It was a long ride from the airport to the base and the fear is just now REALLY settling in. I’m hung over BAD. I haven’t slept in 48 hours and I am so tired but I can’t sleep. I’m scared. I’m IN the AIR FORCE, I’m IN the Air Force, and I’m IN the Air Force. It’s really time to get that through my thick skull. There is no getting out, no magic pill, no wishing it away. I really needed to shut the Hell up. Ok so taking orders from a bus driver is a bit surrealistic but that is just the way it is, so get over it. The faces on the bus are so incredibly different I see some happy faces, scared faces and faces covered with tears. I can’t imagine what they see in my face. Nobody wants to sit near me, guilt by association I guess. I am a trouble maker, a marked man and I know it.

The bus driver announced that we were arriving at Lackland. Our final destination for this incredibly long day, its 11pm, I can finally get some sleep. This is my first look at a real AF base and it’s not what I expected. Row after row of old 2 story buildings lining streets spread out like a checker board. I haven’t seen an airplane since we came in the gate and saw the jet statue. I know there must be an air field someplace but I haven’t seen it. I thought I was in the Air Force, where are the planes? I kind of assumed we would be learning to fly? What happens at Boot Camp? I heard a lot about it. I’m in good shape, I played Football and Wrestled so I knew I was good there. I really have no clue but I am about to find out. The bus came to a stop.

The doors of the bus opened and a guy with a Smokey Bear hat got on. The loudest man I have ever heard yells “Every Body out! Get of this bus, double time!”. When we get off the bus Smokey lines us all up and starts yelling again. “Alright listen up, you are ALL Air Men now, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” I understood, boy did I understand. “I Can’t hear you” so we all yell in one voice YES. Smokey says “Yes-Sergeant!” so, yes SERGEANT we all say, ‘I Can’t Hear You!” YES SERGEANT! “Your Uncle Sam will now be taking care of you, you will learn to love him like a Father and he will LOVE you!” Oh my God this guy believes what he’s saying. WTF what have I gotten myself into?

We were all marched into the ‘chow hall’ and told we had 15 minutes to eat. “Take All You Want but you better eat ALL you take!”. I really didn’t know how hungry I was I hadn’t eaten since the supper with my family and boy did it smell good. Man I never expected this, an all you can eat buffet. I took a big helping of taters toast, bacon and scrambled eggs. I piled it high and poured sausage over the whole mess. I never tasted food that tasted as good as that meal. I looked at the clock, 10 minutes to go, I started shoveling it in. I always ate fast but never like this, 5 minutes to go.

“Airman Benton” I raised my hand. “Stand Up when your spoken to AirMan” sorry SGT. “What are you sorry about AirMan?” Now I was truly stumped, what am I sorry about? Hmmmm interesting dilemma. Sorry I didn’t stand up? “Sorry I didn’t stand up… Sergeant” Yes sir, “Do I look like an officer to you? It’s YES – SERGEANT” yes sir. I don’t really know why I said yes sir I think it might have been the lack of sleep and hangover but whatever, it was the wrong answer and I knew it right away. ‘Are you STUPID Airman Benton? I said it it always YES – SERGEANT”. Yes sergeant, sorry sergeant. “Sorry for WHAT Airman?” Sorry I didn’t stand up? sorry I called you sir? I looked around very nervously and saw everyone looking down shoveling in food, 3 minutes to go.”Airman Benton I understand you don’t LIKE the Air Force way, You don’t like to be on time and you must be some big time Comedian that can’t keep his big fat trap shut!”. Oh my God is this ever going to end? No sergeant, I meant no disrespect, I was.(I didn’t finish ) “Shut your Pie Hole Airman. Let’s see if you can be on time and finish this fine meal your Uncle has given you.” 1 minute to go, I sat down and started shoveling. “Did I tell you to sit down Airman?” No sir, “Do I look like an Officer to you?” No sergeant, I stood up. ”You have 30 seconds to get your sorry ass fed and outside in formation, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” yes sergeant, may I sit sergeant? “Sit, eat I will see you outside – ON TIME”. 15 seconds, I had to finish it all and get outside in 15 seconds, I ate, FAST! I crammed it all it my mouth, all of it. I swallowed all I could and stuffed the rest in my mouth. I dropped my tray and ran out the door just as the guys were forming up. I made it.

“Airman Benton?” Oh shit what now? “Airman Benton?” my mouth was full and I was chewing as fast as I could so I mumbled yes Sergeant. “Front and Center”, I ran to the front as fast as I could and stood at what I thought was a respectful attention. “Are you eating in my formation?” I swallowed, almost choking, sorry sergeant I had to hurry and eat all my…(I did not finish). ”Airman can’t you be on time for anything?” This ain’t going away. “Swallow it all, NOW! Back in line Airman, Shut up and don’t you EVER chew your cud in my formation EVER!” yes sergeant, I ran like my pants were on fire.That Sgt. introduced our new Training Instructor (TI) Sgt. Milner.

Sgt. Milner was a little guy that looked like he was made of pure muscle and bone. He had his Smokey hat down over his eyes and he looked VERY intense. Just as our new daddy was about to speak the other Sgt. says “Keep an eye on Airman Benton he seems to have a little trouble with our Air Force way of life” What a look Milner gave me. I felt his stare down to my toes. How did this happen to me? I really wanted to be on the lowdown but that wasn’t working worth a shit. Milner gave his instructions on how to try and march. Away we went, I had no idea where we were going but we were going. After a 10 minute walk we got to our new home, our Barracks.

Sgt. Milner told us about our new home. We were going to keep his house spotless. We would always be cleaning. He told us to get inside and find a bunk. The barracks was 2 stories high with Milner’s quarters by the door on the first floor. Across the hall was a small laundry. The latrine was located behind his quarters on the first floor. The Latrine had a row of open showers, 6 urinals, 4 toilet stalls and a long line of sinks with a long mirror above them. There was no door on the latrine or the stalls. I would get to know every nook and cranny of that room WAY too well.

I went in to find by bunk when Milner said, in a very load voice, “Airman Benton, Front and Center!” Shit! Yes Sgt. “Airman we ain’t going to have any problem here are we?” No Sgt. He stared a while and told me to find a bunk. I got the only one left, next to the latrine, Lucky me.

Sgt. Milner explained to all of us that our training would begin in the morning AND since it was after midnight we would be allowed to sleep in until 6am. Then he called me out again “Airman Benton”, Man this is really getting old. I was informed that we had to have a man on watch at all times every night and I was to be honored with the first watch. Each man would rotate this duty but I was going to get to go first, oh boy! I had not slept since 7am 2 days ago. He gave me a reflective sash and belt, each man would give to the next. If anyone tried to get out or move around I was to stop them. Everybody went to bed, Milner went to his room and I stood at the door for my 2 hour watch. I stood at the door as everyone else passed out. I could hear them breath or snore and a cool Texas-April breeze came in through the front door. You can’t believe how much my legs hurt. I kind of sat on my haunches against the wall and watched the clock. 1 hour 30 minutes to go. The next thing I know someone kicked my feet and I woke up looking into the cold grey eyes of Sgt. Milner.

Part 5. Just when you thought it could not get worse………

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Sgt. Milner pulled me to my feat screaming bloody murder. He woke the whole barracks, all the lights came on. He said “Airman Benton here could not stand his watch tonight so ALL of us will do it for him.” He told ME to go lie down and get some sleep but everyone else would stand watch for the next hour until the next watch took over. The guy that was super bummed was the guy coming on after me because he had to stay up this hour then the next two. Guess who that was? That’s right the ROTC squad leader from St Louis. I started to protest until I saw those eyeballs drilling into my skull. I wimped on over to my bunk and laid down. The lights went off and Milner said “Anybody falls asleep and you will ALL pull duty till morning”. Now I could not sleep at all. The rest of the hour slowly ticked by then the guys all went to their beds. Except Mr. ROTC, he stayed at his post for 2 more hours while he stared at me staring at him. I finally got about an hours sleep.

6am and Sgt. Milner woke everyone singing “Oh what a beautiful morning”. He told us to shower, shave and brush our teeth and be sure to use plenty of soap or shampoo on our hair. This didn’t seem so bad to me, Milner was actually being kind of a nice guy. It took us all till about 7 to get everyone out front. Sgt. Milner showed us how to step together as we “marched” down the street to the chow hall. We went inside to another great breakfast and had 30 minutes to eat it, sitting down. That whole morning I kept my mouth shut, looking down trying to disappear. No problem because nobody had anything to say to me. Everybody was pretty pissed about the night before.

After breakfast we lined up and marched to the barber shop. This was the moment we all dreaded. Milner warned us to shut up, sit in the chair and DON’T MOVE. “Airman Benton, front and center” I was in front of the whole “flight” (we were now a flight). “Airman Do you have anything to say to your fellow Airmen?” I apologized as best I could. Nobody was buying it, they were all pretty tired (especially Mr. ROTC). Sgt. put me in the chair first. I was not going to say a word, no jokes, no nothing. Sgt. told the barber “Airman Benton is a special joy to us all could you make sure his haircut is nice and neat”. That guy dug so far into my skull I thought my brain was being shaved. I actually had blood in one spot. The barber saw the blood and said “oops that happens sometimes; here let me put some of this on it.” He put the worst smelling stuff on my head and it burned so bad I had tears in my eyes. The barber started laughing, Milner started laughing and then EVERYONE started laughing. This went on for about a minute until Milner started lining up the troops and everyone got all their hair cut off. Nobody was bleeding but me. Sgt. Milner started us down the road yelling at each step, LEFT – RIGHT – LEFT – RIGHT singling out anyone who got out of step. We marched for an hour. Up and down every street in our training area. Everywhere we went people were yelling about “Rainbows” on the street! I found out that Rainbows were us. All dressed in our street clothes I guess we did look the part against all the drab green. We Rainbows marched back to the chow hall for lunch. Believe it or not the food at basic was all pretty good. We had 30 minutes for lunch. The whole time we ate we were singled out as Rainbows. After lunch we learned to March, stand at attention, at ease and every kind of way to line up. We marched back to barracks and Sgt. Milner showed us what clean meant to him. We went into the latrine, towels everywhere, shaving cream, soap, it was a mess. Milner asked “Who is going to clean all this up?” That day I learned that I never knew what clean was until now. I mean it took hours and it looked CLEAN. Then we were informed that from that moment on we were to keep it that clean. Always and without exemption.

Life in basic training is hard. The Military must first break a man completely down so they can build him anew. It all starts with “The Talk”. Sgt. Milner sat everyone in the Barracks down on the 2^nd floor and told us what to expect. Basic lasts 6 weeks, the first two weeks will be the worst. Sgt. Milner explained that the first two weeks we would learn to become a team. The team was the goal we had to lose ourselves to make the team stronger. No soldier really dies for their country, they die for each other. You fight to save your comrades, your team. Your life could one day rest in the hands of the other men on your team. Men that would risk their own lives to save yours as you would do the same for them. The next 2 weeks would be a learning time, with lots of marching. Week 3 would be basic Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) and Air Force rules and regulations with lots of marching. Week 4 would be a time of real strength and training. We will learn how to shoot and run the Obstacle courses with lots of marching. Week 5 would be testing and lots of marching. Week 6 would be team contests and games with lots of marching. Finally we would all graduate. The worst part of ‘The Talk” was the fact that if you ever got out of line in any way we would face a stay in the stockade followed by a complete start over with another unit just starting out with 6 weeks to go, AGAIN. That would be a fate worse than death.

Then it was time to march back to the dining hall to the cheers of RAINBOW as we went along. We had 30 minutes to eat; another great meal then the RAINBOWS marched back to the barracks. Sgt. Milner told us to write our Mama’s and tell them we made it ok and that we loved it here. He told us to tell them in case of emergency they could contact the Base Commander and we were not allowed to use the phone for the first 3 weeks. We then handed them to him; he read them then sealed them. They were sent out that night.

Let me step outside myself for a moment here. 3 weeks without a call was NOT going to work for me. No one had told me about this and I really wanted to call my girlfriend like I said I was going to. I wanted to call my Mommy and tell her to get me the Hell out of here. That is exactly why we couldn’t call out. The Air Force didn’t want 10,000 Mama’s calling to get their sweet young sons out of that damn place. I didn’t know it then but now I see the phycology behind all that RAINBOW crap. I couldn’t wait to get my uniforms so I would blend in with everyone else. Now here were all these guys really wanting to get into uniform. Pretty smart on the Air Forces part and that was just a start.

9pm: Lights out. Guess who got the 1^st night guard duty? I did NOT fall asleep.

The next day we were startled awake at 5am by Sgt. Milner screaming and banging trash cans, we had 15 minutes to fall out in front of the barracks: beds made and our areas clean. 15 minutes? No time to shower, shave brush our teeth? I never really made a bed before; I mean really made one right. Out the door we ran. Today we saw the real Sgt. Milner. He was screaming and all red faced as he lined us up and we quick marched to a closer dining hall. RAINBOW all the way. We had 15 minutes to eat and be out front. Remember “Take what you want, eat all you take” and boy do they mean it, EAT WHAT YOU TAKE. No leftovers on your plate, ever. I took eggs, toast. Bacon and hash browns, lots of hash browns because I realized this was one thing the cooks really did right. I dug right in, wait a fucking minute this food is awful. I mean this was so bad you had to choke it down. 10 minutes to go and the eggs tasted like snot. The bacon was a grease burn brick, the toast was cold/dry and the hash browns tasted like soap. I had to eat all of it. I learned that day that not all dining halls are created equal. I ate it ALL and it was awful.

I made it to formation on time and away we went, Sgt. Milner was great at creating cadence we were getting pretty good ( I thought ) to the sound of RAINBOW, RAINBOW. We marched for about an hour and finally got to this long row of warehouses. It was time to get our uniforms, terrific no more RAINBOWS. The guys in the uniform line were actually pretty funny. They probably told the same jokes every day but I laughed at each one. We got fatigues and dress uniforms, boots and chukka boots. Then came the scary part, Green Boxers. I never wore boxers before and I was not into it. These were not just Boxers these were BIG, BIG, Boxers. We got a big bag to put everything into so we loaded up what we didn’t wear and Marched back to the barracks. By the time we got back to the barracks I had ¾ of my boxer’s way up my ass. I also had a blister on both feet from the new boots.

When we got back Sgt. Milner took 2 hours showing us how to fold all our new clothes and how to hang the rest. Everyone had a footlocker and a locker. The uniforms had to be folded exactly the same way every day (I still fold me clothes the Air Force Way). The hanging clothes had to be exactly ½ inch from hanger to hanger. All of our beloved civilian clothes we washed, folded, bagged and turned in for storage. Man that part hurt, I wanted my tighty whiteys back. Every day from this day forward our footlocker would be expected each morning and everything better be folded and in the right spot. Your toothbrush and razor had to be placed just right. EVERYTHING in that locker had to be clean and neat. I tried to follow along as best I could and when Milner came to inspect my locker he picked it up and dumped it all on the floor. “Benton this is NOT the Air Force Way!” So I folded it again, got my toothbrush and razor just right, everything was perfect. Sgt. Milner picked it up and dumped it all on the floor again “Benton this is NOT the Air Force way!” This happened 4 times until finally Mr. ROTC took pity on me and showed me I had been rolling my sox wrong. Next time it passed, I could have kissed Mr. ROTC on the lips.

We formed up and marched to Lunch. This time I didn’t take so much and boy was I glad, how can you possibly screw up a baloney sandwich? But they did! 15 minutes later it was back to the barracks.

All the rest of that day we practiced on our lockers and footlockers. I really felt like the United States of America was such a safer place to live because I was now wearing boxers and knew how to fold them. We learned how to make a bed so you could bounce a quarter off it, and proved it could be done. I had never seen anything like all this; it was really hard to get it just right. All the corner folds had to be just right; it was measured with a ruler to be sure. We learned how to clean the latrine and I mean C*L*E*A*N. We had to clean around the stools with a toothbrush, the faucets all had to shine like new and the mirrors could not have one spot anywhere. NOW I knew our Country was safe from those crazy commies.

 

We all formed up and marched to the dining hall for supper. I was really hungry by now and ate a little more. I figured mashed taters would be hard to screw up, I figured wrong. They had cake so I took a big hunk, sorry I did that. 15 Minutes we were on our way “home”. We had to go the long way to get our quota of marching done and by now my blisters had blisters. I felt like my new boots were full of blood. Blisters must have been common because when we got done marching, before we fell out Sgt. Milner told us that if anyone had blisters they should be treated now. About a dozen of us marched (smart, with blisters) to the medic and got our feet treated. Man that was painful but at least I could walk. We marched back to the barracks in time for Sgt Milner’s Good Night Speech.

We would be up at 5am and in formation for breakfast by 5:30. Everyone had to go, every bed must be made, every locker and footlocker had to be perfect and the latrine had to be C*L*E*A*N. I’m thinking “how the f**k we going to get that done?” Next morning we found out you never left the barracks without everything in order and C*L*E*A*N. We did, but never again!

 

 

 

Part 6. How to make a Casket

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3:30 am The ROTC squad leader woke everyone up. Revelry is at 5 so what the Hell? “We have to clean the barracks before we go.” What a brown noser! So we all get up and head for the showers. “No time for showers we have work to do.” Now he is starting to get under my skin, this guy is really a pain in the ass. Everyone that needed to shave got that out of the way. We all got our toilet necessities done, we brushed our teeth, we made our beds and we started to clean. Each man was responsible for our bed, lockers and foot lockers. All of us cleaned the latrine, floors and everything else. 5am it’s time to wake up? We all hurried to get dressed and fall out. Sgt. Milner meets us in the street with a warning that everything in his house better be clean and in order. C*L*E*A*N and in order. We marched to breakfast, ate and marched around for an hour or so.

Today we started physical training (PT) in earnest. I played football and wrestled so I was in pretty good shape but some of the guys were in real trouble. In order to get out of basic you had to run a mile (in Chukka boots), 100 pushups, 100 sit ups, 25 pull ups and I can’t remember the rest, but this was the Air Force so it wasn’t too bad. I actually liked the PT part of each day because I could concentrate on sweat and pain. I was miserable home sick. I wanted to call Dee and my Mama but I had to wait another 15 days. It was too soon for mail to get to us so we all felt it. PT took an hour or so then we marched back to the barracks.

I could not believe what we all saw when we walked in. Beds were overturned, footlockers upside down and the latrine had toilet paper, toothpaste and shaving cream everywhere. Sgt. Milner called us all to attention and explained the inadequate job we had done cleaning the place this morning. We had 10 minutes to straighten the barracks and fall out for the march to lunch. What an ASSHOLE this guy was. We ate and then off to class the rest of the afternoon. We marched to supper and back to the barracks. That night we learned the secret to being C*L*E*A*N. We all showered before lights out. My face was smooth as a babies butt so I didn’t need to shave but those that did shave all used the same razor which was then hidden in a bed frame. We all used the same toothpaste and shaving cream which was cleaned perfectly and placed in Mr. ROTC’s footlocker. It was lights out at 9 and we stayed up till 1 cleaning, buffing and making sure everything was perfect. We got up at 3 again and started all over. This time we got it close to right so that is what we did every night for the rest of basic.

I could tell you more about basic but I would bore you to death. For me it was the worst time of my life. I hated taking orders. I hated being Airman Benton and I hated Sgt. Milner most of all. Sgt. Milner became my worst nightmare come true. This guy HATED me, why? I was late for my physical 1500 miles away in a different world, in a different lifetime. I look back on it now and I think I see what was happening. Every group needs an example and that example was ME. But: I was my own worst enemy. I just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, shut up. Everything I said came out wrong, everything I did, I did it wrong. I just could not catch a break. Was I feeling sorry for myself? Was I scared, alone and drowning in self-pity. I counted every day, every hour and every minute till I could get out of this place.

I will tell you just a couple of things that did change the rest of my life. Basic for me was never boring. My first call to Dee stopped my heart. Dee was pregnant. Her Mother wanted her to have an abortion. I wanted her to marry me as soon as basic was over. Abortion was not legal in Missouri but her Mom would take care of it. I begged her to wait I wanted a family with her. Dee and I would often look at pictures of ourselves as kids and wonder if our kids would look like her or me? I wanted that baby and I wanted Dee. Then her Mother got on the phone and told me it was too late Dee had ALREADY had the abortion. Dee got back on the phone and confessed that it had indeed happened. I wanted to die. We talked for a few minutes more. Her Mom had convinced her that if we still loved each other after I finished my service we could then start a family. Looking back I realize she was probably right but at that moment I wanted to kill myself. A few days before this call a guy in our flight drank from a bottle of bleach and that bleach was sounding pretty good to me. Dee cried, I cried, we told each other we loved each other and we hung up. In truth Dee and I were never the same after that but we didn’t know it at the time. I cannot tell you how numb I was that night. I wanted that family, I wanted to go home and I wanted to be dead. I didn’t think I could get much lower. I prayed a lot that night and I did not sleep at all.

The very next morning after breakfast we marched to our first round of shots. These were not really “shots” we lined up and walked through the clinic while air guns pounded the inoculations into our arms. We were warned not to flinch because the gun would cut a line across our arms and we would have to do it over. Now I hate shots but these guns were much worse. Guys were passing out all over the place. That first hit will wake you up! You get one in each arm AT THE SAME TIME! OMG it was like two thugs has hit you as hard as they can, on both side of your body and both wearing very sharp rings. I made it through but I had one more round to go. Every man still standing had tears flowing down their cheeks as we got up to the next two guys smiling and holding air guns. BAM! I almost passed out myself. The nurse gave me a piece of gum and told me to rotate my arms in the air and run around as fast as I could go. We must have looked pretty funny that morning, thirty guys running around swing our arms and trying not to pass out or throw up. This went on for about ten minutes and we were lined up and marched over to the parade grounds. Sgt. Milner called us to a halt; we all lined up in formation and came to attention. “Airman Benton!” oh shit. I ran out to the front of formation where Milner was standing and came to attention. “Airman Benton are you chewing gum in my formation?” oh shit. I forgot to throw away the gum. I swallowed the gum, mistake. “Airman Benton tonight you will take that gum and you will build it a coffin, make it four by four inches. You will get it approved by your squad leader. Then Airman Benton you will go under my barracks and dig a hole two feet deep and a foot wide. You will put your gum in that coffin and you will bury that gum. You will make a grave marker that says, HERE LIES THE GUM OF AIRMAN BENTON.” I knew he was not kidding. I said YES SERGEANT! Then he starts staring at my face, oh shit. “AIRMAN BENTON, did you shave this morning?” I had really never shaved in my life. I mean maybe once a month I would mow the peach fuzz but I never grew facial hair. “Yes Sergeant!” Milner got right up to my nose, “Then what is this?” plinck! I felt him pull out a hair from the top of my neck. He put this two inch whisker up to my eye balls. I freaked, what do I say, what do I do? “AIRMAN BENTON believes that our rules do not affect him, is that right AIRMAN BENTON?” I of course said, NO SERGEANT! “AIRMAN BENTON you are a liar” oh shit. Then the Sgt. called out the squad leader and instructed him that he was to monitor my gum burial tonight and that he was to personally shave me every day for the rest of the week. Mr. ROTC was NOT happy. “Men AIRMAN BENTON has continually broken our rules and does not seem to grasp the Air Force way of life so we will ALL March DOUBLE time for the next hour and think of ways we can help him see the error of his ways.”

One hour later I had thirty enemies, sore arms, sore feet and a broken heart. We all marched to lunch. No one talked to me. After lunch we went to classes and then to supper. The dining hall was a lonely place that evening. I stole a large spoon. We marched back to the barracks to shine our boots and clean our barracks. We had a wooden hatch by the latrine to allow plumbers to get under the barracks and maintain the plumbing. I opened the hatch and I went under the dorm and started digging. It was dark and slimy with creepy crawlers everywhere. I used my spoon to dig a hole two feet deep and one foot wide. I came up out of the hole and to my astonishment several of the guys were working on a makeshift coffin and headstone. They were laughing and having a great time, not really laughing at me but laughing at Milner. We fashioned a coffin made of cardboard, someone produced some chewed up gum and we made a headstone of plastic with the words HERE LIES THE GUM OF AIRMAN BENTON. I went back under and covered the coffin. I erected the headstone and crawled out of the hole all dirty and slimy with a smile on my face because I had finally found some friends. I needed friends after the 36 hours I had just lived through. Next day and for a week Mr. ROTC shaved my peach fuzz.

 

Part 7. Crossroads always Crossroads

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It’s funny how you never know what a life changing event is while it is going on. Certainly I knew that lost love and the Air Force was a game changer but I don’t think I realized just how much things would change. Have you ever had a chance meeting or event that so radically changed your perception of who you are or what you believe? I have had lots of these moments that come totally out of the blue and wreck whatever plans I have made for my life. I think my favorite saying is “Men plan, God laughs.” That pretty much describes my whole life. I have never been much of a planner. I dream a lot, I want a lot, but I never really follow through with anything. I look back now and understand “what the hell was I thinking?” Dee was still in high school, I was making E1 wages with no education outside of a “Degree” from Career Academy School of Broadcasting. I knew someday I was going to really make it big in Radio. Really hit the big time with big money and glorious fame. My plan to get there wasn’t worth a shit but that is what being young is all about. I could change a true, long held belief and change it in a heartbeat. I proved almost every day that I was always my own worse enemy.

The next real life changing thing happened the next week. Life changing not because of what happened but what didn’t happen. A sharp looking Captain came to our formation. He was wearing a cool blue beret and dress blues. He told us of his adventure as an Air Sea Rescue Specialist. He rescued down pilots. The Blue Beret was an elite wing of the Air Force. They trained with Army Rangers and Navy seals. It was a year – long incredibly hard training program. 70% of volunteers washed out but if you had what it takes you would wear your pride with honor your entire life. Now here I am: a guy that joined the AF to get out of going to Vietnam. I wanted no part of war in any form. I was against our involvement in Southeast Asia and I now hated the AF so of course I volunteered. Sgt. Milner took the s-l-o-w head turn. The rest of the Flight took the s-l-o-w head turn. In my head “I” am taking the s-l-o-w head turn, what? Me? Oh hell why not, at least it was a change. The Blue Beret Capt. Smiled and told me to fall out and wait. He asked again if anyone else wanted to be a hero. No takers. Capt. Beret took me for a cup of coffee. Cup of Coffee? What was all this? Everybody else was going on with training but I was getting a cup of coffee with my new buddy. I can’t tell you what this meant to me. I was finally special again, just like my Momma always told me I was. What all this had to do with my Air Force radio experience I had no idea but I was going to be “Special”.

Capt. Beret told me that I had made the right decision. Guys like us were born for something better. Capt. Blue Hat when on to say that this was the time he was supposed to talk me out of it. He knew he was wasting his time because I was ready, I was “SPECIAL”. He would pick me up in the morning after breakfast at the barracks. I was to wear my t-shirt, shorts and of course my “Chukka” boots. I was to run an 8 minute mile (no problem) and 10 different types of strength tests (no problem) and swim an hour (oh shit). I can swim; I spent every summer taking swimming lessons but most of that time I spent chasing girls and playing grab ass. I can swim: but not really well. I don’t know why but to this day I swim with my head out of the water. My swim instructors always got on my ass about it but I knew it was never going to be important in my life, until now. I told the Capt. I wasn’t a great swimmer but he told me I didn’t need to be, “can you float? No problem, piece of cake, I’m your man! He told me to take the rest of the afternoon off and get ready for tomorrow. He warned me not to eat a big breakfast.

The very first time since my arrival at Lackland AFB I was alone. I walked back to the barracks. I knew I wasn’t going to lie down because once your bed was made you sure as hell was not going to mess it up again. I sat outside and waited. I sat in the wonderful early spring Texas sunshine and I waited. I was so happy not to be marching around with the rest of the guys and I waited. I had no watch but I waited. I waited, I waited, and I was bored? How can I be bored? I am basically a very lazy guy and I made a science out of avoiding work but I (me?) was bored. That afternoon took forever and it gave me time to think. Was this really the right thing to be doing? It certainly meant going to the one place I was trying to avoid. I always knew I was special and this would allow me to finally blossom into the kind of man John Wayne wanted me to be.

Finally I watched Flights start marching back to the barracks area and I stood by the door like some kind of dork trying to decide how I should be standing. Attention, no. At ease, maybe. So I sat down so no one would think I was trying to conform in any way. Sgt. Milner dismissed the Flight and told everyone to get ready for supper. “AIRMAN BENTON” oh shit. I ran to where he was standing and he told me to sit down. The Sergeant sat with me and we talked, really talked. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this? He admitted he had been hard on me but felt I needed it because I had no discipline in my life. Milner was talking like a real live person, oh shit. He told me to think hard before jumping into something I might regret. I couldn’t believe this. Here is a guy that HATES me, worried about me? The rest of the Flight came out, he told me to fall in and off to the dining hall we went.

That night everybody wanted to talk. What was it like? What would I be doing? Would I finish basic? Would I need to pack? The number one question I got was “ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS?” I was beginning to think maybe I was.

Next morning came early, I didn’t sleep much. I got up, cleaned up and fell out for the march to breakfast. After we ate I got back in formation for what I thought might be my last march back to the barracks. Capt. Beret was waiting but today he wore fatigues. He looked pretty snazzy in that Blue Beret. I ran in, changed clothes and we ran from barracks to barracks collecting heroes and off to the PT field. Capt. Beret told us what the morning would be like. Capt. Beret explained that if we made it we would train with the Army Rangers. Jump School and Survival training. We had to be in good shape to keep up. First we did pushups, pull-ups and sit-ups. Then we ran the mile. No problem so far. In fact so far everyone made it, and then he said “Let’s do it again”. Ok, but this was not what we expected. So, more pushups, pull-ups and sit-ups then we ran ANOTHER mile. This time only half were left standing. “Ok, one more time” Oh shit. This time only 4 of us made it. We started with 20, 4 of us remained. “Let’s go swimming” oh shit. We ran to the pool. The Pool Beret was now in charge. He explained that when he blew the whistle we were all to jump in and stay in for one full hour. No touching the bottom but other than that you could do whatever it took to stay afloat. Capt. Pool Beret explained that we would be doing our water training with Navy Seals and we would learn how to open water 5 miles before it was done. Capt. Pool Beret blew the whistle and we jumped in. I swam and floated and went under water a while. I floated on my back, treaded water and anything it would take to make it through. Capt. Pool Beret yelled 45 minutes and I felt pretty confident I could make it 15 more minutes but if we had to do it twice I would be sunk. Then he yelled “45 minutes…..to go” oh shit. Down I went; no way was I going to make it. In fact only one guy made it. Capt. Beret told us thanks but no thanks and the three of us walked back to our barracks. That walk gave me a long time to think. What the hell was I doing? I wanted to get through this easy as possible and NO VIETNAM. Why did I volunteer to try this? I really had no clue, seemed like a good idea at the time. That was not the last time in my life I would say “seemed like a good idea at the time” and EVERYTIME it was the wrong choice. EVERYTIME!

I got back to the barracks just as the flight was lining up for lunch. Sgt. Milner told me to get changed and double time it ti the dining hall. I did. I was starving. After lunch we marched back to the barracks and had 20 minutes to get ready to go to the rifle range. Everybody wanted to know what happened and I explained it all. Most were telling me how lucky I was to have washed out; funny I didn’t really feel lucky. “AIRMAN BENTON” oh shit. Yes Sergeant! I was called into Milner’s Quarters/Office. I had never been here before in fact only the squad leaders ever went in there. Milner told me he was proud of me for trying and that we could start over again if I wanted to. Great two weeks to go and NOW he wants to be friends. For once in my life I did the right thing and told him I would like that. I do not know if Milner or I had changed that day but from then on he was no longer up my ass and I was no longer a pain in his. The funniest part of Basic was the “Rifle” training. We got no bullets just M16’s. We practiced “DRY” fire by pointing down range at targets and pulling the trigger to the satisfying sound of “click”.

We were about to make it through Basic Training, I will say it again, it was the hardest thing I had ever done up to that point in my life. I hated every minute of Basic, I learned a lot but mostly they just beat the crap out of me until I came around. We got to go into San Antonio for the afternoon; most of us went to the Alamo. We were all warned “No drinking” so we didn’t, but it was tempting. We were to graduate the next day. I was looking forward to getting some time off to get back to St Louis and see my girl. “Man plans, God laughs” I got orders to go to Kessler AFB Biloxi Mississippi. I would be going into Counter Electronics and school started two days after Basic Graduation. No time for leave, no St Louis, no Dee. I hated that part of it but at least I had made it. I am now Air Force. No Army, No Vietnam, I was safe. I had beaten the system. Let those other dummies get drafted and go to war. I was way too smart for that. “Mrs. Benton didn’t raise any dummies that lived”, I was smarter than all of them.

That night the Draft announced a change to the draft. A new lottery system was to be put into place and the drawing would indicate your birthdate draft number. This was a way to make things a little fairer for everyone. A random drawing of birthdays would indicate your draft number. While I was at the graduation ceremony the numbers were picked. I was born on August 11^th, the 254^th number in the draft. I would have never been drafted.

 

 

 

PART 8. My summer at the Beach!

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Basic training ended late May 1969. Believe it or not Sgt. Milner gave us all a fond farewell. He apologized for being such an asshole but told us “The training you received here could someday save your life. You must rely on the unit just as we did here. The unit must work as one.” I’m thinking, save our life? I’m in the Air Force what could happen? I’m going to be a Radio star not a grunt or Pilot how could my life ever be in danger? I think that now we could finally see the Sgt. was just doing his job (I think he liked it a bit too much). We all had one night to say goodbye to each other. This was a little more emotional than I ever thought it would be. We just went through Hell together and now we would never see each other again. We couldn’t go “Off Base” so we found the base bowling alley. None of us bowled but we sure as hell drank lots of beer. We went after it till they threw us out and I don’t remember how we got back to the barracks. The next morning we all got on different busses and headed in different directions, we never saw each other again.

My orders put me on a bus to Keesler AFB, Biloxi Mississippi. Bus? I thought we were in the Air Force not the Bus Force. Keesler was the school for Electronics and I was to spend the next nine months learning how to do whatever Electronic Counter Measures is. I had no idea what all this was about I just knew it was leading up to my chance at Radio Stardom.

I had never seen the Ocean and I actually looked forward to living on the beach. I had no idea that the Gulf was different than the actual Ocean but heck it was salt water so I wanted to get in it. It was a long bus ride, took about 12 hours and half of that was right down the coast. I loved looking at the beach, smelling the salt and fish. I think from that day on I have had a love of the gulf coast.

That night we finally got to Kessler AFB. Kessler was not far from the beach and filled with tall trees and sand. We got off the bus to a Sgt. welcoming all of us to the base. We walked to the dining hall and had a great supper. The dining hall featured something I had not seen before, BEER. This was my first clue that tech school was going to be different and it was. We all had a beer, ate a lot of food and formed up loosely out front. The young Sgt. assigned us all too different barracks/dorms and we meet our new roommates. Each room held four bunks and all four in this room came off that buss from Lackland AFB. We soon became fast friends and settled in to be good students of Electronic Counter Measures (ECM) (Whatever those were). I cannot remember anyone’s name except for Kibbie, because I am an old fart with brain damage. I do remember their faces and former lives. None of us wanted to be in the service, none of us wanted to go to Vietnam and ALL of us knew our recruiters were lying sacks of shit. We all scored high on the electronics portion of the entrance exams and that is why we were here. “Chuck” was a bartender from California; he was the oldest of us. “Dave” had two years of Jr. College in electronic repairs, TV’s. Kibbie was a half black Cajun which he told us was very strange because Cajuns hated black people but here he was. Kibbie became my closest friend because he was nuts. Kibbie was from a New Orleans which was 90 minutes away.

We slept like dead people that night and were rudely awaken at 6am. We formed up outside the dorm and the Sgt. in charge of that dorm informed us that he was our new Daddy until we graduated from school. Tech school was way different than basic. We still marched everywhere we went but it was a lot easier. We marched to breakfast and then back to the dorm. The Sgt. told us that this is the time every morning when we would be cleaning our rooms and policing the grounds around the dorm. We were expected to make our beds, wax the floor, dusting and being prepared for a weekly inspection by the officer in charge. That would be simple after our basic experience. We were told we could not leave the base for two weeks. We could call whenever and whoever we wanted. Kessler had a base theatre, PX and enlisted man’s club. We could use any and all of these when our classes and studies were done. We had a laundry and canteen next to the dining hall. All three of those were all open 24 hours a day. Everywhere we went we heard “Ping” “Ping – Ping – Ping” I found out that “Ping” was the supersonic sound our hair made as it grew from our basic training buzz cut.

We fell into a normal routine up every day at 5, clean our rooms. Fall out at 6 and march to breakfast. We marched back to the dorms, policed the area, grabbed our books and off to class. We had class all morning. 11am, March to lunch. Then class all afternoon. March back to the dorm by 4 and then we were pretty much on our own. The only rule after that was curfew at 11pm. You had to be in your room by 11. Weekends we were to study and relax. I called Dee all the time but it seemed to me that things were more than a little strained between us. She had gone to her prom with somebody, Graduated and partied with somebody and the summer was going to be filled with somebody’s.

Having told you the rules I will tell you how my day went. Same as everyone till 4 and after 4 I got into as much trouble as was humanly possible. I was never any great study type and I sure wasn’t going to start now. ECM was NOT what I thought it was. We were to learn how to jam enemy tracking systems from the back of B52’s dropping bombs. We were learning how to jam the signal “SAM” Rockets use to guild them to blow up our planes. Only one place I knew we were dropping bombs was Southeast Asia. I did not want to go to Southeast Asia and what did all this have to do with my career as a Radio Star? I wanted no part of this. My roomies all loved the school, except for Kibbie and myself. Kibbie was a man after my own heart. Kibbie got his notice for draft and he went into the Air Force so he would not be going to Vietnam. Kibbie decided he was NOT going to Vietnam and he started putting together a plan to get him OUT of the Air Force and OUT of any chance at Vietnam. Me, I just wanted to party.

Kessler AFB had a volunteer Radio Station and I started working a couple of nights. The station played a mixture of every imaginable type of music, all at the same time. We went from CW to Soul to Pop and Classical even an occasional Hawaiian song. It was awful and I don’t think we had a single listener except the one listener I did not want to have, the base commander. My first night I played it pretty safe, read all the liners, played all the base announcements and just tried to get through it without too many mistakes. I made a few but I think it might have had something to do with my stopover at “The Club” on the way in. My second night was my last. I stopped off at the club for more than a few and went on that night playing the best Rock N Roll I could find. I had a blast and I told everyone listening they could call and I would play whatever they wanted. I got a call from a guy asking for something a little less “noisy”. I told him to Fuck off I was playing what I wanted that night. I never got another call. I knew no one was listening so I didn’t expect any calls. Next day I was called out of class by Security Police (SP). I was escorted to the Brigadier Generals office and for the first and last time I meet our Base Commander, the one and only listener and caller of the base Radio Station. Thus ended my Air Force Radio Career. He was so mad he couldn’t even talk straight. He threatened me with everything you can imagine, including stockade time. I was on base 10 days and here I stood, sweating in front of Satan. I will never forget that day; I just wish it was the last time I ever pissed off a General. I was ordered to never go near the Radio Station again and he decided that would be my only punishment because he never identified himself and I was so new to the School. I did not realize just how lucky I was at the time. I wasn’t scared enough and I should have been shaken to my shoes. I decided to skip the rest of my classes that day and hit the club. That night everyone wanted to know what happened and since I had such a long head start I really played it up, I had faced the General and told him a thing or two. Nobody believed me but it was a great party that night. I just wish so many old timers had not been listening. They knew just how stupid and lucky I was.

The first two weeks went by very slowly but finally that weekend we were going to be allowed to go off base. We were all counting the days, hours and minutes. Everyone in the dorm buckled down to study now so they could have a weekend at the beach just relaxing and having fun. I cannot express to you how much this meant to me. Friday morning I was informed that my grades were not acceptable and I would receive extra tutoring Saturday. 8 hours THIS Saturday. I thought I was going to lose my mind. All my friends heading to the beach and I was going to school. Well “Men plan, God laughs”. My instructors were only trying to help, I realize that now but I was a hard case, I just didn’t care. I wanted to get to the beach. That afternoon I finally made it.

It was Mississippi HOT. The beach was full and we looked very odd. All white bodies (except for Kibbie) and no hair. In the 60’e EVERBODY had hair, except us. We stayed to ourselves and had a blast. I found out a few things I didn’t know that day. Sand gets REALLY hot and the water is salty. Did you know you could walk a half a mile out and still only be in water 5 foot deep? I walked out so far the people on the beach were just blurs on the sand. The water was more than warm in some places it was hot in others. I stayed out a long time and by the time I wadded back in I was wore out. I was lucky because all the other guys had run into Jellyfish and it was not a good thing, they hurt, bad. We drank lots of Malt Liquor and got bad sunburn. We stayed at the beach till the sun went down and walked the coast highway hitting a few of the bars before we headed back to base. I was beat, no sleep for two days, I was tired but it was a good tired and I sleep like a baby. Sunday morning we went to late breakfast and went back downtown. The SP post at the Base entrance had a young guy on duty who smiled and told us if we were going in the water watch for Jellyfish (no shit) and don’t go out very far because just because it is shallow doesn’t mean it’s not full of sharks. Sharks? This was before JAWS and Sharks still scared the crap out me. Sharks? I had been out a half mile, what would I have done if I saw one? Walk on water? It took me 30 minutes to walk back to the beach. I would have been a dead man. I guess God had other plans for me. The Gulf Coast offers so much to do and all we could think of was beer. I guess I should have guessed that even back then I had a problem with alcohol but hey, I’m young and nothing (except Sharks) could hurt me.

I want to capsulate most of what happened that, “Summer of 69”. Every waking moment I had the party of my life. July 4^th I had a Holiday pass so I took the bus to St Louis. My parents had already planned a trip to Nebraska so they would not be home. Dee picked me up and we played house in my parents’ bedroom for 2 days then back on the bus. We tried really hard to make it normal but it was odd. Things were changing, I still loved her and I think she loved me but it was odd. We never talked about the abortion, not once. It was a long bus ride back. I think things changed a great deal in my mind, I went a little nuts with the wonderful women of southern Mississippi. I learned to love the Gulf Coast. I loved the beach, the parties, the night clubs and the girls. But I always knew I was property of the United States Government and what I wanted really didn’t matter. By the end of July I had already washed out of school and the Air Force was trying to figure out what to do with me.

 

Saturday July 19^th and the beach was packed. Thousands of people picked that day to go to the coast. Kibbie and I spread our towels and opened our coolers to enjoy it with them. Kibbie was a wonderful crazy man. He loved his Tussin Cold medicine. Kibbie could drink a whole bottle and drink a few beers and he was gone. He taught me how to do it too but I wasn’t really into it like he was. Tussin was full of Codeine, not anymore, but back then WOW! That Saturday Kibbie wanted to annoy almost everyone at the beach. It wasn’t like him at all, I was thinking he had way too much of his medicine and I told him to take it easy. Kibbie told me “I want everyone to remember seeing me. I love you man but I’m going home.” WTF? I didn’t understand what he was talking about but soon Kibbie walked out into the Gulf waters, he turned and winked at me, and he walked our far. Never to be seen again. Kibbie was gone. I had his towel, wallet and cooler. I waited an hour and called over a cop watching over the beach. He asked everyone what happened and everyone told the cop just how drunk Kibbie was and how annoying he was. Every Cop in Mississippi turned up along with 20 or so SP’s. The Coast Guard came in with small boats and we all looked for hours. No Kibbie, I was taken back to base and questioned but I couldn’t help much. The SP’s took all his stuff. They cleaned out his room and I never heard from him again. I used Kibble’s real name here because I hope he is somewhere on the bayou laughing his ass off. He didn’t go to Vietnam and I am absolutely certain he walked into that water, down the beach and into a get-away car. Why didn’t I think of that?

The next week was spent trying to figure out where to send me and what I was going to do for the rest of my Air Force life. I was tested and offered a few choices. It was decided I could be a truck driver or SP. Like I said NEVER piss off a General. I took SP, I had always wanted to be a cop so why not. I waited for orders.

Woodstock was happening that first week of August and 2 guys in our dorm got to go. Everybody wanted to go, I had NOTHING going on. NOTHING just waiting for orders but could I go? No! The Air Force was afraid if I went I wouldn’t come back. They were right; Canada wasn’t far from New York. LOL

I was told it would take a few weeks but I couldn’t take leave until my new orders were issued so I was on my own. I fell in love with a dancer at the Vapors Club. The Vapors was right on the beach and Gloria lived in the motel next door. I would hang there every night and after she got off at 2am we would walk the beach and eat breakfast then go back to her place. I mean I fell hard. Gloria was Biracial and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I would go back and check in everyday but nobody really cared what I did so long as I didn’t cause any trouble on base. One day my orders came. I was heading to Travis AFB in northern California. I would start SP training in September. I could leave Kessler August 20^th 1969. Man plans, God laughs. Gloria and I enjoyed every moment we had. I will never forget that August.

I was told that a storm was coming and if I was off base I had to listen to the radio to see if I got called back to help. It was August 16^th and I could not believe how wonderful the weather was. There was electricity in the air, literally it felt electric. We all knew a Hurricane was forming but how could it possibly hit here. There was a Carnival on the beach, down by the Vapors Club. Early that evening we had so much fun it was incredible. The Clubs were full, everyone was happy. I have never in my life felt this same way. I can’t explain it, I felt like I was in a movie and I could direct lightning from my fingertips. My heart felt light and could not stop smiling. That night Gloria and I stayed up most of the night watching TV trying to see when and where Hurricane Camille was going to hit. It looked like it was building into something big but where would it hit? I told Gloria it was no big deal, I was from St Louis. I had gone through all kinds of Tornado’s; one even grazed our house, how bad could this be? We slept in each other’s arms. The next morning, the 17^th it was getting obvious Camille was going to hit Florida but there was a chance it was coming our way. Gloria decided to cook a turkey so if the power went out we would have something to nibble on. We invited a couple of traveling folks to ride out the storm with us. It was 9am when the call came for all Military personnel to return to their bases. On the coast besides Kessler, the Navy, the Coast Guard and the Army all had bases and we had to go back. I kissed Gloria goodbye and told her I would get back as soon as I could. I never saw her again.

I was told to help the families of the personnel on base to get to shelters. We moved dozens to our shelter until the winds got too bad to be out. Camille hit full on right at Biloxi Ms. Winds over 200 miles per hour. We had no windows to look out but the sound was incredible. Things were hitting the walls, the roof tried to lift, it scared the crap out of me. I have never gone through anything like Camille and I pray you don’t either. Winds howled and the bang: it was over. We opened the door and the destruction was complete. Cars were upside down, trees uprooted houses blown down. I had never seen anything like it, horrible just horrible. Then the wind started up again, we were in the eye. We slammed and barricaded the door again and puckered our assholes for another round. That night went on forever.

The next morning the shelter became home for most of the families we had spent the night with. I was assigned to go with a group of guys to assist with clean up and rescue. I have never seen anything like this before. It was gone, everything was gone. The whole coast, all of it gone. We found a group of 22 people at one motel. Hurricane parties are the norm during these storms and I guess that was what was going on. 22 bodies, we pulled them out one by one. This was the first time I had ever handled a dead person. We searched on, a body here, a family there; I have to say that this was the worst day on my life. I had just turned 19 on the 11^th and now this 19 year old was pulling bodies out of destroyed buildings. I wept for each of them. I finally made my way down to where the Vapors Club had been. The Club and the Motel where Gloria lived were gone. The surge wave had been 30 foot high when it hit. The wave went a quarter mile inland. Gloria’s motel was flat. She was gone. I do not know if she made it out or not. I will never really know but I do know that nothing could have survived Camille.

 

Part 9. California is a Wonderful place to live.

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I worked clean up and recovery for 5 days it was already August 25^th and I had to be at Travis AFB in Fairfield California by Sept 8^th. The Gulf Coast was completely gone. The Highways washed away, no electricity, food or water. No real communication with the outside world. I got a call out to my Mom to tell her I was OK. We worked nonstop at first trying to locate anyone still alive then it switched to recovering bodies. I worked with Army, Coast Guard, Navy and Volunteers. This was the biggest disaster the US had seen in my lifetime. People on the Coast told me they thought it was the biggest Hurricane to ever hit Mississippi and it turned out that it was. I saw so many acts of pure Love that week. People that had anything gave to those that didn’t. Bodies were stored at the Mobile Morgue and volunteers showed up every day to help families find lost loved ones. Hundreds of people came to help. I am ashamed that all I could think of was getting the Hell out of there. The only thing I saw that absolutely pissed me off for life was The Red Cross. The 2^nd day of the search we saw the lights of a mobile truck with coffee and sandwiches for sale, The Red Cross. None of us had any money; we didn’t think we needed any. Right down the beach The Salvation Army was giving the same things away. This was my first run in with the Red Cross and it would not be my last. No wonder almost everyone in the military hated the Red Cross. I am sure the Red Cross came in later with some real relief but I was not there to see it. I just remember my incredible disappointment that night I had no money.

Finally the New Orleans Airport opened back up and I got the first ride I could find to get to New Orleans. A group of Navy Seabees were going to grab a returning relief Helicopter back to the deployment center at the airport and I begged a seat on the next seat later that afternoon. I got back to Kessler packed and signed out. None of my roomies or any of my dorm mates was around so I never got to say goodbye but I wasn’t going to miss that ride. This was my first Helicopter ride and it was LOUD and BUMPY. LOUD did not really describe it, the doors were open and the wind blew hard. The wind and the rotors combined to end any thoughts of conversation. There were 15 – 20 guys plus luggage and other crap but this big old Chinook flew like it was empty. When we got to New Orleans we got a ride to the main terminal about a half mile away. I got my stuff and headed to the TWA ticket counter. I had bought my ticket at Kessler so I could leave on Aug 22^nd. I prayed it would still be good and they did honor it. I got out that afternoon on a direct flight to St Louis. I felt so surreal the devastation from Camille was to total and now things were so great. I sat back in the cool air and ordered my first on many drinks.

Mom picked me up at Lambert. I got some strange looks in the Airport. Back in the day you had to wear your uniform if you wanted the Military Discount on tickets. You had to wear Class A’s dress uniforms. We were never allowed off base in fatigues unless on duty for some reason. The War was very unpopular in 1969 and now I represented that war to everyone I saw. I was really uncomfortable being in uniform. What a change, last time I had been in Lambert I was a civilian looking at soldiers the same way.

It was funny, Mom had seen the devastation on TV but had never linked that I was right in the middle of it. I explained what I had been doing the days before and how lucky we were to be alive and she said “I know how you feel, remember the time our house got hit by the tornado?” I didn’t say a thing; it was the same thing I had said to Gloria 8 days earlier. When we got home I called Dee but no answer so I called her Sister and found out Dee and her Mom had taken a trip to Kansas City to see relatives, they would be gone another two weeks. I thought how could she be gone when she knew I would be coming home? Just as well I guess because now I had time to think about Gloria. Did she get out? I will never know but I will never forget her. She pops up in my mind every once in a while and to this day I still have no idea. Dee would be gone until after Labor Day so I spent a week with my friends and family resting and basically having fun. Funny how things worked out because that was a very pleasant 10 days. I felt like I was still in High School, back down to “The Rocks”. Finding somebody to buy us some beer. Scoring some weed, laying back and being cool. I had just gotten used to being home when it was time to go. My whole family took me to the Airport. My Father and I had a VERY shaky life. He didn’t like me much and the feeling on my part was exactly the same. But a strange thing had happened, we talked. We talked about Basic Training and the difference between being “an Air Force Pussy and a real Marine”. But it wasn’t mean or hurtful, I think he was proud of me, he never came right out and said so but things were defiantly different. I kissed them all goodbye and flew to San Francisco; my life was about to change big-time.

It started on the airplane. People starred at me the whole trip. The guy next to me bought me a drink; he had lost his boy the year before in Vietnam. We talked a little but I don’t think he really wanted to talk about it much. I drank my drinks, I read the magazines I slept and we finally got to San Francisco. Before the plane came to a stop the Father next to me had a tear in his eye and said “Do what you can but DO NOT go to Vietnam, go to Canada but just don’t go to Vietnam”. He gave my arm a hug with his hand and we got off the plane. I could not wait to get to “Frisco”, I had seen and heard about “Frisco” for years and I wanted to be a part of that scene. What I didn’t know was that “Frisco” wanted no part of me. Being in uniform was even MORE unpopular here, way more. My Mothers Cousin picked me up and we drove to Napa Valley for two days before I was to report for duty. I had a very pleasant time with them, two of the nicest people I had ever met. First thing they told me was to keep my head down as much as possible and never wear my uniform off base. They also informed me that NO ONE says “Frisco”: ever. It is always San Francisco, always. People on the west coast are very proud of their city. They drove me to Travis AFB and I reported in.

I was to learn how to be a Security Policeman (SP) and I was kind of looking forward to it. I thought being a cop at the gate looked pretty cool at Kessler. They rode around in cars with buckles and belts all shined up and looking good. They took long breaks for coffee and donuts, flirted with girls and ordered around Airman plus they were buddies with the officers. I found out that while I was on leave I had become an Airman 1^st Class, two stripes and a big pay raise, from $115.00 per month to $123.00.( I am not kidding that was the pay in 1969.) The cost of buying and sewing on those wonderful two stripes was $60 which just about covered my whole paycheck. Thank you Uncle Sam, even the good news came with strings attached. I was to begin my formal training the next Monday. That gave me 5 days to get to know my new roommates and learn my way around Travis. Travis AFB was part of “The Military Airlift Command” (MAC). We moved everything everywhere and had a detachment of KC135 refueling aircraft which were on alert 24/7. Later I was to discover that Travis was also the home of several Nuclear Weapons hidden in bunkers. Travis was half way from Sacramento to San Francisco. This was actually a great place to be and yet I was hopelessly homesick. I had missed Dee entirely and our phone calls were strained and infrequent. But I did love California. The air smelled fresh from the constant wind. The whole place had a way different vibe from Kessler and I had to learn how to live in this environment. This was the Air Force I was told about; people worked here and went home. My home was on base but still it was the same, put in your hours and you’re off.

Police Academy started that Monday. It was not what I expected but it started. We didn’t march anywhere anymore. I was to show up “On Time” at 8am. School till 11 then off two hours for lunch, back to school at 1pm till 4 then go home. Weekends off and really no homework. I liked those hours. School lasted three weeks and we would become official SP’s.

I would like to insert here that my dad was in the Navy Shore Patrol also SP’s. Not my Dad I have now but my “real” Dad, my birth Father. My Dad was Lawrence Jackson and all I knew about him was what my Aunts and Uncles told me about him. My Mom was very bitter about that subject so I really never asked. My earliest memory in life we were living in San Diego I heard a loud noise so I went into my parents’ bedroom. I saw my Dad holding my Mother down with his hand on her throat hitting her with his other hand. I think I was three and I walked over to my Moms dressing table where she had this huge hand mirror – brush set. I grabbed the hand mirror and smashed my dad over the head ALL THE WHILE SCREAMING “Daddy quit hitting Mama”. I will never forget the look he gave me. Lawrence had tears in his eyes, he had been crying while beating my Mom. He looked at me and stopped the beating. He got up, with my Mother still on the floor, grabbed me into this tremendous hug while he continued to cry. Then he got up, looked over his shoulder at mom, looked at me and then ran out of the room. I was three years old and my world had just changed forever. To the best of my knowledge I NEVER SAW HIM AGAIN. I will tell you more about my two Dads later on, in a different story but I’m telling you all this because for some strange reason I felt like I was part of my Dad by becoming an SP. Weird, Crazy or even sick, I was now part of his world. I can never explain this to myself much less to you but truthfully this was the first time I ever realized the direction my life was taking. My dad was a tremendous drunk who wreaked every part of his life. He spoiled everything he came in contact with and people still seemed to like him. I learned a lot from my Dad and I sadly put it to use in my own life.

Back to my story:

SP school was actually kind of fun. I learned to shoot and became a pistol marksman. We learned everything you can learn about the M16, the M12 (shotgun) and the M60 (Heavy duty machine gun). I learned how to arrest, who to arrest and who to never arrest. We learned law, self-defense, driving techniques and how to look sharp doing it. I was ready to protect the base from any commie or hippie attack. I was ready to go into town and bust a few heads to bring drunks under control. I was ready to transport criminals. I was ready and trained to stop a domestic disturbance. I was ready for ANYTHING. I graduated at the end of September and reported for duty the next Monday. I was assigned to the overnight shift humping the KC135’s. We would report for guard mount at 10:30pm and stand guard on the tankers all night long. I was NOT ready for this. We were relieved of duty at 7am the next morning. 8 hours of walking around a giant flying gas station every night 5 nights a week. The most mind numbing job in the known world.

This went on for a couple of weeks and I started to learn the ropes. The senior SP’s drove around in trucks bring water, food and bathroom breaks. Once the guys started to know you and trust you things got better. We would sit in the trucks all night and smoke dope or sleep. The guys had figured out a system so that if an officer came out to look around they would key the mic. on their radio. We all had radios so that one click would tell us to get back to humping planes. Perfect, but it was still boring. After a month I got to be in the truck a couple of nights a week. That is where I met Murph and Rex. We three became best friends both on and off duty. Murph was married and Rex had this great lady. They both lived in this nice house in Vacaville about 15 miles from the base. I spent a lot of time at their home. One night while driving around Murph was reading “The Hobbit” and I thought that was pretty strange so he turned me on. Tolkien became my life saver, I read it every night while on duty and then of course “The Lord of the Rings.” I became part of that world because Murph and Rex were in that world. To relieve the boredom we did some crazy things. We were in charge of patrolling the Nuke Bunkers some nights. These were buried into earth covered concrete bunkers with huge steel doors and big locks. It was not common knowledge that these Nukes were here, so close to Sacramento and San Francisco. I think if anyone found out about them it would have been the biggest shit storm in history. Everyone hated the war and protested all the time. If they would have found these Nukes in their back yard people would have never stood for it. So we used to play games by different trucks would be the target and we would give them a head start and the rest of us had to find it. We would run with the gumball lights on and occasionally turn on the sirens just for fun. Cruising through the Nuke field at 60 – 70 mph. We just didn’t give a shit. The nights I walked around those KC135’s was the worst. K9 units patrolled the fields and they never had anything to do with us because they were the high and mighty “K9 UNIT”. We never really trusted those guys so when we knew they were around we had to do our jobs like we were supposed to in the first place. That was pretty much how it always went. We would never get to the front gate or Base Patrol until we were Sergeants and that was years away.

The social life in northern California was great, if you had a car. I did not have a car so I relied on lots of friends to get around. I had a really bad fake military ID. A fake military ID could land you in Federal prison but I was too dumb to care. My ID said I was 5’11 (I’m 6’1) with red hair (back when I had hair it was blonde or brown) and I was 22 years old. Once again I think God was looking out for me because I never got turned in. I got caught several times but never turned in. I always hit this dance club in Fairfield that was always full and always fun. We would pick up women divorced from lifers (someone that makes the AF their life) or wives of guys serving overseas. I’m 19 and living the life of a 22 year old playboy. I was a pretty kid and believe it or not I got 2^nd place “Mr. Air Force”. I know, look at me now and you could never see it but what can I say, I was a pretty kid!

One night I meet Suki. Suki was a 25 year old Philippine babe. I mean she was HOT. I became her project. I had actually had full blown sex maybe 25 times in my life and I KNEW Nothing. I was the clumsiest most selfish lover any woman could have ever been involved with. Suki changed all that. Every day with her school was in. She had come to America by marring a lifer and divorcing him after she became a citizen. That happened all the time, still does. I will not go into detail about the courses of this school but I will tell you I was wore out. They say a man’s sexual peak is 19 and I was 19 but some nights I felt 60. If I did something wrong she would make me do it over again and again until I got it right. We drank hard and Suki introduced me to drugs I had never tried before. Coke, Quaaludes, Speed, Reds, Greens and LSD. Lots of LSD. This was back when LSD came with an eye dropper and sugar cubes. I know that within a few years that really great clean powerful LSD was gone but for a few months it was incredible. I always saw the “Keep on Truckin” guys walking across my eyeballs every time I tried it.

My life at Travis consisted of work (where we got high) sex (on drugs) and parties (with drugs). My drinking consisted mostly of Wine or Beer, it was very rare I drank the “hard stuff” I didn’t want to become no juicer, we all hated juicers. Murph, Rex and I started dealing a few drugs, not to make money, just to feed our own heads.

The Zodiac killer struck again in mid-October. This was a scary deal in northern California. This guy had been killing people and baiting cops with Zodiac notes to the newspapers. We were asked to ride shotgun on school buses because the Zodiac said his next target was a school bus. They asked for volunteers and I jumped at the chance. It would be a couple of weeks and we would get per Diem and a motel room while on duty. I got Marin City just across the Golden Gate from San Francisco. Suki went with me and we found a nice place right by the Golden Gate. About 10 miles to Marin but 10 minutes to downtown San Francisco! Suki took me all over the place and one night in San Francisco I meet a guy that worked on the play “Hair”. I loved “Hair” it was my favorite musical I had ever seen. I wanted to try out for the cast so bad but I had to work most nights. I came up with the idea I would go AWOL and work in the theatre. I talked with the Director of the show and he thought that would be a great idea but I did not have an Equity card nor the talent for the show. He was a great guy and offered me a chance to work the door or pull a Curtin whenever I could get away and we would hold off on the AWOL part unless I got orders to Vietnam or something. Suki and I got an open invitation to party with the cast on the nights we came to town. I look back on all this now and I am pretty sure Suki was the reason I was invited to hang out because everybody wanted to get in her pants and she knew everybody.

I don’t know how life could get better and I didn’t care. Dee and I had very little communication and I didn’t care about that either. I had meet Suki in late October and by December we were a couple. I was this 22 year old single man and I let her have complete control of my life. Suki had never had this type of relationship and we both knew it wasn’t forever but we were having fun.

The Rolling Stones announced a big free concert in San Francisco. It was to be held in the city park and Hundreds of Thousands of people were to be in attendance, we were going to be in that crowd. The Concert was to be December 6^th. I missed Woodstock and I sure as Hell wasn’t going to miss this. I took a day of leave and we started hording drugs for the big event. The venue was changed the week before the Concert; it was now going to be in Monterey. The opening acts were Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, Santana and Crosby – Stills – Nash and Young. What a day! Then about three days before the Concert it was moved again to Altamont Speedway. We got there a day early, like everyone else in the known universe. We had to park about two miles from the speedway and walked the rest of the way. We found a little piece of ground for us, half way up a hill, not to close but close enough. It was a wonderful party that night. Tomorrow was going to be Wood Stock West and we were going to be part of it. That morning we ate a little food we had brought with us and took a bunch of speed we brought with us. Let the music begin! My speed was just beginning to kick in when a big ole Hells Angel came walking through the crowd telling us to be cool, no fights, no rushing the stage because the Hells Angels were on duty as Security for the event. OK with me, I wasn’t going to do nothing but get high and listen to tunes. The music started, I can’t remember exactly but I think Santana came on first. I walked to one of the only johns at the Speedway and stood in line forever. Santana was gone and I think it was CSN&Y playing by the time I did my business. While in line we all traded drugs with whoever wanted to trade. I got Yellow pills, Green, Red, Purple and some different kinds of Weed and brought them all back to Suki. She was having a great time. Suki had meet a few “Friends” and that was ok with me I didn’t own her. I sat down and we split up all the pills and ate then all. On hindsight I can see where that “might” have been a mistake (ya think?). Everything was a blur after that. I know that it all turned into a shit fest that night but not for me. I guess we were far enough away from the stage that we were out of the crazy parts. The Hells Angels killed some guy; the Jefferson Airplane got beat up. The Angels were taking their security jobs SERIOUS!!!! Suki and I stayed close to each other but we both went off with other people it just seemed like the natural thing to do. This was before AIDS and nobody used a rubber. I’m glad I don’t remember most of it because I think I would throw up if I knew where my little friend had lead me. People started to go but we were in no shape for a two mile walk in the dark so we got close to the gate and snuggled up to keep warm for the night.

 

The next morning we were kind of hung over but walked to her car and drove back to Fairfield. We both passed out and slept till Monday night. I was officially AWOL. I called my Commander and told the 1^st Sgt. my car broke down and I was sorry, yadda- yadda – yadda. He took another day of leave from me but really took it well so we decided to get out and enjoy the night. We decided to go to a new spot close to U.C. Davis that we had heard about. What a crowd, big line to get in, when we finally got to the front door I saw a California Highway Patrolman checking ID. I showed him my really bad fake ID. He took a long look and said “What’s your social security number?” Oh Shit! I rattled off a bunch of numbers, I don’t know how many. He looked me over FOREVER and finally said “OK, but you’d better start being careful”. I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew that I knew what had just happened and I broke into a flop sweat. Suki asked me what was wrong and I felt trapped into telling her the truth, I was 19, not 22. We went home that night and the next morning she had me pack my shit. It wasn’t the fact that I was 19 it was the fact I had lied to her for two months. I was out. I never saw her again and it was my entire fault. I was about as low as a person could get, I thought.

I went to work that night and the 1^st Sgt. asked me to step out and follow him. We went to the Unit Commander’s office. He was a Very Upset Major. I thought it was all smoothed over but I was reminded I was in the Air Force and I could go to jail for being AWOL and the 1^st Sgt. said “and you don’t have a car!” I got on the shit list that day and I wasn’t going to get off very easily. I got 14 days straight duty and I was to report to the Officer of The Day before every shift. That meant no Christmas vacation for me. I would be working every day through Dec. 24^th. I called Dee but she really didn’t seem to care much. So now I’m really feeling sorry for myself. I’m in the shits again, no girl, no fun no life really. I read my LOTR and passed the time. 1^st Sgt. came by to tell me I would have to work Christmas double shift so the married guys could have the day off. (So that’s 15 days without a day off.) I asked the 1^st Sgt. what I could do to get off his shit list and he told me “Easy move to another base”. I’m screwed and I did it to myself again.

I went to personnel to get a transfer. Evidentially SP’s were not in short supply or great demand. I had only been at Travis for a few months and it was hard to go anywhere when you just got HERE. He gave me the forms but didn’t hold out much hope. New Years was coming up. 1970 had to be better, had to be! New Year’s Eve I started the party a little early and had a toot on by the time I got to Guard Mount. I took a handful of speed so no one would know. I wasn’t the only one that night, it would have been the right time for a Commie attack. I was assigned the job I hated most, humping the KC’s. Glad I brought a bottle with me to celebrate the New Year. I got shit faced. Murph and Rex both took care of me that night and the officers had the brains not to come out and inspect that night. I made it through the night but I was still pretty drunk when the truck came to pick me up and ran over my radio. The radio is worth about $800 1969 bucks and mine was spare parts and I was drunk. The radios were all numbered so no one could switch with me. We lined up in formation and Murph held me up straight. We were dismissed to turn in our weapons and radios. I turned in my Weapons but just walked to by barracks and passed out. Next night the 1^st Sgt. asked me where my radio was. I made a big deal of oops, still in my bag, sorry about that. I am positive he knew I had been drunk the night before but this being New Year’s day he would let it go. He told me to get a radio that was charged up and I would be humping those 135’s my whole next tour. I took what was left of my radio to the radio hut and told the guy it got ran over. He knew I was about to be Court Marshalled so he threw it in a fix it box and gave me a new one. Nothing was ever said. God was again looking out for me and God Bless that radio guy. This was last night of our tour and I had a couple of days off. Next day I took my papers back to personnel and told him to send me anywhere just get me out of here.

All my friends got the Squaw Valley Air Force lodge for the next couple of days. YES the AF has a lodge at Squaw Valley. I couldn’t believe it but it was true. You could go to the base Special Services and put your name on the list of people that wanted it. Weekends were always taken by Generals or other Officers but if you had some weekdays off enlisted men had a chance to go there. It cost $5 a night per person and that included food, chair lift and everything you need to have a great time. We had it for two nights. Five of us crammed into a car and headed north. It was about a four – five hour drive and when we got there we had to park the car at Truckee and we got picked up by a snow cat. The place was absolutely beautiful: full bar, great food and a wonderful host that stayed here year round, permeate duty, he was in the Air Force a Master Sgt. but had this job for the last 10 years. That was one of the best vacations of my life. I tried to ski on the beginners slope but I kept falling down and little kids were making fun of me. I just stayed in the lounge. We went to Reno the next day, had a blast.

Time to go back to work and the 1^st Sgt. called me in to talk. He told me it was a new year so let’s start over. He thought I could be a good soldier and he was willing to give me a break. I jumped at the offer. Things were looking up. Murph and Rex became family we went everywhere and did everything together. We stayed high, laughed a lot and I moved to Vacaville to be close. I had to keep my Dorm room but never went there except for inspections. I think that month was one of my best while being in the air Force. January 26^th my orders came for Vietnam. The echo came “send me anywhere” They did.

 

Part 10. The Strangest Farewell

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Here I am, orders in hand, I’m going to Vietnam? Well to be honest I did know that I would be going when I asked for my transfer. I mean no one would ever be that dumb, even me. I was having such a hard time fitting into the Air Force and Travis AFB in particular. My girl left me. My 1^st Sgt. hated me. My girl back home seemed done with me. I was humping Airplanes and drinking. I did not want to be a juicer, I hated juicers, my Dad was a drunk and I wanted no part of that life. But now things were great. I had a new off base home, I was learning how to ski, I was OK with the 1^st Shirt and I loved my life. NOW I wanted to stay here. I loved northern California and all that came with it. What had I done to myself?

Here I must take another aside:

I could never talk about this while I was on the air because of the stupidity of some of the listeners and the fear of some Managers. I am Bipolar, I control it with drugs but back then I had no idea there was anything wrong with me. I just knew that most of my life I had been my own worst enemy. Every time I had life by the balls I somehow screwed it up. Time after time my life would be rolling along and I just couldn’t let it be, I had to mess it up. I can’t tell you much about being Bipolar, it just is. Something in my brain is short wired but medication seems to patch the wires back together. The peaks (the manic part) are wonderful but dangerous. The lows (the depressions) were incredibly bad. I self-medicated myself for years becoming an Addict then an Alcoholic. I was first diagnosed in 1977 but by that time I had already ruined a lot of lives including my own. I encourage anyone that feels that there is a possibly they might have crazy highs and terrible lows, see a Doctor. Tell them about your symptoms, don’t suffer. Don’t make the people you love and the ones that love you suffer. I didn’t take my medication until after I found Christ and Christ saved my life.

I am telling you this now because if you keep my Bipolar stuff in your mind it will explain a lot of things you will read about me on this Blog.

Ok let’s get back to my nightmare:

I was to go on leave February 9^th and report for combat training school back at Lackland AFB on March 1^st. I had 2 weeks to say goodbye to all my great friends and we didn’t miss a minute. I did try to get my orders changed but nothing was going to work. I went to my Major and asked for his help but I think I had hurt his feelings by asking to go in the first place. I went to the base Physiatrist to get help. My second visit to see him he set up some tests for me to take. I dropped some acid before I went and I think it backfired. Every question I thought I should answer crazy I did but being on acid I think I must have meant crazy in my mind but it came out sane. I don’t know what happened but nothing I tried worked, I was going.

We partied hard and I one of the parties I saw this girl. She had an attitude that really sucked. All hot- n – tot and I found out she was a WAF (Women’s Air Force) which really turned me off. Back in 1970 male chauvinism was alive and well and I had it big time. We felt any Women that joined up had a screw loose. Some deep dark secret that made them Bat – Shit Crazy! We talked for a few minutes but she wanted nothing to do with me and I wanted nothing to do with her. My final party was to be a three day trip to RENO “Biggest Little Town in the World”. I loved going to Reno as long as you gambled you drank for free. If one of us got hot we would give them our money and rode along for the fun. We stayed in a great room that got comped because of our play and because we were military. We ate like kings, drank like fish and chased girls like Chico Marx. What a weekend but it ended too soon. We got back to Travis just in time for a big party going on that night. It was Sunday; I had three days till I went home to St Louis.

Great party that night. Maybe 75 people, not a rave by today’s standards but it got pretty wild. I was offered a bowl of acid and I happily took one. Everybody was tripping, it was a great party. I saw that girl standing by the fireplace and went over to talk. She was looking very hot that night, her name was Joyce. Joyce was also tripping her ass off. We talked for a long time and I changed my mind about her. She was from Jackson Mississippi and I loved that southern drawl. We talked all night. She had to work the next day so I walked her to her dorm. We made a date for that next night.

Monday I spent checking out of my unit, filling out paperwork and packing. I was looking forward to seeing Joyce again that night. I knew nothing was to come of it but she was kind of cute and very smart. Tuesday night we went to Murph’s house and sat around smoking dope, drinking wine, listening to music and we laughed a lot. We went back to base and Joyce had to get some sleep. She had been up most of 48 hours and I don’t know what was keeping her going. That night I couldn’t sleep. I liked this girl, couldn’t really say I truly loved her but I did not want to lose her. She was in the Air Force just like me and I knew we would never see each other again. Since I had went into service I had said goodbye to everyone I liked or loved. I was very much alone and I was heading to Vietnam. I did not want to lose another person from my life. Wednesday night was my last night at Travis; I was to go home in the morning. That evening Joyce picked me up to head out for our last evening together. We went to eat, stopped by a small party and went to park by the Base. That last night was wonderful we enjoyed each other’s company a great deal. I asked her to marry me. We could be married in St Louis that Saturday February 14^th, Valentine’s Day. It was crazy I know but it all made kind of worked in our minds. If we married the Air Force was required to assign us to the same Base. We would both get married pay and both get separate housing. Besides we figured if we didn’t like each other we could get a divorce. If we didn’t get married we would never see each other again. She said yes, I called my Mom to set it up. We went back to her dorm room and sealed the deal sexually that night. I knew on my way back to my room that I had just made a horrible mistake.

I look back on it now and realize what was going on. I wanted something to come home to. Some “one’ to come home to. I had heard all the stories about Vietnam and for all I knew I would be dead the first day. I was a very lonely, very scared man. I wanted to know someone was going to care for me. This was a crazy thing I was doing and it was all moving faster than I could keep up with. In two weeks I was to report for Combat School then fly straight to DaNang AFB South Vietnam. In three days I was to be married to a total stranger. My Mom met the plane and of course she had a thousand questions first being, “have you talked to Dee?” Oops: hadn’t thought about that. We got home and I called her. You have to remember that I asked her to marry me twelve hundred times but she always said no. She threw a shit-fit that made war look tame. “I love you, I always wanted only you!” I knew she had a boyfriend, it was all bullshit but I think she really thought it was true when she said it. I told her I was getting married, end of story. Her friends brought over all the crap I had given her. The cheap stuff anyway, she kept the jewelry. I didn’t blame her; it was OK with me as long as she left us alone. Plans were in the works for the wedding. It was set for Saturday night, Joyce flew in on Friday and we got the license. While getting the license I found out that Joyce had already been married once. It was a surprise but no big deal. She told me that was why she went into the Air force: so she could start over in life.

That Saturday night we started a new life. We went away for three days then off to her home in Mississippi to meet her people. I liked all of Joyce’s family especially her Sister Caroline and her husband Henry. Henry had made a beach assault on China Beach in 1966. He was a Marine and he was in Vietnam when things were really in the shits. He told me lots of stories I did not need to hear. We drove back to St Louis to return my Dad’s car then she flew to Travis and I flew to San Antonio. That was that!

Back to Lackland AFB, it was like reliving a nightmare. I hated Lackland but I was assured this trip would be different. I had seen the real Air Force 8 – 5 Monday through Friday. But the real Air Force was not Lackland AFB. We went to barracks where we were once again in open bays with all the responsibility of keeping it Air Force C*L*E*A*N. I hated this place. We spent the mornings in class and the afternoons we played war. We learned how to use every weapon in the Armory M16, M12, M60, and Gernades, plus a few survival techniques. We played war games against each other and learned customs of the Vietnamese. I was ready for war, I thought.

 

Part 11. Whoopee We’re All Gonna Die!

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Let me interject here that I am no war hero; this is not a combat story. When I see the incredible sacrifice of our men and women who have fought in all our wars I am brought to tears. My Dad fought in Korea and he never talked about it much but what he did tell me scared the shit out of me. My Grandfather and Uncles fought in WWII and I just cannot imagine the hell they went through. My great uncle Ernie was a WWI Hero. But I especially remember and honor those I know that fought in Vietnam, Kuwait, Iraq and Afghanistan. I honor ALL our soldiers that fought for our Country. I honor the memories of those that did not come home. I now love the USA but in the early 70’s I had my doubts. I never knowingly killed anybody and the bodies I had to work with were always killed by other people. I was around while people were killed but not by me. I want to tell you the story of a very confused and frightened young man, a guy that made lots of mistakes and a few very powerful enemies. I can only tell you about the person I know best: ME.

We all flew from San Antonio to Travis AFB where we would board a World Airways civilian airplane to DaNang AFB. We had a 10 hour layover at Travis so I meet up with Joyce, Murph and Rex. I noticed that they had all become great friends while I was away (Later I suspected that “friendship” had turned to something more). We had lunch, got high and I climbed on the plane to what I thought was certain death. We were to fly to Hawaii for a short layover then an 18 hour flight to DaNang. I had the hippie Bible with me, the last book in The LOTR “Return of the King”. I had not read it yet and it made the trip bearable. You have to remember that back in the 60’s all good freaks had to have the whole trilogy memorized and I was late to the party. I loved the whole story and I got through the last book just as it was announced that we were nearing our landing. I can’t explain it but ending that book almost exactly as the plane was landing was indeed leaving one life for another. I don’t know if you have ever read a book that you wish would never end but does, it actually saddened my heart. It’s funny that I take so much time explaining my love of those books but I was not a great fan of the written word until that series, sort of like ‘Harry Potter” got kids reading today. I never stopped reading after that.

“Stewardess prepare for landing, DaNang is condition Yellow they were hit with rockets last night and we will be loading the return flight as fast as possible so please don’t leave the terminal. It is partly cloudy 89 degrees. Gentleman enjoy your stay”. Then he put one of those laugh boxes over the P.A. ASSHOLE! (I found out later that the quick turnaround cost several (not all) of the stews lots of money because they usually screwed as many men as possible for very big bucks. “Round eyed women” were a valuable commodity in a war zone.)

We got off the plane and instantly started sweating. We had worn brown class A uniforms for the flight and they were not tropic friendly. We loaded onto a big bus and went half way around the base. My eyes were wide open taking it all in. Everything looked run down and grey. I saw a lady squat and piss right on the side of the road and I knew “Toto we are not in Kansas anymore”. Things here were worse than any slums I had seen in St Louis or Chicago. We finally got to the Air Force barracks side of the base. We went to a general welcoming speech warning us of a few customs we needed to respect. Don’t touch a child on the head with your right hand because everyone knew that Americans wiped their ass with the right hand and never wash afterwards. We learned that and other fine tidbits that all turned out to be wrong. Then we all were told which areas we would report to and live in.

Several guys, including myself, went to the Security Police (SP) village. We pulled into the gate and saw it was lined with armored personnel carriers, trucks and jeeps. We were welcomed by a friendly Sgt. who called out our names and hut numbers. He told us to dump our gear and report to the pavilion by the gate. We were given jungle fatigues and SP gear we would use during our stay. We were told we could wear camouflage fatigues because we were SP but we would have to buy them on our own later. I looked around and all the guys were wearing camo. We all jumped on a pickup and took the tour, Dining hall, Post Office, PX and Movies. DaNang was a little City. The Aircraft Personnel and Repairmen stayed at “Gunfighter Village”. Motor Pool and Officers had their own little “Villages”. Each village had its own Bar.

A Vietnamese boy named Billy showed me around our little corner of Heaven. Billy was 12 years old. He was a fixture in the SP compound. He had been here longer than any of the GI’s. Most of the guys treated Billy OK but some were just mean. Billy got me settled and introduced me to the “Mama San” that took care of my living quarters. One of the best things about Vietnam was the people themselves. Many worked on base grabbing any job they could find, we even had Mama San to clean the latrine which was great because we didn’t have to do it. I am like every bone head that goes to Vietnam. Every Vietnamese was a “Gook, Slope head or a million other names. I admit I was one of those bigots for the first part of my “visit”. I am not proud of it but I did learn to enjoy the culture and people of Vietnam, except for the ones shooting rockets at me. I plugged my clock radio into the wall, made my bed and headed for the shower.

Here I must tell you in some respect the Air Force had it made. We had hot showers and flush toilets and the grunts dug a latrine hole and showered when they could. I never forgot how lucky we were but a few funny things happened that first day. They weren’t funny at the time but I still laugh about them. Most of that first day I spent in total amazement and it all started with my first visit to the shower.

I have had a VERY long day and it all started 3 days ago. That is a long day. I put a towel around my waist and went to the latrine. I saw many of the guys doing the same thing and thought nothing of it. When I opened the door to the latrine there was two rows of flush toilets. They were lined up looking at each other. No stalls, just toilets. Now I played Football, Wrestled and took gym with lots of guys and in those days we always showered in open bays so I was ready for that but toilets wide open and looking at each other brought some new questions

Now here are the problems you don’t normally look for. You are sitting there shitting with all the noise and smells that come with it and two foot to your right and left are two other guys doing the same thing. Across from you about ten foot away is another row of guys doing the same thing. I had never done this before, ever. It took a lot of getting used to. You learn a certain kind of toilet etiquette. I always took something to read. I wanted something in my lap. I would wait the bastards out before I would finish. In our world today you never worry about these things but do you leave your nuts up above your dick or drop them all down below? Do you wipe and look at the paper or just wipe and hope you got it all? Do you strain and make faces or just pretend all is going well? Believe me when you have an audience wiping your ass is the worst part, nobody does it the same way. Nobody ever talked about another guy taking a dump but we all got to know each other very well.

That first day I was lucky that only a few guys were in there. I had to poop really badly and most of the toilets were open so I found one away from the others took off my towel and did by business. While I am sitting there Mama San comes in and goes to the toilet next to mine. She put her feet on the seat, pulled down her black pajama bottoms (that every native wore) and started to shit. She is hovering over the bowl and I’m trying not to look but it’s like a train wreck, you can’t look away. She smiled at me and said something in Vietnamese, pulled up her jammies and walked out. I’m 19 years old and I am freaking out. I sat there for half an hour until all the guys got done and I was alone so I could do my paper work. My ass still has a ring around it from those days. So now I head to the showers, a long open stall with shower heads every couple of feet on both sides. I lathered up and was enjoying my first shower in three days and I heard this loud clanking, talking and laughing coming into the shower. Twelve Mama San came in carrying dishes to wash. They all hunched down and started washing. They told each other stories and laughed and laughed. I’m standing there naked as the day I was born. I am 19 years old and I am in the shower naked with 12 Mama San speaking Vietnamese and doing dishes. I had no idea if they were talking about me or what the hell they were talking about. They weren’t particularly looking at me but once in a while one of them looked up and laughed. Now I am a typical white boy, my junk is ok, not really small but not like Wilt Chamberlin. Now I’m worried that I don’t measure up. I had ten thousand things going through my mind all at once. I tried to act nonchalant like it happened everyday but I will tell you that was a fast shower. I dried up and noticed that huge red ring around my ass from my marathon shit. To this day I have no idea what those ladies were talking about, but if it was me, I would have laughed too.

I wrapped my towel around my waist and headed back to the barracks. When I got there I noticed my clock radio was gone. Never leave anything out you don’t want stolen because it will get stolen. I got dressed in civilian clothes because everyone else was dressed as a civilian. I was super pissed about my radio/clock. I had to learn a few things about my surroundings. These are very poor people and they survived the French and now years of Americans, they survived by adapting. Mama San made about $40 a month cleaning up after us and whatever she could steal, plus a little drug dealing on the side. I freaked about my clock but everybody told me the rules of the barracks, get a box and lock everything up that you wanted to keep. I did that the next day. Mama San saw I was upset so she offered me a baggy with about a dozen perfectly rolled cigarettes, only they weren’t cigarettes. “5 bucks GI?” well OK, I later found out I got ripped off it should have been a dime a joint. I mean these joints were perfectly rolled and looked just like a straight. The guy in the cubical next to mine saw what was going on and he took me out to where everyone smoked dope. Rodlin Reese became my best friend but right now he was just showing me the ropes. (More about him later.) The area where we got high was the place everyone went and everybody knew about it but nobody ever did anything about it. It was a sort of understanding. If an officer was going to crack down on it they would let us know ahead of time so nobody would be there. It was a big game and we all played our parts. The officers didn’t want to catch anybody because that would mean endless paperwork and a shortage of manpower so they just turned a blind eye.

I smoked a half a joint of the best marijuana I had ever had, it was great, and I was stoned out of my mind. The guys took me over to Gunfighter Village and the enlisted man’s club. We drank a few beers and one of the guys asked me if I wanted some “coke”? So I followed him into the bathroom and he brought out a bag of white stuff he called “coke”. I took a great big old snort and realized it was NOT ‘coke’. I didn’t know what it was but I liked it. Everything started moving in slow motion. We went back to where we were sitting; I drank half a beer and ran back to the bathroom to puke my guts out. Whatever it was it was great but man it sure made my stomach dizzy. We ate burgers at the club; I had never tasted food that was so good. I was smiling ear to ear. We all got back to the barracks and by now I had the nods so they helped me lay down. The day was finally over.

Vietnam was so different from what is going on now. We knew we had 365 days in country and we went home. One year, that was it. You could re-up of course but most of us wanted to go home. The pay was great. We did not have to pay any taxes while in country and we got hazardous duty pay. I had a wife so I got $123 basic pay, $60 dependent and $8. Hazardous duty, $191 a month, tax free!

I laid my tired head down and I remember thinking, “one down, 364 to go”. My first day in Vietnam I had finished my LOTR, I got all new clothes, I shit in front of an audience for the first time. I showered with a dozen ladies doing dishes. I smoked the best dope of my life and I didn’t know it at the time but I had also done my first Heroin.

 

Before I continue with my story I want to explain a few things. I am a recovering Addict and Alcoholic. I am not purposely showing you how I got that way but Drugs are a big part of my Vietnam experience. Not everybody in Vietnam used or at least tried drugs while in Country but everyone I knew did. I hope to write a story about my addictions at a later day but for now I just want to give you a peek inside my year. If I make the drug experience sound like a great time it is because it was. The experience I had with drugs might make you want to try them for yourself but if you continue with my tale I believe you will see how all this nearly killed me. I continued with my drug/alcohol use until I ultimately lost EVERYTHING. I won’t tell you what to do with your life but believe me it did not work out well for me.  I know the graphic details of my adventures have upset a few of you and honestly all I tell you are true stories. I am telling these stories as I remember them and my language helps me tell them as I remember them. My language to this day is still very “colorful” but I have squared that with my God. Judge me if you want but I only have one Judge and I will meet that Judge someday, just as you will.

 

I woke to my first morning sweating my ass off. Adrian Cronauer was not on the radio, not that I’d know because the day before someone had stolen my radio. I had not gotten a whole bunch of sleep because it was so damn hot. We had been told to fall out by 7:30 so I got up at 6 to get to breakfast then back to our compound for my first formation.

I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this. We all lined up for guard mount just like I was still at Travis. The Captain came out and gave the orders for the day. All the new guys were told to stay where we were and the rest of the guys went out in different directions to guard the base.

About 6 of us were left standing when the dust cleared. We were told to come to ‘at ease’ and given our orders for the day. The Sgt. was to take us to another orientation and tour of the base. That morning we had class in the hottest building I had ever been in. Sweat was pouring out of my body and I was soaked in less than an hour. I would have a hard time explaining just how hot Vietnam really was. I was raised in St Louis, it gets hot and humid in St Louis but not like this. The heat never took its foot off the gas, it stayed hot. Class told us when we could shoot somebody. No matter what, you had to fire a warning shot, and then shoot to kill. We learned about the different posts we would man and how to man them. We had different rules of engagement for each post. If you were in the tower you called the shift Commander and got permission to arm the Claymores. The Front Gate you shot in the air then at whoever it was you were going to drop. If you were humping the line (Guarding Airplanes) you fired the warning shot and yelled stop, if they didn’t stop you dropped them. We had lots of different guard posts to talk about. We broke for lunch and the Sgt. then took us to see every post we were responsible for.

DaNang AFB was set up in a big oval like a race track. I never got my North – South – East – West completely figured out. I think it was because we were upside down, the other side of the world. I always thought China Beach was west of the base when it was in fact East, on the Ocean, which had to be East. I know that none of that made any sense to anyone that did not go but I always had to stop and think which way was up. I don’t think I have ever figured that out, even today.  The big oval had two main gated and was surrounded by barbed wire fences. The East had the Freedom hill Marine base right outside the gate. The South was an area called “Dog Patch” with small businesses, whore houses, bars and homes. The West had lots of open ground which became the “Kill Zone” then a village that seemed to go on forever. The North was pretty empty, lots of rice paddies, because most of the Rockets came from that direction. We had guard towers all along the fence, at the gates, both sides of the Airfield and occasional posts around the morgue and roving patrols that were normally policing our own guys.

We started the next day. I never got gate duty or patrolling. I might have but you had to have some ‘In Country” time before you got the good jobs. I started humping the runways, just like Travis. I also had tower duty and “special” duties. I got into a rhythm; I would party all night every night and show up for duty the next day. We had revolving shifts, 3 days 8 – 5, 3 days 5 – 12am and 3 days 12 – 8am. We had a day off after each change and 2 days off from overnight then back to days.

Rodlin Reece became my best friend. Rodlin was my first truly close friend since high school. Rodlin was from Cleveland and didn’t seem to matter that I was the wrong color. Reece got me a fan and mosquito net so I could sleep. Reece protected me on many occasions.  Funny thing about Vietnam, 10% of Americans were Black but 45% of those in Vietnam were Black. Black Soldiers and White stayed mostly to themselves. Not a lot of love. In fact the SP broke up a lot of very bad fights between the races. We even had one in our own complex that got so bad the Marine Guard was called in to stop it. The Air Force was a different beast; at the end of every shift we cleared and turned in our weapons and no other Air Force personnel has access to weapons. This was a good thing because I believe at times the races would have gone to war with each other. Very Scary Stuff! Reece got me to move to one of the “Black Huts” from the “White Hut” I was assigned. The front of the hut had about 10 whites that the black soldiers could almost trust. Each SP hut had 25 – 30 guys. The black huts were completely left alone by the Command structure. The white Officers wanted no part in what they might find in those living quarters. The smell of Pot was always in the air. Very loud Soul and Jimmie Hendricks was also always in the air.

I will admit that this was the first time I had ever been this close to black culture. Reece knew I was from St Louis and just assumed I was in with “The Brothers” there. I said nothing to change his mind. Vietnam was the boiling point of race. I spent time with the Army guys, same thing. I spent time with the Navy guys, same thing. I spent time with the Marines and not so much. Marines seemed to have figured it out. The Marines had more black officers and they had each other’s backs. I really felt like the Revolution would start here.

I cannot adequately describe the tensions between White and Black. You could cut it with a knife and some did. The Black and White airmen were about the same on how they treated the Vietnamese civilians. Some treated them as human some treated them as dogs. Reece taught me a lot. It got to the point that some of the White guys hated me because I did not hate the Black guys. There was no official separation by color it was a mutual separation. If you got to a College or high School Campuses today you can see the same thing. Black students in one group, Whites in another and mixing whenever they need to. Today I don’t think it is hate as much as it is cultural differences, I hope I am right. But back then it was pretty much hate and distrust. I could spend chapters on this part of the Vietnam experience but I think you get the picture.

Did you know if you had a fan blowing on you the mosquitos and flies would not bother you at night? I found that out quick and then I could actually get some ZZZ’s. Did you know you could warm your C-Rations on the manifold of an Armored Personnel Carrier (APC)? (You can, if you put a small hole in the top so it don’t blow up.)  We had lockers to put away our stuff but most everybody had ammo boxes and crates we could lock up everything else we owned. We called it our cubicle but it was really just your bed area. I found some spare plywood and built a kind of room for myself. All the guys did that. You took your bed and locker with all your lock up boxes and make it into a real room so you could have some privacy.  Some of them got pretty elaborate with ceiling fans and lights, some had doors, some a Curtin and some were open. I had mine set up pretty good.

“DaNang is under attack, take cover, DaNang is under attack” we heard this every few nights. About two times a week. First you heard the siren then the announcement. Every body would grab their shit and hit the floor. Rockets explode out and up, like a snow cone cup. The lower you get the better you are. Rockets are not so much expertly aimed as they are guesstamatted. The first few times I heard the siren I ran to the shelter until I noticed I was the only one in there. Everyone had the idea “Look if it’s my time, it’s my time”. Rockets missed more than they hit and when they hit it was only rarely that they hit something important. You just hoped they missed or at least that they don’t hit you.

The music came out of wonderful reel to reel tape machines. Everybody had one. I bought a used machine from a guy going ‘Back to the World”. I had three tapes “Days of Future past”, “Are You experienced” and “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”. I played them over and over I don’t know how many times. I had a great set of headphones I bought at the PX and eventually I bought a dual recorder. You could copy the tape playing on the top reel to the bottom reel. Music became so very important to us all. Reece loved Marvin Gay, any Soul and Reece loved his blues.

We went to the club most nights. They would have these great Filipino bands. I always got a kick out of the singers. I can’t imagine how they did it; they sang every song in English when they could not speak English. I mean no disrespect when I say you have never heard the song sung right until you hear “Rollin-Rollin- Rolling down the Reeber” it was great. Every three weeks or so we would get a round eye band and once in a while a star like Albert King, would play for a night but those nights were a madhouse just trying to get in.  The enlisted man’s club at Gunfighter Village was my favorite. We went to the Motor Pool’s club once in a while to break things up. We drank some beer but mostly we snorted “coke” (Heroin) and tried not to fit in with the juicers. We smoked a lot of grass, a lot of grass. I can’t think of a time we didn’t strike a Dobie, even on duty. We ate more LSD than Timothy Leary. LSD was pretty beat by the time we got it and it was cut with strychnine so it gave you a belly ache. We took 3 or 4 at a time, sometimes more. You have no idea how good “Rollin down de reeber” sounds on 4 hits of LSD, a head full of Marijuana and a nose full of “coke”. I was lonely for “the World” but I kind of liked Vietnam.

The Vietnamese I got to know I really liked. The compound kid, Billie started staying with me in my cubical. Billie could find anything. That kid was great. I found out later that Billie always picked a guy to stay with until you went home and then he would find another. Billie never asked for much and he always watched your stuff. Mama San for our space was a great lady. Mams San had the task of cleaning our area, washing our clothes and dishes. She did just about anything for us and usually 4 – 6 guys would hire the same women and each pay her $15 a month. I ain’t kidding, $15 each and we had a butler/maid/Mother. We always tipped her for our laundry and I guess she probably made $150 a month by the time it was all paid up. Great money for a native, in fact you had to know somebody who knew somebody to get the job. Then they all went through a security check and waited for an opening. I am sure she had to pay somebody down the line because graft is open and accepted by the Vietnamese QC (police). Billie became my adopted Son while I was there. I took care of him and he took care of me. Billie was about 12 and had lived on base since he was a small boy. His parents were killed by VC and how he came to end up in this compound nobody knew. Billie hated VC and yet he could not ever leave the base because he had no security clearance to get back in. Billie just was that’s all, he was just Billie and we all accepted that. I am sure when the North Vietcong took over DaNang Billie was one of the first killed. He had no papers to escape and by the time the rescue planes came in Billie would have been 17 and not a child anymore. But at the time Billie’s smile would light up anybody’s life. I would come in so Fucked up I would not be able to walk or crawl and Billie would get Mama San to get me in bed and up and ready for work the next day. I guess I loved the kid; I still think of him and pray for him every day. There was another little kid that lived at the compound “Big Head” this kid was maybe 2 and wore a grown man’s hat. He stayed with the compound Barber. The Barber was an old Papa San that stayed in his little hut and 24 hours a day if a guy needed a haircut he was there, smiling, cutting hair. He always had a smile for everyone and spoke pretty good English so he told some funny jokes while he clipped away. I got to know our Mama San’s family. I am sure they and every Vietnamese employee of the US government were killed in 75 when the North took over. That is just the way our United States of America rewarded those who choose our side and choose to put their faith in us. They were all slaughtered.

I got Mama San cigarettes and booze and she always got me the best drugs. Air Force personnel got a card every month that allowed us to buy 6 cartons of cigarettes a month and 6 bottles of booze or 6 cases of beer. I loved that ration card because I did not smoke and I had no use for 4 of the 6 booze tickets. I took a bottle of “Crown Royal” whiskey I bought for $10 and Mama San paid me $50 which she sold for $100 (that is all 1970 money. Worth 10 times that amount now). Thank You PX.

Mama San turned me on to “Fat Man”. “Fat Man” was a brown bottle that had a picture of a fat man on the label. All the writing was Vietnamese so I had no idea what it was. Mama San saw I was having a tough time getting up and through my day so one day she brought me a bottle. Fat Man was liquid speed they sold in all the village drug stores. I guess it was a weight loss medication  because of the fat guy, but whatever it was, I flew. I mean it felt like I was actually flying sometimes. Mama San charged me $1 a bottle. The taste was not pleasant but not bad until you’d been on it for a while then it started to taste awful. The taste never slowed me down. I drank fat Man every day and all night. I went for days without sleep. I had my teeth ground down to dust. My jaw hurt so much I had to always have gum or something in my mouth to keep the pain from getting worse. In one month I lost 45 pounds. I was down to 145 pounds. My friends all started to really get worried. I was so paranoid I wouldn’t let anyone near me. I found an orange straw that glowed under a black light and I made it into a ring. THE RING. “One Ring To Bind Them All”. THE RING! And it was all mine, my precious. My friends really got scared when one night just fucking around one of my friends grabbed the ring off my hand. I attacked him, screaming, hitting and it scared the shit out of everyone.

Mama San told me the bad news “No more Fat Man, the government outlawed it. No Fat Man GI, Mama San sorry”. The drug stores quit carrying it.(Looking back, I am pretty sure she was lying, God Bless Her) I crashed on my first ever shot of “coke”. Everyone knew I was totally hooked so they thought if they just main-lined a little “coke” it would soften my crash. It did, I slept for 36 hours. I never forgot the feeling I had when those horses ran out of that needle, up my arm and my whole body got warm. The rush you never forget, ever. To this day I have been sober and straight for 27 years and I still feel that first rush. Ask any junkie they will try to explain it but they can’t. It was late April now.  Imagine everything I have told you about so far happened in the first 45 days I was in country?  Don’t worry yet, I did not shoot drugs again…. until May. In May I did a lot of dumb things. In May I did a lot of Brave but dumb things. That May 1970 changed my life forever.

 

 

 

Part 13. Down The Rabbit Hole

 

 

 

 

 

IT IS A LONG WAY DOWN

Did you ever in your life run into situation where there are no right answers. Every person has to decide for themselves what is right and what is wrong. I may not have taken the right path but please don’t judge me harshly. The times where a whole lot different in 1970. Clearly the majority of Americans felt the war was wrong and went to the streets to prove it. Armed Forces Radio/TV told of the countless clashes in the streets. I am going to be as honest with you as is possible. I am very embarrassed about some of it and I am very proud of some of it, sometimes proud and embarrassed at the same time. This part of my story is the most difficult for me to write because I still dream about it; nightmares may be a better word. I do not attempt to compare my misadventures with those brave Men and Women that saw actual combat in too many wars our Country has been involved with, each person has their own life decisions to make. I made mine and it could not have turned out worse for me.

Q.C. PATCH

I volunteered for duty in Vietnam. I asked for reassignment knowing full well I was committing myself to a war I had fought hard to avoid.  I can’t blame it entirely on my bipolar brain but I am sure that it had something to do about it. I changed in the Air Force, the thought of serving my Country appealed to me more than I thought possible. I cared about my “brothers in arms” more than I thought I ever would. I was actually kind of proud to wear the QC patch we were given upon entering Vietnam. Events that lead to my breakdown would not have fazed most men but it nearly killed me. Maybe it was the drugs, perhaps I wasn’t taking enough. I won’t blame my problems on any one but my worst enemy; ME.

THAT’S ME ALRIGHT

I became friends with a few of the Marines stationed on Freedom Hill. Marines were not allowed the same rationing cards as we had in the Air Force. They were not allowed in our enlisted clubs or dining halls. The Marines lived in permanent tents and did not have the amenities that we enjoyed. The Marines had to wear civvies’ to get through the gate or sign in and out before sundown. They were prohibited from staying on base but that rule was broken very frequently.  I usually had two or three guys stay over at our barracks when they were in town. I became close friends with two guys in particular and when they were back at freedom hill we spent lots of time together. We all went partying at the base clubs and went to China Beach a lot.

I LOVE CHINA BEACH

China Beach was a great place with white sand, cheap beer and a few women would even show up. China Beach was within walking distance from the air base and we went there all the time. China Beach was also an in Country R&R destination for all branches so the soldiers could decompress a little bit. I started to really enjoy my time in Vietnam. You would have to be nuts not to like my position. I worked an eight hour shift with days off between rotations so we had plenty of time to get high and hit the beach. The walk to China Beach was always fun yet tense at the same time. We walked along a very busy road with military and civilian traffic that rivaled rush hour in St Louis. The traffic was controlled by the QC (the Vietnamese Police) and they took no shit off ANYBODY. The QC was really cocky and I never liked working with them, luckily I didn’t have to very often. The QC had absolute authority over the people of Vietnam and they had very little patience with Air Force SP’s because they had been QC for years and they knew we were here one year and went home. Vietnam was their home and they resented some of the American Officers giving them orders. I guess I don’t blame them; we would blow into Vietnam, stay a while and go home. About ¾ of American soldiers treated the Vietnamese people poorly. They were openly called “Slopes and Gooks” by soldiers of all branches of the military and they would smile and walk away. The Vietnamese would think of incredible lengths to free the Americans of every penny they had. Walking through the town of DaNang we were always offered women, drugs, soda pop and anything else you might imagine all under the watchful eye of the QC. I think the QC always got a cut in the action because it was all so obvious.

QC IN CHARGE

I had this really nice watch Dee had given me for Christmas one year. I still loved her even though I had married another woman. That watch was my link to her and even though I was offered the moon for it, I kept it on my wrist day and night.

It was Saturday April 25^th when I got news that Mike, my friend from St Louis had been killed in action. If you will remember he was drafted back in 69 and he was trained and immediately sent to Vietnam. I got a letter from a friend back home telling me about it. Kind of weird me being here getting a letter from there telling me about Mike’s death. I read that short letter many times that day; I carried it with me when I took my post that night. Mike was a gentle soul. We sang together in a trio during assembly in high school. We had hoped to one day sing folk songs professionally.  It probably would never happen but we sounded pretty good. Now it would never happen. I was glad to be in the Air Force so I wouldn’t have to go to Vietnam, wait, what? Mike’s death hit me hard as this war hit a lot of families hard. I had not seen the movie Woodstock yet but I can still hear Country Joe singing “be the first one on your block to have your boy sent home in a box.” Nearly 60,000 families would realize the power of those words. Mike was my friend; my friend died over here, WTF was I doing?

CROWDED DANANG STREETS

I had shift change that next day and 2 days off so to China Beach we went. I just needed to relax, lay on the beach, body surf in the Ocean, eat a steak, smoke some dope and drink some beer. I had a chance to actually laugh out loud, belly laugh at one of my Marine friends. We came to the main crossroads on the way to the beach and he asked the Mama San for one of her beetle nuts. Some of the Vietnamese people constantly sucked on these huge beetle nuts all the time. They were a mild stimulant very addictive little thing that rotted the teeth of anybody that used them with any regularity. This Marine got into a bidding war to get one. I think it cost the average Vietnamese a penny or so to get one and she wanted five dollars. He got her down to one buck after a wildly loud and animated conversation that got both of them and all of us laughing our asses off. He started chewing on that nut and nearly threw up, he was gagging and spitting and Mama san joined the hundreds of people watching and laughing so hard I almost wet my pants. I looked over and the 3 QC watching traffic were bent over laughing, it was a very rare moment, I guess you had to be there.

  FASTEST GUN IN THE QC

We started back down the road kidding my friend and having fun when a kid riding on the back of a small motor bike came up behind us and grabbed my watch off my wrist. Clean and fast, I didn’t have a chance to stop him and it hurt like hell. I started screaming bloody murder for somebody to stop him. I wanted that watch back, it was my last contact with Dee and now it was speeding away with a kid who turned and smiled at me. Just then one of the QC drew his gun and shot the kid in the back. It was one of the best shots I had ever seen, I don’t think he even aimed BANG, the kid dropped and the bike driver just kept on going. The kid twitched a few times, tried to talk and died. Nobody, including me, tried to help him. The crowd parted and people started going back to their own business. Time stopped: in slow motion the QC walks over to the body on the left side of the road. I remember it was the left side of the road because I see it all in my nightmares. It is always in slow motion, watch snatched, kid smiles, QC draws gun, QC shoots kid and kid falls on the left side of the road, kid dies. The QC picks my watch off the body and hands it to me smiling. His buddy was on the radio to somebody, calling for the meat wagon I think. My friends stepped around the body and waved at me to get going before we got caught up in the shit-storm that might follow. My friends were Marines that went out on patrols all the time. They rarely talked about the killing they did and the friends they saw die. This was the first time I had ever seen anybody killed. He was just a kid, why did I raise so much hell over a stupid watch? He was just a kid. My friends felt my pain but pulled me away and we continued our walk with me holding my watch.

He was just a kid. (I am sitting here crying while I write this; I just can’t get him out of my mind, EVER). I guess he was around 12 – 15 years old, Billie’s age. It was so casual, so non-event and I was the only one that took it so hard. Another man would have questioned the QC about their motives or tried to find the kids family or tried to comfort his last seconds or do SOMETHING, I did NOTHING. I walked away with my friends. We had a quite walk for a few minutes then my friends started kidding about what we just saw, commenting on the dead eye shot of that QC. These guys dealt with this shit every day of their lives. I envied them for the first time that day. I tried to act like this was a normal thing I had just seen, I wanted to fit in, I wanted to be a he-man hero, and I wanted to die instead of that kid. We got to the beach and my friends got into their shorts and headed for the surf. I stayed on a bench in the shade looking at the water and waves and thinking.

SOMETIMES IT IS A LONELY BEACH

I threw my watch into the Ocean. I hope it is still there. I have never worn a watch or any jewelry since that day. I walked back to the base alone. I got to the spot where I had last seen the kid, he was gone. The QC that shot him was gone. There was no blood, no body, no sign it ever happened. I don’t know if a report was ever made, I doubt there was one. It was like it never happened and no one even remembered it happened but I remember. I will always remember. I told you I was no hero, I never killed anybody that I know of, but I feel like I killed that kid. I have not talked about this event in my life to many people. I don’t know why I am telling you except I am now an old man  and if I don’t tell people about the kid it will be like he never lived at all and I tell you honestly he lives in my head. I love children, I raised 6 lost 1 and worked hard for children wherever I have been and I do it partly in his honor.  He was a thief I know, but you should have seen that smile he gave me on the back of that bike right before he died.

I got back to my hut and hit up some H. I stayed high until it was time to report for my next day shift. I don’t remember talking about the kid to anyone because I didn’t want them to crack any jokes or make any cracks about me, him or the QC. I just ate it and that worked for a while. I can’t imagine what the veterans who actually fight to live or die handle all this. Each man has his own technique I am sure and to most of you that read this I will go down as the biggest wimp you ever heard of, maybe I am.

I just got word that Mike had died and the next day this kid dies. I guess it just started to get my mind going was I right or wrong I guess it all depends on how you look at things but my mind was now it the Twilight Zone and I have never been the same.

That Tuesday April 28^th I went back to days for 3 days and each night I got stoned big time, feeling sorry for myself I guess. It’s hard to figure out the mind of a 19 year old. I went through 19 myself and with all my kids and I never could figure out what (if anything) went through their minds. I know I handled things badly; I turned to drugs in a very hard way. I don’t suggest this route for anyone else because it certainly did not go well for me.

I CAN STILL SMELL IT

Between each shift we got 24 hours before I was to start swing shift and I went back to that corner where the killing took place, I don’t know why, there was nothing to see. I wondered around a while and then I did something really stupid; really, really, really stupid. I went to my first opium den. I was the only GI in a very scary place. Reese had been here before and told me about it so I used his name to get in. I will never forget that day. This place was like going into a black and white Clark Gable movie. Sunlight came in beams through the slats in the roof. In the middle of the room was a big Hookah looking thing with a huge bowl on top and radiator hoses coming out four sides of it. Papa San’s were lying around on pallets and mostly they looked like they were sleeping. “50 cent a hit” says Papa San “you take more than 6 you get them free” he smiled. I took a seat and gave him $3. I hit that hose one time with Papa San holding some kind of blow torch on the bowl and I thought my head was going to explode. I was sooooooo high! I took another hit and clocks stopped working. I had to take a few moments after that second hit. I was stoned yes but I also felt like I was going to puke. I was so awake and alive but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Then I did what any logical person would do; I took another hit ( I paid for 6 and I was by golly gonna take 6). The third hit I found out what the term “pipe dreams” was all about. My head would start to fall and by the time it hit my chest I had dreamed an hour’s worth of dreams. I would nod and smile and all the other “clients” would nod and smile, I think we were all nodding at the same time, or so it seemed. I took another hit and by this time I had already amazed the owner of this fine establishment, no GI had ever got to 6 and I had just hit my forth. I had to lie down and I did. I watched the dust particles in the sun beams float in fact I saw lots of things I thought you could only see on acid. Here came the “keep on truckin” guys, colors appeared where there were none and those beautiful sounds of the Vietnamese music on the radio. (I don’t know why I never appreciated it before?)I was stoned – swacko – wasted! I laid there for I do not know how long and decided it was time for another hit, but I couldn’t get up. I slobbered all over Papa San and asked him to stretch the hose over to me so I could hit it. He just laughed and walked away. He came back with the coldest best tasting Coca- Cola I have ever had in my life. Every sip sent wonders of delight through my bones. I am so glad I did not have that fifth hit because the next thing I knew I was holding an empty Coke bottle and it was morning. I had to report for duty at 4:30, excuse me 1600 hours, and I still had to make it back to base. Lucky for me I was more or less sober and I made it back in time for breakfast and a snooze right through lunch. I hope you know I was incredibly lucky. Some guys got the crap kicked out of them at those places. Lots of guys that got as stoned as I did came home with no wallet, no ID and maybe no clothes. God and Papa San took pity on me I guess because I came home unscathed and with all my stuff.

HOME SWEET HOME IN 1970

It was May 2^nd and I started swing shift on the perimeter with a night scope and M60. I am sitting up there still half in the bag with all the toys it would take to start the war going right there. I spent most of my shift dozing in and out, still had the nods. 2200 hours the siren went off “DaNang is under attack, take cover DaNang is under attack” this started going on right after the first rocket had hit. I was awake now. I am sitting 30 feet off the ground in a wooden stand and now I had to really be on my toes because a rocket attack could mean Sappers (crazy VC with explosives) and I was first line of defense; that will wake anybody up. Behind me I hear the rockets walking across the base. The VC would “walk” them as soon as they found range so the first one might hit at the end of the Air Field so they would adjust the tube and the next one would get closer to target, they would continue that until they hit their target. Some times our Gunships or Marines got to them and scared them away or killed them all. Those Gunships were incredible; they could put a Bullitt every square inch the size of a football field every second. Looking out from my tower that was always cool to look at, as long as I wasn’t under one. No attack that night (Thank You Jesus). I think the VC was getting high every night because it was very rare that they ever hit ANYTHING important. Like I’ve said we had these attacks a couple times a week so you got used to them after a while. I think they were just trying to keep us guessing. I was still pretty new so I paid attention.

C130 GUNSHIP

May 3^rd another swing shift night, I was humping the field all night, easy Pease.

 

May 4^th 1970 a day that drastically changed my life. I was assigned guard duty at the base morgue. It was cleaning day and they took the body bags out to a covered area while they hosed down the coolers. All the floors and walls got scrubbed down really good. I don’t know how many times a year they had to do this but today was the day and I got to stand guard. The biggest disrespect the Vietnamese could show would be to spit or even piss on the bodies. This never happened but just in case we had a bunker out front with an M60 and my M16. Nobody was getting close to those men. I had my transistor radio with me (against the rules) and I started hearing about the 4 kids dying at Kent State University. There was a big demonstration on campus and the National Guard came out with LIVE AMMO. Some idiot started shooting and when it was over 9 kids were wounded and 4 dead in Ohio. I had only been to one demonstration against the war and that was in Chicago. I saw kids getting busted up but at least no one was shooting at them. It really started getting to me. These kids were dying and all they did is what kids were doing all over the Country. Did these 4 die, for me? Trying to get me home? That was my thought, I remember it clearly. I am 19 and the world revolved around me so I thought sure that Kent State was a desperate attempt to get me home. I guess I was already pretty crazy and I was hanging on by a thread. I actually started to cry for these kids and for myself. (As I write this I think I’m starting to sound like a real crybaby and maybe I was). I am as low as dog shit and nothing could get me lower. Mike was dead, I killed the motor bike kid and now I am guarding the remains of real American Hero’s. I started falling apart; imagine a guy that starts out so against the war actually volunteering to go. I was the biggest hypocrite that ever lived. I was so full of self-loathing that at that moment I almost ate my M16, I think I was going to try it when the Major pulled up and things really started going south.

The Major got out of his Jeep and I sat there in a daze contemplating suicide. “Airman don’t you come to attention when an officer approaches your post?” I slowly got up and came to a half ass attention. “Airman, Where is my salute?” I sort of saluted. He looked around a bit, looking back on it now I see that he was not too thrilled with me and he was looking for something to bust my ass about. He saw a gum wrapper on the ground and came unglued. “Airman don’t you police your post?” I looked at the gum wrapper next to a pile of dead bodies. I looked at that gum wrapper like I have never looked at anything before or after. The Major was still yelling while I was still IN that gum wrapper. I mean IN that wrapper, I traveled down into it, following the wrinkles in the foil surrounded by the green cover. I found myself in that wrapper, running, trying to get out, the wrapper had me trapped and I couldn’t get out. Sitting next to the bodies was this gum wrapper and I was in it.

The morgue crew had already moved most of the remains when I came to. I told the major I was going to shoot him. His eyes got big and he started yelling again, the morgue crew stopped what they were doing. Everything stopped for me. I don’t know what I was thinking but it was along the line that I was here where I knew it was wrong to be. These guys had paid the ultimate price, my friend had been at a morgue just like this, a kid I didn’t even know was dead and this blow hard asshole was worried about a gum wrapper? I stopped the Major by jacking a round into my M16. I said, I’m going to count to three and I am going to shoot you. I remember that at that moment I was going to do it. The morgue guys ran, the Major started fumbling. “Now wait a God damned minute Airman, I am your Commanding officer and I’ll be damned if you are going to get away with this.” I said ONE, he started backing up to his Jeep and started shouting about my career and my freedom and I walked over to my M60 and said TWO. He jumped in the Jeep and started to drive away. THREE!!!!!

 

 

 

Part 14, “A Mans Gotta Know His Limitations” ( Dirty Harry)

I’d like to tell you I had the guts to shoot that son of a bitch. I’d like to tell you I shot AT the son of a bitch. The truth has been lost to my own mind until I decided to write it all down. I have told this story in so many ways that the truth got lost someplace. I am embarrassed about this entire portion of my story so forgive me if I have not been entirely honest in the past. It’s a hard thing to call yourself a liar in front of God and all of you; but I am. I never wanted to admit the “real story”, even though the “real story” is a better tale. I hate people that make up “War Stories”, I hate them because it dishonors the brave deeds of soldiers that did these heroic things and are actually heroes. I wrote a short story about this event while in College and I guess I was trying to impress the kids in class. That College version sort of stuck in my mind as the truth, when it was not. Please don’t judge me too harshly because it played out in my mind exactly as I wanted it too. I still dream about this story and it always has different ways this moment in my life could have gone. Every man wants to be better than he is. This was the defining moment in my military career and I am proud and ashamed of my behavior both at the same time.  I will tell you for the first time what really happened.

 

 

I told that Major I was going to count to three and then I was going to shoot him. I counted “ONE” and I slammed a round into my M16. I shouted “TWO” and I walked over to my M60 and slammed a round into the chamber. By this time the Major had gotten into his jeep and was trailing dust as he rode off quickly. I shouted “THREE” and I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened; I had not removed the safety. In the original telling of this story the M60 went off into the ground as the Major drove away. Believe me I had every intention of shooting the Major, not the ground, but God had other plans. I knocked the M60 off its bunker stand and into the dirt. I grabbed for my M16 and threw it down and (God is laughing here) it DID go off.

 

I had everybody in the Morgue running for cover and I sat down in the dirt, leaning against the inside bunker wall totally freaked out by what I had done. I couldn’t believe it, four kids in Ohio dead because I did not have the courage of my convictions against the war. I took this whole thing very personally as young people do. I felt the world revolved around me and I accepted the guilt for the entire war. I remember sitting there, my mind still inside the gum wrapper as I ran through the maze of aluminum and spearmint green wrapper. I was trapped inside that wrapper and could not get out. I had my radio and heard “All mobile units go to channel 3”. I went to channel 3 and heard the call go out to “get to the morgue bunker and take Airman Benton into custody. Approach with caution he is to be considered dangerous to himself and others.” Me? The ramifications of my actions were becoming very obvious to me now. I was going to die or go to jail and I didn’t care. I just sat there in the dirt running through the maze of that gum wrapper. What was I doing here? I VOLENTEERED for this! Not just once but two times. I had volunteered while in basic and then again while at Travis. Who the hell was I and how did I get to this point? I zoned right out.

 

The next thing I knew I am hearing my name over a loudspeaker, “Benton come out with your hands behind your head!” I recognized the voice as my friend Reece; his was the first unit to get to me. I do not know how long they had been there but I do remember he was trying not to laugh. I guess I am lucky it was Reece because anybody else might have come in guns blazing. Reece repeated his order but I was in some kind of trance, I just sat there. I remember the numb feeling I had. I was out of my body looking at myself. I could see the whole thing, me in the bunker and two APC’s with guns pointed at me. I think at that exact moment I lost my mind. I was broken and I didn’t care about the Air Force or Kent State or Vietnam or anything, I was gone into that gum wrapper. I look at what I am writing here and it sounds so crazy, I guess it was. This is very hard to tell you about because I really have no words to describe what I felt.

 

I saw the kid; I had a hand in killing, lying in the street. My childhood friend Mike was dead. 4 dead kids at Kent State. Bodies of men I admired zipped into bags outside the morgue. I could not find my way out of that gum wrapper.

 

I don’t remember what happened next but I do know what Reece told me later. He said that he and another guy got out and approached the bunker. He saw the M60 and M16 laying on the ground but knew that I still had my 38 pistol. He told me that they carefully came round the bunker and saw me just sitting there. Reece tried to talk to me but I didn’t hear anything. He radioed the all clear as he took my pistol and handcuffed me. I do not remember any it. Reece lead me out to a truck and rode with me to the Commanders office. I was put into the small holding area we had for drunken Airman and I stayed there for hours. I do remember coming around as I waited.

 

I was taken to the Major’s office and he was pissed (as you might imagine he would be) and let me know it loud and clear. “What the fuck were you thinking?” “You are going to Long Bien (jail) for a very long time.” I just sat there. “Airman are you listening?” I just sat there. “Airman!” I just sat there. “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” I just sat there. I guess this went on for a long time until finally I came around. I told him I didn’t remember doing anything and that went over like a fart in church. He was pissed and somebody was going to pay for it. “You little bastard you shot at me.” I explained that didn’t remember any of it. I went back to the holding tank.

 

Reece was a very good friend and I found out how good a friend he really was that day. I later found out that Reece had told the Major that the safety was still on the M60 and the morgue workers saw that the M16 had gone off when it hit the dirt. He explained the state they found me in and suggested that I had a mental break. The Major thought it must have been drugs and sent me to the base hospital. Thank GOD I had not done any hard drugs before my shift. No drugs were found.

 

 

I was kept overnight at the hospital and then sent back to face the Major. I guess he had time to calm down and I was starting to come around again. He told me to sit and he sat across from me. “Do you remember what happened?” I told him what I remembered leaving out the part about actually pulling the trigger on the M60. I told him how I felt, what I was thinking and how sorry I was that any of this had happened. To my complete surprise he listened to all of it, asking questions every once in a while. Finally the Major told me he was going to do all he could to assure that this whole incident would not be placed in my records. He contacted a friend of his, a Catholic Priest, and set up an appointment for that same day. The Major turned out to be a good man; I wish I had known it earlier.

 

I am not Catholic and this Priest was a tough old Captain who wasn’t buying what I was selling. We talked all afternoon. Eventually I think he believed me but he still didn’t like me very much. I think he saw something in me he wanted to save but I really don’t know what changed his opinion of me. “Why didn’t you claim conscientious objector (CO) status?” “Why did you volunteer?” “What are you doing over here if you feel this way?” “A MAN stands up for his convictions and you don’t stand up to ANYTHING!” I just sat there, he was right. What do I believe? How do I stand up for my convictions and myself? The Priest called my Major (his friend) and suggested I need a full psychiatric evaluation, and soon. The Major agreed and started the wheels turning. The Priest told me that “This may keep you out of jail”. He really tried to show me that my Commander was a great guy and a good man. I asked him how I could claim CO now that I was already here? The Captain Priest helped; but he was against it until I got my full physic evaluation. I was determined that I wanted to do it now. He showed me what I had to do and I told him I was going to file all the papers. I went back to the SP compound and told the 1^st Sergeant I wanted CO status. He tried to talk me out of it but he also understood that I was going to do it no matter what anybody said. I made a bad enemy of the 1^st shirt that day but I didn’t realize it till later.  To this day I look back at all the people that tried to help me but I sure didn’t see it then.

The Major was a short timer (less than 30 days till back to the world) and I guess he has seen it all, or he thought so until I came along. I later found out that NONE of this had ever been put into my records. I hope you know that this was a minor, or “Major”, miracle because if it had been reported I would have stood Court Marshalled and dishonorably discharged. I cannot explain this or even know how this could all happen and not ended up with me in jail. I look back on it now and see the hand of Almighty God, I really do. I don’t know why God would look at me in pity and help but I know that he did. I wish I could have seen it at the time but I just didn’t know if the Major was trying to help me or avoid the paperwork. I owe that man everything and I don’t even remember his name. How different my life would have been if he had gone strictly by the book. The Major had to pull some strings with a lot of people, 1^st Sgt. Unit leader, armorer and maybe even his boss. I can’t imagine why. I didn’t deserve all these breaks. The other guys didn’t break, they complained like hell but they continued to do the job and do it well. I look back on it now and I am truly sorry that I caused such uproar. I paid for it later but a lot of folks went to the mat to save my ass.

 

I was put on the shit detail until my evaluation could take place. I was one of four guys that were on the shit patrol. We were all there for different reasons. One guy refused to take a bath; ever. One guy told the Major he was a homosexual; he was. One guy was just plain crazy and I mean CRAZY capitol C. We  four did every rotten awful thing the 1^st shirt could think of and he had a great imagination. He knew we were all just trying to get out and get back to the world and he was going to do everything in his power to see that that did not happen. He took it very personally, way personally. We were lent out to anybody and everybody.

I stayed on this shit patrol for a couple of months until my evaluation could finally be scheduled. One by one these guys went home. The stinky guy that didn’t bathe went first. Man that guy smelled bad, nobody wanted to be around him. He had already had his evaluation and was just waiting for the results. He talked nuts 24/7 he WAS nut and you could not believe the smell. I got stuck with him several times and I always laughed when we would report to some other unit to do some awful job. When we walked in the smell was so intense that it cleared the buildings out. We had to report to motor pool to move the grease and old oil to the dumps. I thought the repair crews were going to barf, I am surprised some didn’t. The dump was on the south end of the base and it always had Vietnamese sifting through the garbage to find some hidden treasure that the stupid Americans would throw away. When we pulled up even they ran the other way. I worked with this guy for a couple of weeks and he not only stunk he was a lunatic. He would smear food and just about anything all over his face and body. The 1^st shirt gave up trying to make him bath. He would order us to wrestle him into the showers fully clothed and it took hours. Finally we would get him hosed down and he came right out and rolled in the mud or sewer overflow. He finally got his discharge and orders home. I will never forget the day he left. He winked at me, smiled and waved goodbye. I now think the whole thing was a scam to get out. He sold it night and day for months but it worked. That smile showed me the whole thing had been an act and he played the part well. I would like to see that guy today. If he didn’t win an Oscar then he is probably a Congressman.

 

The Shit Patrol all bunked in the same barracks and we all got to really know each other. The guy who claimed to be homosexual was a great guy. I think he was really gay but after the stinky guy I never really knew if any of us was acting or real. The 1^st shirt really hated this guy. He had no lover that I knew of, I never saw him approach anyone about sex but the Sgt. thought he was worse than the VC. When I got an assignment with him I knew it would be especially bad. One day we went with the Marines to pick up some bodies that were just outside of the base perimeter.

 

The Marines had shot these guys the day before but had not gone out to claim the bodies till the next day. Because it was just outside the Air Force base it was assumed that they were trying to get into the base. So the Marines called the SP’s to help. The 1^st Sgt was only too happy to send the three of us to go help. The Marines had a Shit Patrol too so they accompanied us to the spot. We all put on our masks and gloves to pick the bodies up out of the mud. The Marine Shit Patrol watched our backs as we went to get the bodies. It was hot, I mean Vietnam hot. Flies were everywhere, Vietnamese people watched from across the rice paddies. I will never forget that smell. The smell came right through the masks and we gagged with every breath. I don’t know the story behind these 5 guys, I never asked but they were shot to hell and had already started to rot in the sun. I went to grab the closest guy’s arms and another of my reject friends went to grab the feet. The skin came off the bones as we picked them up. This is what nightmares are made of and I still wake up screaming some nights. I respect the combat soldiers that had to do this every day and sometimes to their own best friends. I had never seen these guys before and it was all I could take. I had a handful of skin and I didn’t know what to do next. My gay friend had a stronger stomach than I will ever have because he helped me through it. The bloated, stinking, decomposing bodies all fell apart as we pulled them out of the mud. It took about an hour in that hot sun. We finally got all 5 guys loaded on this little 4 wheel drive truck we came out in and it hit me that there was now no room for us to ride unless we road with the dead guys. We walked behind the truck till we got back to Freedom Hill and the Marine Base. All the Jarheads thought we were the funniest things they had ever seen.

 

We were covered in goo and slime. The Marine 1^st Shirt dismissed us and we walked back onto the base. I called the SP compound from the gate guard shack so someone would come pick us up. I waited and one of the guards came out with the bad news that no one was coming. They were all “busy” and we would have to walk back. I knew the guy and he really felt bad about it but that was that. We could take the base shuttle bus that would have been pretty bad with the way we smelled so we started walking. Freedom Hill was on the farthest side away from the SP compound, it was a long walk and none of us talked the whole way. We were about ¾ of the way back when Reece rolled up in a truck and told us to jump in the back as he took us back. I went to my hut, threw my clothes in a plastic bag and told Mama San to get them out of the hut immediately and headed to the longest shower I have ever taken. I washed and washed and I never got that smell out of my nose. I still smell it to this day. I got dressed, walked down to the Airman’s Club and got as drunk as I have ever been. I topped off the evening with a great big hit of Smack. Reece took me back to my hut and I slept till noon. I got up and hit another spoon of smack and spent the rest of the day enjoying the nods. Except every time I started to nod off the smell came back. The Shit Patrol did not report for detail that day and nobody said a word.

 

My Gay friend and the CRAZY guy got orders for discharge and as I waved goodbye to them I realized I was now the last man on the Shit Patrol and it never let up. I did every shit thing you can think of. I was not allowed to hold a weapon (for obvious reasons) but I could carry boxes of ammo all over hell. I cleaned; I washed APC’s, Jeeps, Trucks and Cars. I did everything the old Papa Sans were doing and they didn’t like my taking their jobs even a little bit. I felt like my life was never going to get better and then I got my orders to appear at Cam Ranh Bay AFB for my mental evaluation in two days. I was to take the medical transport and a couple of changes of clothes. I could finally plead my case for CO and get this over with. I didn’t know it but things were about to get worse before they would ever get better. They would get better but first, the trip to Cam Ranh Air Base was one to be  forever imprinted into my nightmares.

 

Part 15, Cuckoo – Cockoo – Cockoo

 

 

 

This chapter has been long in coming and I would like you to know why. I have had many crazy things happen while I was in Vietnam and a few were actually fun. This portion of my story is not fun, it was a nightmare gone horribly wrong. I was trying to push my case as a conscientious objector (CO) to the entire war and unwittingly set myself up for a crazy set of circumstances that went way beyond my control. I regret ever starting the whole process but it was too late, the wheels of the USAF crush anyone that stands in the path and I was right in front of the parade.

 

I was scheduled for my trip to Cam Ranh Bay AFB and the hospital there. I was to be evaluated to see if I truly was a CO or was to be Court Marshaled. Was I sane and indeed morally driven to object to the war or trying to use the law to my advantage or was I crazy. I was understandably nervous (who wouldn’t be?) and I knew my immediate freedom and safety hung in the balance. I felt the war was wrong. I felt I had a duty to stand up and say so. Down deep I also knew I just wanted to go home. I tried to prepare for what was coming but it was hard because I did not know what was coming. I talked with others who had unsuccessfully gone through all this but the advice I got was tainted with the fact that it did not work for them.

I was being shamed on a daily basis. Every morning I was called before guard-mount and assigned duties that were degrading and usually very difficult. I was pointed out to the rest of my fellow Police Officers as a malingerer that was under investigation for threatening the life of my commanding officer.

I later found this to be untrue as the Major had never filed charges or reported any of what happened to anybody. He was indeed one of the most humane people I had ever run into, I only wish I would have known it at the time. He went so far as to demand that our 1^st Shirt not insert it into my records until after the results of the tests at Cam Ranh Bay. I don’t know why or how I was so lucky. I can only wonder if the hand of God was involved because it could have gone a whole lot worse for me, I could have gone to Levenworth for a long time.

Every day the hazing continued until it got to the point that even the loudest of my critics came to me to offer condolences. My 1^st SGT was not happy that I was not in jail. He was not happy I was being “coddled”. He was not happy he was muzzled and he let EVERYONE know EVERY day. Each day guard-mount would begin with roll call and inspection. The report was read aloud so we all knew what had gone down the night before.  Orders were given as to which stations would be manned by which groups. The importance of our diligence was restated every day right before my name would be called. I would be ordered “front and center” and everyone was reminded that even as they went about their duties I was being given “special treatment” because I was to “delicate” for Vietnam. It was pointed out to everyone that I felt their participation in that war was wrong and they were “beneath” me for doing it. It was always pointed out that I was a coward and a baby. The SGT made it clear to everyone that soon I would be paying for my disrespect and that anyone that gave me comfort was just as guilty as I was. It was a horrible time for me. About once a week I was invited into the SGT’s office with the offer to forget all this had happened and go back to work. I was tempted, I really was, but I wondered, if I agreed to go back would he have reason to throw me in jail for faking the whole thing?

I was haunted in my dreams for killing the young boy on the motor bike and I started to feel like all of the punishment I was going through was payback. I had always thought the war was wrong; so how did I get here, oh yea, I VOLENTEERRED.  WTF? I was truly a mess, I did this to myself and I still to this day do not know why. Perhaps it was the beginning of my Bipolar or perhaps I was bat-shit crazy. All the other guys went about their duties no matter how they felt about the war. In private many of them voiced support for my position but they kept on doing the job. I admired them; I truly did and still do. When I talked about my guilt about the young boy they could not see my problem. “One less GOOK, who cares?” I quit talking about it.

Each day a new humiliation, my 1^st SGT was very imaginative. I have already told you about the dead bodies I got to collect.  I washed the trucks, the APC’s and I scrubbed the offices, even though Vietnamese were being paid to do all of it. I went out to dig placements and fill sandbags, even though Vietnamese were paid to do it. I delivered lunches, carried water and sold beer in the dayroom. I was expected to be spotless at all times and my living space was tossed each day looking for drugs. This continued for about two months until my orders came for Cam Ranh Bay.

 

The day finally arrived when I reported to the base Hospital for my airlift south. I do not know what I was expecting but I was to fly with the wounded to Cam Ranh. I saw several true heroes being loaded onto the big KC 130. These guys were Army and Marine Soldiers who had been Air Evaced from all over I corps to DaNang. They were stable and on the way to Cam Ranh AFB Hospital for evaluation. Brave men who lost legs, arm and other body parts. Brave men who served their fellow comrades with all they had to offer. Brave men that bled for their Country. Brave men, Hero’s in my eyes being loaded into the aircraft for the flight to better care. I had not seen anything like this before. My humiliation was complete when I was loaded on board with these men. I was told to take the lower berth with two men above me. I had to fly strapped down in this lower unit because no patients were allowed to sit up. All of us were strapped in as we took off for our southern trip with a stop at Pleiku AFB.

I cannot tell you how caring and dedicated these Medics were. They went about their duties as soon as we were airborne. Each soldier received care beyond what anyone could expect. This was a routine procedure for them and they explained to me that the guys in the transport were stable but they still needed care while in the air. I was to just lay down and shut up because I needed no care and everyone else did. A few minutes into our flight the guy above me started to bleed, he had been thrashing around and I guess he opened some wounds.  I yelled for the medic and he came over to check the guy. Blood was now flowing freely and most of it was pouring out on me. The crew went to work on this poor guy. They worked like hell for about a half hour and finally got him stable but the blood just kept dripping on me. Drip – Drip – Drip it was absolutely incredible how much blood this poor guy had lost and how much came down on me, I was soaked in blood.

We stopped for about five minutes in Pleiku so we could load up a couple of more guys. I asked if I could be moved and I was again told to ‘Shut the fuck up”. I was a pariah and I knew it. I do not blame anybody. This plane was loaded with wounded soldiers, hero’s each one and then there was me. I was more ashamed with each passing minute. The guy above me groaned as we took off and a medic came over to administer a little more morphine and he got quiet again. Drip – Drip – Drip, I still feel that blood dripping on me as I am strapped down and too ashamed to complain again. Drip – Drip – Drip, all the way to Cam Ranh Bay. I was soaked in blood. Drip – Drip – Drip, it was maddening and I grew crazier as we went along. It was announced that we would land in about ten minutes. A medic came by to check on the guy above me. He was dead.

I cannot adequately express to you how I felt that day. I was once again only concerned with my problems. I was strapped down and soaked in blood, I was going out of my mind but this guy was dead. Dead as in no more Son to some family, no more Father or Husband. He was dead. I am in tears as I write this. I did not know his name, I do not remember his face but I was wearing his life blood. I know many Vets that were wounded and served with pride. I knew many families that lost a cherished member. Friends, like my friend  Mike, that never came home. When I think of them I always think of that dead hero that went home in a box. The Medics were in shock, they all thought he was stable. We landed at Cam Ranh Bay AFB and he was second to last to be taken off the plane, I was last. I was unstrapped and allowed to walk off under my own power. I never saw any of them again and I am grateful for that. The shame I felt covered me like the blood I was drenched in.

I walked into the Hospital and everyone freaked. They thought I was bleeding to death. I tried to explain but all anyone saw was blood and lots of it. Something strange happened next. Everyone started laughing, after I told my story they were all so relieved that I guess their safety valves popped because everyone laughed so hard. I am sure if anyone in that Hospital that day they will remember the laughter and relief. I tried to laugh with them but after the day I had I just wanted to shower and change clothes. I was taken to hooch close to the Hospital and told to report to the Doctor at 1 pm the next day. I threw my uniform away and showered for an hour. I do not think I ever got all the blood off myself, even to this day I feel it. Drip – Drip – Drip.

I went to the enlisted man’s club and I got drunker than I believe I have ever been. I was back and in bed by 7pm, I threw up all night. 1pm the next day I was waiting to see the Doctor. 3pm the Doctor called me in and we talked. He sent me to some guy that asked me questions about my religion and reasons I felt the war was wrong. I only had to remember the day before to know why the war was wrong and I got pretty upset by some of his stupid questions. I was told to be back at the Doctors office 9am the next day. I got drunk again. Next day I finally got my sit down with the psychologist. He asked me the same questions the other guy asked me and then we came down to the ultimate question, “If I was truly against this war why did I sign up and why did I volunteer for Vietnam?” this is the question I could not answer, I told him I joined the Air Force so I would not have to go to Vietnam but as for the volunteering? Well I never could answer that for him or me.

That same afternoon I was on a regular transport plane back to DaNang. I was NOT going back to the world. I do not know what that Doctor wrote down or what he was thinking but I know my life was about to take another strange turn.

 

Part 16, How to be Insane (and Enjoy it)

 

 

Home sweet home, back to DaNang AFB. I had no idea what the Doctors had come up with. I knew I wasn’t going home but that is about all I knew. The Transport landed at about 3pm, sorry 1500, and I went straight to Reece with my results. Not having any results made this a short meeting. I think it must have been a Thursday because I spent the next three days completely ZONKED. The 1^st Shirt had no idea when I was supposed to be back so I wasn’t going to check in until I absolutely had to.

I remember a day at China Beach and I don’t remember much else. Somehow we ended up partying with a bunch of Air force Flyers from a KC 130 Special Forces Transport.

We drank all of the San Miguel beer they had, every drop. We smoked a great deal of weed and thought it would be a great idea to go get some more beer, one problem; San Miguel Beer was only available from the black market. San Miguel Beer was bottled in the Philippines but the Loadmaster said he knew how to get some if we bought a full pallet of it.

These guys were on down time, so he contacted one of his Loadmaster buddies and the best idea I have ever heard was hatched. The Captain of the ship collected hundreds of dollars from his friends and we threw in all we had. Somehow they got permission to jump a friend over to Tan son nhut AFB near Saigon. I had never been to Saigon but I had always wanted to go because that was party central for South Vietnam. Nobody knew I was back on base so I was up for anything. We flew out that same night. (That is kind of how things were always done in Vietnam, great idea? Let’s do it RIGHT NOW!) We had this big ole empty airplane all to ourselves. It was fun for a while: we all sat back and smoked dope, drank Fosters and slept. I had no idea it was such a long way to Saigon. That morning we landed at Clark AFB, Philippines? I do not know how we did it or how we got clearance to land but we rolled to a spot right off the main runway. I didn’t even have time to figure out we weren’t in Saigon. The tail door dropped and a forklift with a pallet of San Miguel Beer rolled up the ramp. Money was exchanged, a few laughs and the door went up and we took off.

When we landed at DaNang that night we were hailed as heroes. We unloaded the beer divvied it up and that night we had the biggest party I had ever seen since arriving in Country. The flight crews had a couple of cases of great steaks so we built a fire, cooked the meat and drank that wonderful San Miguel beer. I thought I was in Heaven and these guys did this kind of shit all the time. I have no idea how much this all cost the taxpayers. It was clear to me that I was in the wrong Air Force.

I thought I had pushed my luck as far as I could so the next day I reported to the 1st Shirt. Imagine my surprise when he told me they never expected me to come back. I could have had a long vacation: Crap! I don’t know what the Doctors said, I still don’t really know, I was now on the official “You Are Dead to Me” list. The first Sgt. took me into the Majors office and showed him all the reports he had gotten about me. Now they both scratched their heads. Nobody had any idea what to do with me. I was no longer a Security Police but I was still assigned to the Squadron. I was told to wait outside. I never found out what was said in that office but it must have been funny because the SGT. came out smiling and said “I am glad I’m short because now you’re going to be somebody else’s problem” I was dismissed and went back to my hut. The SGT. left Vietnam three days later. The Major went back to the world the next week. I now had an all new Command structure that had no idea I was even alive.

The next part of my story is about the three months that followed. It is in no real chronological order because I was stoned most of the time and I can’t really remember when most of this all happened. I just know it all happened, I swear it’s all true.

I had lots of down time and I remember getting sober enough to join the SP boxing team. I was the heavyweight even though I only weighed 200lbs. No one else wanted to box heavyweight because of the challenges we would meet, I did not know all this at the time. I loved boxing and I wasn’t half bad. I held my own with the rest of the guys and our coach was a real corner man back in the world. I worked out with the team every day. 70% of the soldiers hated Mohamad Ali because of his stand against the draft but I idolized him. I fancied myself a real protégé of his style. I was in great shape and like all 19 year olds I thought I was invincible. I was the only White guy on the team. All the other boxers and trainers were Black brothers of mine. I had their back and most importantly they had mine. I became even more involved with the Black culture in the compound. Because of my boxing I was actually treated as an equal to most of the Black men I served and lived with. Back then I called them Brothers but I feel now that the White people calling Black men as “Brothers” are kind of laughable. Most White people feel like they understand and accept the differences that Black children go through before they become adults. I don’t think so. I saw firsthand the barbaric way the Black soldiers were treated compared to the White men. Every shitty job went to a Black Airman. I saw and heard the insults and bigotry the Black man faced, I was embarrassed for my own race.

The SP boxing team was a great way to let out steam. They worked their shifts and then trained for a few hours sweating like pigs and getting so tired you longed for your bunk. I would never have gone through all this if somebody told me I had to but I was having a blast. I sparred with all the other guys. I got my ass whipped most of the time but I got better. I was fast and didn’t like getting hit so I tried to “Float like a butterfly” but I stung like a gnat. We boxed Golden Gloves rules so it really didn’t matter if I hurt anybody; I just had to land punches to win.

We were scheduled to have a match with the Marine team at Freedom Hill. I was looking forward to it and the coach told me I could win if I stayed away from him. I was told to jab and run away. “Keep movin and you have a chance”. I had heard about the guy I was going to fight, he was BIG. His name was “MAD DOG” and he had not lost to anybody. Sure it scared me a little but my friends were behind me and what the hell, he couldn’t really hurt me with the head gear and rules.
The big day arrived and we all took a truck to the amphitheater at Freedom Hill. When we got there I noticed that I WAS THE ONLY WHITE GUY THERE! The crowd of Marines was probably 4 – 500 strong and no Air Force guys had made the trip. These Marines were absolutely incredible Soldiers. They spent weeks humping the jungle and when they got down time they really enjoyed it. They drank too much and stayed high, except for their boxing team. The Marine Boxers were monsters. Even the little guys were big. These guys are trained killers and we are Air Force? We had a great coach and he was confident that our skill could give us a chance to actually win a few matches.

It started bad, the first two guys got beat up pretty good. The Marines were brawlers and if they could get you in a corner or against the ropes you were going down. The next match was a different strategy, actually the same one we had been taught, jab and dance, stay alive. We won the third match and the Marine crowd went crazy, screaming for blood. Two matches till it was my turn and EVERYBODY wanted to see what the white kid could do. We lost the next match. We (unfortunately for me) won the match before mine.
Not Mad Dog but close!
My team gathered around me to boast my sagging courage. These guys were my Brothers; we trained together, partied together and won or lost together. I got into the ring and the Marines went wild. They laughed and taunted me with racial stuff I had never ever heard before. Cracker, Honkey, White Bread I was good with but some of the stuff I couldn’t really hear sounded much worse. It was clear the Marines wanted me dead. I looked at my team and they gave me encouragement, I was ready for Mad Dog. The crowd parted and the biggest man I had ever seen in my life came to the ring. Mad Dog was about 6’5”, 280lbs and he looked pissed. The crowd went crazy. The ref called us both to the center of the ring. I looked up at this guy and my legs turned to Jell-O. I almost shit myself. I didn’t even hear the ref, the crowd started chanting as one, “KILL THAT HONKEY!” I looked to my team and everyone was looking at the crowd, the sky, the ground, anywhere but at me. Mad Dog and I touched gloves and I went back for final instructions from my coach.
The coach told me “remember this is a point system; hit this guy as many times as you can. Stay away from him. Don’t let him get you in a corner. You can win this thing.” The ref looked at me with pity as he called us out for round one.
I remember the crowd was going absolutely nuts. All the anger they had at whitey was coming out loud and clear. I was the symbol of Crackers everywhere and now it was time for payback.

Round 1. We touched gloves again and I backed off and started dancing to my right. I threw a couple of left jabs that landed and Mad Dog just turned and kept looking at me. I kept going right throwing jabs, I was winning this thing, I couldn’t believe it.
My Coach was yelling to “stay away from him” I heard that loud and clear, I did not want this guy to hit me. I continued to pepper him with jabs, the crowd got a little less vocal, I jumped back to my left to land a right hook to his jaw. Just as I jumped left his glove came out so fast I could hardly see it. POW, down I went, he hit me so hard I saw those little birdies you see in the cartoons. I was dazed, Coach yelled “get up, get up” Hey I was trying. It was only one punch, one point, believe it or not I was still winning, I could do this. The crowd was back in it with a vengeance, they hated me. I got up and started to dance right, I got in a couple of jabs and the bell blessedly rang. I got back to my corner sat down and found out why they use those big sponges with all the water that drenches the boxers, I pissed my pants, my kidneys just couldn’t hold on.
not me
The crowd went nuts as the warning bell rang. The last words the Coach told me was “You got this, you are winning, for God’s sake stay away from him” OK, I agreed with that last part.
Round 2. I went to the center and meet Mad Dog again, this time he was smiling. I cannot explain to you how loud that crowd was. They were absolutely going crazy. The ref looked worried, my team was heading to the truck, my Coach tried to smile; tried. I started right again, throwing less punches that the first round. I knew I was way ahead on the punch count. If I could just stay away from him. I jumped to the left for my best right hook and BAM out came his right and down I went.
I could hear the crowd yelling “Kill that Honkey’ the ref said “three” I looked to my Coach, he looked concerned. I heard “six”, Coach yelled get up, get up. I was up on eight. The ref grabbed my gloves and looked me in the eyes. “Are you alright, do you want to go on?” I told him I could do it and he motioned us forward, the bell rang. That was the fastest round in history. Everyone looked confused but I went to my corner. The ref went to the time keeper, the Marine Coach went to the time keeper and a loud argument began. The warning bell rang and Coach told me “stay away from him, don’t try to hit him, just survive, you are ahead by points, just stay away”. Got it, stay away, I could do that.
not me but that is how it felt.

Round 3. I walked out to the center to touch gloves for the final round. I looked at my Coach; he had his hands out in front of him yelling something I couldn’t hear over all the “KILL THAT HONKEY”. I turned just in time to see a slow motion glove coming at my face. Everything went into slow motion, just like a movie. I looked at my empty team bench, the look in my Coaches face, the look on the faces of the screaming fans that wanted me dead. I remember the face of the ref looking away and the smile on Mad Dogs face. I saw it all in a tenth of a second and I saw that big glove coming straight at my pretty white face. That was the last thing I remember. Down I went, the “fight” was over. He won and he only hit me 3 times. I looked through the haze; my Coach motioned “STAY DOWN”. I did, I made them carry me out in a stretcher. I was afraid the crowd was going to kill me. They took me to the truck, all my teammates looked down as I got in. we took off fast.
My teammates were embarrassed by their own behavior. You have to understand what it was like in Vietnam. Black men could not be on my side. Not with that crowd. I did not blame them, they were my friends but peer pressure in that amphitheater was intense. They all started talking at the same time. We laughed, I was not seriously hurt, I had broken my nose again but I could live with that. We were a team again; the Marines had kicked our asses as we knew they would. The upside of this whole thing was that I found a new respect in their eyes. The story circulated through the whole Squadron and Blacks and Whites alike got a good laugh out of it. I was a bumbling hero with everyone. The story got better with every telling. I had people telling me the story and it was a lot better than what really happened.
My friends became friends for life. I understood racism in a way I had never experienced it before or since. The ring was not the only place I faced racism.The whites hated me for hanging with the blacks and I was never really fully trusted my most of the blacks. I was in a no-man’s land of my own design. I was OK with that.
But I never boxed again.

 

Part 17, “ If You Don’t Know Where You Are Going, Any Road Leads You There.”

 

My life was indeed in wonderland from mid- July 69 until late October 69. I was way beyond the looking glass and ‘ANYTHING’ was possible. I was awaiting reassignment but to what? My resume did not scream out “Take Me, Take Me!” I don’t think anybody wanted me and that meant I was stuck with Security Police until they could trick some other MOS that was desperate enough to take me. Kind of a reverse lottery, loser gets me. I got to try a lot of things and I had no real accountability to anybody. I had to report to the new 1^st SGT. every week but if I missed a week nobody really cared. I am in Vietnam and basically job hunting. I called it my “Adventure” like any good Baggins.

Pat’s Great Adventure!

My drug use was getting worse. I can’t really explain Heroin Addiction to anyone that hasn’t been there but those who have gone through it don’t really need an explanation. Usually no one really knew I was high. I would cruise through whatever I had to do and no one would ever guess I was strung out. You get to the point that you don’t get high to be high. You get high to be “normal”. Yes I still got the rush when I shot up but actually the smack in Vietnam was so good you didn’t have to shoot it to get your fix on. You could snort it or even smoke it. I can’t tell you the number of times I would sit in an office somewhere smoking a cigarette or cigar that was hollowed out and full of dope. No one could smell it or at least did not want to smell it. Addiction is a really strange thing and I want to write an entire new blog about my addictions but first I want to get to my adventures through the looking glass in Vietnam

. 100% pure Vietman White

I just want you to understand how I can get dates and names confused. The things I went through and the things I saw were horrible, funny, scary, unbelievable and totally amazing. Sometimes all at the same time, sometimes I know it is the hand of God that kept me alive at all.

I was not a religious man at this point in my life. I am sure the folks I grew up with would find that very odd. I was the “Preacher Boy” at my Church.  I got to actually take the pulpit three times a year. I would preach “Fire and Brimstone” because every preacher knows that those are the easiest things to preach. Preaching about God’s endless love and sacrifice was not something I fully understood. I went to Christian Camp every year and even got to be a counselor a couple of years. I was in Church every time the door was open and I even tried to go to Bible College to become a full blown Christian Minister. I actually “hated” God and would go into great detail anytime someone would ask me about it. I guess I had seen too much, wanted too much and was so scared that I didn’t think there even was a God. I wish I could have taken back some of the things I believed and said back in those days, I can only ask for forgiveness and I do every day. I hope I have time before I die to write a detailed account of my descent into Hell and my every day struggle to get out of the pit of my own creation.

 

Well I told you this part of my story is just a collection of things that happened to me during my “adventure” and my drug use and religious bias was all part of it.

U-Tapao not the real guys

I became very good friends with my flight crew buddies. These guys were amazing. When they flew support for incredibly trained men. Rangers, Marines even Air Force Rescue were delivered to their destinations when Helicopters were not an option. They flew missions over North Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. They went places you never read about in the newspapers. They also partied harder and better than any group I have ever seen. These guys made “Animal House” look like kindergarten.  I told you about our trip to the Philippines to get a pallet of beer but we went lots of places we were not supposed to go. I had permission to work with these guys because everyone in Security Police hoped I would find a job I would want to transfer to so I would be out of their hair.

 

I only flew on a mission with them one time and that was an accident. The guys had come back for a few days off so they loaded up and we went to Thailand. We flew into U-Tapao near Bangkok. I gotta tell you Thailand was like visiting the “Wonderful World of OZ”, nothing seemed real. We got into a taxi and the driver started his sales pitch. He had a rolled up Curtin like thing hanging from his front seat. The driver untied the Curtin as he drove and as it unrolled I saw the fatted Thi stick I had ever seen. That Curtin had every kind of pot you could ever imagine. We bargained the price and started in on his product. It was wonderful, almost like dropping acid. This was the kind of drugs you always heard to stay away from when you were a kid. Colors, sounds, taste and every emotion seemed to be from another dimension.  The driver became our guild for the next 24 hours. Some of the guys wanted to get laid so we had a long visit to the craziest bar I had ever been in. The girls were all gorgeous and of course willing. I know you won’t believe this but I did not go with any of them. I WANTED to go with ALL of them. I was 19 years old, at the height of my sexual peak, but I said no. I was newly married and I was not going to bring back some exotic VD. I was stupid! We spent the night bar crawling with our trusty guild along to protect us and protect us he did. He kept us out of any trouble and found a hotel that was safe and clean. The next morning my friend checked in and we had to get back to base and back to Vietnam. The driver made it back in what seemed like two nano-seconds. Scotty could not have beamed us there any quicker. I remember the four of us tipping that cab driver over a hundred bucks (big money in 1970 Thailand). We were last to get aboard and the Captain immediately asked and got clearance for takeoff, away we went.

Brave Guys

 

We did not go to DaNang, we went to Nha Trang. We landed quickly and two Air Force Rescue guys got on. These were the guys I wanted to be. I idolized these men. They went into areas no sane person would go to rescue downed pilots and bring them home. This was actually the first time I had ever been around a mission bound rescue team. They buckled up and away we went. Once airborne I never had much interaction with my friends as they all got about their duties so I went over to the rescue guys. I told them I had tried and washed out, they both smiled. They didn’t have much to say and even I could see they were thinking about their next jump. We got where we were going, the cargo door opened and out they went. It was awesome. I found out after we landed that everybody was scared shitless because we had flown well north of the DMZ. The entire flight crew was praying for a safe return of those guys. I bowed my head and prayed to a God I told people I no longer believed in. I never said I wasn’t one of the biggest hypocrites in the known universe. I got to go on one shorter trip with the guys. I got to see the Gatling gun do its thing. That was a truly scary weapon. It could put a bullet every square inch of a football field every second. I helped reload and carry away the shells.

 Big Ass Gun

 So much for my CO status. I never even thought about what I was doing I am so lucky no one ever knew. I am sure I had helped kill people and later I felt like I had let all my ethics and convictions go down with every bullet fired. I can only say that I wanted to be one of the guys more than I wanted to be objecting to what we were doing. I came to this crossroads many times and it is not a pleasant experience to know you have the spine of a jellyfish.

I didn’t know it but that was the end of my air Force flying experience. The crew was transferred south to Tan Son Nhut. I remember the Airplane and the crew that adopted me but I won’t mention them here because my stories with these guys might minimize what they did on an everyday mission. Brave men, I later heard they did not go home alive. I’m glad I got to know them.

 I got to know lots of men that never came back. I saw their names on “the wall” in DC. That was the insanity of Vietnam. You got closer to people than anyone could consider possible and the next day they would be gone, as if they never existed. Fresh faces would take their places and on it would go. There was always an endless supply of Soldiers dying as the result of some of the stupidest orders, issued by morons that even made ME look like a military genius. I had no idea what the real war was like until I actually knew some of the brave men that beat death every day until the day death beat them.

The strangest part of my whole “Adventure” was that if I had stayed a regular SP I would have seen none of it. To the best of my knowledge no Security Policeman I worked with were ever killed or even wounded while on duty. That is not to take away from the courage it took for them to serve in such a manner that death was always a possibility, it was just a roll of the dice.

Not as attractive as the real Baby san

I spent a quite couple of weeks hanging out in the day room selling beer. I had gotten close to the little boy I told you about: Billy. Billy was a survivor, I do not know what happened to his parents, never asked. He was a great kid and always full of smiles. Billy helped me a lot. Billy would always tip me when the SGT was coming or someone was stealing, all kinds of stuff. Billy got me the best hooch maid on the planet. This Mama san really took care of me and I tried to help her as much as I could. Mama San had been with me about two months, she always found the best drugs. She cleaned like a demon and got my laundry back the next day. I paid her double what everyone else paid and got het cartons of cigarettes and booze she could sell on the black market and she made even more money. I was happy with our arrangement and she was very pleased, I just didn’t know how pleased she was. One day she brought her 14 year old daughter with her to help. She was a pretty girl actually bordering on beautiful. The other guys were hooting and hollering when they saw her. She sat beside me and we both laughed at our communication problems. She knew just enough English to get in trouble and I knew a few Vietnamese words and a little French which they all spoke. We talked and laughed for about an hour when Mama san asked me if I wanted her. Baby san smiled coyly and I was thunder struck. “Wanted Her?” WTF? “Wanted Her?”  Hell every guy she saw “Wanted her”. Mama San informed me that the girl was of age and she felt I would be gentle with her for her first time. I told her I was honored but married. She felt this was a very poor excuse and told me so. She kept pushing us together telling me how clean she was, a virgin. Now you have to understand this was a BIG DEAL to the family. I was being offered an important gift, one you can’t turn down. I did turn it down. To this day I have never been with a virgin and the thought of it still freaks me out. I tried to be as kind as I could be. I was truly flattered but this was beyond anything I could comprehend. Mama San was pimping her 14 yr. old daughter on to ME? The question of money never came up; I think it was going to be a freebee. After considerable conversation I convinced them both that Baby San was in fact the prettiest girl in the Universe but I couldn’t accept. I will never forget that day. Life in Vietnam was way different than anything you can imagine. They left and the subject never came up again. The next day it was like it never happened, Mama San came in with her usual laugh, carrying my clean laundry and cleaning my hooch.

MPCDONG

One day the entire Security Police Squad was mobilized and I knew something big was going down. This had never happened before. No Vietnamese personnel were allowed on base, even the Vietnamese soldiers couldn’t come in. This was a REALLY BIG DEAL. I didn’t know this but every year or so the United States would change the Military Pay Certificates (MPC) that was used for all on base transactions. MPC was never to be given to Vietnamese civilians, EVER. It always was of course but it was against the rules. We were supposed to change MPC to the DONG (official South Vietnam Funds) but none of the help wanted DONG so we just paid in MPC. If you had green backs that was really a big deal, everybody wanted those but we all knew that green money had a way of getting into VC hands so we were careful about using it; it was actually illegal to have it. The day we changed the MPC each soldier had 24 hours to change your old for the new. The civilians that held hundreds in MPC were totally screwed because the next day it would all be worthless. Mama San meet me by the gate and pushed $10,000 MPC into my hands for me to trade in for her. I could keep a third which was generous on my part because all other GI’s only gave back a third if anything at all. The MPC trade also had another goal, to stop black market trade by GI’s. You were only allowed to turn in $3000 unless you had a real good reason for having more. I had $10,000. I went to everyone I knew trying to farm out the trade in. I found seven guys that would take some if they got half. I knew I only had a few hours to get it done so I agreed. Must have looked funny when 8 of us turned in $3000 MPC each.

Next day Mama San was allowed back on base and I explained what happen to her $10,000. She got back $4500. I kept my third but the other guys took their half and that was it for the ten grand. She was NOT a happy woman. That $10,000 took her months to gather but she had been through all this many times before. I just felt sorry for her. That was a lot of money in 1970 USA but in South Vietnam it was a fucking FORTUNE. She told me she didn’t blame me and thanked me for sticking my neck out for her.

Goodbye Thousands

 

How many American families could have taken all this in stride I have no idea but I doubt many could have taken it with such grace. I was now a member of her family and she invited me to her home for some big religious day they were having, it was a big honor to be invited and I couldn’t turn her down. BUT I WISH I WOULD HAVE TURNED HER DOWN.

 

 

Part 18, Dinner and a Show!

 

 

It was some Vietnamese Holiday. I don’t know which one because every week seemed to have one. I was invited to Mama sans house for the feast. I had never been to a family dinner in Vietnam; much less a feast so I asked what I should bring and she smiled and said “Anything from the PX” which of course translated to “Something I can sell on the black market”. I brought two bottles of Crown Royal whiskey. One I gave to Mama San and the other I opened so we could all share this wonderful nectar of the Gods.

Crown Royal

Papa san introduced himself and everyone else in the family, about 15 people. This was my first and only meeting with Papa san and the clan so I smiled big and said thank you and “would you like a drink?” 15 glasses appeared and we all drank to whatever holiday we were celebrating. Then we all sat down at a very elaborately decorated table. This was really nice and they all made me feel very welcome. The house was decorated, the table was decorated. The family was dressed to the nines and I started to believe that today was going to be the most memorable of my tour. It turned out to be very memorable.

Bowl after bowl of vegetables and breads were placed around the table with great ceremony. Then came the big moment; Papa san smiled and toasted me as he rose from the table to go into the kitchen. Baby san told me this was the first time any GI had ever been invited into their home and I was flattered. Baby san went on to explain that this feast cost the family a month’s pay. I was glad I brought the Crown Royal because it would pay them back for the whole dinner.

Looking Good!

Papa san came out of the back holding a small pig spread out on a serving tray. The pig was of course complete with head and tail. Papa san was smiling from ear to ear, he was so proud he could afford such an extravagance for his family and his guest. The piglet was now the table center piece as we all commented on its beauty. I wish I would have taken a picture, it was beautiful. The whole table and colors of the holiday decorations and clothing was breathtaking, like a gourmet cooking magazine. The piglet was golden brown and smelled wonderful.

The family paused for a long prayer. I am not sure if they were Christian or not but they knew I was and wanted me to feel comfortable, papa san spoke very limited English but I could tell he was very proud of the whole scene. We filled our plates with veggies and noodles with wonderful homemade French bread. Papa san cut off a big slice our piglet center piece and piled it on my plate. Everyone filled their plates and all eyes turned to me. 15 pair of excited eyes and 15 wide smiles waited for me to dig in. I cut a big slice of pork and popped it into my mouth. It was raw. 15 smiles waited for my reaction. I swallowed it after a couple of chews and praised the family, Papa san in particular, for such a wonderful treat. Everyone applauded, Papa san blushed, everybody dug in. it was an eating and talking frenzy.

Not the real family

I drank a great big gulp of the whiskey and put another hunk of the raw piglet into my mouth. You have never experienced anything like that meal. The whole family was enjoying it as much as is humanly possible. The whole family was proud they could treat the guest with such a feast and all I wanted to do was puke. I swallowed the raw pork and smiled. I think Mama san must have guested at my discomfort because she passed over a black sauce that I could put on the meat and all the veggies. I thought it was a kind of soy sauce and gladly poured it all over my meal.

MMMMMM Good?

I do not know what that sauce was but it wasn’t soy. It tasted like they had left a huge Carp and dead Cat marinates in the hot sun and as they disintegrated they scooped up the juice and put it in a bottle. It was horrible, disgusting and absolutely inedible. I ate it up. There was no way in hell I was going to embarrass this wonderful family by refusing to eat “anything.” It would have been an insult of unforgivable magnitude if I would have ran outside and puked. I took another swig of the whiskey and took another bite.

I ate the entire meal. Bite after bite of horrible raw piglet covered in “sauce”. I was so proud of myself and smiled my appreciation to the family in thanks for this wonderful dinner. I poured Papa san and myself another round of whiskey and as he thanked me he cut off another big hunk of piglet and put it on my plate. Papa san smiled and drank to my health. I choked down the whole thing “no sauce, thank you”.

Lets have some more!!!

I will never forget that dinner. I was so honored that they thought enough of me to invite me and yet the food was so horribly bad I didn’t know if I could keep it down. We had a great dessert of a kind of rice pudding cake and settled down to digest our meal.

Papa san and I talked about the end of the war. 1970 was the year everyone was talking about some sort of “withdraw with dignity” and that would spell doom for this whole family. Every Vietnamese was warned by the VC that working with the Americans would be dealt with harshly when (not if) the North won the war. This family had worked at DaNang AFB for years and the very idea that we would leave without defeating the Communists was terrifying. We both felt that there was no way the United States of America would not take care of them no matter what happened. The USA was honorable and they trusted us to win the war and not forsake them to an enemy that swore to harm them.

Trust US

I think of that family all the time. These were wonderfully kind and happy people. This family served the USA for years and I know 5 years later when the war finally ended they were all killed. I pray they somehow got out, many Vietnamese did, but I will never know. The United States has done this same thing in Vietnam, Iraq and soon will in Afghanistan. The people that helped us the most abandoned by the government they trusted with their lives. When I see this happen and continue to happen I am ashamed of my Country. How can we let millions come into our country and yet deny the same to people that bet on the wrong horse and trusted us? I see their faces in my dreams and hope that when I die God will reveal to me that they all got out safely.

God Bless Them

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, the question went on, “What the Hell do we do with Airman Benton?” I was not Security Police but still assigned to them until another job could be found.

“What do you want to do?” “How will you be useful?”

Hey I remember, this is fun!

I got to try a lot of different jobs over the next couple of months. I really wanted to be part of a flight crew like my friends but that was hard to break into. I spent a week trying but I ended up working for whatever load master needed help. I tried my best because I wanted to impress these guys in hope of being invited to join permanently. I was a chump of course because no one EVER got on a crew that way. I worked my ass off loading ammunition, food, supplies and a bunch of 50 gallon drums with orange bands around them. I hated those drums the most because we would have to load the pallets, take them to the aircraft and pump them all dry by hand. I would open one and insert the hand pump. The stuff would always spill over the top because the idiots that filled them always loaded them to the very top. Every time I would insert the pump the “Agent Orange” would spill all over me. No one ever said the stuff was dangerous. I hated that part of the job and soon gave up on becoming part of any flight crew or even ground support because those guys worked too hard. I am basically a lazy person and didn’t want anything to do with really hard manual labor.

Let me insert here that I had no idea the Agent Orange we were loading and sometimes wearing the rest of the day was dangerous. We didn’t even wear gloves. The VA never admitted that you could be harmed by the stuff. They do now but in 1972 when I tried to make a claim it was not allowed unless you had acne or breathing problems. I had neither but what I did have was a rash that to this day I cannot seem to get rid of and something even worse.

Joyce and I wanted a child and she suffered multiple miscarriages until she finally delivered a healthy baby boy named Henry. Most of you know that Henry developed a disease that could only be obtained by marrying a family member. Somehow my genes had altered in a way that made Henry’s death inevitable.

Henry David Thoreau Benton

I cannot prove that my 2 weeks loading Agent Orange onto air planes caused any of this but every time I go to his grave I wonder how something that could only be a genetic mutation could have affected my son. I am glad the VA has now allowed these Agent Orange cases to go forth. Agent Orange has been linked to all kinds of things including birth defects. A little late for Henry but I am glad veterans are finally able to hold the chemical guilty of long lasting debilitating injury’s.

I have tried to reapply for benefits but I have no proof it ever happened. I was looking for my new job in the USAF and there is no record of my ever working on the flight line loading this crap up. I tried a lot of different jobs that were never written up because the Security Police just wanted me gone. I would never have guessed that any of this could lead to at least 8 miscarriages and the death of my son.

I couldn’t be a Security Policeman anymore (because I was crazy) but I was told I could help them. DaNang was being hit every night by rockets from every direction and they needed a lot more eyes in the hills to see where they were coming from. My 1^st shirt noticed I had washed out of electronic counter measures and in his mind that made me a great candidate for the job. How he came to this conclusion I will never know but he asked me if I wanted to try it. Sure, sounds like I can do this; sit in a tower and watch for rockets? I’m your man! I figured I could sit up there and smoke dope all night and sleep all day, cool.

I’m always looking for EASY!

I was told to report for a brief training class that afternoon. It was pretty basic stuff, look for a flash, find it on a map and call it in. I can do that. But this was the first I heard that I would not be in a tower, I would be up in the hills. I would be going out each afternoon and settle in to watch for rockets all night. I couldn’t go alone so I went with a group of Marines that would babysit me. To be totally honest I could not have found my ass with both hands but I was supposed to find a flash on a map and call it in?

That night we got hit again. The next day I met with my Marine patrol. I ain’t no Marine and they knew it. None of us knew why it was important for an Air Force clown like me to be part of all this but by now we all knew that the people in charge were idiots so we just accepted it. I was given a 12 gauge shotgun and told to just keep my head down and “shut the fuck up!”

5 shot pump M-12

Here is the part of my story falls apart because I was claiming to be a conscientious objector that wouldn’t take up weapons and here I was holding a shotgun and glad I had it. What the hell, I’m a hypocrite; I did not want to die. I was assured I wouldn’t need it but “just in case”. I turned into conscientious save my ass type of guy.

Late that day we started up Freedom Hill and settled into a Marine watch post facing the north part of the main runway. Now here is the insane part of all this, the post was manned by Marines that had been doing this very same job every night already. WTF was I doing there? Nobody could figure that out. I drank a half bottle of “Fatman” so I would stay awake and we watched the AFB all night.

Nothing happened that night or the next three nights. No rockets; I’m pretty sure it was because they knew I was up there and couldn’t chance it. I did make great friends with several Marines and lost most of my pay playing poker with them all night. We went up every evening and down every morning with me walking point so if I shot that big damn shotgun I wouldn’t shoot one of them. They told me the lead guy was always the one to die so it might as well be some Zoomy like me. In truth there was very little danger for me on Freedom Hill because it was one of the most patrolled areas in Vietnam. The main Marine base was at the foot of the hill, next to the AFB, and that hill was not going to be a threat.

My big war story

That is my big war story, walking through the “jungle” on Marine patrol to find enemy rocket launchers. In truth it was about as dangerous as driving down the interstate. The whole thing was over after three nights and I went back to selling beer in the SP rec room. Two nights later the rockets started again but they didn’t ask any of us to repeat our adventure.

“What the hell are we going to do with Airman Benton?”

Duce n a half

I met a guy that drove a duce and a half (2 ½ truck) and he told me I should try the Motor Pool. Motor Poll was easy duty, no danger and regular hours. WOW, now this sounds like something I could do. I went over to the Motor Pool and asked if I could tag along and see if I liked it. Long story short, I liked it and asked for a permanent transfer to Motor Pool.

I thought “What could go wrong?”

 

 

 

Part 19, “I Can Piss For A Minute!”

 

Time to move on!

I was looking for a new job now that my Security Police (SP) gig was coming to an end. I needed to find one quickly because the SP’s were getting tired of my bullshit. I knew I had to find something and yet all I really wanted was OUT.

The crap was rapidly flowing downhill now and I was at the bottom of that hill. The jobs they gave me got more and more demeaning. My bunk area was searched almost daily and it was crystal clear it was time to move on before they could find some reason to send me to long Bien.

 Don’t want to go here!

I was trouble for anyone seen in my company. I was lucky to have so many Black friends who just plain did not give a shit. I would show up for a party and people started looking for the cops and we WERE the cops.  I just couldn’t find what I wanted to do and the Major was going to pull one out of a hat if I didn’t come up with a new Air Force career and quickly.

I tried Flight Crew and got nowhere. I looked at supply but I had way too many bad reports from the 1^st shirt to get that.

Before I go farther with my story I would like to tell you about my closest friend in Vietnam. Carlos DeVigil was my first Gay friend. Carlos was really my first Latino friend.

My friend Carlos was a cook and he liked it. Carlos asked me to try it and I did but man those guys WORKED. My whole life I have been allergic to work and these guys WORKED! Don’t get me wrong they partied like champions and had a great time almost every day. Carlos explained early on that nobody ever gave a shit about a cooks drug use so they always looked the other way. Carlos said “you don’t need to be straight to mix powdered eggs” Carlos had me help two mornings and I liked it but I’m afraid the head cook didn’t like Carlos much and he sure as Hell didn’t want me around to help him. I felt for Carlos.

I have explained in earlier stories that the tension between Black and White soldiers was explosive but it seemed both hated Mexicans and all Indians were called “Chief”. Carlos was from Laredo Texas and before the Air Force had supported his whole family running drugs from Mexico. Now he and I had a pretty sweet deal going selling to Officers too afraid to try to score themselves. We were bringing in good money, Carlos sent his home, and I got high, ate like a king and gambled mine away. Carlos was good people but we were on our own. I don’t remember meeting another Mexican American the whole time I was in Vietnam. Carlos took shit from everyone. You could not believe what that guy went through, the names he was called and the abuse by his kitchen boss. The kitchen boss was some Staff Sargent who thought he was a General. When Carlos first came into country he complained to the Officer in charge and that was a huge mistake. I loved Carlos, I truly did. We had no sexual contact but he was a Gay, Mexican. A small man and on the surface you would think he was an easy target, you would be wrong. Everybody just wanted him to die or go away.

Carlos got that Staff Sargent transferred to another base. “Someone” wrapped a grenade with a gasoline soaked red-white and blue ribbon. The pin was pulled from the grenade: the message was clear, “next time the ribbon will be on fire”. The shit really hit the fan the next day but nobody could prove a thing because it turned out EVERYBODY hated the guy. The next day he was on his way to another base.

With Optional Pin In

The world was a different place in 1970. White people were finally figuring out that the N word was not popular with Black people and Black people were realizing that being Black was a good thing and they did not have to take shit off any White Devil. Dr. King had died and still White Officers and NCO’s treated people of color different than their White counterparts. The Black guys I knew had had enough of all that and they had guns!

However Indians and Hispanic peoples were kind of lost in the mix. There was nowhere to go and complain. No Latino representation was ever recognized. Indians were thought to be a curiosity at best and at worse the object of ridicule by anyone who had ever seen a John Wayne movie.

The Duke  The Indians

I had Carlos’s back and he had mine. I never realize until much later just how much Carlos had done for me. He was an evil guy when he wanted to be and he ALWAYS got even. People gave him a pass on a lot of crazy shit because they knew he would pay them back in kind and that coverage now included me. I had my own ways of pay back but they were a joke in comparison to him. Carlos got me through more than one overdose. Carlos helped me with money when I had blown all mine. Carlos shared my respect for the Vietnamese people and he hated the United States Government that forced him to go to this “Shit Hole”.

Proud People Treated Badly

Carlos introduced me to the mail man who happened to be a Hopi Indian. Andrew Lomayesva (I am misspelling here).  Andy was grandson of a Shaman/Shape shifter. I listened to his story for hours. Andy told of his training and the things he would continue to learn once he got back to Arizona. Andy was a kind and gentle man, a big man, and the amount of stupid crap dropped on him was incredible. Everybody called him “Chief” and Redskin. Whenever he was called out it was always with a hand on mouth “Woo Woo Woo”. The racism he experienced from White and Black alike was beyond any ones imagination and he took it all with a smile.  Andy never got even, Andy never got mad. Andy would make his mind go other places and Andy would just check out for a while. On his reservation/tribe he was a respected man, but in the USAF he was a stupid Indian.

OOPs Guess It Ain’t Racist If You Make Fun Of Indians

I have to tell you one funny story about Andy. We were all playing poker late one night stoned to the gills (just try to bluff on LSD). In the middle of a hand Andy says “I can piss for a minute”. Everything stopped and we all looked at each other in silence for about ten seconds and then all hell broke loose. Everybody started making bets, could he do it or not. Rules were drawn up. We all had to watch, the stream could not stop for longer than two seconds and drips did not count. I know that over a thousand dollars was on the line for this incredible endeavor. We all went outside and Andy let loose, seventy seconds later he smiled and stopped. 70 seconds? I am not making this up. I’m glad I won my bet that he would do it.

I knew Andy never lied about something he couldn’t do.

I was so impressed that ever since that night I have tried to pee for a minute myself. Try it, it ain’t easy. I’ve done it a couple of times and I always remember Andy’s smiling face when I try.

The Longer The Better

OK so all this is leading up to my most terrifying and fun days in Vietnam.

I told you earlier about a duce and a half driver. He turned me on to the fun you could have driving these monsters. He really thought I could make a dandy driver. I had never really thought about Motor Pool but I had always wanted to try the big rigs.

Donnie asked me if I wanted to go along on a trip to Hue, a short trip north. I was surprised when Donnie drove up in a ten ton tractor trailer (18 wheeler) and I jumped into the shotgun seat. Donnie had his M-16 with him but it was really not necessary because we had a Korean R.O.K. Marine escort all the way. The Koreans had four Armored Personnel Carriers (APC’s) with Quad fifty’s to protect our 30 truck Air Force/Army/Marine convoy.

R.O.K. Protection

I think the Koreans hated Vietnamese people. They just wanted to kill them. They had no “rules of engagement as we did, they just shot people. I don’t think it mattered; North – South as long as they were Vietnamese they were targets. They could be brutal.

Hey Lets Kill Some People!

The rules were clear, Don’t stop.Do Not Stop, no matter what happens just keep going. I am so glad that we were not the lead truck because if somebody got in the way run over them. Do Not Stop!

This Here’s The Rubber Duck!

The Vietnamese people were very poor and they would line the road just in case something would “fall” off a truck. Anything loose was fair game and they were bold enough to grab whatever they could. We came to an intersection and had to wait for another convoy to go by. The Vietnamese came running down this hill to grab or beg for anything they could get. The ROK Marines were having none of that; they drove down both sides of the trucks shooting anybody and everybody they saw. I saw Men, Women and Kids go down all over. The fun was over.

We drove on for about half an hour when WE came under fire. We stopped. I  know we were told “DO NOT STOP” but we did. The Korean escort jumped on it right away. We were pinned down pretty good. We jumped out of the truck and into a ditch next to the road.

Everybody started shooting at ghosts, the incoming rounds stopped right away. I was more scared we would get shot by our guys. They all went crazy. they had M-16’s and full clips and by God they wanted to shoot them all. Donnie was laughing his ass off. “This never happens, never. You must be bad luck.” He just laughed so hard I started laughing too. Here we are a couple of Zoomies sitting in a ditch getting shot at and laughing. To this day I will never figure that picture out. The trucks started moving so we jumped back into the cab and started rolling. Then the front passenger side door tire got hit.

My Side!! That ain’t right!

Donnie was all business now he grabbed the wheel with both hands and we kept going. Donnie drove on that flat front tire until the power steering went out and then we both grabbed the wheel to keep on the road. We were going slow and everyone behind us had to slow down. The trucks ahead of us pulled farther away. The Korean escort came flying by and got in front of us. We were told to follow them off the road to a small Korean outpost.

We got there with almost no tire left. Donnie and I were covered in sweat, I was scared shitless. The Koreans helped us put a new wheel and tire on the truck. They fixed what was left of the power steering. It all took about two hours and while that was going on I got to hear lots of Korean War stories and kill numbers. They liked killing. Lots of Korean jokes about us. I knew they were about us because they would all look at us and laugh their asses off. I guess we were pretty funny looking by that point. A couple of USAF guys and me with no weapon.  We were a hopeless sight I’m sure. We waited for another convoy of three trucks. We jumped in behind them and in an hour or so later we pulled into Hue. We dropped the trailer and picked up another one. Soon we formed another convoy and back to DaNang we went. This time we had no trouble. I wanted to kiss the ground. Later I found out that the caego we risked our lives to deliver was USAF winter parkas, I shit you not; Parkas.

 It never got that cold in Vietnam. Wet, yes, Cold,no.

Donnie was one of two Air Force drivers that drove the big rigs and I wanted no part of that crap. Donnie just laughed, I loved that guy.

I Finally Made My Decision! 

I liked driving and I knew it was safe so long as you didn’t drive the big trucks and there was no way I was going to take that ride again. It was November and I was now a proud member of the Motor Pool.

 Pretty Much The Same Today

 

 

 

Part 20, Davey Crockett In Vietnam??

 

“Once upon a time” lived an Airman in Vietnam that couldn’t (wouldn’t) follow rules, refused to carry a weapon and was a general pain in the ass. I was that Airman and it wasn’t easy being me. I was just too stubborn and maybe a whole bunch of dumb to just “go along”. I apologize to any one I ever served with because I am sure you thought I was the biggest pain in the ass that ever lived. Maybe I was.

Join The Air Force Fly A Truck

Having decided I wanted to fly a truck for the remainder of my USAF commitment. I now had to get my commander, the motor pool commander and the base commander to sign off on the move, not an easy thing. I cannot imagine what the motor pool commander must have been smoking to agree to take me.  I was a known fuck up, drug user, shit disturber and all round asshole. I can only surmises that they needed drivers so bad that they would take a trained chimp if it could drive a truck. I meet with the Motor Pool Commander for five minutes and I was in. We talked about how shitty we thought the whole war was. His goal was to do his year and go home in one piece. Funny I felt the same way. He told me to just “Get along and Go along” and I would go to the head of the class, great I thought, “I can do that!” He knew I couldn’t carry a weapon and he was cool with that. He thought I was stupid but if I ever changed my mind he would be glad to give me one when I drove from base to base. I assured him that that day would not come and of course I was wrong (but that is for later).

I don’t need no gun!

I don’t need no gun!

I was assigned hooch and met my new hooch mates. I walked in the door and the sweet smell of Mary – Whanna hit my face. I heard everybody scrambling to put it out, hid all the bongs and clear the air. I started laughing my ass off and announced I was the new fuck up. Everybody relaxed and showed me my space while lighting another bong. Great group of guys, I wish I could remember all their names (but my mind is shit) because it was so different from anything I had ever seen in the Air Force. Smiles, laughter, jokes and humor. I had to slap myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. What a change, guys that actually liked the job and took the world for what it was.

Now THIS is how to survive a war!

Now THIS is how to survive a war!

The hooch was a ghetto half tent but it kept the rain out. I even had my own overhead fan. Fans in Vietnam were important because they kept the mosquitos from landing while you slept. The guy before me, or three guys before him, rigged this bad boy up with fence wire and taped up electric cords. This fan could double as a wind tunnel turbine, it was great! I found out I didn’t even need a mosquito net to sleep. (I did find out that night that the netting DID have its uses.)

My first week in my new home I’m blissfully sleeping away when something big hit me on the chest. I opened my eyes to see a big cat sitting on my chest staring at me. I looked closer it was a rat! Next day I put the net up OVER my bed.

Well Hello!

Well Hello!

The hooch had only six guys in each so we had space like I never had before. We all pitched in our money for the best Mama – San on base. She was great, she would clean the hooch, do the dishes, wash our clothes and deliver dope for about $35 each….per month! Dope reimbursement was extra. I loved this lady.  She treated us all like we were her children. Billy (the little boy I took under my wing) was accepted by the group and Mama – San. Billie loved it in the Motor Pool. I got to know some of Mama – Sans family and I thought they were all great people.

Turns out we all worked hard and partied harder. The movie MASH had not been made yet but it was just like the movie except we didn’t have the hot nurses. The guys in this hooch treated the Vietnamese as people, they still used the standard terms “Sloop and Gook” but I think it was mainly because they thought it was expected of them. I’m not condoning bigotry but these were common terms the GI would use daily. The Officers from General on down all used those terms. The soldiers of today have the same routine because I think it de-humanizes the people you are trying to kill.

These men had never been in direct combat situations, shot at yes, we all got shot at driving down the road. Nothing compared to the brave grunts that lived and died fighting every day they were in country. The Motor Pool was close to the South Gate and furthest from the nightly rocket launches. You might think that was a good thing but not really. The North Vietnamese always overshot the runways and landed the first volleys in our backyards. I had always heard the term “Walking the rockets” but it seemed to me they were always “Walking” them backwards, they started with us, far away and dropped them nearer with each hit. I am sure the guys on the other side of the base all felt the same way because when the rockets came we all put our heads up our asses and prayed for a miss. No one I ever knew died from these attacks but Airmen did die. The targets were usually the planes and buildings. Rockets have a strange effect on a person. I think it’s the randomness of the strike, the wrong place at the wrong time. Makes the Lottery sound winnable.

Missed me! Try Again – just kidding, I’m good.

Missed me! Try Again – just kidding, I’m good.

One of the great perks of the Motor Pool Compound was the enlisted club. It was the wildest DaNang club by far. Light Bulbs strung across a bare concrete floor with the coldest beer on base. We saw some great acts come through, mostly Pilipino bands but every once and a while someone special. I saw Albert King, The Marveletts, Gladys Knight and more. Believe it or not a lot of artists saw through their own hatred of the war to come and entertain the troops. I got to know a few of them first hand but that all comes later in my story. I just want to set the scene of an entirely different place than the Security Police Compound I had just left. It was like landing on the Moon. Just about half a mile away was the place I left but it felt like another country.

This was my Taxi Cab

This was my Taxi Cab

I started off driving six pack Air Force trucks which are commonplace now but very much unique to the Zoomies back then. These were stretch ¾ ton pickups with seating for 6. I know you look around now and ALL the trucks are like that now but back then it was only military issue. We would pick up flight crews and take them back and forth to their quarters and airplanes. Radio controlled it was easy duty.

Of course I had to fuck that all up.

Im way to smart to just get a long!

Im way to smart to just get a long!

I remember it was raining like hell and we hadn’t gotten a call for hours so I went by my old SP headquarters and picked up 5 or 6 guys to go cruising around. Air Force trucks did not have 8 tracks but we did have radios. We fired up a joint and turned the radio up loud as it would go and just drove round and round the base. We were really wasted when the first call came in to go get a two man crew. I drove up to the plane and rolled down the window. Smoke rolled out of that truck like fog on Fisherman’s Warf and I said “hop in the back” meaning the bed of the pickup. These were both Captains but they looked into the truck and saw 5 black enlisted men smoking dope and without a word jumped into the back and rode around to their quarters in the driving rain. I got another call and this time the Major told me the guys would have to get out and ride in the back. I’m stoned but trying to be diplomatic. “You tell them to get out”. I’ll be damned if he didn’t try. He knocked on the back window and as it rolled down the smoke hit him in the face. He started screaming at the guys in back to get “Your black asses out of those seats”. That did not go over well but to the credit of my friends they just looked at him hard and then rolled the window back up. The Major was not amused he wanted my name yadda – yadda – yadda then jumped in the back and I went the long way back with the rain pouring down, the radio up high and smoke pouring out every hole in the truck. We got to the Officers’ Quarters and he jumped out immediately walking towards the front so I drove off. I got a little way down the drive when I stopped and my friend got out, picked up the Majors flight bag and threw it in his direction. He got back in and we drove away. I got about 5 minutes away when the 2-way called me back to the Motor Pool. I took my time dropping my friends off, rolling down all the windows and heading back to the pool. I guess I was lucky because the Staff SSgt in charge took the call. He was a black man. He told me the Major was REALLY PISSED OFF!!!  I told him what happened, with a small embellishment. It was common base practice that if you were not on a run and you saw GI’s walking you always stopped and offered a ride. I told him I had picked up the guys on the side of the road and the “Black Asses” comment. I told him I couldn’t get the guys to get out so the Major had to ride in back or wait for another truck. The black Staff SSgt said “Fuck Him”.

That Staff Sgt and I became buds and I got some great duty. I would fill up the truck with friends and head to China Beach picking up anyone and everyone I’d see and sit on the beach all day with the 2-way up loud so I could hear if a call came in. I was thinking “this is a good way to go through the war!”

The SSgt called me in one morning for special duty. He told me to go put on my cleanest uniform and go pick up some VIP’s “and don’t fuck it up!’. I drove a jeep out to the tarmac and an old prop airliner rolls up, out pops Fess Parker.

Davey Crockett!!

Davey Crockett!!

Davey Crockett!!

I’m going crazy, Davy Crockett in the flesh. I was raised on Davy Crockett; I had my Coon Skin Cap and my toy “Betsey” the rifle. I had died and gone to heaven, I was to be his driver while in country. I just prayed he wouldn’t be some kind of asshole, he wasn’t. Fess Parker was one of the nicest people I have ever met.

 

We visited while his plane was unloaded. He grabbed his own bag, threw it in the back and said “let’s go”. His Army assistant had his schedule so we headed out for his first stop. We went to about a dozen stops around base that first day. I will tell you he stayed at each stop until every autograph was granted and every picture taken. I took him to the Officers Dinning Hall that night and the big shots took him from there.

Next morning I picked him up at 0700 we went to breakfast with everybody else and that turned into a zoo. Everybody loved that guy. When he got back in the jeep we started to roll and he had me pull over for a second. He asked his assistant (some Army promotions/USO guy) his schedule for the day and the guy told him it was pretty open till that night. We were just going to ride around stopping here and there so he could get out and say howdy. Fess had other plans. He said “I want to go see the guys that hump the rice paddies” no shit he wanted to meet the grunts. The Army assistant got a little nervous but I said “you bet” and away we went.

First stop Freedom Hill the big Marine Base just off the Air Force Base. We got to Freedom Hill and Fess Parker did not meet a stranger that whole morning. We walked the whole damn base saying hi to every person he met. We went through tents, chow halls, latrines and even the ammo dump. I saw men that had no joy in their lives since they landed in this God forsaken country smile ear to ear. They followed him around like kids. We ate ate the chow hall and loaded up.

I took him downtown DaNang and back around to Chins Beach. We followed the beach back through town and hit the dirt road to Monkey Hill. I look back on it now and think just how brave an act that was. He had to know that he would be a target; I never gave it a thought because I’m stupid. We had no escort, nobody knew where we really were, we were on an adventure, I was with a guy who’d “Kilt him a Baer when he was only three” so what was I worried about.

On the way to the hill we came up on a duce and a half full of Marines that had just come out of something horrible. These guys looked like hell, dirty, muddy and bloody these guys must have been in a fierce fire fight. Traffic in Vietnam was always a mess and we got stopped right behind the truck. Fess jumped out of the jeep, the Army and I are both freaking out. He walks up to the back of the truck and says “hey any of you guys seen Mingo?” (Mingo was his Indian partner Ed Ames, on the TV show Daniel Boone). The Marines looked at him like he was the biggest idiot they had ever seen. To this day one of the best memories of my life came next. One by one the Marines would look at him and then it hit them all at the same time. It was Davey Crockett/Daniel Boone! The smiles and energy that came over that truck load of tired worn out Marines was incredible. He jumped up into the truck with the guys and the truck started rolling. The Army guy and I are all caught up in the love going on in that truck that we didn’t even think of the danger he was in. they slapped each other on the back, he told them stories I couldn’t hear but whatever it was it was getting lots of laughs. Next stop we made he said goodbye and jumped off the truck and walked back to the jeep. We went north they went south and the change that came over those Marines was one I will never forget; I bet they didn’t forget it. Fess Parker told me that now the whole trip was worth it. We drove on to Monkey Mountain and the smaller Army/Marine outpost there. Once again Davey Crockett did not disappoint a single warrior. We drove back, stopping along the way saying hi to any group of GI’s we saw. We got to talk a blot and he invited me out to his Australian ranch located right in the middle of Australia. He even offered me a job when I got out. We got back an hour late for the big Officers how-down. The Colonel in charge was pissed at me, he would have been madder if he knew what we had done. Mr. Parker told him it was his fault. I got dismissed with a dirty look and a wink from Fess. Greatest two days of my vacation in Vietnam. Next morning I picked him up and took him back to his plane. Fess Parker grabbed me and gave me the best bear hug of my life. He got on the plane and I smiled watching him fly away.

Fess Signing Stuff in Vietnam

Fess Signing Stuff in Vietnam

The next “Celebrities” I drove around was a way different story but I don’t want to ruin the great feeling this story gives me every time I tell it so I will wait to tell you that one.

 

 

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