Vietnam - the siren song

I was greeted by a cardboard sign, nailed to a tree, located around a bend, at the top of a hill, with an arrow pointing to a lot of construction - Phu Cat, the sign simply stated.

The Vietnam War now is just a past memory to people like me; while many younger ones only know of North Vietnam with no memories of a divided North and South nation.  Tall buildings have sprouted in the main centers of commerce, even a subway is being built in Saigon. Though, Vietnam is still a place you feel more than see.  Many people ask me what sights I recommend and I always reply - pick a corner, hang out and there it is.

 Graham Greene in his book  The Quiet American  said it best -

"I can’t say what made me fall in love with Vietnam - that a woman’s voice can drug you; that everything is so intense. The colors, the taste, even the rain. Nothing like the filthy rain in London. They say whatever you’re looking for, you will find here. They say you come to Vietnam and you understand a lot in a few minutes, but the rest has got to be lived. The smell: that’s the first thing that hits you, promising everything in exchange for your soul. And the heat. Your shirt is straightaway a rag. You can hardly remember your name, or what you came to escape from. But at night, there’s a breeze.”

For me I'll be back there in a few months - what’s this, my 17th or 18^th trip, not really sure.  I do know that once Vietnam gets her hooks into you it’s hard to pull away. 

1967 was my first step outside the states and that was to Vietnam.  Like me at the time many had no idea what to expect in the war or what was to be expected of them. My trip over was good, flew

aboard a commercial flight, reasonable food, cute stewardess and all that.  Arriving at Tan Sơn Nhat which seemed pretty much the same as any large base in the states, all the buildings with AC an NCO Club where I had a nice steak sandwich lunch and then it all changed.

My set of hard copy orders had me reporting here at  Sơn Nhat  but as quick as you can say jacaty flip those orders were exchanged for a note written in pencil, with the two words scrawled on it - Quin Nhon. 

Clutching my note, duffel over my shoulder, I’m directed out towards the flight line and told to find a ride up country to Quin Nhon. 
  

Man it was hot when I arrived at Quin Nhon ops, the sergeant in charge  had made a futile attempt to beat the heat by positioned himself strategically in the vortex of three portable fans blasting air drawn from outside via the rolled up flaps of the tent. While his assistant scrambled around trying to carrel the flying debris.  Even with all that he still looked hot and pissed off as he grimly pressed on in the center of his self styled, rainless typhoon.  My hand written, penciled, note seemed to bring a bit of joy to his face.  He wadded it up, looked over his shoulder at a chalkboard swaying in the fan propelled air, “find your name and erase it, easy peasy.”  He goes on to say - “Getting late, Charlie’s out so get yourself some chow and a bunk. In the morning grab a ride with one of the convoy trucks. 

The next day I’m on my way again riding shot gun in a deuce and half.   In the late morning the driver pulled his truck out of the convoy and we rolls to a stop beside the road, pointed off to the side to a dirt road - saying “just down their”.  After the rumble of the convoy there was an eerie quiet left in their wake as they faded from sight.  Seemed that I was all alone, and the land was barren except for an old, dilapidated thatched hut to my left.  I start walking up the road to the top of the hill, its then I see the cardboard sign , nailed to a tree –  announcing Phu Cat.

As I looked down the road on past the cardboard sign all I could see is a bunch of construction going on, flanked by a couple guard towers.  However, as I walked closer I could see Quonset huts and what looked like what might be temporary living quarters.  So I’m thinking that’s the cause of my convoluted orders there wasn’t a Phu Cat Airbase yet.   

Vietnam is changing ever so rapidly now, like an old friend who discovers fame and fortune and  his success carries him off for a walk on the wild side.   I struggle to hold on but I fear the chasm between us may bring an end to our long relationship.   I’ve started looking for a raggedy cardboard sign that points me down a new road, just in case.    

See ya- thanks for stopping by....... Doug 

Then it was Vietnam - part 4

Off to left down the lane I could just make out a hand lettered cardboard sign saying - Phu Cat - with an arrow pointing down the lane. I start walking and just over the hill the twin gun towers flanking the main gate came into view. Four days after checking in at San Francisco I had arrived into the war.

The reality of what I found after my arrival was probably much like GI’s experienced in Iraq or Afghanistan, where the violence of war is not tidily contained but jumps out at you when you least expect it.  Even for a lowly supply sergeant like myself strategically positioned behind a desk, there were those moments, vividly illustrating  the effects of war.   The random acts of violence and how it changes things so quickly.  There were the night ambushes we were encouraged to volunteer for, sometimes resulting in black partially unzipped body bags on display in front of the chow hall, the morning after. Viewing of late night firefights outside the perimeter, across the road from my hut.  

The night ambushes taking the lives of purportedly VC's (Vietnamese communist) but looking down on those lifeless faces I couldn't  help but think - maybe in fact, they were just some luckless folk out for an evening stroll, only to stumble into a bunch of heavily armed combatants playing  war.  Anyway, I was never really sure about the effectiveness of these actions, other than pissing off the Vietnamese family and friends of the one taken out.  Overall it seemed surreal for a bunch of guys who were pencil  pushers and mechanics during the day to hide in the bush on their own time and shoot the first guy that walked by.  So for guys like me, not drawn to the thrill of night ambushes and whose tropical fantasies were squashed by the napalm  ravaged landscape, there was the perennial favorite of spending evenings watching tracer bullets from a top the bunker.  That is, until they found us.

Time moved much slower back then and my year in Phu Cat seemed to go on for ever. When it did finely end it was a strange feeling to find  my self back in  the states and unceremoniously released to civilian life. I was only a few days out of Vietnam, a very short haired, skinny civilian with a great suntan standing at the airport. My worldly  possessions slung over my shoulder, with a plane ticket to Flint, Michigan in hand as I sightlessly stared into the horizon at the rest of my life.  

The first years back from Nam as a civilian was interesting and offered up the craziest times of my life.  Involving speeding tickets, wrecked cars, lots of booze and pills, romances gone arie, an attempted return to college - bet you can guess how that one turned out. After a while life did stabilize, though the Vietnam experience and life there stayed with me and I was to never get over it. 
                                              

Thanks for stopping by -

To be continued - Return to Vietnam

(link to part 3)

Then it was Vietnam - part 3

The chief comes over and says "Welcome to Vietnam" and I'm thinking, "as a supply sergeant I don't think I'm supposed to be doing this kind of stuff ".  An hour or so later we landed at Quin Nhon, the second leg of what turned out to be a three leg trip to my new duty station. 

 According to my orders Quin Nhon was my ultimate destination and so once arrived I searched out the duty clerk and reported for duty.  He handled me with a manner of someone of high importance, forced by some unfair twist of fate to deal with airman like me. Looking down at my orders he make a clicking sound with his tongue and mumbled "Nope, you're not here." As he vaguely nodded toward a couple blackboards toward the rear of tent. Yup, there I was caulked in on the Phu Cat board.  I wondered what and where Phu Cat was and all the while thinking how much more reassuring those multi-copy orders were than just a name chalked in on one of his blackboards.  So, lets see, if I erased my name could I go any where I wanted? 

But, it's too late to split, as the duty sergeant says over his shoulder, "ya, Phu Cat, too late now, Charlie is out, Take that bunk over their," as he went on to tell me that in the morning I was to get out by Hwy 1 and "flag down one of the convoyed Army trucks heading up towards Phu Cat".

I awoke to the rumble of military traffic or being new to all this, what I guessed military traffic might might sound like in a war zone.  I rolled out of the tent, got a cup of coffee, sipping this while looking for friendly face to gain insight into convoy affairs. You know basic stuff, such as how do I tell where a convoy is going and even more vexing, how does a guy flag down a truck out of a mass of fast moving, tightly spaced vehicles.   

Meanwhile, as I stand by the side of the road, my duffel slung over my shoulder and a deer in the headlights look on my face as a deuce and a half pulls out of the convoy and rolls to a stop in front of me. The flak-vested driver hollers out at me, "climb aboard".  Next to him in the cab is a cobbled together bracket holding a shotgun standing straight up, sorta like you see in some squad cars in the states. With A bottle of Jack poking its neck out from under the seat. 

After, what for the most  part was an uneventful trip the driver pulled his rig out of the convoy to a stop at the side of the road, "end of the line, you're their" he says. After I had stumbled out with my gear, he immediately pulled back into the convoy,I was left looking down a dusty lane. Off to left down the lane I could just make out a hand lettered cardboard sign saying - Phu Cat with an arrow pointing down the lane. I start walking and just over the hill the twin gun towers flanking the main gate came into view. Four days after checking in at San Francisco I had arrived into the war.

To be continued -

(link to part 2)