Brought To You By The Letter "W"

I honestly believe that I am still around because my last name begins with "W". Literally. Here's why and it's all true. I couldn't make up something like this.


Monday morning, October 12th in the year of our Lord 1970. The clock radio wakes me up at 5:30am, the Chambers Brothers are playing "Time Has Come Today". How appropriate I think. This afternoon I'll be flying to Vietnam as a totally unprepared ROTC 1st Lt in the infantry. In a brilliant display of logic when I was a sophomore at Santa Clara, I decided to join ROTC. It was a great sales pitch, since it was 1967 and Vietnam was raging. Like a carny barker in front of a faded carnival tent holding a smoking gun, Major Garcia said,


"Step right up, step right up and join ROTC. Hey kid, be an officer, get to choose what you want to do and where you'll go. All the girls like an officer, right Trixie? Besides you don't wanna get drafted do ya and have to go to Vietnam."

Made sense to me. Join the Army in the middle of a sensless fuckin' war so you wouldn't have to be in the Army in the middle of a senseless fuckin' war. Damn smart thinking. So here I was 3 years later just about to ship out to Vietnam. How this all happened and led to this wonderful day in my life will be material for several later blogs. But back to my savior, the letter "W".


I got out of bed feeling total detachment from my body, which is how I would feel most of the day. We all ate breakfast, not saying too much. My father was a career Army Officer and I actually think they were proud to have their son going to Vietnam. For some reason I'm hearing Country Joe. Funny thing is that we used to sit at Big Sur around campfires and sing his "Fixin' To Die Rag". Yeah, funny, give me an "F".


Duffel bag packed, some class As stuffed in, wearing my dress greens. Shiny black shoes, great for walking in the jungle. Your basic one each infantry 1st Louie ready to make the world safe for democracy. Still a feeling of being in a fog and just watching myself. It was a 3 hour ride from San Jose to Travis AFB. Overcast and gray day. Perfect. On I-680 the car in the right lane next to us, struck and hit a deer. It didn't register at all, I just watched as it flew into the air in a slow motion spin, legs straight out. I didn't think it was an omen. I just didn't think at all. "Purple haze all in my brain, lately things just don't seem the same." Amen to that.


We're in the waiting room at Travis. Chartered Pan Am 707 outside the door. Mother and father with me, no words spoken, no emotion shown. All these freshly minted 1st Lieutenants all ready to do their patriotic duty. The manifest said there were 220 of us. I should have made it 219. I had no idea WTF I was getting myself in for, nobody did, we just went along with the herd. Finally we were all checked in and accounted for and were told we "could board at our leisure", no assigned seats. I kissed my mother on the cheek, don't remember if I hugged her. Shook my father's hand and probably said something like, "I'll see you in a year", and then ran as fast as I could to be one of the first ones on the plane. "Look at that crazy mother fucker running to get on the damn plane. Crazy gung ho West Pointer can't wait to get there!" I'm sure several thought that. I would have. Actually, my logic was that there's no way I'm getting out of this now, I'm facing a very long flight and might as well try and get a first class seat. Unfortunately, there was no first class on this flying cattle car, but at least I got seat 1A, window with lots of leg room and a cute "stew" sitting right in front of me. Hey, you take what you can get I always figured.

and the band played "Waltzing Matilda"

Lift off, wheels up, we're on our way. I usually hate to fly, still do, can't stand it, but for some reason I just didn't care this time. Go ahead and crash, what do I care, I'm on my way to Vietnam. I chatted for a while with the very nice stew sitting in her jump seat right across from me. I'm sorry, make that Flight Attendant. In 1970 she was a stew though. I wonder what they thought when they ferried thousands of young men across the Pacific knowing that a lot of them would not make the return trip "seated in the upright position". The flight was very quiet.

It wasn't a direct flight. First stop was somewhere in Alaska to refuel. After that it was across the pole route to Japan for another pit stop. We were on the ground in Japan for about 2 hours. They let us get out and escorted us to a waiting lounge area. I looked for an escape route, there wasn't any. As we got off the plane we walked past a group of GIs who were waiting to board a flight home. "Go ahead and die for your counrty", one of them shouted. Still in a fog, didn't register, but something I'll never forget. Back on the Pan Am special, next stop Vietnam. Hoo-rah.

Welcome to Vietnam GI

The flight from Japan was about 5 hours, I think, since time really meant nothing anymore. It was also two days after I left Travis AFB since we crossed the date line somewhere along the way. The stew announced in her happiest voice that we are now over Vietnam. I looked out the window. All brown and mud. We had come in from the east over the ocean and made a very rapid descent as we approached the airfield to minimize our exposure over land. Across the landscape I saw plumes of black smoke rising from several scattered locations. Damn, there must be a lot of shit down there, look at all the smoke. Turns out I was half right. Later I would find out that all the black smoke was coming from 55 gallon drums full of shit, literally shit, being burned with diesel fuel. A morning ritual. I love the smell of burning diesel shit in the morning, reminds me of victory.

We landed at Bien Hoa. Very hot and humid. Air was foul and stunk. Got off the plane and walked to the in-processing center. No air conditioning. Dress greens were already soaked. God I don't want to be here. Names checked off the manifest, all 220 of us were still here. Loaded onto busses, herded through a hot, smelly building to get our jungle fatigues and two pairs of jungle boots. Final stop, the deployment center which would be our home for the next 3 days. We were sent to a big tent with rows of bunk beds and told to pick a bunk and stow our gear. Dinner was at 1700 hrs. Lying in my lower bunk, trying to sleep a very restless sleep. It was useless, reality now sinking in. Fog lifting. I'm actually in fuckin' Vietnam. Fuck.

The next morning a Major welcomed us to Vietnam. "Good Morning, Vietnam". The drill would be that the next morning our unit assignments would be posted on the bulletin board. We all knew what that meant. Who you got assigned to was beaucoup important. Some units you just didn't want to go to. The Americal was one, so was the First Air Cav, but for different reasons. The 1st Infanrty Division was OK but they were pretty much up north, the 25th "Electric Strawberries" operated in the Mekong Delta which was very hazardous to your health. "Step right up, a winner everytime", the carny barked.

We all knew this was going to be an eventful day in our lives. The day we all found out which fucked up combat division we were going to be assigned to. The reality of it all was sinking in. No more training games with BB guns, no more "do overs" on ambushes because we didn't do it right, no more small blasting caps go off if you tripped a booby trap. No sir, this was the real shit. We stood around waiting for our names to be posted. The guy next to me said, "I hope I don't lose my legs so I can still ride my motorcycle". For some reason, even now, I can hear my buddy saying this. If this were a movie right now you cue in some ominous music. Staff sergeant came out with a computer print out of all our names and where we would be going and where to meet up with your new units. Here it is folks, the big moment, and the winner is!

But my name wasn't on the list. I looked several times. Not there.What the hell does this mean? Maybe I've been selected for a top secret mission up north, maybe, maybe.. . . . Why isn't my name on the list?  It was a strange scene, some of the guys who landed the Americal were crying, most were just silent and slowly  walked away.

"Hey Wise, who are you going to?"

" I don't know, my name's not on the list!"

Several of us couldn't find our names and were just standing around. Slowly, very slowly, a good feeling started to well up somewhere inside me. Not sure why. The seargeant came out again and said if our names were not on the list, report to Headquarters Building at 1400hrs. Now you've really got my attention.

There were at least 50 of us who showed up at HQ to see why our names were not on the list. The Major addressed us, " Good Afternoon Gentlemen, you're probably wondering why your names were not on the assignments list this morning. Well, the Army is not perfect and we sort of screwed up so I'm afraid none of you will be assigned to infantry units. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?! Fuck, tell me more, I like the way this is going" I thought to myself.

"You see, every two weeks we request replacements for projected unit openings in the field and I'm afraid that when we requested 220 infantry Lieutenants, which is your group, it turns out that we actually had only 150 openings available. Again, I'm sorry. It's too late to adjust the next incoming group in 2 weeks so we need to find other openings for you here. Now, what we've done in the last day is to review your personnel folders and try and find suitable open positions for you in country based on your backgrounds. When you hear your name called, please report to one of my staff to discuss what your options are."

I raised my hand, "Excuse me Sir"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, so how did you determine which of us didn't get assigned to infantry units?"

" That was easy, we went alphabetically."

And there you have it. "W" saved my ass. I spent the war in charge of a Maintenance Unit fixing the General's flush toilet and building him a volleyball court. But that's another story for another day.