Another Place, Another Time

Weather in central Oklahoma is always unpredictable. Lately, it is downright crazy, almost a hundred degrees in early March, and cold, damp and rainy by the end of April. Tonight, as I prepared to feed my dogs, I fished around in my closet for a sweater. It is not that the weather is that inclement. It is just damp and chilly. The weather tonight and the sweater that I chose reminded me of a similar sweater that I owned during another place and time.

When I was in the boonies of Vietnam, I would go at least fifteen days with the same clothes. Socks, tee shirts and fatigue pants usually became pretty rank during that time. Underwear? We wore none. Whenever we returned to a forward firebase there was usually a bin where we could get clean clothes. The bin had tee shirts, socks, fatigue pants and shirts, all used. It also had a mixture of such things as boonie hats, neckerchiefs, and every now and then a monsoon sweater.

Digging through a clothes bin, I found two things of interest that I immediately confiscated - a neckerchief and a monsoon jacket. The black neckerchief had an embroidered skull with wings that said “Death from Above.” We were supposed to leave them on enemy bodies to show how bad we were. I stuffed mine in a pocket and kept it.

The monsoon sweater was a long-sleeved, drab green, light wool garment and I was in heaven from the time that I acquired my own. Temperatures were never cold in the tropics but there was always quite a divergence between the extreme heat of the day and the nighttime lows (seventies) experienced during rainy season.

When we finished humping for the day, I would tie my hammock between two strong bamboo shoots, stringing my poncho liner over the top. Then I would pull the monsoon sweater over my head, and heat a cup of coffee and a can of C-rations. Usually, by the time that I finished eating and crawled into the hammock, it would begin to rain. It is surprising how much a warm sweater can comfort you when you have nothing else in the world between you and the unknown.

I still have my “Death from Above,” neckerchief but my monsoon sweater is long gone. I recently did an Internet search, trying to find one online to purchase. I found none and apparently, they never existed. Well, they did exist, along with lots of other things polite society would rather forget, and probably already have.

Gondwana

What's Going On

It is nothing new for soldiers to return home from a wartime situation with little or no mental support. I left Vietnam one day and was on my own in New Orleans two days later. Soldiers went away to war and some returned, in one piece or otherwise. Like every soldier before me and every one since, I left something behind that I will never recover.

Like today, much of my generation’s pleasures and displeasures were expressed in the music of the times. Last night I heard Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On and it triggered a long-hidden memory.

The song is one of the most affecting anti-war ballads ever penned. Written during the height of the Vietnam War it raised awareness about the plight of returning soldiers, especially those from the black, inner-city. The words are poignant and ring true, even today. Especially today! Here are the lyrics from What’s Going On.

Mother, mother
There's too many of you crying
Brother, brother, brother
There's far too many of you dying
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some lovin' here today
Father, father
We don't need to escalate
You see, war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some lovin' here today
Picket lines and picket signs
Don't punish me with brutality
Talk to me, so you can see
Oh, what's going on
What's going on
Ya, what's going on
Ah, what's going on
In the mean time
Right on, babyRight on
Right onFather, father, everybody thinks we're wrong
Oh, but who are they to judge usSimply because our hair is long
Oh, you know we've got to find a way
To bring some understanding here today
Oh
Picket lines and picket signs
Don't punish me with brutality
Talk to meSo you can see
What's going on
What's going onTell me what's going on
I'll tell you what's going on - Uh
Right on baby
Right on baby

Soldiers are still going away to war. Some will return - in one piece or otherwise - but every one of them will leave something behind on the battlefield when they come home. Last night What’s Going On triggered a long-hidden memory – a memory of abandonment, despair and lost innocence. Little has changed since Vietnam.

Louisiana Mystery Writer

No Better Place on Earth

I served in Vietnam from July, 1970 until September, 1971. As a draftee, it was not a place I chose to be but I met many wonderful people during my tour. It is also impossible to spend fourteen months of total hell. There were moments of total hell but most of the time was almost normal, some moments even fun. Tonight I was remembering an event I still can't believe, even after all these years. To say that I had fun is a lie because my rear end was puckered the entire time. The event took place almost four decades ago, at the non-com club in Bien Hoa.

I spent the first six months of my tour in the boonies as an infantry foot soldier. I've told the story of getting poked in the eye with a bamboo limb. Recuperating in Song Be - relative civilization compared to where I had been - I played chess and became close friends with the company clerk of Headquarters Company. When a position as a clerk-typist came open, I was offered the job. I didn't have to be asked twice if I was interested.

A time came when I was asked to fill in as Battalion Courier for a soldier on R & R. Long before the days of personal computers, the courier physically transported a satchel of papers and documents from our outpost in Song Be to the main headquarters in Bien Hoa. I was a spec 4, the equivalent of a corporal but not considered a NCO. A friend that I will call Sergeant Brown was going to Bien Hoa at the same time and wanted me to accompany him to the NCO club later that night.

"A hell of a place," he told me, "With the best steaks, beer and whiskey in Nam."

"But I'm not an NCO. I'll get in trouble."

"No one knows you in Bien Hoa. I got sergeant's stripes for you. Tonight you're going to be an E-5 sergeant."

We made it to the club that night. It was dark, smoky and loud, a Vietnamese rock band playing on stage. We ate our steaks and we're well into our second whiskey when who was to suddenly appear but my worst nightmare. It was E-8 Sergeant Roper (I will call him). Sergeant Roper was big, easily three-hundred pounds, and he was black - a little scary for a southern boy that had never known many blacks, much less ones in authority. I had never seen him smile. Totally frightened of the man, I once witnessed him take away a live grenade from a drugged sky trooper that was threatening to blow up an officer's hooch. To say that my heart was in my throat was an understatement and I fully expected to spend the rest of my tour locked in the infamous Long Binh Jail.

I waited for the other shoe to fall. Instead, he asked, "How are you tonight Sergeant Wilder?"

When I noticed the man standing behind him, I realized why I wasn't already in handcuffs. It was our company commander, Captain Ahab (I will call him). Officers, like enlisted men, are also unwelcome in an NCO club. Captain Ahab, white like me, was wearing sergeant stripes - he was an E5. That night I was his equal, Sergeant Brown his superior.

Sergeants Roper and Ahab joined us and we all proceeded to drink, listen to the band and even exchange a few pleasantries along the way. I fully expected to be court martialed the following day, as I'm sure did Sergeant Brown. Instead, nothing was ever said of the incident and we never again acknowledged even a passing hint that we may have consorted illicitly.

Years have passed and I still wonder about the incident. Why had I taken the chance of being court martialed to visit a place where I shouldn't be? Moreover, why had a Captain, the company commander, taken the same chance? The answer surely has to be that there is a deeply buried need in all of us to visit that one place, at least just once, from which we are forbidden to enter. It's a location where everyone is equal. Most of us never visit but there is surely no better place on earth.

http://www.ericwilder.com