Dispatch from Dogpatch#41
A significant date, 03 September, for it marks the anniversary of my coming home from Vietnam. There is more to it than just hopping on a jet and kissing the shit goodbye.
No matter what the day was, at 0600, my feet hit the floor. This day was different; it was my wake up day...my last in Nam. As I stretched and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I looked at my short timer's calendar - 99 and a wake up. It had one white spot left in a strategic place. I shaved and dressed making sure my short timer's ribbon was visible, just not conspicuous, walked over and ate chow at the hospital, and cleared the first sergeant’s office. The goodbyes were a celebration mixed with some sadness; a lot of us had been together for 8 months or more. We all marked our time, and some of the guys were proud of my exit cause they were getting closer to next up. The first sergeant arranged for his orderly to drive me to the air terminal. James, a cook and friend from the hospital mess, went with us to see me off.
The first stop was customs, the MPs threw my duffel aside and asked me to open my B-4 bag. My tiger stripe boonie hat lay there and the MP grabbed it as contraband. I pleaded, “hey, not that!” All he had to say was, “you want to go home?” I never said another word. After being stamped and papers shuffled, I was handed my final boarding pass. Had about another hour, and decided for one last coke. Got to the lounge and the waitress brought two cokes over, we clinked our toast and turned them up. James spewed his coke and swore that it was nasty. He held it up to the light and there suspended in the bottle was a mouse. We cussed Nam and all things military, then burst out laughing.
It began raining, pouring...monsoon pouring, as boarding began. I took my middle seat just forward of the left wing; the 707 seated 6 abreast. An Army specialist was on my left and the aisle seat remained vacant until near capacity when an Army full colonel sat beside me. Got no clue what either soldier’s name is or was. The Tiger Airways stewardesses got us settled and instructed...as I recall it was very quiet and tense.
Finally, we rolled out and the pilot awaited clearance. Once the rollout started I looked out at the rain and my last look at Vietnam. As the old girl left the runway and got maybe 600 feet she seemed to stutter and fall a couple of hundred feet. I thought oh shit, I made it a year only to die in a plane crash on take off. A collective gasp and sigh went through the cabin and a minute later the captain informed us we were now leaving Vietnam airspace. The yelling and whooping took several minutes to subside. The 6 hour flight to Kadena AB, Okinawa was underway. Served a steak supper mid flight, all was well. No alcohol…Uncle Sam knew better than to put 200 drunk GIs into Kadena.
Refueled in Kadena; we were quarantined in a pen. Once airborne, we had 13 hours to Travis AFB in San Francisco. After another meal, we tried to settle down and endure the long Pacific flyover. This time, I had a trick. I had stopped by the pharmacy a couple of days before and asked the chief if he could help me out - that I just couldn’t sleep on an aircraft. I got four seconal tablets in a small manila envelope. I pulled them from my pocket, shook two out and swallowed them. The colonel next to me asked if I had any to spare and I gave them to him. Amazingly, we awoke about an hour out of Travis and the colonel said that was the best flight he ever had. As we deplaned into a separate terminal set aside for returning GIs, I noticed a fence line full of hippies and signs of all descriptions. My first taste of antiwar sentiment. Welcome home, baby killer!
As the baggage conveyor started, I just knew that my bags would be the last, yet, they were in the first dozen. I grabbed them, rushed to customs, they waved a hand over them, and out the door I went. I needed to change to a class B uniform, having traveled in my OG107s, when my seat buddy colonel hollered at me to come get in the cab. I explained and he said he would handle everything, just get in the damn cab.
Arriving at the civilian terminal, we parted ways, never to see one another again. I dashed into the terminal and asked when the next flight to Orange County airport was and the agent said - 10 minutes. I said I needed to change, and the agent said 10 minutes...so I took the 10 minutes and duffel bag dragged my butt to the gate and made it.
The jet was one you boarded from the rear and I got a seat next to the stewardess station. After take off, two of the attendants came to me and asked if I was just returning and did I want a drink? Well, sure, and I had 3 Bloody Marys in an hour’s time all paid for by United Airlines. Upon arrival, I called my uncle and he said stay put, be there in 40 minutes. It was a clear and beautiful California evening and I dragged my gear out to the front of the terminal and just sat, just sat in the United States. Two MPs came up and asked if I had just returned and wished me well. Uncle Dick pulled up with my mom in the car and that ended my wake up day from Nam, now 51 years ago.
All this to say, we knew better. We knew better than to get involved in Afghanistan - we already had a playbook called Vietnam. When this all started, we were full of anger and rage about 9/11 and wanted to exact some revenge. When Bush declared his intention, I was livid, for I had lived the playbook. My side of this generation let the country down and cost untold amounts of lives and treasure all over again. We have not gotten smarter. As a people, we must regain control of our affairs and work for the good of humanity; to stop this constant drain on our society and look to a future that can benefit the nation as well as the world.
We can do this.
Namaste
A significant date, 03 September, for it marks the anniversary of my coming home from Vietnam. There is more to it than just hopping on a jet and kissing the shit goodbye.
No matter what the day was, at 0600, my feet hit the floor. This day was different; it was my wake up day...my last in Nam. As I stretched and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I looked at my short timer's calendar - 99 and a wake up. It had one white spot left in a strategic place. I shaved and dressed making sure my short timer's ribbon was visible, just not conspicuous, walked over and ate chow at the hospital, and cleared the first sergeant’s office. The goodbyes were a celebration mixed with some sadness; a lot of us had been together for 8 months or more. We all marked our time, and some of the guys were proud of my exit cause they were getting closer to next up. The first sergeant arranged for his orderly to drive me to the air terminal. James, a cook and friend from the hospital mess, went with us to see me off.
The first stop was customs, the MPs threw my duffel aside and asked me to open my B-4 bag. My tiger stripe boonie hat lay there and the MP grabbed it as contraband. I pleaded, “hey, not that!” All he had to say was, “you want to go home?” I never said another word. After being stamped and papers shuffled, I was handed my final boarding pass. Had about another hour, and decided for one last coke. Got to the lounge and the waitress brought two cokes over, we clinked our toast and turned them up. James spewed his coke and swore that it was nasty. He held it up to the light and there suspended in the bottle was a mouse. We cussed Nam and all things military, then burst out laughing.
It began raining, pouring...monsoon pouring, as boarding began. I took my middle seat just forward of the left wing; the 707 seated 6 abreast. An Army specialist was on my left and the aisle seat remained vacant until near capacity when an Army full colonel sat beside me. Got no clue what either soldier’s name is or was. The Tiger Airways stewardesses got us settled and instructed...as I recall it was very quiet and tense.
Finally, we rolled out and the pilot awaited clearance. Once the rollout started I looked out at the rain and my last look at Vietnam. As the old girl left the runway and got maybe 600 feet she seemed to stutter and fall a couple of hundred feet. I thought oh shit, I made it a year only to die in a plane crash on take off. A collective gasp and sigh went through the cabin and a minute later the captain informed us we were now leaving Vietnam airspace. The yelling and whooping took several minutes to subside. The 6 hour flight to Kadena AB, Okinawa was underway. Served a steak supper mid flight, all was well. No alcohol…Uncle Sam knew better than to put 200 drunk GIs into Kadena.
Refueled in Kadena; we were quarantined in a pen. Once airborne, we had 13 hours to Travis AFB in San Francisco. After another meal, we tried to settle down and endure the long Pacific flyover. This time, I had a trick. I had stopped by the pharmacy a couple of days before and asked the chief if he could help me out - that I just couldn’t sleep on an aircraft. I got four seconal tablets in a small manila envelope. I pulled them from my pocket, shook two out and swallowed them. The colonel next to me asked if I had any to spare and I gave them to him. Amazingly, we awoke about an hour out of Travis and the colonel said that was the best flight he ever had. As we deplaned into a separate terminal set aside for returning GIs, I noticed a fence line full of hippies and signs of all descriptions. My first taste of antiwar sentiment. Welcome home, baby killer!
As the baggage conveyor started, I just knew that my bags would be the last, yet, they were in the first dozen. I grabbed them, rushed to customs, they waved a hand over them, and out the door I went. I needed to change to a class B uniform, having traveled in my OG107s, when my seat buddy colonel hollered at me to come get in the cab. I explained and he said he would handle everything, just get in the damn cab.
Arriving at the civilian terminal, we parted ways, never to see one another again. I dashed into the terminal and asked when the next flight to Orange County airport was and the agent said - 10 minutes. I said I needed to change, and the agent said 10 minutes...so I took the 10 minutes and duffel bag dragged my butt to the gate and made it.
The jet was one you boarded from the rear and I got a seat next to the stewardess station. After take off, two of the attendants came to me and asked if I was just returning and did I want a drink? Well, sure, and I had 3 Bloody Marys in an hour’s time all paid for by United Airlines. Upon arrival, I called my uncle and he said stay put, be there in 40 minutes. It was a clear and beautiful California evening and I dragged my gear out to the front of the terminal and just sat, just sat in the United States. Two MPs came up and asked if I had just returned and wished me well. Uncle Dick pulled up with my mom in the car and that ended my wake up day from Nam, now 51 years ago.
All this to say, we knew better. We knew better than to get involved in Afghanistan - we already had a playbook called Vietnam. When this all started, we were full of anger and rage about 9/11 and wanted to exact some revenge. When Bush declared his intention, I was livid, for I had lived the playbook. My side of this generation let the country down and cost untold amounts of lives and treasure all over again. We have not gotten smarter. As a people, we must regain control of our affairs and work for the good of humanity; to stop this constant drain on our society and look to a future that can benefit the nation as well as the world.
We can do this.
Namaste
