend. I really wasn’t interested in hanging out in the enlisted men’s club….another way of describing a bar….on the base. They were basically loud, and quite frankly they did not attract the cultured, sophisticated, college educated men…..like me, for example. If a person was too dumb or stupid or lazy or unmotivated to get into a taxi and go downtown…..then that is probably where they spent their evenings….in the EM club….drinking. Yes…. There was a theater on base….maybe more than one. There was actually a library. And, maybe it even had a few books in it. The last choice was probably to just stay in the barracks. Spending the evening in the barracks. Man, what a sad thought. The lighting was so dim that you may as well be sitting in a cave. And, there was no place to sit, except on your bunk. And, if your bunk was on the bottom….like mine….there was practically no light at all. The logical choice was to walk to the front gate and catch a cab or a “cyclo” into town.

It took me an eternity to fall in love with Saigon….. Yeah…Like ….Maybe an hour or two! Man, I loved Saigon. It was exciting…..exotic….different….intriguing…..mysterious. It was vibrant and alive. On almost any given evening, the streets and the sidewalks were packed with people…..a colorful salad of people: Vietnamese, Americans, soldiers, foreigners from every point of the globe, old people, young lovers, kids…kids dressed like little aristocrats….kids that were running around naked….teen aged “pick pockets”….beggars….prostitutes. It was a cross section of humanity…. Spilling from the overflowing, packed sidewalks out onto the street.

And, Oh, Man….. It was so colorful. Hundreds of vendors displaying their products….on the sidewalks, on little portable tables, in little stalls…. And, for those rich enough, in store windows….. If you wanted buy something, I am reasonably certain that it was on display somewhere in the confused….but yet orderly….maze of street and sidewalk vendors. Some vendors called out, beseeching people to notice them. Others sat silently, sometimes sullenly, waiting to make a sale. There was the constant tug on your sleeve or on your pants….someone wanting to sell you something ….or to take you to their store….

The sights and sounds….and smells….were almost a sensory overload. But….I will come back to all this later on…..

My friend, Ursel Cline, and I were weaving our way slowly through the crowded jungle of people….walking along the sidewalk….going nowhere in particular…..taking in all the street carnival atmosphere around us….stopping at times to look at all the stuff for sale….wondering where they got all of it….trying to stay together. At times it felt like we were driving the wrong way on a busy 4 Lane highway….

It was Thursday, December 24, Christmas Eve…..of more accurately, Christmas Eve afternoon….around 4:30 or 5:00. Nobody was working…..everybody was off work and doing what people in Saigon liked to do: go walking….strolling, as they like to say. The mood was festive; people were celebrating; they were happy. It made no difference that 85% of them were Buddhist. Christmas was a big deal.

In South Vietnam, the December weather was, as usual, hot and balmy. No White Christmas here! No sleigh bells….no reindeer…. No chestnuts roasting on an open fire….. Saigon was decorated for Christmas, however…..mostly in red….lots of stars….lots of tinsel….sometimes, little mangers with the Baby Jesus and some sheep and donkeys …..and Joseph and Mary….

Ursel and I were part of the celebration. How could a person not get caught up in the excitement….and happiness…..the sheer joy…..of the moment? We were content to just be pulled along with the crowd….taking our time….looking in to store windows….

We were downtown….in the middle of downtown. We could not have been “more downtown”. Right on one of Saigon’s main streets….and most famous streets….one of our favorite places to be. We were just wiling away time until it was time to eat….at which time we would go to our favorite bar for the rest of the evening.

Suddenly….with no warning….just out of nowhere….. BOOM! KA-BOOM! An explosion….one louder than anything I had ever heard before rocked downtown Saigon.

The sidewalks shook. Glass broke. A plume of smoke rose into the sky. For an instant….for a second…..time just sort of stood still. We were stunned. It seemed that people…..the entire mass of humanity….simply stopped in their tracks…almost like stopping a video….. It was like we could almost see a giant question mark appear in the sky…. What had just happened?

Then it was pandemonium. Panic. Confusion. Near hysteria. People began to run. Ursel and I looked at each other…. And almost in unison, we dived into a jewelry store which was in front of us…..and ducked below one of the display cases. It was only later that we realized that the display case was made entirely from glass. We, like the rest of the masses of people, were reacting almost by instinct…a very human sense of self-preservation….of survival…..

Almost instantly, the streets were filled with sirens, police cars, armed troops….  This is when Ursel and I decided not to stick around……

A BOQ (Bachelor Officers’ Quarters) a couple blocks from where we were walking had been blown up…..by few tons of dynamite. Somehow….and in Vietnam, nobody ever knows anything very exactly…..the VC (Viet Cong….South Vietnamese communists) had been able to drive a truck loaded with explosives into an underground loading area….apparently undetected (somehow), set a timer, and calmly leave the area.

Two American army officers were killed, tragically…..and 72 other officers were injured. The building….probably 5 or 6 stories high…..was destroyed….demolished.

Man….. Talking about bringing a celebration to an end! The once busy festive sidewalks, crowded with holiday fun seekers and revelers suddenly became deserted and eerie. It was spooky….how quickly the sidewalk vendors packed their merchandise and disappeared. And…. What happened to those thousands of people….so suddenly? Here one minute….gone the next.

Ursel and I walked on down to the nightclub where we had intended to spend the evening. The streets and sidewalks were virtually deserted by this time. A shroud of uncertainty and fear had settled over the city. We could almost feel the fear….and an almost impending sense of doom. Saigon was pretty much considered “safe” or at least “invincible”….and by a sort of “gentleman’s agreement”, off limits to the enemy. It looks like somebody broke that agreement.

We were both nervous, apprehensive, and paranoid by the time we had reached the night club. Somehow, the owners of the club already knew that a 10:00 curfew had been imposed for the city. We ordered a quick meal…..and then went out to try our luck at finding a ride back to Tan Son Nhut Army Base. By some stroke of luck….or good karma….we located one and headed back “home”. The driver muttered to himself the entire trip. He was probably muttering to us…but we didn’t understand Vietnamese. But, it was rather transparent that he was shook up….probably a little frightened to be driving on the streets of Saigon after dark….after a terrorist attack. And…. I suspect some of it was a “pity act”, too…. “Streets very dangerous. VC very bad. Maybe come and kill us.” Yeah…. Ursel and I both knew that he expected to be paid more than the usual rate. Yeah… We understood that was simply the reality of the situation. So… We paid more than we normally paid a taxi driver. But, that is OK. Just call it “hazardous duty pay”. It probably wasn’t as much as he wanted…. But, as they said, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

When we arrived back at Tan Son Nhut….without any sort of incident, I may add….the front gate was an authentic fortress! Barriers had been hastily erected.   Additional sandbags had been stacked up as barriers. There were enough troops to fight World War II. They were shutting the army base down….

We arrived before the curfew began, showed our IDs. No problem. As we walked back to our barracks area, we passed an outside Christmas Eve service, which was already in progress….chair set up around a make-shift alter. There were armed soldiers completely surrounding the area. We chose not to stop.

We proceeded on to our individual barracks. For once, the place was quiet….no boisterous displays of male testosterone….no horseplay or messing around…. It was a good night for sleeping…. But….I wonder exactly how many of the soldiers actually got a good night’s sleep that night.

Christmas Day? Funny that you should ask. I don’t have a clue what happened that day! I am pretty sure that Santa Claus did not make a visit, though. I am sure we were confined to base. Ursel and I probably hung out….doing something….maybe at the EM (Enlisted Men) Club…..or we may have gone to the library….although that is probably stretching it a bit.

Chances are we went to a movie. That would have been the most logical thing to do. Believe it or not…. The Army actually did get some pretty good movies for us to watch. We didn’t watch them in a luxury theater with reclining seats, carpeted aisles, and uniformed ushers….or any ushers at all, for that matter. But, the Army was good at providing fairly current movies. I am not all sure of the chronology, but I did see quite a few movies in South Vietnam, among which were “Manchurian Candidate” (tense, but good), “Dr. Zhivago” (great music), and two or three (real) James Bond films….”Dr. Strangelove” (strange, indeed)…. “Cleopatra” (boring)…. “How the West Was Won” (already forgotten it)…. When there was nothing else to do…..or when it was raining, which was often at certain times of the year….. What else was there to do? Go to the movies. They were cheap entertainment….and they kept us out of the dismal barracks.

The day after Christmas, the Bob Hope Show came to town! Bob Hope was treated as almost some sort of minor deity. He was an institution….a tradition….an event…..a happening. Every Christmas, he and the troop of performers he had assembled set out for whatever war we happened to be fighting at the moment to entertain the troops. These performances probably dated back to World War II. They were wildly anticipated. They were a touch of “home”….an opportunity to laugh…..a chance to forget about the war for a couple hours. And, of course…. They were free!

Bob Hope assembled a cast of entertainers…..musicians, comedians and dancers, mainly….. and set up a stage somewhere….hopefully in a secure area…..and went through the motions of performing their show all over Vietnam. Mainly, they performed at the major airbases, large aircraft carriers….. But, they were also known to have performed in some less secure areas.

So….. in the afternoon, the day after Christmas, Ursel and I climbed aboard a military bus that took us to a “safe” tarmac somewhere on Ton San Nhut Air Base….somewhere that we had never been before. There on makeshift bleachers, we sat in the broiling South Vietnamese sun, surrounded by hundreds of security guards, and watched and laughed as the troop of entertainers performed their show.

In 1964, the year that we saw the show, I am thinking that, among others, Ann-Margaret performed. She was “hot”, as they say, back in those days. And, as I recall, Jerry Colona (the spelling may be wrong) was there, too, with his bushy trademark mustache and busy eyebrows. Of course, as ever, Les Brown and His Band of Renown furnished the music. There were others, too….dancers, singers, etc…..comedians…. Of course, all the girls were wearing as little as possible…as little as was legal and socially acceptable back in those days sixty years ago.

There were literally a few thousand troops there…. Army and Air Force, mainly….and they were, as might be expected, 99.9% male. So…. The show was geared to entertaining them….and making them feel happy for an hour or two….. This was not the New York Philharmonic….or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir…. The entire two hours was devoted to the kind of entertainment that young males….young males who were lonesome and homesick and missed their girlfriends….would enjoy.

The show was filled with applause, whistles, cat calls, whooping and yelling….as Ann-Margaret danced and gyrated about the stage…..along with the other female dancers. Bob Hope’s shows were always “interactive”. Soldiers and airmen from the vast crowd were always enticed upon the stage to “dance” and clown around with Bob….and his female star. As you can imagine, this always brought thunderous applause from the crowd, as they awkwardly went through the motions of interacting with the female star….in our case, Ann-Margaret.

I was never sure if these guys were “pre-selected”….. or whether it was indeed spontaneous. It was no doubt spontaneous. In any case, neither Ursel nor I were chosen…. As for me….. I certainly did not want to be dragged up on the stage….only to make a fool of myself (which was the entire purpose, of course). Ursel…. I am not so sure. I think he had a little more “dare devil blood” in his body than I did. He may have done it willingly. We didn’t have to worry, though. Neither of us were chosen. We just sat back and laughed at….and enjoyed….and got a sunburn….watching the others make fools of themselves. I don’t know…. But, I suspect that if either Ursel or I had been selected, we would have had no choice…. I am pretty sure that neither of us wanted to look like wusses in front of our fellow soldiers. It would have been better to be laughed at….than to be ridiculed. Right?

Life in the Army in Saigon continued….. The bombing of the Brinks BOQ soon faded into the background. It had served as a warning….a reminder….and wake-up call….that Saigon could be….and was….vulnerable to a terrorist attack. And, after all, this was exactly what it was. As you can quickly deduce…. These kind of terrorists were the most elusive…the most difficult to detect or to prevent. The enemy….and our friends…..our allies….all looked alike. They were all Vietnamese. It was not a war where half of the people wore beards…..or were a different color….or a different race….or a different height….. No… They all looked the same….looked alike. We….the Americans, the Australians, the Canadians…. We were the ones who looked different.

There were other incidents….on a much smaller scale….throughout the year. Most bars….especially bars that were popular with military personnel….had guards. Not that these guards could done anything about preventing a terrorist attack. Fortunately, another major terrorist event did not take place during my tenure in Army in South Vietnam. However, a couple days after I was discharged from the military….and I was back in the USA by then….the Metropole Hotel, a bachelor enlisted men’s quarters (BEQ) was bombed. This bombing….another terrorist event….also killed or wounded many servicemen….both American and South Vietnamese.

In general, however, life took on a facade of normalcy. Usually, every day at lunch and again at supper, Ursel and I would meet to eat lunch along with a bunch of our fellow soldiers. Our conversation rarely centered on our work or “war strategy”. Usually, we talked about what we had done the previous night. We talked of sports back in the USA, just like semi-normal people talk about. We talked about cars. We talked about movies. We talked about….well, usually, just “normal” stuff. Of course, we talked about Army life….the food….

I was never one of those people who complained about Army food. I think somewhere in my early childhood….living on the farm, my mother must have hypnotized me, saying something like, “Beryl…. You are getting sleepy. (All hypnotists say this, don’t they?) When you wake up, you are going to like all foods….everything….even liver and sardines….for the rest of your life.”…..all the time swinging a little pocket watch in front my eyes! (The way hypnotists always do.) To me…..food….all food….is good…..

Lots of soldiers spent half their time griping about the food in the mess hall….the dining room, for those of who have not been in the military. Tastes terrible….under-cooked, over-cooked….wouldn’t feed it to my dog….. As for me? Actually, I thought it was pretty good….and it was plentiful. We could go back for as many “seconds” as we wanted….no questions asked…. There was always meat….normally beef or chicken or fish. There were always vegetables. There was always bread. There was fruit. Plenty of milk, tea and water….and coffee. There was always desert. Come on….. What more could you ask for? Back then…. I ate, and ate, and ate…..and I never could seem to gain weight. Man, I wish I had that food today!

Anyway…. When lunch was over, we obviously went back to work. When supper was over…. That presented a problem. It presented a problem to everybody who did not want to spend “another night” on the Army base. Oh, to be sure…. Some of the guys were quite content to stay in the confines of the same compound day after day, night after night….. A lot of them were…. How do I say this politely? OK…..I got it. They were Losers!

I swear…. I am not narrow minded….I am not a red neck….. I am not an ignorant yay-hoo….. Yeah, I know… People who deny things like that…. Well, they usually are. But….. I am not. Trust me.

Back in the early sixties, I was a young man….literally almost “straight off the farm”. For Heaven’s sake…. I lived in rural Kansas. I had never been around anybody except other small down people. Chances are, we were all probably pretty dull people. I lived in towns where I literally knew almost everybody….and I recognized almost everybody’s car….and knew what dog belonged to whom….knew who was sleeping with whom….

Even the worst behaved boy in our high school would probably be considered a model young man by today’s standards. You can believe it. I was just an innocent, naive young man caught up in a world I had never dreamed of.

My days in the Army in South Vietnam…..especially those first weeks….were an eye-opener for me. And, I am sure I formed some basic opinions about people that have stayed with me until today…. Not about people! About behavior! Not about economic status. About behavior.

I can remember those nights when some of the trash would assemble outside our tent-barracks. Normally they were drunk….loud….obnoxious….disrespectful of other people….vulgar. Guys inside the barracks would shout at them, telling them to shut up….keep the noise down….go somewhere else…. This would sometimes lead to altercations. Sometimes the MP’s (military police) were called to break up fights.

There were those….probably the same people…..who often (usually) drank too much… I can well suspect that they were none too bright to begin with… They got their kicks….their ego boost….by getting tame monkeys that would sometimes hang around the barracks area drunk. They would give them alcohol, in itself illegal, to the unsuspecting animals…..they laugh uproariously as the monkeys would lose their balance and coordination.

Then there were the guys…..the same guys…..who would play their transistor radios full blast right outside the barracks….either oblivious or not aware or not caring that they were disturbing a great many other guys who had worked hard and wanted peace and quiet so they could write letters, talk or sleep. And…. Except for shortwave stations, there was only ONE English language station in South Vietnam….and that one was operated by the military.

After a while, I am pleased to say, these guys were dealt with by the military police….and consequently…..their company commander. Some were shipped to other posts. They had no place in a headquarters company. Let me say that I never called the MP’s or anybody else… I was probably too scared to! But, it was during this period of my life that I formed some probably negative feelings and opinions about people and their behavior. Maybe this is stereotyping….but that is just the way it is. Attitudes and opinions and feelings are usually formed at a young age…..and are often difficult to overcome. I did not like abusive, vulgar, inconsiderate behavior back then…..and I do not like it today.

Most of the soldiers were good, law-abiding, descent, considerate guys. They….just like I….were away from home, in a place where they did not want to be. They were lonely; they missed their families; their girl-friends. They just wanted to get it over with and go back home….just like everybody else.

Bear with me….. This is all leading to a point. Oftentimes, soldiers tend to withdraw into themselves…..not trusting anybody…..not really liking anybody….having no real friends. Man…. That is sad. I have seen it happen, though…..many times. The problems is….other than being perpetually lonely….that they sometimes begin to develop an attitude of resentment…of distrust….of suspicion…. I am sure,  just by reading and watching news media, that many soldiers….even soldiers who were stationed in Saigon….went home disillusioned and somewhat bitter.

So…. I was lucky. I was one of the fortunate guys. I found….or we probably found each other….a friend. And, believe me…. It only takes one friend to make a world of difference in your life.

While many soldiers were sitting in the barracks depressed and unhappy…. While many soldiers were getting drunk at the EM (enlisted men) Club….depressed and unhappy… Ursel and I were out doing things, going places, exploring the city, encountering new experiences. We were far from depressed, in fact, most of the time we were actually happy….although, to offer full and honest exposure of the facts….. We sometimes did have a little too much to drink!

At 5:00…..usually on the dot….I walked out the door of our office and headed straight for my barracks to change clothes and get ready to go eat supper. A rather strange and continuing incident took place most of that year. I was never able to explain it…..nor did I ever hear an explanation. After I got back to my barracks, which was a block or less down the sidewalk….more of a boardwalk….from our office, I immediately changed clothes…..got out of my army uniform and put on civilian clothes….and sat on my bunk waiting for time to go eat supper.

I had a little handheld transistor radio…..like most of the soldiers. I turned on the little radio almost the instant I walked into the barracks….as did most other soldiers. Remember…. There was only one English language radio station in South Vietnam. That was AFRN….Armed Forces Radio Network. When all of us soldiers turned on our radios, obviously we turned all of them on to the same station…..sort of built in stereo, even before the days of stereo. At 5:15… Let’s make that 1715, just to sound more military…. every week day, AFRN played a song called “Cast Your Fate to the Wind” with the Vince Guaraldi Trio. You could count on it. You could set your watch by it. I mean it played every weekday…five days a week. I think some of the guys saw something sinister in this. Maybe it was some sort of code….a prearranged signal…. More than likely the D.J. who was working that shift liked the song….and he just played it. Yeah…. Maybe it was a little spooky. But, I liked the song and actually found something rather comforting about it. Actually, I think almost everybody in the barracks liked the song….except maybe for the Rednecks and the Blacks. It just wasn’t “their kind of music.” .

 

 

At 5:30 supper was served. Actually, we served ourselves, but you get the idea. Ursel and I would meet and eat supper together. By this time we were wearing normal civilian clothes. I think that we, like most other soldiers with an ounce of intelligence, couldn’t wait to get out of the uniform that we wore all day. Another reason: The military strongly discouraged us from wearing our uniforms when we left Tan Son Nhut to go into town. We stood out enough just in our civilian clothes. Our presence would have been magnified many times over if we had all gone walking around downtown with our military uniforms. “The American are coming. The American are coming!” …..to paraphrase a famous historical quotation. Believe me…. The Vietnamese already knew we were there. So, why write it in bold type and put quotation marks around it? Also, the guys who made these decisions probably thought….and correctly…..that an American wearing a uniform made a much better target than one in civilian clothing. I mean….Most of us could have been Australian or Canadian or even French…and they certainly did not like the French, their former colonial masters.

Before leaving the wall-in headquarters compound, we had to first sign out at an office by the gate to the compound….just sign our name on a roster….no big deal…. And… We were required to pick up at least one condom….they suggested two….and take them with us before we were allowed to leave. Man… I wonder what they thought we were going to do with those? It probably doesn’t take a large stretch of the imagination to suspect that most of the soldiers, at lot of them, at least, did not come back on post with the condoms still in their pocket. Wow… It has been so long ago that I don’t recall if Ursel and I had ours when we returned to the compound later that night. But, I don’t suppose you would expect us to return with them every night….would you? I mean…. Maybe they got lost somewhere.

We headed for the front gate….hailed down a taxi or a “cyclo” It wasn’t very difficult. There were dozens of them just waiting for customers…..and headed into town. It was probably 8 miles or so from Tan Son Nhut to downtown Saigon. Taking a taxi was obviously much quicker. But taking a “cyclo” was cheaper….and much more scenic…..and “interactive” For those of you who do not know what a “Cyclo” is… Well, it is a sort of motorized, open-air motor scooter. There is a seat for a couple riders in front….and the driver is on a sort of bicycle seat behind the passengers…..driving. Some of the “cyclos” back when we were stationed there were motorized….but some were also powered by a poor guy pumping along….just like on a bicycle. We preferred the motorized type. They were faster, of course, and they were probably safer.

No matter which kind we chose, the ride into town was always exciting. The street from the air base to downtown was always crowded, teeming with traffic. For most of the trip, we could actually reach out and touch the vehicle next to us….that is how close we were to the other vehicles. For the first few times, these rides into town were rather unnerving. There was always a question in our minds if we would be fortunate enough make it into downtown. After a couple weeks, these rides became an adventure…..and within a couple months, we were completely oblivious to the traffic. A person tends to acclimate quickly in Saigon. As I think back, I don’t remember ever seeing a real “accident”…..and certainly not while we were in one of the open-air vehicles. Those “cyclo” drivers have nerves of steel….not to mention ice water in their veins….and the quick reactions of somebody who just touched a hot stove.

Once in downtown Saigon, we had the driver drop us off in front of the old Saigon Opera House….maybe one of the most central landmarks in the city. By the time we had gotten downtown, the city was alive with people; the sidewalks were crowded, as usual; the street and sidewalk vendors were hard at work tying to hawk their products; people were strolling leisurely along the wide avenues….friends, families, lovers, off duty military, students….along with the normal quota of prostitutes and probably Viet Cong spies and drug dealers. Everybody just sort of blends in….

Normally there was still daylight when we stepped out of the taxi or “cyclo”. Saigon is fairly close to the equator and the days are long. There was no hurry to be anywhere; no deadlines; no appointments…..no urgency. And, while I think about it, let me tell you: There was absolutely no reason to be in a hurry in Saigon, and probably nowhere in South Vietnam, for that matter. Time was relative; people were rarely in a hurry…..to do anything. So, we simply took our time. Went with the flow. Absorbed and enjoyed the atmosphere as we snaked our way to one of the night clubs where we spent our time.

There were three night clubs. After all these years, I can remember the name of only one of them. Quite frankly, I am sure that I could not find any of them again….even if there was a ten million dollar prize…..and the promise of five beautiful women. In fact, I don’t even remember how we found these night clubs…. Chances are, we didn’t “find” them. More than likely we just wandered in, liked them….and kept going back. I mean…. How or Why would you want to “find” a bar in Saigon? There were literally thousands of them. We certainly didn’t have to “look” for one. Bars in Saigon were ubiquitous. I wonder if we could have even found a street in Saigon that did not have a bar….or two….or three. Now…. That would been a challenge. Fortunately, we did not have to worry about facing that challenge, though.

It was probably more than a coincidence that three night clubs….and these were really more “night clubs” than “bars”…..had one things in common. All of them had at least one outstanding musician who performed there. Yeah…. They were good enough that we wanted to go back night after night to hear them. I don’t remember exactly what Ursel’s taste in music was. I am going to take a wild guess and say Country Music. And… Yes, of course, I liked country music. I grew up listening to the Grand Old Opry. But, I had spent ten years in band in junior high school, high school and college playing classical music, too….so my musical diet may have been a little more eclectic.

All of the three musicians could not have been further from country music, though. This was the early sixties. Had South Vietnam even heard of country music yet? Or was country music still an obsession of the rural American redneck social class? No…. Don’t get excited. I was a member of this class! Back in those days, I no doubt fit into this genre quite comfortably! So…. If Ursel was a member of this group…. Great. He was my comrade.

These guys…..these musicians….were…. Well…. Good! They were outstanding. They were talented. It took only one song for us to figure that out. It didn’t make any difference what “kind” of music we liked. We just knew that they were something special…..each of them on his own instrument.

At one of the nightclubs, there was a drummer who I am sure could have played with the best jazz….or rock….or pop group…. in the world. In one of the clubs, there was a clarinet player who could have easily performed with the Saigon Philharmonic…..if they had even heard of one in Saigon back then. The third nightclub featured a guitar player whose fingers could move faster than the speed of sound.

It wasn’t these musicians who attracted us to the clubs….or drew us in in the beginning. But, Wow…. It was they who kept us coming back night after night.

I can only remember the name of one of the night clubs: The Dai Nam. (There were some diacritical markings in there somewhere, too.) It was located on the east side of a traffic circle….a market circle….somewhere just to the south of downtown. It was on the second floor of the building. This was the club with the fantastic drummer. One of the clubs….the one with the guitarist who played as well as Les Paul…. was located just to northeast of downtown, near the Saigon River. The third club was located….well….somewhere not so far from the first club. This is where we sat and listened to the fabulous clarinet player….and, Man, he was good.

Yeah…. You are right. It took more than just one musician to keep us going back steadily for almost a year. I mean…. We would have not gone there if the place was dirty….or unsafe…..or unfriendly…..or very expensive. And….Most Important…. We would have not continued to go to these places if they had been hangout for soldiers….any kind of soldier…..any kind of military…..no matter how good the music was. Neither Ursel nor I had any desire to contend with the by-products of a “military bar”…. Constant fights, high prices, overpowering noise, constant solicitation by prostitutes, dirty surroundings, ever-present threat of terrorist attacks….

If we had wanted constant fights….we could have stayed at the barracks. If we had wanted overpowering noise…..we could have stayed at the barracks. As for the prostitutes: If we had wanted one, they were everywhere….just like Japanese in a national park in the summer. And… They always wanted soldiers to buy them some “Saigon Tea”. I never did figure out exactly what “Saigon Tea” was. Maybe it was really Tea….or a watered-down drink…. Whatever it was, it was expensive! And the girls nagged constantly trying to get soldiers to buy it for them. These girls, no doubt hired by the bars….and probably “working girls”…..were a constant nuisance. They would slither up to a guy….in what I am sure they thought was a very sexy, provocative manner….sling their arms around him….and purr (again, in what they thought was a very sexy voice), “You buy me Saigon Tea?” In the first place, it is very difficult….probably impossible…..for any Vietnamese to talk in a “sexy” voice, considering their 5 tone, sing-song, nasal language. Oh, without a doubt, many soldiers did find this to be a turn-on. Of course, they had their minds on other opportunities, though.

I think that both Ursel and I were fully capable of managing our “social life” without the necessity of paying an exorbitant price for mysterious drinks. On the other hand, with unemployment rampant in South Vietnam, this proved to be a steady and dependable means of employment for hundreds of otherwise unemployed Vietnamese women. We all had to help out in our own way…..

The clientele of these three night clubs ….our night clubs….was definitely geared toward the more….well, cultured, or refined, or sophisticated class of people. And, of course, Ursel and I, being cultured, refined and sophisticated rednecks fell into this category. Maybe one-fourth of the people we saw in these clubs were foreigners….i.e. Americans, Australians, French, etc. By far, though, most of them were Vietnamese who had come to spend an evening socializing with friends in a quiet and secure atmosphere. The loudest sound we heard was the drums. We could actually sit and talk….carry on a conversation.

The Dai Nam was probably our “Number One” venue. I don’t have any actual proof, but I can imagine we spent at least 300 evenings there! In fact, we were such regular customers that we had our own reserved table. I mean…. A table reserved just for us….. During their breaks, members of the little band or orchestra would come sit our table and talk for a few minutes. Ursel and I got to know several of them…..not very personally, of course…..but enough that they would talk about their families….the war….the state of security…. They would always ask about our welfare….our families….about the USA. And…. Oh…. How they hoped they could go there some day!

There was also an American singer who performed there almost nightly. For a while, it always puzzled us. Who was she? Was she famous? Was she married to a Vietnamese guy? Was she working for the CIA? Was she the ambassador’s wife? She wasn’t really so bad looking. Not what we could call a “babe”….but not so bad looking, either. She was a “healthy” girl, if you catch what I mean. She had a good clear, loud voice…..and a super, outgoing personality. Almost every night we were there….almost without exception…..she sang “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” and “House of the Rising Sun”. We fully understood “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”. That was sort of an unofficial anthem of American soldiers in South Vietnam. But… “House of the Rising Sun”? That song is about a brothel in New Orleans. OK…. Yes, I suppose that was appropriate, too. Anyway, this, at the time, was a fairly new Bob Dylan song…..and she probably just liked it. And, I seriously doubt if most of the people sitting there had any idea what the words meant…..certainly not the Vietnamese. Anyway, she eventually also became one of our circle of friends….acquaintances is more accurate, for we never saw her outside the nightclub. She told that she worked for the U. S. A. Embassy as a high level secretary. She had also stumbled onto the nightclub by accident. One night she got up and sang a couple songs…..and the owners kept asking her to come back until one night she just became a “regular”. One those lucky twists of fate….for both her and the people she sang for. You know….. I am thinking. Maybe Ursel and I should have asked if we could sing a couple songs. Yeah…..and be kicked out and banned from the club permanently!

Occasionally, we would exchange a few words with other people whom we saw at the Dai Nam often. But, these were only polite encounters. We….or at least I….never saw any of the people in any other setting. Most of the Americans worked for the Embassy or USAID (United States Agency for International Development) or USIA (Unites Sated Information Agency). They were in a strata or level far above us….two lowly enlisted men.

We did make one good American friend, though. And, let me tell you…. He was somewhat paranoid about our friendship. It was comical, really. He was a First Lieutenant…..and was the Special Services Officer for Headquarters, US Army Vietnam…..the same headquarters as Ursel and I. If you may not be familiar with military customs and protocol…. Well, enlisted men and officers simply did not mix. Sort of like water and oil, for example. Officers were the elite….the leaders….the executives….the chosen ones….at least one, if not more, notches above enlisted men. Now…. This is what the military thought and wanted others to believe. In my humble opinion…. Most officers I met were about as competent at their jobs as I would be at bull riding. But….that is another story. (And maybe it has changed by now.) Anyway, this guy always came to the club alone….always sat by himself…. One night he stopped at our table, just to say “Hi”, I guess. We invited him to sit down and join us. He did. He asked as what our jobs were. (Remember, we were in civilian clothes.) Maybe he thought we were the US Ambassadors or something…. Anyway, we told him that we were soldiers….and where we worked…..and what we did. We asked him about himself. This is when we found out that he was an officer….working in the Headquarters, just like us…. Except, that he was an officer! He said that his superiors disapproved of him making friends with….or hanging around with….enlisted men. We were all in civilian clothes, which would have made it difficult for anybody to know. But, he was constantly glancing around, checking people out….hoping that he didn’t see anybody else that he knew. He almost always faced away from the door….toward the wall. Poor guy…. He was just a kid, really. Probably younger than either Ursel or I. He was lonely…..and just like us, he did not want to spend any more time on the army base that was absolutely necessary. He lived with officers…..and he didn’t even like them! He was a good guy….and he fit well into our “group”. Anyway…. If somebody he knew walked in, Ursel and I would have simply introduced ourselves as General Darrah and General Cline.

It was at the Dai Nam nightclub that I became a great fan of gin and tonic. I am not at all sure how this became my nightly drink. It was probably Ursel…but I can’t say that with any certainty. At any rate, it was a step up from what I usually drank. Being from a small town…and from a rural area….my normal alcoholic drink was beer. (It was only a couple years ago in 2018 that my hometown finally voted to start selling “liquor”.) I became hooked on gin and tonic, and just like magic, a gin and tonic would turn up at our table shortly after we arrived. This was about the only mixed drink I knew for the remainder of that year.

We would usually end the night at one of the other clubs….predominately at he club with the clarinet player. He usually didn’t start playing until later in the evening, so it worked out perfectly. We were “famous” there, too. All the waiters, waitresses….and the band….knew us. And, I must say, they treated us more or less like part of the family. Just like the Dai Nam, we had our own table….ready and waiting when we walked in. Maybe an hour there, sipping on a gin and tonic, listening to the super-talented clarinet player…..and it was time to head back to the our home away from home….before the midnight curfew.

As I probably lamented about in an earlier blog…. None of the pictures I took in South Vietnam ever reached me at home. I am not sure what happened…. Who knows in a war zone? I was devastated…..but after fifty-five years, I have stopped expecting them. Outwardly, on the surface, to most people, all bars and nightclubs probably look the same. But…take my word for it: They are not. And when one is able to share the experiences with a loyal, trusted friend….. Well, that is what makes it all so special and memorable.

Meanwhile…..back at good old Tan Son Nhut Air Base….

A couple additional incidents come to mind from back in those days.

For some reason that I will never, ever understand, in the few months immediately after I arrived in South Vietnam, the guards for the various sensitive areas of the base were drawn from the various offices around the base. On the surface, the idea is pure idiocy. And, up on further examination…. It is even purer lunacy. Someone….and I am not sure who that “someone” was….just grabbed a roster of personnel and started pointing at names, it appears. They were taking soldiers….and I am not sure about the airmen….out of offices and assigning them to a night of what was called “guard duty”.

Yes….. For sure, I had been through eight weeks of Basic Training. Of course, I could fire a rifle. That was my only qualification for being a “guard”, though. Even that training was two years old by this time. We never performed this guard duty back in our basic training days. Even they knew we didn’t have the training or experience for this kind of job. Quite frankly, I had no idea what do to….and after I was transported to site I was to guard, it was even more vague.

The night I had been assigned to guard duty, I, along with several other office workers, was transported to a place that was called the POL dump. Nice name, isn’t it? POL was another name for “petroleum, oil, and lubricants” It was located somewhere out on the perimeter of the air base….somewhere, hopefully away from the runways and airplane hangars. I was only there that one time….and I had no idea where we were.

Once we got there….and this was somewhere around sundown….we were given rifles with a clip of ammo. I had not been issued any sort of weapon….and YES, we called them weapons or rifles…..not GUNS….since my last day of basic training back a couple years previously. There were an even number of us. We would “walk our post” for two hours and then have four hours off. We were issued some sort of instructions that we were to challenge any “intruder” by saying, “Halt! Who goes there?” And….no, I am not making them up. I am not sure what we were to do after that point. Shoot them, maybe? Officially, we were supposed to “Challenge” them. If the term “challenge” was ever explained to us, I do not recall what the explanation was.

It was a long night….and a rather uncomfortable night. For one thing, all of us “pretend soldiers” were nervous….somewhat paranoid….unsure of what to do and even why we were there (and I am still wondering). Actually, there wasn’t much there…..just a bunch of large storage tanks and barrels, which I am assuming contained some kind of petroleum, oil or lubricant. There were probably 4….maybe six….of us guards on duty on our two hour shifts. Of course…. We were going to be heroic and protect the place from an enemy attack. And….then they would probably make a movies about our “brave, patriotic mission”. Anyway…. We would walk around for a few minutes, then meet and talk….and discuss why we were there and what we were supposed to do….and then go walk around for another few minutes. Once during that two hour period, the “Officer of the Guard” came out to check on us. I am pretty sure he also worked in one of the offices somewhere on the airbase. And… He is probably lucky that one of us didn’t shoot him!

As I said, this POL storage area was located somewhere on the perimeter of the giant airbase/airport. It was surrounded, like everything else that had anything vaguely to do with the military, with rows and stacks of concertina wire. This basically was the only fortification present. Giant flood lights where placed at irregular intervals around the outside border….casting a light perhaps ten or twenty yards out into the inky darkness. Of course, there were the ubiquitous flares, which cast their ghostly light on the landscape. Yeah…. It was dark outside. Anybody dressed in any color except maybe white or an iridescent hunter’s yellow or orange could move around pretty much undetected. We guards… I guess we were the lucky ones. The POL compound was lighted like a movie set. We could have sat in an easy chair and had plenty of light to read

comfortably. We were, as they say, “sitting ducks”…. Human targets.

It was a long night, indeed. Getting any sort of quality sleep lying on an army cot in a strange building with all the lights on was out of the question. When our twelve hour shift had ended, we were loaded into the back of a two and half ton truck and taken back to the front gate….. our rifles were collected, along with the unused ammo (all of it) and we were instructed to go take a shower and go to our barracks and sleep until noon. Which we did.

By the time I got to our office, my boss, the Adjutant-General, had already found why I had not showed up in the morning at the regular time. Oh let me add…. Nobody had bothered to tell him that I had been assigned to “guard duty”. He was not a happy camper. In fact, he was rather angry. He picked up the telephone and called somebody….and I wasn’t about to ask him who it was. I could hear him talking, however…..as could everybody else in the office. “Who gave you the authority to take a man from my office without my permission?” Pause…..for the answer that I never heard…. “Well, from now on, you are not to take anybody from my office for any reason without my permission. Do you understand that?” Apparently, they did. He hung up the telephone, looked at me….and smiled. That was the end of my career as a guard.

You might remember that I said that I had not been issued a rifle….a weapon….since I completed basic training right after I entered the army. That is true. But, I had fired them….and fairly regularly. We worked on Saturday morning…. Well, sort of. Normally, on Saturday morning, most members of the Adjutant-General’s office would load into the back of the standard two and half ton truck….the work horse of the Army, insofar as I am concerned….and drive over to a firing range.

We unloaded ourselves….and then began a time of pure fun. We fired rifles, pistols….even machine guns….for an hour or two before piling back into the truck for the trip back to the office. I loved those Saturday mornings. These sessions were called “Weapon’s Familiarization Sessions”…..and I took full advantage of the time. I fired as many weapons as I could. There were normal, paper targets posted on make-shift walls and on “clothesline”-type things, strung from post to post. These were the targets that we usually used for rifle or pistol practice. I think I did pretty well at hitting these targets. Obviously, I did not walk out there and take a close look though. Or I would have certainly become the target….and that was not part of my job description.

The neat thing ……or crazy thing….was, however: There was another part of the firing range that did not contain formal targets, like we did back in basic training. Strewn around this large, vacant (obviously) field were just stuff….actually junk. These were the “targets” we shot at, primarily with a machine gun. Even from today’s perspective….. Firing those machine guns was fun. There is no other way to put it. Maybe if I had been in an infantry unit, they would not have seemed so much fun. But, for an office soldier….they were something I looked forward to on Saturday with great anticipation.

As you read this short account of my life in South Vietnam during the Vietnam War, it probably sounds like a stark contrast to the stories that thousands of other soldiers have told. And… It is. I fully…and sometimes painfully….realize that the year that I spent in South Vietnam was charmed. I was one of the fortunate ones. I was able to come home and talk about my experiences in a positive manner. I have mostly good memories of the year I spent there.

Why? Well…. First of all, I was there in the “toddler stage” of the war….when the war was still a child….just before it began to grow….just before the war escalated and burgeoned into the catastrophe it ultimately proved to be. Second: I will always believe that the fact that I had a college degree and had taught school for two and a half years prior to joining the Army was a huge factor. I think it gave my commanders and superiors the confidence that I could handle the jobs that I had. And, as I said: I think I was good at what I did. Third: I was a conscientious soldier. From basic training through my final day in the Army, I tried to always do my best, to always make my superiors look good, never to cause trouble or to slack off. It paid off. This is the kind of soldier that most high level officers were looking for. Fourth: I never, ever, caused trouble or got into trouble. I mean… Why do soldiers do that? They are never going to win, and it is always going to result in punishment and unhappiness for them. Fourth: In each of my permanent assignments, I found a good and loyal and trusted friend. I never felt that I was alone. I had somebody to share with, somebody to talk to, somebody to relax with….to hang out with, somebody who was going through the same circumstances as I. Fifth: I am sure, also, as Bob Dylan wrote in his rather cynical song, I had “God on my side.”

The time I spent as Secretary to the Adjutant-General of US Army Vietnam was a significant period of my life. It was probably the time of my life when I discovered that I could function on my own….away from family, familiar surroundings, the support of a close community of friends and relatives. I found that I could be part of an important team, too. The Adjutant-General is an officer who is in many ways the “face” of the Army. Tons of correspondence was generated to diverse audiences: Parents, law makers, military leaders, the press, the military personnel serving in South Vietnam. I found that I could contribute to this mission, that what I did was important, that people depended on me to “hold up my end of the deal”. I learned, maybe really for the first time, the value of making a plan, meeting deadlines, planning ahead, keeping my word. I understood that only by working together we could achieve our goals and contribute to accomplishing our overall objectives. Yes….. I think I did a good job. In fact, I know I did. And, I enjoyed it. There is something satisfying about being part of a well-oiled machine….with each part of that machine doing its part.

So…. That brings me to the end of just a brief sample of my year in South Vietnam. I did not keep a diary or anything like that. These are just random memories….and I hope….and believe…..that most of them are correct. For a young soldier who was filled with dread and fear when he first learned that he had been assigned to a mysterious, unknown, dangerous jungle country….to a “war” that people knew very little about at the time….. Well, things turned out pretty well, I think.

After all these years, I tried to contact my friend Ursel….something that I should have done many years earlier. I was too late. His daughter wrote and told me that her dad….my friend….died in 2013. I was very sad. I really felt like a part of me had died, too…..an important piece of my past. But, nobody can take away the memories, the good times, the bond that was formed and the adventures we shared.