Snubby in Vietnam

From time to time, we are fortunate to meet someone who really makes a difference in people's lives. I have been privileged to meet some of these people in my own career. When I was in my formative years, sometimes I would quietly vow to myself "someday I want to be like that person." A role model for me; someone whom I admired and respected.

It is easy for us to help others if it doesn't require any sacrifice or risk for us. We pat ourselves on our back, and complement ourselves for helping others, and brag about it to others.

But for some people, helping others really does require effort and sacrifice, even perhaps risking their very life. Here is such a person.

Early in my year "in-country", in the middle of the Delta, out in the Plane of Reeds, I and one SGT were dropped off by chopper to try to teach completely uninterested South Vietnamese local troops how to call in and adjust US and VNAF airstrikes. This SGT, the "pistol-packin SGT"and I spent about a week or so in a tiny hamlet along a waterway, and there was a Jesuit Priest there. He actually had a small ruamentary concrete chapel at one end of the village, and I talked with him several times. He was I guess middle age, and had a pronounced limp, like a bad hip, or maybe two bad hips. I asked him what he had to defend himself with when the local Bad Guys came to kill him, and he showed me his revolver and corroded rounds. I gave him a spare M3 Grease Gun, the simple 45 cal SMG along with several 30 rd magazines.

He was there to spread the Gospel, risking his own life every day. I suspect he also tried to help the locals in every way he could, perhaps with care packages, maybe medical care, and anything his Jesuit Order sent him. He lived a very austere life in his little chapel.

One day we loaded up in several sampans and ventured further out into No Man's Land, to check on several outposts. I took some pics, and may show them here later, where we poled our way up narrow reed obstructed canals, not much wider than our sampan, and all I could think was that we were sitting ducks for any enemy hiding in the rushes just a few yards on each side of us. We wouldn't have known what happened.

But we made it to our destination and back before dark, and were none the worse for our experience. Here is the Jesuit priest. The bag at his feet must have been his, as it surely wasn't mine, and the .45 in the flap bolster on the bag was probably mine , as I was probably wearing my own web belt with more than just a pistol.

For years I sometimes wondered what ever happened to him; did he become ill with some miserable illness, or was he captured or killed, or just what had become of this devoted man, who had dedicated his life to serve others in bringing "The Word" to simple people, few of whom could read and write. I am not Catholic, but have always respected the Jesuit Order.

It was only a few years ago, in some magazine or the like, that I read his obituary. He had indeed survived his time in that war, and afterwards had continued his ministry here in the US.

If more of us were like this man, whose name I can't recall, our world would be a much better and more compassionate place. But even when one is a priest, it might be a good idea to be armed with a SMG.

So, stay safe, and do what you can to help others,

SF VET
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Pals, or what are called nowdays "BFFL",

I often would just walk around my little compound, my second assignment post way south, deep down in the Delta, and look for one or maybe two pics to take. I had to be very choosey about what I aimed my trusty Asahi Pentax II at before pressing the shutter release. I had very limited rolls of Kodachrome II, or Ectachrome 160 as I could only pick up more when I was up to the big PX in Saigon, maybe every month or two. But the children were just so photogenic, always, well almost always, smiling and happy, playing in the moat or inner muck, serving at the "cantina" in the compound, or helping out at the market just down the path alongside the river. How their mothers managed to keep their daughters in such clean and spotless clothes in all that filth and mud I will never understand. But of course, the boys were never clean, always dirty and just being boys of course. Hopeless to keep the lads clean.

Here, My on the left was an orphan, I don't recall her family story, but she lived with another family, who may or may not have been related. But taking care of children in war zones is often a communal effort. The smaller girl on the right, with her hand lovingly on her pals' shoulder was one of the children of the cafe's owners. I think. I had my parents send me a couple of bags of plastic toy jewelry items, trinkets, and I gave them to the girls, who wore them like Tiffany diamonds. Any play toy these kids used was made up from scraps of this or that found in the compound. Not like our children today, who often have their own Amazon accounts.

Anyway, I am away from my scanner for a week, so this one will have to do until I get home again.

I of course have no idea of what became of these children; if they are alive now, they would be in their mid 50's, and likely have no memories of me or this time in their lives.

Alll the best, and stay safe... SF VET
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I was friends with a Hmong family in a previous city I lived in. He was almost 6' tall, showed strong signs of French genetics, IMO, and was almost totally deaf, from large or small arm fire. Like many veterans, he wouldn't talk about the war. He couldn't read and write as a mixed race child would not have been educated in that era. His wife was short and typical of most of the Hmong you see. They told me that some of their kids were his, some were hers and some they had raised were "cousins". It seems it would be rare for whole families to get out with the Communist takeover.
All they wanted to do was garden and they did an excellent job of it. The spent the summer in Farmers Markets selling flowers and produce. Their kids ran restaurants off and on but the parents just ran a large garden.
 
After my stint in the Army, and while working on a grad degree, I worked as the head custodian for a small Texas school district in the Ft. Worth area. Two young Vietnamese kids were on my payroll, both were students at local colleges. About half the time, either Dad or Mom would clock in and do their work so that they could study, which was fine with me, since the job got done, and always well.

They both graduated with honors, and during that time period this "boat people" family started moving up in the world. Dad bought a small laundry business, and continued expanding until he owned the entire strip mall with not only the laundry, but also a Vietnamese grocery and restaurant. I ate at the restaurant a couple of times, but never saw either a menu or a check (even though I complained that I should pay) due to my flexibility with the boy's work schedules.

It is amazing that this family, which had undergone such loss following the war, as well as the horrors of navigating pirate filled waters and several refugee camps, could achieve the American dream through hard work and sheer grit. My hat is off to them.
 
Taking a break

I looked back over my earlier pics, and don't think I have put this one up before. When I was dropped by a C7 Caribou twin engine short landing and take off plane at a deserted short PSP airstrip for my second six months, deep in the Delta, eventually a jeep showed up and took me to the US HQ in Camau. I don't recall who sent me, or why I was then choppered out to Song Ong Doc District, to replace a just departed Captain, on a two or three man District Advisory Team. When I was dropped off, the Major and a SFC were in the process of dismantling their "hootch" just at the edge of the tiny river village, and moving kit and caboodle to inside a newly constructed four sided Vietnamese compound a few hundred yards Up River. So we trucked our material to that site, and began to build our new Hootch inside half of a metal building.

We put down some planks over timbers, and then used scrap wood to build two rooms and a built up latrine/shower draining into the inside moat. Wood walls about half way up, then netting to the ceiling. The metal was pretty holed from prior impacts.

Looking at this pic, Son, one of our two interpreter is sitting at a field desk, and SF Tom C is reading a paper. We had a propane stove, and I think our 'fridge also ran on propane. It was pretty comfortable, and far better than the dim, rat and bug infested hovels the local troops lived in along the berm. We had a 1.5 KW generator for evening power and for our movie projector.

We had four bunks, with mosquito netting, and a house maid, a war widow, for our cooking, and whatever cleaning was necessary. Sofa, couple of easy chairs, and our commo table.

55 gal drums up top of our latrine for water.

So here, taking a break from our construction.

SF VET
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Thanks as always for posting. Where did the sofa and chairs come from? Just curious if this came from a visit to a PX some place, someone had it shipped from the states or if some officer in the rear came back to his BOQ and found it empty?
 
DF7C4FFC-AF3B-4977-B3BA-2576D0013F08.jpg FWIW, nothing like SF Vets post but may be interesting. During the monsoons hootches flooded even with blast walls around them. We had a few “ damaged 113’s around so figured to dig a sump at the back of hootch, install a 24VDC bilge pump power by several “ extra” batteries, switch on inside of hootch. Scrounged enough hose to discharge about 50’ from hootch. We would leave for the shop or some road trip and tell our mamasan to turn on pump if rain. Hootch never flooded again.
 
Nothing like the majority of US GIs lived in Vietnam! Refrigerators? Generators?

Base camps usually had housing that would keep the weather outside under most conditions. Refrigeration was a fond recollection of the real world for most of the troops.

Forward positions (fire support bases, etc) were another story. We lived in sandbagged bunkers. Ice was a rumor or a fond dream. When the sun went down the light was gone for the night, and our primary focus was on the perimeter wire and maintaining security against infiltrators and saboteurs. Every day brought new challenges and passwords, and may God have mercy on your soul if you had to go to the latrine slit trench to evacuate your bowels in the middle of the night and could not remember the password to get back inside the bunker line. Your life was on the line every time you raised your head above ground level IN THE HOLE YOU CALLED HOME.

In actual field operations such as extended combat patrols it was not uncommon to exist on nothing but C-rations for a week or more, and the best of field hygiene practices would not keep your socks and underwear from rotting on your body. Uniforms were typically thrown into the burn pile when we got back to a base camp because there was no way to salvage them after 7 or 10 days of constant wear in the bush. The leather lowers of our combat boots could grow fungus farms around our feet, and I have had the experience of peeling the skin off of my toes to a point of exposing muscle and blood vessels.

Fungal infections, "jungle rot", scalp infections, parasites in every orifice. I have had to order medical evacuations for more of these cases than combat wounded troops.

I remember map sheets sealed in plastic for field operations, then watching the paper disintegrate between the plastic laminations over a few days in the field.

Water purification tablets were used to kill parasites in the water we had to drink, but we learned to filter the mud and crud out with handkerchiefs and T-shirts before we put that stuff in our canteens. Families sent packages of Kool-Aid drink mix to disguise the taste of the water we had to drink in the field.

For a lot of GIs a tour in Vietnam was not a Boy Scout camping experience.
 
Richard, I don't know for sure, but any heavier supply had to come down to us by boat on the river. No roads for at least 50 mlles. The most likely source of our furniture was some prior trade or purchase up in Camau, at our An Xuyen Province MACV HQ. Most likely a local purchase by someone up there, who gave it or traded it and it found its way down river to us before I arrived. All of us in MACV had plenty of money for local purchases, supposedly win the "hearts and minds" of the locals. But I don't recall we had to keep any receipts for records of what we bought. I had money and used it to pay for things like bags of concrete for local wells and such. If I had used it for my own comfort, no one would have known, or even cared.

As our late Afganistan debacle shows, when money is tossed about for local purchases in the name of "winning hearts and minds" much of it can be grafted away for less noble reasons.

I had sacks of dong, the Vietnamese currency. Besides, there wasn't anything in our local market I wanted to bring home.

Maybe I was an Officer And A Gentleman after all.

SF VET
 
When I left 5th Fleet Command, in Naples, during DS and in bound for SA, I signed for $15,000.00 cash in US currency and $1000.00 in gold coins (something I’d never seen before - I lead a sheltered life). The money was an “operational budget “ (pocket change) to purchase any small items from the local market that was needed to set up the in-country aircraft maintenance facilities. Just about everything we needed was already provided or could be requisitioned thru the supply system. About six months later, out bound to home, I returned $14,495.00 and $1000.00 in gold, with attached receipts for the expense. Several months later, I got a bill from the DoN for $2217.47 of over expenditure. It took a while to straighten it all out. Never did find out how they came up with that number…..
 
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I was drafted in Aug of 65. Only US in my platoon. I qualified SF and OCS in basic, but It wasn't a great time to "Be All You Can Be" in the Army. When I was at an OCS dog and pony show for the 5th Inf Div in Ft Carson, a well worn Infantry Captain who had just come back from the Ia Drang fight tipped me off about what nobody knew and if you did know you didn't say anything: Between 1/7th and 2/7th more than 300 guys were dead in 3 days. It was a massacre. It was rumored to be a lot more. So I passed on being an LT. I should have kissed that captain.


I was there in 5/66 to 5/67. Anything was OK. Lots of privately owned guns smuggled in, lots of stolen WW2 weapons. My truck had a full automatic H&R M14 about 25 magazines in a laundry bag. My Browning .380 was just stuck in my pocket. The M3 grease gun was in the truck.
Lived in 10 man squad tents with hundreds of rats who all died in a Bubonic Plague epidemic in spring of '67. That was great!! We drank Bier LaRue or Tiger beer, 33 was horrible and too expensive. For our part of the camp (2 doors down from 5th SF jungle school in Nha Trang) there was a mountain of Schlitz and really vile Korean beer. Millions of cans. 4 guys walked guard duty on that pile every night. You would see different brands a tiny bit of Olympia, Carlson, Black Label, millers etc. The Schlitz distributor for II Corps was an ex broadway singer and he sang for us one night and we applauded a lot. He showed up the next night and gave away 300 cases of beer and cans of Planters peanuts (a real treat).I was 200lbs when I got there and 178 when I left. No fat to lose just took it in muscle. Uniform was 44L upon arrival and 40L when I got the new one to wear home. 72 day early out!!! Yipeeee!

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Your black and white picture of an armored car at a plantation in Vietnam in post #596 is actually a Canadian WW2 C15ta armored car built in Canada to a British spec. More than likely given by the British to the French during or after WW2. Would explain how it ended up in Vietnam. They were built on the standard 15 cwt 4X4 truck chassis. Your color pic of one in Dhahran is a French Panhard mfg AML series armored car, not sure what exact model as the French built several different models on the same chassis . The difference being in the style and armament of the different turrets. 69 year old armored model builder since I was 10. JFYI.
 
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The Feared CMMI

Early in my career, I heard about some sort of inspection called the CMMI, or Command Maintenance Management Inspection, which was rumored to be a career killer. I didn't know what it was, but from what us young Lt's heard, if you ran into one, your career in the army was over.

When I got to my first unit, as a mech platoon leader in Schweinfurt, Germany, 3d Infantry Division, I quickly learned what this feared monster was. This was a divisional inspection team, that was waiting at a mechanized unit when the command team showed up first thing in the morning.

The CMMI team brought their clipboards and hatchets, to just kill a commander for failed maintenance record keeping or unserviceable vehicles. They were the Grim Reapers of maintenance. It was a bit unfair, really, as Germany was at the end of the line for men and parts with everything going to Vietnam. Our Company was at less than 60% strength anyway.

One evening, I was told that my five M113 APC platoon was going to be inspected by some team, I don't recall if it was a CMMI team. I don't know why in a company of three 5 APC platoons and one heavy 81mm mortar squad, my five were selected. Probably because the maintenance SGT thought ours were in the best shape, or my SFC platoon SGT was the most capable of passing the inspection. But when the rest of the Company was released at the end of the day, my short handed platoon went to work cleaning and servicing our five tracks, locating all the on-board OEM tools and flag kit and cleaning our five 50 M2's and such. We worked all night, cleaning the bilges, & trying to put some sense into our logs. I had my first wife bring in cases of cokes and snacks for my men. Come sun up, we passed. My career was intact, at last for awhile. A few years later, the army realized that punishing inspections didn't help unit readiness, and the CMMI concept was abandoned, and maintenance teams then came to help in any way they could to maintain combat readiness. What fool thought that the CMMI concept was a good idea anyway?

Several years later, when I was at Bragg in SF, our company had NO vehicles. If we needed to go to some training site, we just called up a transportation company, or marched (in SF, strolled would be a better term) to the pool or a lake or a range. We wanted no part of the maintenance headaches of vehicle responsibility.

Here, my 1952 M37 3/4 ton Weapons Carrier. I got it about 5 years ago, then spent about a year near full time restoring it. More money and work and time than I ever thought it would take. So, in honor of the truck I was never issued, I have put on the bumper ID of a vehicle that I WOULD have had.

ODA 1 or A team 1, as in a Battalion there were 15 A teams, mine was the "first", then: 5th SF ABN, or 5th Group, of course we were Airborne.

I drive it all the time, and for shows and such mount my M1919 30 cal with ammo can and dummy ammo belt. The front winch weighs near 200 pounds. Sealed waterproof ignition, and much more. Everything on my truck works, but it takes a lot of time to keep it so.

All the Best... SF VET

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The Army was really big on inspections. From time to time a team would show up from the Inspector Generals office to audit and inspect individual units. IG inspections were not announced in advance, and every other aspect of business was halted for a couple of days while the IG people did their thing.

Thou shalt have no vehicle, weapon, ammunition, equipment, or any other thing not specifically mentioned in the unit TO&E (table of organization & equipment). Thou shalt constantly maintain in full operational readiness all items listed in the TO&E. Woe be unto the commander, the subordinate leaders, and the privates entrusted with the care and custody of Army materiel in any cases of unaccountability, loss, or maintenance failure. (I am pretty sure this was carved in stone somewhere within the acres of the Pentagon).

All paperwork must be up to date and properly filed. Classified documents must always be kept in approved secure facilities and the chain of custody must be absolutely inviolable.

Mere rumors, with or without any substantiation, of an IG inspection occurring anywhere within artillery range were known to cause massive disruptions of every military activity while Second Lieutenants scurried around like flies on roadkill, duly inspecting and documenting every item of property and every facility within command authority. Not at all unusual to see sling loads in cargo nets suspended from helicopters carrying away any and all property not listed on the TO&E to be dropped a few miles offshore in the South China Sea, lest a sharp-eyed young lieutenant stumble across something during an inspection. Holes were excavated to bury Conex containers (big steel shipping boxes) filled with any excess or unauthorized equipment or property, lest anything be found that could show up on an inspector's "gig sheet".

Living and operating in I Corps area (the furthest northern portion of South Vietnam) and existing at the furthest end of all supply lines, we were perpetually suckling at the very hind teat for everything. Rations, ammunition, uniforms, boots, flashlight batteries, and everything imaginable was routinely unavailable. Supply requisitions for routine needs languished for months; critical and mission-essential items might take weeks to receive (and frequently cancelled at the last minute, with or without notice, to be diverted to some other destination).

Being American GIs, we learned to adapt. When supplies of anything were freely available we stocked up, carefully burying or otherwise concealing stuff we knew we were not likely to easily replace. A bunker might have a dirt floor over a buried Conex container. Carefully maintained areas behind latrines, where half-barrels of excrement were burned daily to dispose of human waste, were especially good for buried treasures (no starched and pressed HQ officer was likely to pay much attention to such unsavory locations). Sandbagged walls around fuel bladders and aircraft revetments might conceal other critical supplies.

I knew of several vehicles (jeeps, 2.5 ton trucks, and others) that appeared on no property books, probably stolen and remarked, with bogus travel authorizations, and kept in carefully excavated tunnels or other well-concealed bunkers.

As mentioned in an earlier post, every Army unit had at least one guy who was especially gifted in finding whatever might be needed, authorized or not. Horse trading was a secondary (and usually more reliable) means of maintaining supplies. Such positions were completely unauthorized, of course, but a wink and a nod were the only rules that needed to be applied.

Always a display of "critical equipment items", fully maintained to the highest possible standards for any inspection, just to demonstrate the efficiency of the unit's personnel and command staff. Everything else was fully documented as being out on operations or in depot maintenance (here is the property receipt right here, Lieutenant). Wink, wink.

So sorry that we don't have quarters for visiting officers, sir. You are welcome to bunk behind the fuel bladders on the helicopter pad if you need to spend another day or two, sir. We haven't had any mortars or rockets for several days so it should be OK, if it doesn't rain too bad. You really should have brought your own cots and bedding because we are still waiting for that requisition to come through. Sure thing, sir, we can have everything on your inspection list ready when you can get back here in a day or two. Or, if it helps, I can have PFC Jones photograph everything and send you the film at HQ, maybe save you a trip (Jones is really good with his camera, sir).

I could go on and on, but I think the point is made. GIs will adapt and find a way to complete the mission, with or without orders, instructions, or command support. I think that is how privates become corporals, and corporals become sergeants, and lieutenants grow up to be generals.
 
We didn't have many inspections at Chu Lai. We were sort of out of the way for most people. We did have a hangar queen, an F4 that was used for parts to keep other planes flying. We did get a letter notifying us that after 60 days in the hangar the plane needed to fly. Since all our planes came from the Navy after they were unfit for carrier landings, they were already in bad shape. Well they got the plane out of the hangar and a test pilot took it out. It got off the runway and banked to the left over the South China Sea. We saw smoke pouring from the plane, then we saw it engulfed in smoke, seconds later we saw the canopies come off and the pilot an RIO ejected. The plane continued in flames into the ocean. Apparently the engines caught fire. It was a sight out of all the old movies of a plane trailing smoke and going down.

We were accustomed to hearing the roar and rumbling of a fully loaded F4 taking off. One morning while going back to the living area we heard a plane taking off and then there was dead silence. The plane's engines flamed out and as the pilot tried to get it over the ocean, it rolled and went into the ground. I was on the detail that went to look for pieces. Some of the tail section was intact but not much else.
 
Our unit was Ordnance, included weapons and vehicles so we saw just about everything. Working with ARVN units we saw “ things” that would “ curl your hair”. IIRC, posted before that when we stood down we had so much off the book gear, equipment and vehicles we used a bulldozer to dig a hole 10’ wide by 60-70’ long to bury excess. Here’s a pic of my best friend, the SFC that operated the dozer( in shadows) and a papasan L.N. that worked for us when we buried the excess . We had an off the books M-37 that had a 282 Chevy engine out of a M-114, straight pipes and local upholstered seat, drove it in the hole, we almost cried,lol. Forget how many M-151’s we buried, 5 or 6?491BCFD1-7BC5-4DC5-87E8-792F2988D851.jpg
 

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