Snubby in Vietnam

[SF VET]

In the mid-Delta, we got around on mostly pot holed asphalt roads. I usually drove, we had an assortment of jeeps, both the older Korean War vintage ones, and the newer M 151 jeeps. I had a nifty M3 Grease gun, .45, very slow cyclic rate, and it fit perfectly in the passenger dash grab handle. A few spare 30 round mags on the floor. If headed up to Saigon for a PX run, I preferred to not take any issued weapons, just in case some adverse event went down; better to throw down some unregistered weapon, and walk away. Had a S&W that took .45 in moon clips for my "travel pistol". I don't recall what happened to it, probably gave it away when I DROSed.

At that time, the mid Delta was pretty peaceful, unless one went a bit north to Bin Tuong Provice, lots of forest there, referred to by my friends as "Indian Country." It was part of the 44 Special Tactical Zone, where it was shoot every one on sight, ie a "Free Fire Zone", I was never there, just flew over it this way and that going hither and you, in choppers. Then to the west, at the western edge of the Plane of Reeds, it extended into Cambodia, then too a really bad place. I never ever went across that border. I heard that troops who went there never came back.

We always went lickity-split on the roads, and while I know of others who were killed in ambushes, I was never involved in that sort of firefight. Unlike in our recent wars, the Bad Guys did not have IED's, at least not that I heard of.

Lots of waterways, usually with fishing and other homes on the banks. Many of the small bridges were long since blown up by one side or the other. Here, I drove over such a small bridge, where the locals had spread out their rice to have passing vehicles "thresh" out the rice from the stalks and chaff. I had to get out and walk back to take this pic, as always, with my Asahi (in the US a Pentax) camera.

No wonder our rice had all sorts of debris in it, insects, dirt, and no doubt assorted vehicle lubricants. But with enough soy sauce, or some Nut Mam, it was tasty.

Just resting up waiting on the rest of the family and grandkids to come on down to the beach for Thanksgiving. Bought a new turkey fryer grill; we will do up a hundred or so wings and thighs too. I have laid in plenty of beer, and our Bourbon stock is full.

Just ordered a match trigger for one of my new AR's.

All good here... Same to all of you..... SF VET

 

[Krogen]

I am not sure how the following words fit in here, or, if they fit in, but, they changed me and I want to share. As I close into the final parts of my sixth decade, I have become more understanding of things. Following the war, I lost a brother to the bowels of the VA prescription process. Two friends committed suicide. Two more succumbed to Agent Orange. A best friend communicates his demons and I listen. I have manned the Wall in my town and heard grown men and women cry like banshees to God begging for closure and forgiveness. But the one thing that most stunned me was when my barber told me last April of his Independence Day. What? I have been going to him for the better part of two decades. Quiet. No nonsense. He just stopped cutting and told me of his and his family's escape from Saigon. (I will not disclose the full details.) The NVA coming into the city, showing no mercy to all. He and family escaped to the coast and became boat persons. They floated for days, weeks, ultimately to Thailand and then to the U.S. With only the shoes and clothes on their backs. Fast forward decades. The family all became citizens, started a business, reared several children and sent them to college. I sat there in silence. Why tell me now? He never asked for anything except a chance to live and be a part of the U.S. I have never heard him or his family say one negative word.

Regards,

Thanks for posting that, Derosa. To underline your thoughts, I have a short tale. My Cambodian friend is always smiling and happy. Never fail. We've talked at length about his life. Just ask him sometime: "Sakun, why are you smiling?" He'll tell you that he knows what it's like not to smile."

That can be summed up in two words. Khmer Rouge.

Sakun saw hell on earth. He is delighted to live here. Many of his family weren't so fortunate. Talk to people who've been "over there." Despite all our warts and blemishes, we are truly blessed to live in the best country on earth.

 

[Derosa]

Thanks for posting that, Derosa. To underline your thoughts, I have a short tale. My Cambodian friend is always smiling and happy. Never fail. We've talked at length about his life. Just ask him sometime: "Sakun, why are you smiling?" He'll tell you that he knows what it's like not to smile."

That can be summed up in two words. Khmer Rouge.

Sakun saw hell on earth. He is delighted to live here. Many of his family weren't so fortunate. Talk to people who've been "over there." Despite all our warts and blemishes, we are truly blessed to live in the best country on earth.

Amen, sir. I know many vets of that era who share those sentiments.

 

[LoboGunLeather]

Thanksgiving Day. Lots of things to be thankful for. Lots of reminiscing to do. Maybe a little more rambling on this growing thread, for those who are following along and haven't tuned out yet.

1970, completed my first all expense paid vacation to Sunny Southeast Asia and returned home (another tour would follow in 1971). Processed through Fort Lewis, Washington in a couple of days, turned in my tropical issue and was outfitted with a new Class A uniform complete with my "combat unit patch" on the right shoulder showing that I had served with the 1st Aviation Brigade (212th Combat Aviation Battalion), Combat Infantryman Badge on my chest over ribbons for the Purple Heart, Army Commendation Medal ("V"), National Defense Service Medal, Vietnam Campaign Medal, Vietnam Service Medal, Parachutist Badge, Pathfinder Badge, Expert Marksmanship Badge. Sergeant stripes on my sleeves.

Standing tall and looking good, as we used to say. Hung around McChord AFB flight operations for a few hours, then caught a "hop" (space available ride for servicemen on a USAF cargo plane) to McConnell AFB in Wichita, Kansas to visit my mother for a couple of days (for the last time, as life turned out).

My mother was a member of the VFW Auxiliary, having lost her first husband in WW2 before marrying my dad (also a WW2 veteran, wounded) and bringing my older brother and me into the world. First full day at home Mom decided she just had to take me down to the VFW post to meet all her friends.

1970, 25 years after WW2 ended and about 16 years after the armistice in Korea. I find myself in a big hall with dozens of guys in their late 30s to early 50s. I was a guest of my mother, VFW did not recognize Vietnam vets as eligible "veterans of foreign wars", and many of the old boys made it very clear to me. The legal age for drinking in Kansas was 21, which was still a milestone I had not reached. There was some good-natured joking about that, and also some not-so-good-natured behavior. Twice wounded in combat and I wasn't a veteran in their eyes.

A little bit uncomfortable? Yes. I made the rounds of the 3.2 beer bars where some of my high school buddies hung out (18 for 3.2 beer, back in the day). The uniform was not appropriate attire for the atmosphere, and I certainly did not contribute much to the ambiance.

So, onward to Fort Benning, Georgia, my new duty station and where my teenaged bride awaited. Flying on civilian airliners then, which allowed me very low ticket prices on "military standby" rates that required flying in uniform with travel orders, and I could be "bumped" by any passenger paying full fare. Wichita, Dallas, Atlanta provided my first experience with protestors. Screaming people with signs, calling names and throwing things at GIs in uniform (including defecation in paper bags). Lovely experiences.

Got to Fort Benning. My wife had been sharing an apartment with another GI wife, and no on-post quarters were available, so we went on the market for housing. The better apartment complexes made it very plain that they did not want soldiers. Newspaper classifieds in hand, we toured dozens of available rentals which I can only describe as dismal at best. Hooked up with a real estate agent (retired GI), quickly qualified for a no-money-down VA loan on a 2-bedroom house on the Old Macon Road, $9300 at $88 per month PITI. Scared me to death signing a 30-year mortgage before my 20th birthday, but what else could we do?

Checked into my new assignment as an assistant instructor with the Infantry School, teaching map reading, land navigation, and compass course mostly for Officer Candidate School students and brand new 2nd lieutenants just out of college attending Infantry Officer Basic Course. I came to know them as my Secret Weapons (2nd lieutenants with a compass and a map, never knew where they might strike!).

By orders of the Commanding General we were prohibited from wearing the uniform off post, except on official business. Too many ugly incidents with anti-war demonstrators. I had a locker to change when coming and going. Of course, our private vehicles had post access decals so were easily recognized anywhere in the area.

So, Vietnam was behind me at that time, my wife was pregnant with our first child, I had a little rank and status, the Army was starting to look like a viable alternative for the future. Applied for Warrant Officer Flight School and was accepted (helicopter pilots were in high demand in 1970).

On to Fort Wolters, Texas. A few interesting weeks in training leading up to introduction to the T-55 Hughes helicopter for basic flight instruction. Map sheets of the area contained large areas denoted by a purple overprint, which I learned were turkey farms. No flying below 1000 feet above ground level over the turkey farms; it seems that domestic turkeys are so stupid they will look up in the rain until they drown to death, and will certainly keel over dead by the thousands when a helicopter invades their peaceful existence. Of course, the turkey farmers regularly showed up at the post claims office to collect full value for any flocks decimated by the abrupt emergency landing of a beat up, worn out, tired old Army training helicopter.

About time to reach the goal of solo flight when it was discovered (thankfully with a qualified instructor pilot on board) that I have a little inner ear problem associated with a vertigo condition, making it unwise to put me at the controls of a helicopter.

Washed out. Back to the personnel office for reassignment. Primary MOS 11F, rank sergeant, well it looks like I'm going back to Vietnam again.

Enough for today. Be thankful for everything you have in life!

 

[fordson]

Yep, helo pilots were in demand in 1970. That’s when I started flight training at NAS Pensacola. VT-1 was basic flight and solo in T-34Bs, then on to VT-2/3 for T-28s at NAS Whiting Field, then hit the boat (carrier quals) with VT-6. From there, went on to NAS Ellison for basic and advanced Helicopters. Started with the TH-57, followed by advanced flight in TH-1Ls, which were worn out Marine UH-1Es which had been Army UH-1C/D or so the story went at the time. Either way, the aircraft had a new paint job, with a number of patch repairs, but pretty beat up otherwise. Did get to fly a new model, UH-1N, with the RAG (Readiness Air Group) advanced tactical/combat flight training, this with a Marine unit - another story in itself. By the time I finished in late ‘72/early ‘73, the Navy decided that they didn’t need as many helo drivers as they thought for RVN and shuffled me off to UH-3 (Seakings) training for deployment aboard carries. Again, another story for another time.
Your story and SF VET and all the other Vets who have posted their stories here - I want to thank you all. This post is a treasure and in a way, living history that should be preserved - maybe made a “sticky” somewhere. The stories here are too valuable to be lost.
It’s late, so I’ll close for now.
I hope everyone had a great holiday and once again, thanks you all for your service.
Fordson — out.

 

[Greyman50]

Lobo and fordson, know exactly what you went through. Made PFC out of basic, on to AIT at Aberdeen Proving Grounds. Wife and I looked and looked for off base housing as there was none on base. Ended up in a dumpy old motel turned into “ efficiencies”, what a dump. Only bright side was couple other guys in the class lived there too. We had some parties. Discovered wife was pregnant as was another guys wife, so they had something to talk about. We were told going to Germany so we looked at some german language books, what a language as we both spoke pretty good Spanish from high school( 2 years for me). 2 weeks from graduation we were told going to Vietnam. We had a graduation party at our “ place”, what a time! Never forget the 2 Indonesian Lt’s in our class, they could drink like no one( almost) like I’ve ever seen. They would open pint of Jim Beam, tilt their head back and pour the whole bottle down their throats! Get up and drink several beers and repeat. Got to talking to them about home. Told us the national drink was a cheap barrel of whiskey, shoot a pregnant deer, cut out baby, put baby in whiskey for 6 months and it was ready.Made Spc-4 out of AIT, home for 30 days then to Oakland, the rest we all know. We took out kids back about 10 years later and found where we lived to show them( young kids) , place had been condemned but looked about the same. Only time back to Aberdeen was for MVCC( before MVPA) shows which were very good.

 

[SF VET]

I really look forward to the "stories' others post in this thread. So many common experiences. One thing hinted at here is how all this affected our wives or girlfriends. As difficult and challenging, and sometimes as rewarding as our own experiences were, I think for our wives and girlfriends they had it even worse. Following us around to our own duty posts, so much time alone, in often miserable places, without their family and often few friends. Some marriages became stronger and enduring, others, failed.

Sometimes I look back on my first marriage, and how it ended was inevitable with the challenges and difficulties of being a military wife. I suspect it isn't much different for young troopers and sailers and airmens families now.

They had it worse than we did. And get little recognition for it. When my dad died, a 33 year Naval Aviator, at Arlington, one of the women who assisted with that ceremony mentioned, when I commented that my mom had died two years before, her remark "she also served" was so true.

Now, with my second cup of coffee and two donuts, here with my family at the beach, just so fortunate for how my own life has turned out. And a wife who made it so.

More later, and as always, all the best... SF VET

 

[jimmyj]

What favor doughnuts ?

 

[Tanners Owner]

I really look forward to the "stories' others post in this thread. So many common experiences. One thing hinted at here is how all this affected our wives or girlfriends. As difficult and challenging, and sometimes as rewarding as our own experiences were, I think for our wives and girlfriends they had it even worse. Following us around to our own duty posts, so much time alone, in often miserable places, without their family and often few friends. Some marriages became stronger and enduring, others, failed.

Sometimes I look back on my first marriage, and how it ended was inevitable with the challenges and difficulties of being a military wife. I suspect it isn't much different for young troopers and sailers and airmens families now.

They had it worse than we did. And get little recognition for it. When my dad died, a 33 year Naval Aviator, at Arlington, one of the women who assisted with that ceremony mentioned, when I commented that my mom had died two years before, her remark "she also served" was so true.

Now, with my second cup of coffee and two donuts, here with my family at the beach, just so fortunate for how my own life has turned out. And a wife who made it so.

More later, and as always, all the best... SF VET

Thanks for mentioning the spouses (and kids). I’ve been blessed during my in uniform 20 year career with a wife who was supportive and understanding. Am sure it helped she served a tour as well ( we met in ROTC and married our senior year). She is still supportive of my now DAC career; I know many who were not so fortunate.

During my year in Saudi (just before 9-11) she dealt with all the child rearing, house selling on her own, while taking time to send me care packages and keep my spirits up by not telling me of the **** she had to deal with in my absence.

In a tour at Ft Drum NY we were without power for 21+ days in January due to a horrific ice storm. Despite my recommendations to drive to Niagara Falls where her Mom lived, she adamantly refused and stayed by my side as I worked 15 hour days coordinating our support to the north country.

I am a blessed man and know it.

I also echo your earlier comment about shared experiences- seems like the more the services change, the more they stay the same.

Godspeed to you all.

 

[Sistema1927]

Yes, the spouses and kids "serve" just as much as the GIs.

My son was not quite 2 when I went to Korea for 14 months. When I returned, "Daddy" was the picture on the shelf, and not me in the flesh trying to get him to give me a hug.

 

[SF VET]

Growing Up

A good fiend, a shooting buddy, there are three of us who meet for dinner once a week, done so for several years, gave me a book to read. He is another vet. "Walk in My Combat Boots", by Patterson and Eversman, 2021. About 40+ short accounts of male and female military, relating their wartime experiences, some RVN, mostly the later wars. The writers talk about their experiences, but what is most poignant is how their military experiences "changed them". Not always for the better.

Reading their accounts, I again reflected on my own life changing experiences. Perhaps at some point in our lives, we make the "leap" to becoming finally complete, or just grow up and become a Man, or Woman; in other words, we finally become who we are.

Maybe some people never really find who they really are. Others, at a young age. My dad's dad died in an accident in 1923, and just before he died, he told my then six year old father that he would have to take care of his widow, as he could not do it. Tough times, and my dad had to "become a man" at about age 6.

I was never an athlete, was never on any HS sports teams, so had no leadership or competition roles in my youth. But I was married and a father in my sophomore year at Nebraska, and when I started my Active Duty the day I graduated, I did my best to be committed to my responsibilities as a new 2nd LT, first to Germany where I was a Mech Platoon Leader. But thinking back, I wasn't yet complete.

As a CPT, I was posted to Vietnam, finding out just before I walked out to board the jet taking me to that war that my wife, totally unknown to me, was in an affair with an Army Doctor, and she was going to have no contact with me. Somehow, some sort of survival mode "kicked in", because if I didn't totally put this out of my mind, I was not going to come back from this war. I only dealt with this long years later.

So when I came back, 366 days later (1972 was a leap year, hence the extra day), I began the long process of a new and different career.

But when I returned, to the 5th SF Group as an A Team leader for 18 months, I was absolutely committed to whatever was the task.

I had to take a year and a half of the necessary science courses at Nebraska to meet the requirements for an application to Medical School.

And it was then that the ability to have a relentless, focused approach to my studies, coupled with the other trait I had subconsciously developed during my year as an Advisor, the ability to make myself do anything, was so essential. I felt that if I studied harder than any other applicant, I would do better than every one of them. It worked. When other students would comment that they needed a break, or just couldn't study any more I just hit the books even more. I excluded all social life, even walking away from several relationships, partly because of my searing prior experience with abandonment, and because I had no room left for any distractions from my goal.

I vividly recall standing in line in the bookstore, and overhearing two guys in front of me, one saying he was going to be a doctor, but "farted out" and that choice was long gone. I silently told myself, "I gave up an army career for this chance, and no way I will let it escape." There is a trite saying "...I can do it", but for me it was "...I will do it, no matter what."

So, for me, my year in a war finally matured me into what I was to be. Perhaps if I had worked in a sawmill, or been a park ranger, it would have been the same. All I know is that in my year in Vietnam I finally grew up. So many soldiers come back from wars wounded in body and spirit. But for me, I am grateful for that year.

If you read the book, you too will realize how some wartime experiences forever change us. It did for me.

Here, I posted this Pic some time ago, but I spent a year like this, and came out complete.

All the best... an Stay Safe.... SF VET

 

[Spartanden]

SF VET, Hal..... spent the past two days reading this thread. First. Thank You For Your Service. Second, I am quite surprised that you spent this much time talking about your service in VN. But your most recent post above really explains why you are more vocal than some of my friends.
To the rest of you Vets, Thank You For Your Service. I have enjoyed reading all your responses and stories. I will be back to track this thread!

 

[SF VET]

I am sure invading or occupying armies have left their DNA in the native populations for thousands of years. I was rarely to any regular army bases. Once, to Long Binh, I can't recall why, but it was dusty and huge; perhaps was a PX run or was just hitchhiking to somewhere, and stopped briefly. The MACV compound in Saigon was just a small part of the US base there, just an inprocessing and out processing station, a few barracks, a sewing shop, armory, and a swimming pool. I never got near the MACV HQ, I am not sure even where it was. No place for just a Captain.

I did visit other advisory compounds, was probably just passing thru. My own small province compounds, both in Kien Phong, and later Cau Man, were tidy and clean, but some others had massage parlors and steam rooms right inside the US compounds. I think it must have been a complex decision for the commander to allow or even perhaps sponsor such "houses of ill repute". Was it better to have some supervision and troop safety "inside the wire", or see the local "houses' just outside the gates, where things were likely less safe?

By the time I was In Country, the morale and esprit de corps of the American force was about as low as it would become. I think it was an insidious thing, from which the military took years to recover. I suspect even now, if troops want to find it in garrison cities, they know where to go.

Here, I was flying somewhere to or from the main airfield at Can Tho, the capital of the Delta, and saw this little hut at one of the gates. I don't really know what liaisons transpired there. Maybe I am naive to think that soldiers really did have Vietnamese wives and honorable relationships with local women. Some behaviors really are out of commander's control.

But I think this little hut was a sign of the pervasive demoralization of our military. Not something wives and girlfriends back stateside would have wanted to know about.

All the best, and stay safe. SF VET

 

[Sistema1927]

Each base in Korea had a "Ville" just outside the gate where the prurient interests of GIs could be met. Many guys engaged in sordid behavior with the justification that they would clean up their act once they were "back in the world". As my Dad told me "character is what you are when no one is watching."

 

[SF VET]

Here, a picture of one of the riverside hamlet food stalls, in the small hamlet a few hundred yards from my compound, the second one I was at in my year "in-country." Maybe a half dozen of these right at the river's edge. No dock or warf, boats just pulled up onto the river's muddy bank. I don't think I snacked at these much. The shop keepers would just rinse their pots and dishes in the river, or in plastic buckets filled with muddy water. If I were to travel to 3d world countries now, I would hopefully never have to dine at these establishments.

I never saw a chubby Vietnamese away from the cities. Likely there was never an abundance of food for anyone, even for us US troops. No Big Gulps, no 42 oz soda drinks, no triple baconburgers.

They looked healthy, and clean, despite the mud and muck. And no doubt were thoroughly infested with worms and other nutrition-sucking parasites. I suspect a person's intestines eventually come to a mutually tolerant relationship.

A few years ago, read a medical article, about how Vietnam vets were dying from a form of pancreatic duct cancer, due to exposure to liver flukes from river and paddy water long ago. So I arranged for a liver ultrasound, then a CT, and I am clear of that disease.

As I said, I usually had a Ramen lunch at the small cafe inside my compound. Really not different than the local ones down by the river, but I had gotten to know the young girls who were the cooks and waitresses. The only "illness" I had, was a depigmenting sort of fungal disease, of the Tinea Verisicolor variety, and just used a Selsun sort of shampoo on my back and it resolved.

One day, after shooting a lot of 105mm interdiction out into Indian Country, a father showed up with his young son, whose head was wrapped in pus-filled bandages, totally adherent to the poor lad's skull. Not something I could deal with, so he was packed off to Camau, to the local hospital, and it must have been an awful experience removing his dirty wraps, and I am sure if he is alive now, he has no hair on his head. The same day, another father brought in his son, and one of our rounds had blown off one of the boy's feet. I didn't have any input to these firings, they were probably just random fire missions, without any thought that perhaps some locals would be out there just trying to eke out some sort of existence.

Today is Pear Harbor Day. When I was a kid in the early and mid 50's on Oahu, my dad being a naval aviator, sometimes would have a navy launch take us out to the Arizona. We could clamber around the small above water wreckage, just a short flag pole and a small bass plaque, with the oil sheen on the water. It was not a shrine until the late '50's.

The price for unpreparedness.

All the best... SF VET

 

[F4phantom]

SF Vet, you lived in some of the better places and not so comfortable places. The Air Force had the Ritz and we had Motel 6. Pictured are some of the hootches in the area. Capt Israel was a Corporal who decided that if there was a Capt America the should be a Capt Israel. He painted Captain bars on his ear muffs with Capt Israel around them. He actually got saluted from the new guys. He was also a plane captain and the pilots didn't say anything. He got away with it.

Since we have made it to December, in Vietnam it was Bob Hope time. My first Christmas in the Far East, I missed Bob. The Christmas of '67 he came to Chu Lai. We waited for the girls.

 

[SF VET]

sometimes the different rank "names" in the services could work to one's advantage. In '73, took my A Team to Turkey via Rota, Spain, the big US naval base on the Atlantic coast. We were there for a day or so, and I was an army Captain on a navy installation where a US navy Captain was a Big Cheese. The equivalent in the US navy to my 03 rank was Lieutenant.

So when I called the navy cab center, I told them I needed three cabs for a local transport. I was Captain Copple. When the three cabs would show up looking for the navy 06, and we climbed into the cabs, the drivers were in a bit of consternation. It worked fine for several days; I suspect if we had stayed there a few more days, they would have figured out our con game.

When the Arab-Isralie war broke out a few weeks later, that little deployment turned out to be a big event for me.

In '72, when I would drive up to the DC area from my post at Bragg to see my son, then with his mother and her new husband, I would change into my fatigues, blouse my boots, and snug my green beret down just right, and walk into the BOQ at Andrews AFB, just out of DC.

Right at the desk, over the AF reservation clerk was a big sign: "Absolutely no rooms unless on official orders."

But I just looked the timid clerk in the eye and told him I would have a room. It always worked fine. Perhaps the AF airman thought that Green Berets were not to be trifled with.

Just adventures of long ago.

All the best, and say safe. SF VET

 

[LoboGunLeather]

sometimes the different rank "names" in the services could work to one's advantage. In '73, took my A Team to Turkey via Rota, Spain, the big US naval base on the Atlantic coast. We were there for a day or so, and I was an army Captain on a navy installation where a US navy Captain was a Big Cheese. The equivalent in the US navy to my 03 rank was Lieutenant.

So when I called the navy cab center, I told them I needed three cabs for a local transport. I was Captain Copple. When the three cabs would show up looking for the navy 06, and we climbed into the cabs, the drivers were in a bit of consternation. It worked fine for several days; I suspect if we had stayed there a few more days, they would have figured out our con game.

When the Arab-Isralie war broke out a few weeks later, that little deployment turned out to be a big event for me.

In '72, when I would drive up to the DC area from my post at Bragg to see my son, then with his mother and her new husband, I would change into my fatigues, blouse my boots, and snug my green beret down just right, and walk into the BOQ at Andrews AFB, just out of DC.

Right at the desk, over the AF reservation clerk was a big sign: "Absolutely no rooms unless on official orders."

But I just looked the timid clerk in the eye and told him I would have a room. It always worked fine. Perhaps the AF airman thought that Green Berets were not to be trifled with.

Just adventures of long ago.

All the best, and say safe. SF VET

In field operations we usually wore no rank insignia on the uniforms. Occasionally had an opportunity to spend a few hours in Da Nang around I Corps Headquarters, and we figured out pretty quickly that the Officers Club and Senior NCO club (top 3-stripers only) were far superior to the junior NCO club or Enlisted Mens Club.

We became a total bunch of hooligans at times, complete with nasty field uniforms, personal equipment, and weapons. I remember a few times with pin-on rank insignia of officers a few guys might terrorize a totally civilized environment occupied by starched and pressed staff officers until someone politely suggested that we go somewhere else (sometimes insisting in a rather rude display of superior being, as I recall).

Personally, I was only a casual observer of such things, never an active participant to the best of my current recollection. I don't clearly recall why I was even there, much less any of the events described by others after all the yelling was over and done with.

Oh, to be nine feet tall, 19 years old, and bullet-proof! If we got into a little trouble what was the worst they could do? Send us to Vietnam? Bend our dog tags?

I have vague recollections of an especially nice M151 jeep, looked brand new, sparkling clean and polished up, parked outside a nice officers club with no one around, full tank of gas. I don't think it was my idea, but it wasn't a bad idea at the time.

 

[fordson]

sometimes the different rank "names" in the services could work to one's advantage. In '73, took my A Team to Turkey via Rota, Spain, the big US naval base on the Atlantic coast. We were there for a day or so, and I was an army Captain on a navy installation where a US navy Captain was a Big Cheese. The equivalent in the US navy to my 03 rank was Lieutenant.

So when I called the navy cab center, I told them I needed three cabs for a local transport. I was Captain Copple. When the three cabs would show up looking for the navy 06, and we climbed into the cabs, the drivers were in a bit of consternation. It worked fine for several days; I suspect if we had stayed there a few more days, they would have figured out our con game.

When the Arab-Isralie war broke out a few weeks later, that little deployment turned out to be a big event for me.

In '72, when I would drive up to the DC area from my post at Bragg to see my son, then with his mother and her new husband, I would change into my fatigues, blouse my boots, and snug my green beret down just right, and walk into the BOQ at Andrews AFB, just out of DC.

Right at the desk, over the AF reservation clerk was a big sign: "Absolutely no rooms unless on official orders."

But I just looked the timid clerk in the eye and told him I would have a room. It always worked fine. Perhaps the AF airman thought that Green Berets were not to be trifled with.

Just adventures of long ago.

All the best, and say safe. SF VET

Yep, the US Navy rank and rate “names” are unique (based off the RN system). The confusion does work in reverse of your experience. Calling in at an Army or AF BOQ, a Navy Captain (06) needs to remember to identify themselves as “Captain Smith, USN (OR NAVY)” if they want the upgraded accommodations. Same confusion can happen at multi service meeting with senior Navy officers or enlisted being grouped with juniors from other services. (Oh, the indignities of it!! ) Navy Lieutenant or Lieutenant Commanders seen to confuse folks as well. Not so much a Navy “Commander” (equivalent to an Army/AF LtCol (05)). Marines use the same Army/AF rank/rate identifier and pay grades. They never seem to have the confusion over ranks and rates, but then again, they are Marines (God love them).

 

[SF VET]

I grew up around naval aviation, my dad left the USS Langley with his brother before WWII for flight school, that ship later sunk with heavy loss of life in the Java sea; it wasn't until the early '50's when research of Japanese records revealed what had happened to several of the escorting destroyers.

Anyway, I grew up intending to be a Naval Aviator like my dad, finding out when I took my college ROTC physical that I am color blind, hence my army career. When I was a kid, naval aviators could take their families up in navy planes with them, that ceasing after some tragic aircraft accidents. My dad flew a lot of WWII PBY patrols, and instructed marine students on B25's. plus Hudsons and Ventura's, and TBM's, F6f's and so forth. If this was a military aircraft forum, I could relate my dad's stories, crashes, missing aircraft, important missions, U boats and so forth.

So whenever I saw some vintage military plane somewhere I would try to take a pic of it, and by now have a nice collection of photos. Even once climbed up into the parked P2V Truculent Turtle, which held the record for the longest non-stop flight, from Australia to Ohio in the the early '50's. Oh, once my dad did a firing run on an iceberg, and some of the 20mms came back and wounded his top turret gunner.

Here, a pic at Can Tho airfield; this the capital of the Delta. The front plane is a C7 Caribou, designed and used for near VTOL operations at remote SF compounds. Then behind is a C123 Provider. I have parachuted from both of these in my army career. C123's were part of the Reagan era Iran-Contra affair. Once, in a 123 in Vietnam, just as we climbed out from the takeoff, there was a Big Bang, and one of the two engines blew up, but the pilot brought it back around for a safe landing. I needed a beer after that little episode.

Sometimes, when I would go someplace by Air America, the CIA airline, since I had taken a private pilot's course in ROTC, the pilot would let me fly the plane to wherever we were going, just reminding me to wake him up when got there.

So, here is a pic for the Fly Boys here.

All the best, and stay safe. SF VET