Filling Sandbags

I was in Bien Hoa, staying at the VIP Center on a sunny day in April 1970 when I took this snapshot.

There are four, young Vietnamese girls and a young boy in the picture filling sandbags.  Not much of a job but I'm sure the U.S. Army was paying good money to have it done.

Sandbags were a necessity in Vietnam.  As long as there was a sandbag between me and an incoming bullet or piece of shrapnel from a mortar round, I would be reasonably safe.  The idea was that the sand in the bag would catch the bullet or piece of shrapnel and prevent it from wounding or killing.
Sand bags were used in many areas in the rear.  At the VIP center, a wall of them surrounded the barracks where we slept.  Sandbags surrounded the beer hall, the outdoor movie theater, the shitters (bathrooms) and any other building where we spent any time.  On a firebase, sandbags protected the bunkers where we pulled guard and the hooches where we slept.  Of course, we did not always have sandbags to hide behind.  Out in the jungle for example, there were no sandbags.  But where it was possible to make use of them, we did.    

In Vietnam, it wasn't just the Vietnamese that filled sandbags either.  We all did it at some time or other.  It was just another one of those jobs that was unique to Vietnam like burning shit every morning.

By the way, if you look closely, it appears that the young boy is posing while grabbing the breast of the girl next to him.  I noticed it for the first time when I began work on the book.  Maybe he was trying to sell her services to me.  Well, it never went any further than the picture.    

Rubber Tree Plantation

In March 1970 we were out on patrol and walked into an abandoned rubber plantation.  The French must have left it behind during the First Indochina war in the early fifties.  There were no homes or remains of homes out there that I remember.

What did remain was rubber trees laid out in a very orderly rows.  Jungle plants were slowly but surely taking over.  I would bet in twenty years the plantation would be unrecognizable.

All of the trees were bleeding rubber to some extent.  Raw rubber doesn't look like what you might expect.  A sticky, sap-like substance similar to Elmer's Glue bled out through fissures in the bark.  It was so unusual, I gathered some of it into an envelope and send it home to the kids along with a letter.  I described what it was to my Mother and asked that she let the kids take it to school for a show-and-tell.  The raw rubber from those trees was the first souvenir I sent home from Vietnam.  Years later my Mother gave me the letter back with the samples of rubber inside.  I held on to it for a long time.

Recently I donated the letter, the samples of rubber and a number of other souvenirs to the Smithsonian in Washington D.C.  I gave them chu loi leaflets found on the jungle floor, a piece of bamboo from the jungle that I had cut with a machete, a pair of ho chi min racing slicks that were removed from a Vietcong soldier who no longer needed them, parachutes left behind from white phosphorous flares, a jungle shirt, 1st Cavalry magazines, boonie hats, an example of the military money we used in Vietnam, and finally, a copy of my book 21 Months, 24 Days.  They were quite impressed.  I felt that if I didn't donate everything, it would all end up in a trash can when I died.

Maybe that is what the Smithsonian did with it when I stepped out the door.          

Looking Up from the Jungle Floor

Living in the jungle was a trying experience when we were out patrolling.  We had to stay out there for fifteen to twenty days at a time looking for the enemy.

We were constantly fighting off insects like leeches, termites, and mosquitoes.  Leaches were trying to get under my defenses all of the time during the rainy season.  When they beat you, I would feel a bite under my shirt, just over the top of my pants.  Then I would have to rip the bugger off my skin.  Termites would bite a hole through your air-mattress if you didn't spray for them properly and leave you lying directly on the jungle floor.  Mosquitoes were a constant annoyance.

There was no place to take a shower out in the jungle.  The only practical thing we could do with the amount of water we carried was brush your teeth and wash your face.  So after five days you noticed how bad you smelled.  The good news was after ten days the smell was no longer noticeable for some reason.


The food we ate out there in the jungle was no Sunday afternoon picnic.  We ate C-Rations for breakfast and lunch.  Breakfast might consist of a can of fruit cocktail and hot cocoa made in a canteen cup.  Lunch might be a cold can of beans & franks or ham slices.  A snack might be a can of crackers with cheese spread.  Supper was always a freeze-dried food packet that hot water revived into something edible.

I could always take a break from the life out there however by simply looking up.  The view was amazing.  There was the deep green from the foliage found in the jungle.  Between the greenery, you could see the blue sky above.  Sometimes the sky would be dappled with clouds.  Sometimes the sun would peak through.

It was peaceful looking up.  It took your mind off things like how weary I was or the anxiety I felt.  Looking up was a way to get a bit of my sanity back.

        

Cambodia Replacements

This snapshot was taken on a firebase in August, 1970.  There are five faces in this picture and the only name I know for sure is the guy on the right, Larry Hodge.  Larry was a ganja smoking buddy of mine.

The guy second in from the left is Michael Smith I believe.  I remember he was pulled into the Army soon after graduating from college.  He had been working as a teacher.  Mike was one of those older draftees.  Most of us were in our late teens or early twenties.  Mike had to be 25 or 26 years old; really old.  The names of the others I'm just not sure about.

What I do remember about all of them is they were replacements that joined us soon after the Cambodian Incursion.  We lost about half of our Company there.  When these guys arrived, I was one of the few remaining veterans in our platoon that had been through heavy fighting.  The rest were gone, either wounded, killed or had simply gone home because their tour was up.  Fighting had wound down to the point where it was almost non-existent.  And that is why in my eyes, I see an innocence in there faces that was long gone mine.

I was there squad leader and by the looks of them, we were getting ready to go out on patrol.  None of them have a pack on their back so we were not heading out overnight anywhere.  Those are smoke grenades strapped in front of Larry's waist.  We all carried smoke grenades to mark our location if necessary for helicopters, airplanes and jets.  Draped over both Larry and Mike's shoulders are 200 rounds of linked, M60 machine gun ammunition.  We all had to carry 200 rounds for the machine gunner.  Over the shoulders of the  two guys in the middle are bandoleers of M16 ammunition.  Everyone that carried an M16 had to carry twenty, eighteen round clips.

It was a sunny day and dry season had returned.  A good day for a walk in the jungle.

Baseball Equipment

Who would have thought that baseball equipment would be shipped to an infantry battalion that was located on a remote firebase in the Vietnam jungle.  No one.  Yet there it was and this snapshot is proof.

I don't remember how or why we ended up with the equipment. I'm sure it was a shipment gone bad.  Someone at Bien Hoa Air Force Base must have received the box of two-quart canteens that our supply sergeant was expecting and we received their baseball equipment.

As you can see, we took advantage.  That's my friend Rob pitching the ball.  Jerry, our machine gunner, is getting ready to  swing.  Not sure who that is playing catcher.  It was rainy season but the rain was holding off for us.  The ump said play ball, so we did.  Batting practice lasted about about twenty minutes then we put the equipment away.  Rain forced us off the field.  After that day, I never saw the equipment again.

While we were taking a break and playing a little baseball, serious business was going on around us.  The firebase was a few days old so there was lots of work to do filling sandbags and building bunkers.  A small bulldozer was still there clearing back vegetation and pushing up a dirt berm.    Other guys were on guard watching for enemy soldiers.  If Jerry had lofted one into the trees, I don't know who would have gone after it unless someone went with him with an M16 in hand.

Sometimes we had to let off a little steam by doing something irrational.  On that day, baseball was it.  

Bomb Crater from a Five-Hundred-Pounder

We were in Cambodia on patrol in early May 1970 and came across this bomb crater.  That's me standing near the bottom.  Considering that I'm 5'-8" tall, the hole had to be close to fifteen feet deep and maybe thirty-five feet across.  We all assumed that it was made by a five-hundred-pounder.

The official name for a five-hundred-pounder is the MK82 General Purpose Bomb.  The United States started building them in the fifties and General Dynamics still builds them today.  Then and now, they remain an unguided, dumb bomb that is controlled by gravity once released by an aircraft.

McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom jet fighters were used extensively in Cambodia back then to deliver five-hundred-pounders when needed.   What a site it was to watch one being dropped.  The jet would shriek by low to the jungle, release the bomb then climb as fast as it could to get out of range of the explosion.  To help delay the detonation, the bomb when released, would spin slowly, end-over-end, to slow its travel before hitting the ground .  Many times we were within five-hundred meters or a little more than one-quarter mile from the explosion.  The ground shook.  It felt like you were picked up an inch or two then dropped back down to earth.  Hot shrapnel from the bomb would rain down around us.  Of all the firepower I witnessed used on enemy soldiers, five-hundred-pounders had to be one of the worst.

Some might say that napalm was worse.  Napalm was less humane, delivering death that was slow and agonizing versus the instantaneous explosion of the bomb.  I thank God I never had to be on the receiving end of either of those weapons.  

First Book Signing

I had my first book signing yesterday and it was fun!  Why it took me this long to do one I have no idea.  No one pushing me hard enough to get off my duff I guess.

The chance to set one up came out of nowhere.  I was selling my first boat, a sixteen-foot fishing boat, and it wasn't going well.  So I decided to consign it with Bass Pro Shops in Foxboro, Massachusetts.  The Manager there commented about my Vietnam Veteran hat.  From there, one comment lead to another until he said, "Would you like to do a book signing?"  They were re-opening their in-store restaurant and he thought I should be part of the festivities.  I really had to think about it.  Two days later I called him and said I would.

I quickly had a sign made from an image of my book cover.  I ordered a bunch of books.  Using my laptop, I pulled together a slideshow of my Vietnam pictures.  I dug out my old poncho liner from forty-six years ago for a table cloth.  I was ready to go!

The fun part was talking to ordinary people about my experiences in Vietnam.  Some Vietnam Veterans dropped by and they welcomed me home.  I got to learn about there own Vietnam experiences.  It felt good comparing notes.  I spoke with a twenty-four year veteran of the police force about the parallels between their treatment now and our treatment then.  We formed a bond.  Some young kids shook my hand very solemnly with their parents encouragement.  All in all, the day was a success.  Not from a selling books point-of-view.  It was a beautiful day so it was a slow day at the store.  But I felt like a celebrity.  The restaurant gave me free lunch.  What more do you need?

I may just do another.  Especially if it lands in my lap like this one.