Houglan's+Observations

Houglan's Observations
This is for the Det B guys. Sorry,but for the rest of you it won't mean squat except for some of the Phu Bai guys. What follows was inspired by the Det B group photo taken sometime around April of 1968 and those of you on the MIBARS reunion list will have aleady had an opportunity to read this. Now that most of the people have been identified it's time for insults down memory lane. I won't be able to nail everyone because my brain's shot, but most of these guys have done something that for whatever reason sticks in my brain. Major Hogan: (# 2 in the photo) He played football at Kent State and the reason I remember is because on my first day with the unit I mentioned growing up in Ohio and it was about 10 miles from Kent. My Army recollections of him are not particularly warm and fuzzy. He always struck me as a kind of martinet, not unlike Henry Fonda in "Fort Apache". All he was concerned about was getting combat stripes on his sleeve and him looking good for our worthless inspections. Whether on days or nights we were expected to put in overtime to make the place look pretty and get logs up to date, etc. His favorite line before the inspections was how we would be greatly rewarded for our efforts. After the inspection his expression was, "You guys did a good job and I appreciate it. Now let's get back to work!" It really moved us. He had a policy (that was liberally violated) that we couldn't have hard liquor in our rooms/lockers. Touching on the message that Shimashita left in Wiki he said something about Hogan and the MP's. Hogan was at the officer's club one night not feeling too much pain and word has it that he got in an argument about whatever with some other guy. They got in a fight and Hogan ended up with a broken arm. We (as in lowest of the low) found it pretty ironic that the only person that had a problem with the booze was our fearless leader. That's not to say we didn't help rotate the stock at the Danang hotel. I personally remember downing 15 or so rum and Cokes, driving the duece and a half back to the hotel, NOT running it into the river (I don't know why that never happened), and then going to somebody's room to finish whatever we had straight out of the bottle. The most pleasant part was having to show up at work at 6am and stare into a light table. Those little stereo viewers came in handy. A little cotton to pad the nose area and cover the lens and we were good to go for a couple of hours. The non-drinkers kept the rest from snoring too loud. The morale of the unit jumped pretty good when he rotated. Captain Tibbits (# 3): He was a real cool guy and pretty much left us alone, but always willing to lend a hand if he had a clue what we were doing. One thing I never did deliberatey was seek some kind of leadship role or position. I'm not talking about "team chief" or anything like that; more like an 'un-writen leader of the group'. At any rate, Hogan inspired me with such things as the following: "The unwilling lead by the unknowing to do the unnecessary" and "No matter how good or bad a place is the Army will do its darndest to make it worse." Capt Tibbits called me into his "office" one day and we had a heart to heart. Basically, he said I had more power over the guys than the CO (Hogan). All I had to do in formation was give "the look" or roll my eyes and the guys wouldn't do it ("it" meaning Hogan's bullshit duties). I kind of laughed because I never really gave that much thought, but told him I would try to watch it. That lasted until: Mel Glenn (#2): Anyone thinking Hogan could make the Army a bad experience never served with Glenn. I made it my personal mission to not do the crap he was always passing out. My goal was to go as far as I could without getting an Article 15 or Court Marshalled. I think his goal was to make my life miserable and we contantly butted heads. One time he called me into his little area for another lecture about something. I can't remember the other WO's name but I think he's #7 in the photo. Anyway, I was leaning on the file cabinet (I refused to stand with any kind of military bearing with him) after listening to Glenn I gave him my typical roll of the eyes. He said, "You do that better than anyone I've ever met." I replied, "You've given me lot's of practice." The other WO fell out of his chair trying not to laugh (he didn't like Glenn, either). I don't know how I got recruited for this, but one of my jobs was to maintain the freakin' log book (when did we call HQ for a com check, when did we go read the 'vital' secret messages, etc). We continually had discussions about the proper wording. I'd write, "Log closed" at the end of the day and he didn't like that. I lost lots of sleep worrying about that book. Perhaps to give you all a better idea of our relationship Mel kindly referred to me as "the instigator of bad attitudes" and how great the unit would be after I left. I didn't do any active recruiting, but I hope someone picked up my torch after I left. Alderman West (# 4) He was pretty much an OK guy especially for a lifer. He always seemed to be kind of caught in the middle between wanting to be with the regular guys and having to hang with the older lifers. He was killed in a photo burning incident. We used to just throw the stuff in a big pile and drink beer until it was gone. Someone (had to be a brilliant colonel) thought we should try to salvage the silver out of the film and burn it in a closed container. As usual, gas was applied and the match tossed in. West closed the door and when the gas took off it blew the door open right into his face and chest. If memory serves, I think Z and Nesbit were with him. I was on guard duty that day, the detail where we guarded the ARVN guard that was guarding the entrance to the hotel. Those guys were always falling asleep. Never happened to me. The entire unit came back early and let me know what had happened. So far as I know he's the only MIBARS guy to die over there and he's got his name on the "Wall". John Nesbit (#6) One of my drinking buddies. As a group we did our share of helping the Danang Hotel economy, but I'm only aware of three of us with such a great reputation that the bar maids knew us by what we drank. John was Jim Beam, Gene Pianka was Cognac and Coke (I wrote to him that I always thought the combo was horrible and he informed me that he's moved on to more refined things) and I was Ron Rico (rum and Coke). Nesbit was the only fool that would stand outside and watch the rockets come in at us. One night at the compound the damn things actually got fairly close. One hit the great ARVN general's jeep about 300 yards away. Nesbit was still standing out there. Totally insane. He worked for the Fluer (sp?) Company who sent him to South Africa. Hard to believe, but he said the Army was better. Howie Armour (# 8) For those of you who can't figure things out this is the guy putting the hotel package together. Howie was one of those guys who managed to keep things loose and generally was able to make lemonaide out of lemons. Thanks to John Kinkopf Howie's foot size and boots have been immortalized. The boots were referred to as "circus shoes"; you know, the huge oversize, big as a platter shoes. I thought it was a slight exageration. Just because a Vietnamese family of six could live in one and use the other for a boat is no reason to think the boots were large. Z (# 9) Gene Zweourkfewkksiefiej: (How about Zwarycz) Shim ID'd him, but didn't spell his name properly. I just made it up. You can see why we called him 'Z'. My recollection is that he was a drafter from New Jersey and he was always joking that he made more money than his dad until the Army called. He rarely missed nights at the nightclub, but I don't recall the gals giving him a name. I think he had beer most of the time. However, there was one incident where I was going to the PX and he yelled to get him some Chivas. Mr. Naive from Hicktown Ohio didn't know that it was scotch so I went back empty handed. He got the DT's and I got knowledge. I'm sorry, but I don't remember the next several guys so there will be no insults. John Shimashita (# 13) Known just as "Shim" worked in Repro so naturally we regarded him as a foreigner. Soft spoken guy and he still has his memory. One night in the club we had our usual entertainment and he's sitting there and blurts out, "She used to be a Mousketeer!" I bugged him to go up and ask her, but he wouldn't do it so yours truly wrote a message on a napkin and handed it to one the band dudes. He passed it over where she proceeded to wipe her face. We all groaned, but then she noticed the writing and gave a big speech. Can't remember which one she was, but she seemed like a nice gal. Not suited for any of us. Shim never did too well with booze. His face would swell up until he could hardly see. Sgt Boggs (# 14): Big oaf type of guy. He was always pleasant, but we never considered him one of the brighter lights. I don't know whether he went through Holabird or not, but he never made me feel like he had the slightest clue what we were doing in the II vans. Kim Bostwick (# 15) (Shim wrote 'Boswick', but I think there's a 't' in there). He was very short when this photo was taken. He was from Toledo and was in love with the Mud Hens (AAA ball club for you non baseball types). I grew up outside Cleveland and we had a couple guys from Detroit (they were hot at that time) so we always gave him a bad time about his stupid minor league team. Robinson (# 16) Most of us just called him Robbi, but he went by Moose, too. He was one of the guys from Detroit and the thing I remember most about him is that he couldn't say three words without two of them being Mother F#$%ker. We gave him a bad time about how his mother would wash his mouth out when he got home. He just had this huge laugh. Doug Ketchum (# 20) Doug was the company clerk and one of his duties was to help arrange R&R. John Ripper had just returned from Thailand and talked endlessly about the great beach and beautiful babes. When my turn came up that's all I wanted. Doug was on drugs at the time or didn't hear me and I ended up in Taiwan during the rainy season. I forgave him since I ended up having a pretty good time even though Bob Crowell gave me a bad time for being nervous about getting a girl. Recently I wrote and he said he still felt bad about that. It's OK. Really. The Army runs on rumors and how many of you remember the Guam/death one? The story goes that if you got wounded to the point where you'd eventually kick the bucket or caught some incurable disease you would be sent to Guam to die and the folks back home would be told you were missing in action or such and there would be no body to ship back. Mr. Ketchum contracted VD so many times that the doctors told him he was immune to any cure and the next time he felt the need to dip his wick and got the clap he'd get sent to Guam to end it. I have no idea what his outcome was, but I hope he didn't spread his goodwill to the gals back home. Mike Rozier (# 24) Another II and from Detroit. Very hard to live with after the Tigers won the series. The Army came out with a new policy allowing moustaches and half of us gave it a whirl. Mine didn't last too long because I got tired of the BS that went along with it, but Mike gave it a good shot. He was constantly working it to get a nice handle bar kind of like Snidely Whiplash. Never happened. Mike was a frustrated gear jammer in the duece and a half so those of us in back were making with the jokes about him working the stache, the gear shift and wheel all at the same time. Ken Curry (# 25) Real nice guy from DC. I have to say that because he's been in law enforcement since the Army and I don't want any heat. Actually, I consider him one of my lost projects because I couldn't break him from being a good guy. I've insulted him in previous emails. Norm Karis (# 28) Norm was a school teacher from central Ohio. Here's one of those memory deals. I could remember his first name but not last. Big Deal? He was only my roomie for about six months. Steve Schmidt (# 29) My only memory of Steve is that he reminded me of a Bassett Hound, always kind of a hang dog look. John Kinkopf (# 34) John had a dry sense of humor, but had enough in his tank to give Howie Armour a bad time. And given Howie's personality, that's not an easy thing. Mike Davis (# 35) A true inspiration to all that's good about Americans in Vietnam. Mike just happened to be leaving the compound one pleasant day when the ARVN general and his boys came flying down the road. For those of you still reading this crap that weren't in Danang this Bozo was a fat cat in his Mercedes and had machine gun toten' jeeps in front and behind him. He never went anywhere without the sirens for a big show and, of course, simple ordinary folks like us were expected to get out of the way. On this day Mike felt otherwise. He failed to yield and when he got a very dirty look he decided to run the general off the road. There were repercussions and Hogan got called on the carpet. By dumb luck I happened to be in the orderly room when I caught him talking to somebody on the phone (probably the HQ CO) and how he never had to appear before a general before and oh my God, my career's over, etc. etc. It was my duty to report the conversation to the rest of the guys. We wept for him. Leroy Jones (# 36) I think this guy slept with a camera under his pillow. He was always talking about photography and the latest equipment. I hope he did something productive after the Army because he surely had the passion for it. John Ripper (# 37) The great Rip. He was instrumental in getting the hand-held aerial program going. I think he only did it to get out of the II shed and away from Mel Glenn and Sgt Ferris (not in the photo). I don't know how many missions he flew, but he happened to be on a chopper with some other dudes and they "accidentally" went over the border. They were taking some serious shit and Rip was standing there taking pictures. Some major along for the ride said it was very brave and gave Rip a bronze star. Rip said he took the photos because he didn't have any clue about what else to do and was too nervous to try to duck. Gene Pianka (# 40) Gene attended some kind of seminary or similar religious type school prior to the Army. Sorry, Gene, but I have to say that not a lot of that experience showed up while in Nam. He did, however, produce two good stories from that training that I still tell. The first was based on the regulation that "shoes must be properly blackened". One of his fellow students would apply the polish, but never buff it off. It sort of reminded me of my experience at the NCO Academy where this one sergeant said he had dreams about spit polished shoes and boots. Some guys would spend hours on those damn things. Air borne Ranger types. I spent more like five minutes. The second story, probably about the same fellow, had to do with some kind of chant or offertory at the alter. The guy couldn't remember the exact Latin phrase so he said, "I can play dominoes better than you can," That takes care of the guys pictured. I can't let this go unless I also mention a few guys who may have been in the unit at this time but not pictured or they created a special memory for me. David Kueter: (Later ID'd as # 23) Blond-headed guy from Kansas or similar prairie area. He used to start whistling a song. Thanks to my years of musical education and trombone playing, I would join in with a counter melody to his tune. Nobody ever complained or made a face, but I'm sure we drove everyone in the van insane. A Real Short Stay Guy. While we were still living in the barrack style building near the Danang Hotel we had this guy attached to our unit. He had sort of a French look to him and was only with us for maybe a month, if that. Unfortunately, he did a very poor job of holding his liquor. One night he stumbled into the room and, God knows what got into him, but he started to head butt Ripper's locker who happened to have the only wood one of all the bunch. About the second or third butt he started to crack the shit out of the door and Ripper jumped out of his bunk ready to nail this guy. He managed to say he was sorry and decided it was time for bed. His spot was the top bunk next to the bathroom door. He gave it his best Alley Oop and he and the entire bunk went over on its side. The only reason he didn't kill himself was his drunken state. We left him there. James Firth (Shim thinks he was gone prior to the photo): Jim spent a good part of his paycheck on a big stereo which was the only one in that infamous barracks. He had this one record (remember those? The big 12" black disks?) and I don't know which group recorded it, but the intro to a certain rock song started out with a lovely rendition of Reveille which he was kind enough to share with us at just about any hour that struck him. Ron Englund (or Eglund or something close to that). An II. For those of you who may not remember, he was a black guy that sort of reminded me of the character, Doc, in "Hamburger Hill". Anyway, when I first got into Det B I would spend my nights in the barracks reading books. I never went to the club. He sat me down one night and gave me the "wine, women, song for tomorrow we may die" speech. This guy is totally responsible for my downhill slide into oblivion and gaining my new name, Ron Rico. I was basically a decent soldier until he got ahold of me. (OK, not really) Lew Kawahara: Lew worked in operations and we were good buddies. We both got discharged on the same day and when we were getting ready to leave Sgt Carrington (I believe) said we couldn't take our boots. Between us we had about half dozen pair or more and we just dropped them on the ground outside the orderly room and drove off. He was kind enough to put me up for about a week after we got out and spent a lot of time in San Francisco checking out clubs. I was very used to paying a quarter for my drinks so there was some serious sticker shock and I gave up club life for the most part. He said he got left out of the photo because he had to listen for the vital phones. Daryl Tucker: Repro guy and another one who slept with his camera. He was pretty much as crazy as Nesbit. During Tet '68 we were against the compound wall with our M 14's and five rounds of ammo. Shots were flying up the road towards us although I don't think anyone feared for his life at that time. Daryl, however, was standing on something so he could take photos of the guys shooting at us. He had a Leica and a few years later, in a chance meeting, we ran into each other on a street in Denver. He told me that he took his camera in for cleaning and the guy said it looked like it had been in a war. It was. For those of you who remember the bar maids at the Danang Hotel, he told me that An had been killed. If you had spent any time there she was a little older than most of the gals, worked in the E5 and up club. Kind of looked like she may have had some French in her, and I thought she was one of th e more pretty gals up there. Finally, "Woody" Woodward from Alabama: I know he was gone before the group photo. However, he was involved in an incident that might be described as "Ugly American" or "Friendly Vietnamese during day; VC at night". I had just gotten into country so I didn't know where we were, but the whole detachment was coming back from lunch and were taking some road near the air field. It was decided that we would have a drag race with the two duece and a halfs. I happened to be in the back of the one on the wrong side of the road. There were many angry shouts and fists in the air as we forced the locals off the road. I remember in the distance as we were bearing down on this guy that he was on one of those common three wheel bikes and was having a hell of a time getting off the road. As we got closer I could see his life flashing before his eyes. He got off just in a nick of time as the guy driving our deuce wasn't going to stop for him. For the record, I can't say that I was totally an angel. When the monsoon season hit Danang would get flooded and be under a couple feet of water in many places. I happened to be driving on one of these occassions and we were coming up to a large "lake" in the road. I asked no one in particular if we should give them a bath. After we passed I asked the guys in the back if we got anybody wet. Howie Armour informed me that I managed to send a huge tidal wave clear over their heads and drenched about 10 or 15 people on the street. Ah they loved us there!!! This next section became "Part II" of this novel in the order in which it was e-mailed. This has turned into a novel. Sorry. I hope those of you who wade through this bullshit get some of your memories jogged a little. OK guys, sorry I have to use Howie's message to get this out. I know everything there is to know except how to send an email to everyone without having to go through the "reply to all" button. OK, I guess there are a couple other thing I probably don't know. Anyway, I got lot's of good feedback from the Det B guys, one wanting to know when my next novel was coming out. HA HA. Butt heads. A picture's worth 10,000 words and I guess I came close to that. After I sent the lengthy email Don inspired me to go on so here's my next novel. First of all to Bill Tower who asked the question about some of the guys in the photo belonging to Det E in Phu Bai. I saw your email and replied to it and just got a message from some gal named Sarah who kindly informed me my email obviously went to the wrong person. Didn't catch the Wiki part. The Danang unit was sort of a holding tank for the guys going to get shipped up north. I don't know when they moved out, but obviously after the photo which most people are guessing around April of 68. Det E was formed because the northern area of I Corps was heating up with Khe Sanh, A Shau Valley, etc. I Corps was controlled by the Marines, but the Army gradually made a larger presence and I figure they wanted you Det E guys closer to the action. After the guys moved out it seemed like we (Det B) got shafted on the "good stuff" and a lot of our missions were solid jungle with one hut every twenty or so frames. Impossible to accurately plot. While we had the Phu Bai guys life was a bowl of cherries. We were climbing over each other for something to do and we had a lot of free time. I remember going over to China Beach 4 or 5 times a week to play basketball at the gym or walk the beach. We worked 7 hour days, 5 days a week. A bunch of us also used that time to walk around Danang taking photos even though the city was off limits. After you guys left life made a sudden, swift and horrible change. Our workday became 12 on and 12 off with our "day off" being the little extra time on Sunday going from days to nights. We were living in the Modern Hotel at that time and things were pretty rough: maid service, decent food, two to a room with a shower, views of the river, night clubs. I'm sure that when you guys got to Phu Bai the conditions were exactly the same. Yeah. I was in Phu Bai on a different assignment and my recollection was dust/dirt heaven, sleep ing bag in a tent with about a dozen other guys, very crappy food (I never drank coffee so I took Kool Aid -- colored water with no sugar, Yum!), and the "night life" was one beer per guy per night providing they didn't run out, which they always did by the time I got off work and over there. By the way, Bill, you mentioned Della Reese. Couldn't find the album you wanted so maybe it is worth a million bucks. A couple of you wrote some additional stuff that I didn't know or forgot. Lew Kawahara mentioned that Robbi Robinson broke his leg playing touch football and Shim said that the last he heard SFC Ferris was going blind or was already there. Speaking of which, Ferris was one of the very few NCO's that actually knew a little about II work. Every once in a while he'd drift in and ask if he could do something. I'd have him plot and he was pretty good at it. My thinking was that if he got pulled away it would be easier to have someone take over on the plotting table than reading film. Plus he didn't like the paper work involved with reading the film. Every time we'd screw up his favorite expression was, "The top ten percent," referring to the test scores needed just to become an II, and he'd walk off shaking his head. SFC Thornton: While I was at Bragg Thornton was one of the first sergeants there and he seemed like a descent sort. At least he didn't bust our butts. Word had it that he was coming to our unit and I told the guys that he was OK. I don't know if he got out on the wrong side of bed or he missed his wife or what the hell, but he was a butt head. Real sullen, no sense of humor. At least he left us alone pretty much. We needed him about as bad as a screen door on a sub and he acted that way. Turns out he wasn't an especially bright light. Someone thought we should have a bookshelf. Every time I'd walk past his little desk (never to waste my time asking him a question) he'd be drawing these little triangles and squares on paper trying to design a shelf. He did this for three solid days. I think we eventually bought one at supply. SFC Carrington: He took over after Ferris, if I recall correctly. He looked and talked like the character, Quark, on Deep Space Nine or something like that. There was an incident where we were going to lunch at the Danang Hotel and my hat blew off in downtown Danang and a little kid got it and took off. So here we are crossing the road to the hotel when some dick-headed E8 stops Sgt West and asks where this man's hat is. Hey, jerkface, I speak and understand English. Ask me. West was standing at attention getting reamed and I was thinking where do I re-up! When we got back to work West says, "The first sergeant says to get a hat!" I said, "That first sergeant can kiss my ass, " thinking, of course about the E8 jerk. A few minutes later here comes Carrington, "You got something to say to me?" I realized, of course, that I had the wrong 'first sergeant' and played it stupid. But it kind of pissed me off toward West that he tattled on me. We were assigned to maintain a certain vehicle in the unit. The lucky ones got jeeps; I got a deuce and a half (2 1/2 from now on). We were responsible for getting flats fixed. The entire concept pissed me off because a jeep had four wheels that the locals charged a buck a piece for and the 2 1/2 had ten wheels that charged five bucks each. I thought there should be some kind of pool to take care of the bill. I was debating about charging everyone for a ride back to the hotel, but I would have gotten lynched. Carrington's answer was that I could change it myself. Thanks. The only job he could handle was to inspect the vehicles for flats and he seemed to find one on my vehicle every week or so. Henry Waldvogel: Henry was long gone by the time this photo was taken. Even so it was killing me trying to remember his name. Wald something was all that was hitting me, but as I was looking over the email guys there he is. He was involved in one of our more famous incidents. I'm just the messenger here and this is hearsay because I wasn't with the unit yet so I may screw up some of the details. Anyway, a bunch of guys were playing cards or something when Henry walks in with a hand grenade and pulls the pin. It's probably an understatement to say that the guys were a little nervous. He put the pin back in, Ha ha, big joke. As a reward he spent three days in the Marine Brig. Talking to him later about it I got the impression that going to Hell would probably be OK because he had already spent three days there and knew what to expect. I'm trying to decide if there's a hiden meaning to his email address, 'idioto'. Speaking of stupid things, I said in my previous book that I pushed the envelope just far enough to avoid an Article 15 or worse. However, there was one night when I probably should have been nailed to the wall. It was deader than a door nail one night and we decided to give some of the crew a break and send them back to the club, me among them. I had my reputation to uphold and starting downing some drinks. About an hour later here comes Boggs. I told him I was too drunk to work which was a lie. I was never too drunk to work. The floor show was great and the bar gals were flirting and I didn't want to go back. I could have been bombed for just that, but I lucked out because my punishment was that I had to work the next day shift plus my regular night shift. I mostly plotted because it was easier on my eyes, but I happened to read out this one mission toward the end of my night shift. Anyone that's done II work long enough starts to recognize subtle differences from one mission to the next. This particular one had a spot that must have had over 700 fox holes. I knew it had been previously reported for the last six months at least. One of the WO's (thank God not Glenn) was confused by my wording on the location and orientation of the hill and went back to look at the photos. Because I didn't neatly circle every damn foxhole or put a mark on every page he thought I had missed stuff (I hadn't). He wanted to court marshal me for that. I smoothed things out, but he started standing over my shoulder for the next week or so to 'help' me. He kept finding things that weren't there driving me crazy. Sweeping The Floor: What is it about the Army that they constantly need to be cleaning the freakin' floor? One night we were sort of busy, enough so that everyone was working and I was 'supervising'. I always hated that because I felt as useful as tits on a boar just standing around. Here comes Brilliant Boggs, the inspiration to knowledge and learning, saying the floor is really in need of sweeping. I'll get right on that. So he walks away and I grab a broom. There was probably a half cup of sand tracked in and I was almost done when Boggs walks in. He read me the riot act because I was supposed to make one of the other guys do that and supervise him. I told him they were doing what it was that we were over there to do and I was just standing around. I would have been madder at him, but I didn't want to take advantage of a dumb animal. Then there's Glenn. I was involved in sweeping the floor and we happened to get hit with some rockets. So we all ran outside to the fabulous bunker. The show lasted about 20 or 30 minutes and we were all kind of joking around. Glenn calls me over and wants to know when I'm going to finish. Finish what? Oh the freakin' sweeping of the floor. He proceeded to give me a lecture about how important it was to maintain cleanliness to prevent accidents and how even the Hippies kept their places clean. I gave him my usual 1000 yard stare followed by the eye roll. Lew Kawahara has equally fond memories, but his story was filled with so many expletives that we should probably just leave it at that. Bunkers: When I got my assignment that I was going to Danang I didn't have a clue where it was. The first sergeant in Saigon showed me on the map and I swear it was in the middle of Mongolia and so far north that surely I was a dead man. I was so naive that I thought I'd probably have to shoot my way off the plane. When I got to Danang it wasn't anything like that, of course. However, one day the conversation turned to rocket attacks and I thought it would be prudent to know what to do and not get caught with my pants down (that happened to me anyway when I was in the outhouse during an attack). I was led to these two little slits in the ground with some tarmac and sandbags over the top. Two guys might fit in each. Being trained to look for shit I couldn't help but notice that there was about two feet of water in both of them. Let's see; try to crawl in a little water filled hole or just grunt it out. It was decided by some upper force that we needed a bigger and better bunker. When the weather permitted a detail of us would be sent out to fill sandbags. I can't begin to tell you how physically brutal that job was. Typically, we'd sit around for about five minutes when a few locals would show up. We'd negotiate a price, usually five bucks per guy and sit and drink beer. We weren't total clods; we offered beer to the locals. Pretty soon we'd get down and work with those guys. We were bored as much as anything. Besides, we thought it would look better if we came back all sweaty and covered with sand. "Man, Sarge, we really worked our butts off!" The end result was a structure about four feet high and big enough for just about everybody. I don't know exactly when I left the unit for my two vacation assignments, but Khe Sanh was going on so it had to be before April of 68 (which might also explain why I'm not in the photo). I was gone for about two months and when I came back I was greeted with a fancy bunker built by CB's. It was nicer than most Vietnamese homes and you could stand up in the thing. Major Hogan: Here are two more stories about Hogan and then I'll get off the guy's back. Maybe. Most of us had M14's while over there, but new guys started showing up with M16's. They were very pretty, but we didn't have ammo for them and that was the time when they were having serious problems with jamming. Nobody, including Hogan knew exactly how to handle the inspection of these new toys. Hogan really liked inspections. I don't know if he spent too much time or not enough at Arlington, but he'd give us lectures on how we were supposed to drop our hands when he snatched the rifle. I was always afraid that he would bash me in the face giving us his best drill sergeant imitation. Well, when the M16's came up he was dumbfounded. Here's this bolt in one hand and the rifle in the other. On our first inspection he dropped one guy's bolt on the ground and said, totally straight-faced, that it had dirt on the end and how important it was to keep the weapon clean. The Martians have landed! The Russians have nuked the States! The VC have Tanks! Big news, the tanks. Khe Sanh was heating up and Long Vei had just gotten overrun on 2/7/68 by VC using tanks, old Soviet P76's. Now don't go thinking, wow what a memory for shit like that. I had to look all that up. I thought tanks were kind of a weird toy for the VC given their hit and run tactics and the fact that we owned the air and tanks would be sitting ducks. Nevertheless, Hogan called a formation of the II's and boldly announced that there would be a case of Scotch for the first guy to find a tank on film. I thought it was a curious prize since we weren't allowed to have hard booze in our rooms. I asked Hogan if we could make it something else in case the winner didn't like Scotch and he was cool with that. I was secretly hoping Pianka would win because even at PX prices cognac was more expensive than most. I have no idea who found the tank, but guess what? The "prize" sort of went away. Speaking of Tanks: I love the Marines. You know all the slogans: "Semper Fi!", "The few, the proud...", "We build men!" You might not know the other one: "I'm sorry son, but if you can tie your shoes you're too smart for the Corps" (For the women Marines it's, "Honey, there's no such thing as 'too ugly'!"). I don't know how many of you went through Holabird with Marines in your class. I had two and both needed help passing every single test. The guys with the 3rd MAF must have been closer to the bottom. Every once in a while they'd come storming into our van with the latest tank photos. Their photos were so grainy you could make a case that it was William Howard Taft screwing Marilyn Monroe. So we'd take a look and start asking simple questions like, why is it in the jungle?, how did it get there with no tread marks and/or road?, why there?, what could possibly be a target in the middle of nowhere? They'd pick up their photos and quietly leave. They stopped coming around after a while. Phu Bai and "the other place": I mentioned previously that I got sent to Phu Bai. My presence was requested by a Lt Cmdr Aikens. Actually, he wanted an experienced body and Hogan and Glenn volunteered me. When I got there, some NCOIC talked to me and I told him I was there TDY. He informed that no one was there TDY. Aikens walked by about that time and he informed the guy that I was TDY and my unit could call me back at any time. I could have kissed him. If I had my wits about me I probably should have and gotten discharged immediately. My job, I think, was to set up some kind of coordinated program between II's and the guys in the field. I say 'think' because about 10 days later Aikens got promoted and transferred. He was replaced by an Army major that didn't have a clue what I was doing there. Neither did I. I had two vital jobs. My first one was maintaining a huge map in the general's office showing where all the enemy activity was. I'd make these little infantry signs with something like '103rd Sapper', put some tape on the back and stick 'em on his map where the latest info showed them. It was all bullshit because those units were never in one place long enough to bother. My second job was equally crap. Each night at about 10pm a plane would fly up the coast line using infrared film to pick up boat traffic. The next morning I would read it out and count the number of dots. They could have taken a picture of the night sky that would have looked the same and been about as significant. I mentioned that what's the point? We don't know where the little dots are going, we don't know where they land, we don't if they're friendly or not or what the cargo is, and they sure as hell won't be there the next morning. It fell on deaf ears. The building that I worked in was a simple wood structure. Parked outside the main door was one of these 155 mm self-propelled howitzers. Every so often they'd fire off a round and the noise would scare the shit out of us. They finally had to move the thing because the concussion was literally knocking the building apart. The place was crawling with colonels with nothing to do. All were looking for "combat experience". One day one walked into our office with a project. He wanted some dumb schmuck to take a bunch of Khe Sanh maps, cut them along the contour lines, paste them to cardboard, make a 3D board and if we're lucky maybe use colored thread instead of black. The VC had a large artillery piece on a hill side overlooking Khe Sanh. It was raining hell on the place. (I happened to talk to a Marine one day whose job was to go up there and accompany the dead. He'd have to go about every five or six days and never came back with a stack of files that wasn't at least a foot high. Mine was about a 1/2' thick.) The question the colonel needed to have answered was do they have a clear view (the string would answer his question)? In my best non-condescending voice I said that it was a lot of man hours just to answer a simple 'can they or can 't they' question. Enlisted Man's translation: Learn to read a map, dumbass! Oh, and by the way, yes they have a clear view. And if they didn't it wouldn't be too much trouble to send a spotter a little higher up the hill. "The Other Place": After a month or so at Phu Bai I got word that I was shipping out. Hot damn, back to the creature comforts. Not quite. I was being assigned to some Green Beret unit on a hill with a number in the middle of nowhere. Even then I didn't have a clue where I was. I was supposed to help a sgt with some II duties and I was warmly greeted: we got rocketed the first night. There were about two dozen Green Beanies and maybe 175 ARVN rangers located there. I was there maybe a week or so when the whole group was going out on a mission. I was asked to go along, but pointed out that I didn't have any training or experience in such matters. Enlisted Man's translation: "Are you insane? I'm not going out there." Thank God. The landing zone was hotter than hell and they suffered 70% killed or wounded. The sgt I was working with got one in the chest that missed his heart by an inch. I spent about a month total there and finally went back to Danang. When I got back I told the guys about that and Tucker said, "Wow, I don't remember reading that in Stars and Stripes." Now I tell people not to mess with me because I'm a Green Beret. Yeah, right. One of my lasting memories is guard duty, both at Phu Bai and "the other place". That's about the only time my nerves were jangled. I read once that if a room is quiet enough you'll eventually hear the air molecules bouncing off your ear drums. If that wasn't it it was damn close. Hearing was the only sense that worked, unless you were standing next to a guy that hadn't showered for a few days. On new moon nights you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Most of the guys were trigger happy and it wasn't unusual to hear a sound and all hell break loose. The next morning it was usually some poor bastard's cow that had been turned into pizza topping. The flares were the worst. You'd be concentrating on listening for anything when suddenly there'd be this big bang and that eerie yellow light. Most of the time all it did was ruin what little night vision you had. When I got back to Det B I was informed that I was to receive the Vietnamese Honor Medal. My overwhelmed reaction was, what's that and what did I do. I guess they thought I was a nice guy. The award is written is Vietnamese so I don't know what for. Now I tell people not to mess with me because I won the Medal of Honor. Bragg: I saw a name on the email list, Tim Hayes. While I was at Bragg there was a guy named Hayes in my barracks. Not sure if it's the same guy or not, but how many II's are there that didn't pass through Bragg at one time or another? I have real fond memories of Bragg. I remember a sergeant telling me that when you get reassigned you presume it will be better. He obviously never was at Holabird. I won't spend too much time on Bragg, but I have to mention guard duty there. We were assigned to guard several different things including two motor pools, a 24-hour bakery (why?) and a row of buildings which included the guard house and the armory. Guys before me will remember that we carried sticks. That didn't work out too well because we used them as baseball bats and hit stones. A few guys managed to knock out wind shields. One night a guard got overwhelmed by 3 or 4 guys who took his stick away and beat him with it. They decided to give us rifles. No ammo or even a clip to make it look like we might have some ammo. We called them our $120 clubs. I didn't really care what I had to guard although the motor pool was nice if the weather was cold or rainy. I'd find a 2 1/2 where I could see the main gate and sit there. If the bozo in charge came to the gate I'd get out and give him my best, "Who goes there," nonsense. Probably my favorite job was guarding the guard house. I scouted out a clump of trees that was about 100 yards from the front door. As luck would have it there was a stump in the middle so I'd sit there and listen to my radio. The bozo in charge got after me one time saying I hadn't passed the front door for over an hour. I told him that the back side was more important because there was no light there. The front was lit up like a Christma s tree so what's the point of checking that? I received feed back on my second e-mail from Stephen Griffis who mentioned the mascot, Sgt Shithead. I won't presume to copy his e-mail into the Wiki space, but here's my response: Yes, the dogs. I can't remember why Shithead got a promotion, but several guys were quite irritated that they were outranked by a dog. I was annoyed that we couldn't come up with a better name. I'm not sure about this so feel free to correct me, but I think Shithead was female. At least I remember one of our dogs giving birth to a bunch of pups. They kept disappearing. We think they were becoming the evening meal for the ARVN's (or maybe they made to the rolling Howard Johnson stands). But it was decided that we should have a guard detail which most of us thought was a very brilliant use of our time. How about putting the mutts in one of the vans and let mommy out as needed? Lifer mentality. There was another dog we called Skinny Minnie. She was a rail and I and a guy named Sidney Hill from Oxnard CA were the only guys that liked her. I can't remember if it was Ferris or Carrington, but they'd order someone to take her across the river and dump her someplace. She always managed to find her way back. I tried to take leftover food from lunch or dinner to feed her. Chapter III: As I've mentioned to a number of guys each time we answer back and forth some new brain cell comes to life and triggers a new memory. So here are some more. First of all I have to respond to a comment made by John Ripper's wife who has been reading these things. She said that it sounded like all we did was drink. I suppose from reading these passages it might appear that way. But consider the following: We worked 12 hour days and with the possible exception of SFC Ferris I don't think anyone drank at lunch or on the job. We took an hour off for dinner. We slept at least 5 or 6 hours. That only leaves 5 or 6 hours for drinking. When I worked the night shift I didn't really drink at all. That averages out to maybe 2 or 3 hours of drinking per day. That's hardly drinking "all the time". OK, here are four more people that I can think of, but unfortunately I can remember the name of only one. Sidney Hill from Oxnard, CA. I only remember the city because it sounded weird. Sid looked and kind of acted like Wally Cox ("Mr. Peepers", "Hollywood Squares"). One time he was totally convinced that he caught the clap and it ate at him 24/7. He, Ripper and I were eating dinner one evening and the conversation turned toward the flu that was sweeping the US. I said, "It's funny, but it seems like everyone in the US has Asian flu and here we are in Asia in perfect health -- well, we don't have the flu." Sid rewarded me with the "bird". Second Lt. I believe his first name was John and last was Italian sounding, Frantolli (hell, it's probably not even close). I think he was the Repro king because it didn't seem like he was in the II vans very much. One time he and I were driving someplace and he wanted to drive. Remember the MIBARS crest we had on our hats? From a distance it sort of looked like captain's bars. So here we are and some guy salutes me. What the hell, I salute back. Lt. wants to know what the hell I'm doing. I said the guy looked me right in the eye so I knew he wasn't looking at you. I figured if I saluted it would make the guy feel better. Besides it was safer. You wouldn't have to take your hands off the wheel and if there was a sniper around he'd get me instead of you. We had two CO's after Hogan during my time, but I can't remember the names of either guy. The first one was a captain and he was pretty cool. He basically was our XO under Hogan and knew how much we disliked Hogan so he eased up quite a bit. I remember some of the older lifers grumbling about how inexperienced he was, blah, blah. Our work didn't suffer one bit and probably improved. Glenn picked up the slack on someone to dislike. Whenever we had a day off the unit would go to China Beach for beer and touch football. It was usually the II's against the rest and the CO would play on the II side. He was a decent thrower and we'd roll a two or three score lead. Then he would sit out and for some God only knows reason and I became the quarterback. You have to understand that for me to make a thirty yard pass involved throwing the ball, running down, picking it up and throwing it again. I was much better at catching it and running for my life. At any rate, we'd blow the lead and he'd have to come back in to salvage us. The next CO was a major who had gone to West Point. We were expecting a real hard-nosed butt head, but he turned out to be a pretty good guy. He may have been a good actor, too. When I told him was going to extend in order to get an early out he acted like he was thrilled to death. I actually made an effort not to give him too bad a time. Change of subject: As you all know the Army (all military for that matter) runs on acronyms: ARVN, VC, thousands of them. MIBARS: One night at the II van I happened to be the sucker that answered the vital phone. It was Brilliant Boggs. He said the guys were having a heated discusion and a bet on whether it was 'Support' or 'Surveillance'. I said it was pretty sure it was 'Support'. Well, could you check to make sure? So I stood looking at the wall for about 20 seconds. Yep, Support. DROS: This is a very important one since it pertains to the date one would rotate back to the states (or at least out of Nam). When I first got to the unit everybody, it seemed, was keeping track of their time. "I'm short" or "I've got 49 and a wakeup" or "I've got 97 and a wakeup. What have you got?" It felt like 856,349 days. I never kept track of it. It always seemed too much like work. It seemed like the longer I was there the guys gradually stopped going around with that. You'd still hear 'I'm short', but it didn't seem as often. Regardless of whether or not it was charted when someone was ready to go home it called for a party. I have no idea who was leaving, but I helped a couple of guys get some beer for our shindig at the Modern Hotel. I bent over to pick up two cases and something popped in my back. That night, thanks to alcohol therapy, I was fine, but the next day my back was killing me. I couldn't stand up straight for nearly two weeks and took a lot of heat for the II's losing the upcoming football game as I was out of action. War is hell. R&R: Rest and Relaxation/Recuperation/something starting with 'R' -- I don't remember anymore. Since we were in I Corps a lot of our admin kinds of things had to go through the Marines and R&R was no exception. I was told what papers to take, make sure my shot card was with me and that my shots weren't more recent than 30 days or I couldn't go. I went to the building and got through the line all hunky dory. I was outside putting my stuff back together when here comes this Marine who looked like he was 12 years old and bawling his eyes out. I felt like saying, "I didn't know Marines cried," but I was grossly outnumbered by them and still liked living. Instead I asked him what was wrong and he said they wouldn't let him go on R&R because his shots weren't up to date. I remember thinking that here's a kid who's probaby been taking a lot of hell and now they're screwing him over stupid shots. I said, "That's bullshit. Give me that damn card." I compared it with mine and filled some stuff in a few places and sent him back in. A few minutes later he's at the door with this big grin so I knew it worked. The next thing I know I've got ten more Marines around me to check their cards. I changed about four or five and thought I'd better get the hell out of there before I get caught. SNAFU and FUBAR: These are both carryovers from WWII and the only reason I bring them up is because over the years I've met guys who say they used both terms while in Nam. My dad (WWII vet) used SNAFU once in a while, switching the 'F' to Fouled for my young, delicate ears. However, FUBAR didn't become part of my vocabulary until nearly ten years after I got out. I don't recall anybody in our unit ever using either phrase so I'm curious whether or not you guys in other detachments used them. The closest we came was probably 'cluster fuck'. Finally, one closing note and my memory banks are probably shot. Instead of drinking our brain cells to death an alternative was going to the roof of the Danang Hotel to watch movies. It seemed like something was always breaking so the enjoyment left fairly rapidly. I don't remember the movie or the babe, but one night we got a view of some babe's bare butt. We all cheered and the guy running the camera tried for a re-wind to give us an instant replay. The projector jammed up and burned a huge hole in the film from the hot lamp and that was the end of the movie for that night. I don't remember ever going up to see another movie after that. Too busy helping the club economy. (The following was written in response to Gene Pianka's observations) Gene, now this is what happens when some bozo (myself) gets carried away. We now have three novels (Don's, too), but it's good because between the three of us I think we've covered about 21/2 years of Det B.What you've written is exactly the kind of stuff I was thinking when I read Shim's posting in Wiki. One memory leads to another and I guess it kind of snowballs. Naturally, your e-mail made me recall some things that I'd totally forgotten. For example:I had no recollection of the little side bar in the Danang Hotel. I never went in there. After reading your e-mail I recall someone saying there was a slot machine in there, but I guess I figured I wasted enough money on booze without throwing it down the toilet in the slots (and based on my more recent casino performances I'd say I was very wise to stay out of there). I don't remember having to pay for the food in the cafeteria, but that's probably one of those lost in space things. Overall, I thought the food was at least OK and sometimes pretty decent, especially after the mess hall at Bragg. The mess sergeant there (I think Perez) got caught stealing steaks and selling them to local restaurants and we got mystery meat or hot dogs instead. He became aquainted with Leavenworth, as I recall. I only ate upstairs a couple times. The burgers were OK, but one time I had a huge craving for pizza. It was god-awful; American cheese and raw onions.I remember signing in Marines a few times and, like you, no trouble. In fact, the only trouble I remember is one night the band was coming in to perform for us and some Army staff sgt starting kicking the band members in the shins. Naturally, they weren't too happy about that and turned to leave. A Marine sergeant jumped to protect the band members and the staff sgt started kicking him. The Marine bopped him in the cheek, knocking the glasses off the staff sgt. I was pissed at the Marine because the ass hole was still standing up.I don't remember Happy Hour, but I was probably already blitzed by then, but I do remember having to order two or three drinks at a time, because it took a long time to get waited on. I remember Twiggy, cute little thin gal. Another name is Ba. She was older (or looked older) than most of the other gals and we'd give her a bad time with her name; real deep voice and Baaaaaaaaa. She probably poisoned our drinks. I never experienced the Palace. The unit was in the barracks when I joined and in an effort to make the best of things I was thankful I wasn't in a tent. The Palace must have been the scene of Waldvogel's grenade incident. I loved your Moon craters. I remember the first mission I read out was over the DMZ and my reaction was exactly the same. I can't remember the name of the river (Ben Hai or something like that), but it was nothing but puddles of water.You mentioned guard duty on days. I can't recall how long we did that. I think it was part of the nervousness around Tet, but I know I was on day guard duty the day West got killed.I'd forgotten about Nesbit and the Natl Guard/Reserves. I just know he always gave me a rash and a shit about him getting drafted and me joining.Your good memories of sgt Boggs brought me back. I especially liked your third point. In an effort to be fair I managed to recall one good thing about him. Somehow he was able to talk the Air Force mess hall into letting the night guys go over there for food if we were having a slow night. I remember when I was really stupid and talking to the various recruiters that the Air Force was a four-year active duty commitment which made the Army look better. When I was in Nam I also noticed that Army guys got promoted much faster. Of course, after eating in that mess hall, I could see a little bit of a plus side. Much better than any Army mess I used. Robin Harper was the guy that got shot down. After writing back and forth to John Ripper he said that as he got shorter the CO (Capt Mitchell, probably) made him cool it on the photo missions. Rip was grooming Harper to take his place and could have very easily been on that mission instead. If I recall, Harper got a broken arm or leg out of the deal. Lew Kawahara found a clipping about the incident and I'll try to attach it if I don't screw that task. I don't really understand your part regarding the computer TIIF (What the hell did that stand for? I think Tactical Image Interpretation Facility). I received hours of training on that thing and have a certificate to prove it which is framed on my wall. Once in Nam I found it to be a very valuable piece of equipment. I think the thing that impressed me the most was its ability to take 15 minutes to measure the length of a bridge when a simple ruler would give the same info in about 2 seconds. Actually, just kidding. I don't think it ever worked to my knowledge. I think that if I had the authority I probably would have shit-canned the damn thing and put some cots in there. It would have been a better use of space. I personally only used that room when I had to make a pretty mosaic for some stupid colonel's wall. That was about the only place where I was out of the way of the other guys. Finally, physical testing. I'm very surprised at your attitude since rigorous PT was vital to our well-being. I remember having to take a test; it very well may be the same one you're talking about. We were very much looking forward to it. I did my best eye rolling to no avail. Off we went to run around the perimeter of the compound. I was actually amazed at what I saw because usually when we entered the area we immediately took a left and headed for our 'home' (and I don't remember the nice wood structure, either). My first stop was to admire the ARVN's and their armored personnel carriers. We stopped to chat in sign language. I remember how those guys hung hammocks to the wall and slept in them. They must have had a very rough night because, while a few were fixing a meal (one of our puppies perhaps?), most were still hanging on the wall. My next sight was the tennis court. Having played a little i n high school and college I felt it was necessary to check it out. That took at least ten minutes. As I continued my journey I was forced to slow down as I got a different look at the ARVN general's building. Finally, I came to the home stretch. Except for the first 75 yards or so I haven't too much recall of actually running/jogging. However, I was much too exhausted for push-ups and decided to hide in the II van. I don't remember a second PT test.Finally, thanks to your memory I do have a recollection of the Modern Hotel and the guy on the roof. I had totally forgotten that was you. Who was that woman you were with? I remember the barber shop. I guess it's one of those things that you sort of space out because it's kind of an everyday thing. I never went there on my own accord and had to be nagged by whatever sgt felt like getting on me. I remember the first time and getting my head twisted off. After that I kind of expected it and the experience didn't bother me quite as much, but the male barber seemed to take greater pleasure in breaking your neck. II Training: I am glad someone was able to get some benefit out of our "career training". As far as training goes I always think back to Bragg where the lifers would try to hold some kind of training session. Most had IQ's lower than dirt and we just played with their small minds. Usually, after about an hour of that crap they would send us to the motor pool to scrape the rust and 80 coats of paint off vehicles. If the weather sucked we tended to take more interest in the training so we didn't get cold or wet. In addition to the post office I also remember the great library. We had to cross the river on one of the water taxis or get on Old Grey, the Navy bus to get there. It was run by the USO if I recall and I picked something to read when we had slow nights on graveyard. Naturally, the Marines put it off limits and that was the end of that. I figure the Marines couldn't read, there were few picture books and they didn't see any need for it. (Here's a joke: Two Marines rush into Toys R Us and demand to see the manager. "Hey, check this out! It only took us three months to put this puzzle together!" "Big deal," says the manager. "Hey, the box says 'four to six years'"!) I somehow never managed to wreck any of the vehicles although I don't know why I never ran the 2 1/2 into the river in front of the hotel. I do remember my trailer incident. I managed to back the dang thing into the right spot at the compound, but when I unhitched the trailer I forgot to pull the plug for the lights. I jumped back in and took off with the cable snapping back like a sling shot. Your recollection of the air base reminded me of those occasions where we'd be rounding the end of the runway as the F4's were taking off. The whole place thundered and I was deaf for about an hour afterward. Ah, yes, the pills. For me it wasn't only the fast trot to the outhouse, but the damn things ripped my stomach to pieces. I was advised to not take them on an empty stomach, but in order to eat breakfast it was necessary to get up at 4 or 4:30; not going to happen. Like you, I faked out swallowing them and dumped them. Talking about the fans in the Modern Hotel reminded me of the cockroaches. I had a special craving (and, unfortunately still do) for M&M's. You had to keep them in a metal can or glass jar or the cockroaches which were as large as mice would get into them. One time I forgot to put the things away and came back into the room to find one of the critters had chewed a hole in the bag and was having at it. Today, I'd probably toss the bag, but back then M&M's were like gold. I chased the bugger away and swore at myself for leaving them out. Finally, about West. Somehow I get the impression he wasn't too fond of his first name because he certainly didn't broadcast the info. 'Sergeant' seemed to work just fine for him. I can't remember how I came across 'Alderman', but it always stuck with me for being unusual. I've only been to the "Wall" one time which was at night. That probably had a lot to do with how much trouble I had finding his name (as well as a couple high school buddies). Knowing the date helps tremendously. (This next section is in response to Dave Kueter's photos sent out on March 22, 2008) Dave, great shots. The only time I remember the hospital ship out in the river was when we got rocketed one night and it took off in a flash. I don't remember it away from the mooring otherwise. Your two 2 1/2 photos: I have had many brain farts from my Nam experience and something one guy says tends to jump start my brain. Anyway, I "think" (and if I had to put money on it) the driver is John Ripper, possibly Kim Bostwick in the seat and it looks like Mike Rozier (later emails make me think I've been getting/spelling his name wrong -- possibly John Reseigh) on the running board. The name Hillbough has no effect on any of my remaining brain cells. These are the kind of things that do not offend me in slightest if I am in error and am in need of correction. Besides the Bob Hope shows one other one I can recall was Martha Raye. I was familiar with her before my Army days and thought, Wow, I'd better go she her! I have two recollections of that show: It rained the entire time and Martha was dressed in fatigues and about 70 years past her "hot" days. She looked older than either of my grandmothers. It's fair to say that she did not have the same effect on me as Raquel Welch, Ann Margaret, Miss Universe (or whatever she was) and the dancing girls that Bob Hope brought along. (Included with Dave Keuter's email was a photo of Larry Lockhart) Larry Lockhart with the pup. We lost quite a few of them to the ARVN's and this is quite possibly the only one left. One thing that caught my attention is the white name tag on Larry's uni. I don't remember exactly when it happened, but sometime during my stay all that stuff (name tags, "US Army", unit patches, etc.) got switched to OD and rank insignia became the little collar pins. Onetime I remember some NCO making a comment about how brilliant it was for us to have OD colored uniforms, but white undershirts and tags. Speaking of collar pins, we were at the beach to zero our rifles. I was in a group with John Nesbit and Ken Curry and not really paying a lot of attention to what was going on. They both shot before me and I was pretty much just standing around watching the birds. When my turn came up I fired off three rounds and when I finished I asked John if I had hit anything. He was pretty sure I hit the ocean all three times. When we went to check the targets I noticed that some staff sgt's pin was holding up the target. Nesbit informed me it belonged to Boggs and that he and Ken (I can't believe Ken would stoop so low) had been trying to hit it. My first shot on the second go I nailed the sucker. I still have that pin. I tell my wife not to mess with me because that shot was from 1500 yards away. Women are so gullible. Boggs spent 20 minutes looking for the damn thing. One more recollection that I have now that the flood gates are re-opened: We live in a great age with computers and so forth and they are a tremendous tool in both my work and entertainment. My three most important tools are 'delete', 'backspace' and 'spel chek', but every so often the dang things pluck my nerves when it crashes or fouls up. Of course, the computer is saying, "Hey, dumb fart. If you push the right buttons and give the proper commands I'll probably do what you want." So where's this going? Every once in a while I'd work in operations and I have real fond memories of the mimeograph machine that we used to get our reports out. To start, you had to use some special paper in a typewriter (remember those?). If you made a typo you had to go back and restrike the correct letter/number and when you were done you'd take a razor blade to scratch away the mistake part. Then you loaded this paper in the machine and rolled it like an old-fashioned printing press to get the reports. I remember the great smell of the toner. You'd get a serious high just from smelling the stuff. Did anyone try drinking it? It reminds me of basic training where one guy wanted out so bad he drank about a quart of floor polish. His effort landed him in the psych ward, but the bright side is that he had a Spic and Span stomach. Bob Hope Shows: First of all I was extremely lucky! Thanks to the timing of my Nam vacation and an extension I was able to see two shows! The first one, in December of '67, featured Raquel Welch, some beauty contest winner (Miss World or Universe or similar), a bunch of girl dancers (can't remember the name of the group, but something 'golddiggers' is in there) and I think the football player Rosie Greer, although he may have been the following year. In his case, who cares? We weren't there to see him. The highlight of that performance was, of course, Raquel who was dressed in a open knit mini skirt which one could see through. The strategic parts were covered, but there was enough visible to cause a severe water shortage due to all the drooling. She sang a song while she sort of danced around. Now, Ms. Welch was great fun to look at (and still is), but in my humble opinion she had quite limited ability as an entertainer. Her song was "Sunny" (or is it "Sonny"). Now, I don't know how many of you have had any musical training, but the reason her song has stuck in my mind all these years is due to her unique ability to change keys about every third note. As far as dancing goes, I don't think she had a clue where the beat was. But the deal is that nobody in the crowd gave a shit. She could have recited Shakespeare in Cantonese and we wouldn't have cared. Miss World was pretty much worse. She just stood there and looked gorgeous. My seat was in row XXXX about three miles up the hill (there were actually a lot of guys behind me). I watched both shows through a 200mm lens on my camera. About a month after that show my mother sent me a news clipping where Ms. Welch was quoted as saying that Hope would have served the troops much better if he had brought over 200 hookers and sent them through the crowd instead of having her up there gyrating. Mr. Hope wasn't too pleased about that. My second show, '68, featured the usual group of gals and Ann Margaret. Ann Margaret was the total package; hot babe who could sing, dance, act. Her costume was so tight that the local street kids were selling it as porn. Again, we drooled. Now, I don't know how they pulled it off, but Ken Curry and a couple others (I think Z and maybe Joel Wilson) were able to sneak into the front row area. They were so close they got splashed by the sweat. I mentioned this previously, but Ken got some of the spit from Ann when she blew a kiss and didn't wash his face for three months. Now, I know that this is a Nam MIBARS deal and I have tried to limit my novel to that experience. However, my wife insists that I talk some about my experience at the NCO academy because she also laughs about my stories from that place. I would like to tell you all that I excitedly volunteered for that assignment, but that would be a lie. In fact, I never heard of the thing until the first sgt (Longstreet sticks in my mind) said that he needed a body to go there and I was the only viable candidate: at least an E-4 and not on the manifest to get shipped to Nam. Something told me that this was going to be trouble and it was. Before I even left Bragg for this place I was told that I would need at least a dozen uniforms because we had to break starch at every formation and I purchased a couple extra pairs of boots. This place is in northern Alabama, Fort McClellan (named after the famous Union general who pissed off Lincoln and always got outsmarted by Lee). The school started in January and being a naive kid from Ohio I was thinking it would be nice and warm like Florida since it was so far south. The first day there doing pushups in the snow cured that. The drill instructors wanted everything starched including our field jackets. They were worthless after being starched. We had continual inspections and I always caught hell because I didn't cut my hair to basic training length, namely 'bald'. While in formation we'd take our hats off and get the once over on hair cuts. The drill sergeant would always take an extra long look at me with his nose in my face. One time toward the end of the school he was standing there like that and I stupidly said, "Sergeant, you're very close to me. Am I supposed to kiss you?" 50 pushups later I moved on. As I was grunting out my pushups he went to the next guy who happened to have the bald hair cut they were looking for. The sarge shouts, "In need of hair cut!" The guy kind of bitched because I didn't get that speech. He joined me. My favorite inspections were in the barracks. The drill sarges loved spit shined boots and some guys would spend the entire night on the dang things. Yes, you could shave by them, but I considered that to be a total waste of time and just gave mine about a 5 minute buff. I never caught hell for that. The other thing was the foot lockers. The top tray had to have certain items in there and, of course, they all had to be folded or displayed just so. My first week I took the necessary extra pairs of socks, underware and shaving stuff and got out a ruler to make sure everything was the way they wanted it. Then I sewed the socks and stuff together so they wouldn't unwrap and I sewed them into the towel that we had to lay in the tray. The towel was then secured by thumb tacks. Every so often the head drill instructor would have a tizzy fit and start tossing some of the trays across the floor screaming how horrible everything looked. The look on his face when he tossed mine and nothing came out was totally priceless. He never tossed the trays after that. Another favorite thing of those guys was to make us wear our steel pots to class. They'd turn up the heat so we'd doze off and you would either get a broken neck when you nodded off or you'd wake the dead when it clanged on the desk or floor. If you tried to prop your head up he would rap you on the head with his swagger stick and "ring the bell". I managed to graduate and haven't a clue how except that I did pass the exams. At least half the class was Nam vets and infantry. Many were considering the Army as a career and a few were openly pissed at me for not taking it very seriously. One of the things that got their attention was when we marched to wherever we were going. At Bragg we were always told that if there were three or more, one guy had to march the others so we always made sure we went in pairs. At this place we marched. With a little practice I was able to master being able to swing my arms with my legs which it made it look like I was out of step. Several of the serious guys would often pull me aside to "teach" me how to march. The NCO academy didn't do me much good while I was in Bragg, but once I hit Nam I got promoted to E-5 fairly soon. Having the academy on my file really impressed them. I did hear a little grumbling from a couple of guys about getting promoted before them, but they eased off once they found out how dedicated a soldier I was.
 * Missing numbers; so far nobody can ID them so no stories or else my brain just doesn't have any recollection of you. Sorry about that as we used to say after requesting a bombing run on the wrong place.

April 10, 2011. OK, I don't know how I forgot this great experience, but I'd be remiss if I didn't include my first airplaine ride as an aerial photographer. First of all I need to say something about our uniforms. Due to the high heat and humidity we were permitted to roll up our sleeves. Inside the vans we could strip down to t-shirts, but not in public. Well, the rolled-up sleeves were nice, but were very tight on your upper arm (especially with my body-building arms). So my brilliant solution was to cut the sleeves off at mid forearm. Much better. That is until I went for my airplane ride. I was told that you had to have your sleeves rolled down. It made sense: In case of an accident it was supposed to help keep you from getting your arms burned. My problem was that all my shirts were cut. Well, I decided to take a chance since the alternative was to wear some heavy shirt with flame retardant. Also, in my vast brilliance, I decided not to eat anything before hand. I never got sick in a plane before, but you can't be too careful and if I was going to barf I didn't want a big load coming up. Armed with two cameras, one 50mm and the other 200m, and a carbine (for protection, yeah) I introduced myself to the pilot, told him what I needed and off we went. He handed me a helmit which had communication gear built into it -- couldn't talk to the pilot without it. So we take off. These missions generally last about 5 or so hours. I figured it would be a piece of cake; you're sitting on your butt. But the vibrations rattled every bone and I found myself exhausted. Oh, and about one hour into the mission my stomach started dancing. The next thing I know here it comes. My first thought was from old WWII stories about using your helmit, but if I did that I wouldn't be able to talk to the pilot or, worse, I'd have to wear a barf-filled hat. Plus, it would have been a really big mess. Brilliant plan: I'll unhook and stick my head out the window! Yes, that worked. It all got blown back into my face. I ended up having to use my shirt to clean myself. Yuck. After that I ate breakfast first and never got sick. After I rotated back to the states I was informed that there was an "incident" on one of the missions. I can't remember the guy's name, but he didn't have the cameras strapped on and at an air pocket the plane took a sudden dive and the 200mm camera went out the window. It didn't help that the camera was equiped with a new stablizer that cost about $1,000. Glad that wasn't me.

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