The Military Experience, a different way to travel

 [Written several years ago]

All our generation probably remembers where they were when President Kennedy was shot.  How many remember the Cuban missile crisis which preceded that?  The Hungarian revolution of 1956?  The Korean War?  All were historic events, but we were too young to have any direct connection with such major occurrences.

Yesterday I was listening to the song ‘Where were you (when the world stopped turning)’ by Alan Jackson.  The song always affects me deeply, renewing my realization about how the world has changed and those specific incidents that bring history to life.  I am sure we all remember where we were when the World Trade Towers in New York were hit on 9/11.  Having spent a career in our military, certain events have provided additional markers making world events even more real.

VIETNAM

Riverine patrol headed out, early morning, for a mission.  Their battles were fought at close range on the feeder canals off the Mekong River; thus, although slow, these vessels relied on their heavy armor.

I spent most of 1967 in the Mekong Delta region of Vietnam.  We were usually upriver in the combat zone, watching patrols go out daily.  I worked in the navigation department of our flat-bottomed repair ship (a converted LST hull) which could handle the shallow depths of the river.  Once we had crossed the Pacific Ocean to Vietnam, most members of our navigation section were rotated out, and I was one of the few remaining.  I kept the charts (maps) and pubs (notices to mariners on navigation changes) up to date.  Calculated tides and currents.  Wound the chronometer and recorded its deviation from the time standard.  Also recorded weather observations to be sent to central forecasting.  Made coffee for the officers and washed their cups.  Cleaned and polished.  When shifting anchorages (done daily to foil enemy planning), I would provide ranges and bearings for plotting our progress and new position.  In the evenings, I would stand signal watches (looking for flashing light morse code from nearby ships) and security watches (using a starlight scope which magnified the ambient starlight to where you could spot movement on the riverbanks).  In my spare time I learned to identify the letters in flag hoists, semaphore signaling and more about celestial navigation.

As you can see, the deck of our riverine repair ship was a jumble of materials, hoists, and machinery for servicing the patrol craft, plus one individual enjoying a noon-time nap.

The ship’s bridge, where I worked is the top deck of the ship.  I had a great view of everything occurring. There was a constant ring of patrol craft encircling our ship, preventing any Vietnamese boats from getting too close, looking for objects (mines) in the water, and sometimes stopping a boat for inspection. 

Some of the riverine landing craft were equipped with helicopter decks; the helo pilot had to be pretty good to land on that small target.  

Our ship, USS Askari, was part of a small flotilla including barracks ships for the troops and supply ships which would come and go bringing parts, personnel, and provisions.  Patrols consisted mainly of heavily armored landing craft, top speed less than ten mph, which would go up the narrow feeder canals and then slug it out in close quarters encounters with the Viet Cong.  USS Askari had an extensive machine shop to maintain the craft, repair battle damage, and add bar armor to counter the evolving threat of shaped-charge rockets which could melt conventional steel plate. 

Occasionally, I would see a SEAL team returning at sunrise from a mission in their Boston whalers, shoveling handfuls of expended cartridges over the side of their boat, after ambushing the enemy.  Our Riverine Flotilla was a combined arms force.  We had troops from the 9^th Infantry Division embarked to land and advance across the rice paddies chasing the enemy.  During the daytime, we had USAF air support including napalm strikes.  At night, modified AC130s with miniguns would lay down a curtain of bullets on identified targets.  At 6000 rounds per minute, the tracers looked like a steady stream from a fire hose.

Did we accomplish anything?  As I wrote to a friend at the time, I was watching artillery fire on a hillside that was a repeat of a shelling on the same hillside six months prior.  I saw no identifiable progress in our efforts.  But for our leadership, Johnson and McNamara, winning was never the goal.

One bar after another.  They all cleared out at about 10pm when the curfew went into effect.  Then it was deserted streets patrolled by Vietnamese soldiers with submachine guns.

I watched the Vietnamese people suffer.  On the river, the native boats were kept away from us, but periodically we visited Vung Tau to resupply.  Crippled men with crude crutches or even part of a face missing.  Young women renting their bodies to earn a living.  Soldiers carrying submachine guns on urban patrol.  A few friends and I found a remote off-limits restaurant, Windy Beach Café, run by a single lady.  You had to hike down a deserted dusty road to find it.  We would show up and change into our bathing suits, then entrust her with our clothes and wallets.  After enjoying the surf on this rocky beach, she would serve us lunch and a beer.  We were never overcharged.

This was the main beach area near Vung Tau, called Back Beach because it was several miles outside of the city.  The water was so warm at times that you could feel yourself sweating underwater.  We went here only infrequently.  One time we sat down at one of these establishments with a group of Australian soldiers; they kept ordering rounds of beer, and I could not keep up with them. 

Windy Beach was our more common beach destination.  Off limits, almost private, and very relaxing.

In the town of Vung Tau, I made acquaintance with a young girl, 10-11 years old, who was always there selling carved pineapples (the outer peel removed).  We would always greet each other.  One day when I brought no money with me, just planning to go to the main beach, she gave me a pineapple saying that I could pay her next time we met.  Of course, I honored that concession.  Whatever happened to her?  Honorable people eking out an existence in a war-torn country with an uncertain future.

Seeing all this creates a deep appreciation for life and all that our country has to offer.  Not to be taken for granted.

Locked in the confines of that 325-foot-long ship for months, you get to know fellow sailors well.  There was a group of bigtime gamblers.  There were drugs: marijuana, and opium.  You learned who to trust, who to discount, who to respect and who to not loan money to.  Shipmates came from all walks of life.  The ship was small enough that we knew each other as individuals; where you came from, or your ethnic heritage was unimportant.  If you have seen a WWII movie with military from all walks of life, this was the atmosphere.  Although few if any crew on this ship were drafted, the presence of a draft certainly served as encouragement to enlist.

A SAILOR'S TALE

Mike L. came from Ventura, California.  He was a handsome, athletic, friendly guy.  I first noticed him when he approached the ship’s gangplank when we were loading supplies in Oakland, CA.  He looked truly lost.  Mike had joined the US Navy Reserve out of high school.  He got a summer job in Yosemite NP for the summer and stopped attending Reserve meetings.  The Navy sent him a letter warning that if he didn’t attend meetings, he would be kicked out of the Reserves.  Mike had lost interest in the Navy and was ready to quit the Reserves, so he ignored the letter.  What he didn’t understand was that he would instead be placed on active duty.

Thus, Mike stood there at the Askari gangplank with his seabag full of uniforms but knew nothing about the US Navy.  Didn’t know how to wear the uniform; didn’t know the rank structure; had never been to boot camp or been on a ship, but now he was on his way to Vietnam.  A few friends and I took him under our wings and schooled him as we crossed the Pacific Ocean.

Coming off the ocean and approaching the Vietnamese coast, our first visit to our new homeport of Vung Tau, the ship was at high readiness.  All stations manned and ready.  And there was Mike L.’s mother waiting for us on the dock!  His parents had divorced early.  Mike stated that he and his sister had pretty much raised themselves; both parents had gone on to other relationships.  Mike’s mother was an attractive blonde contract executive assistant in Saigon.  She had a senior Army colonel boyfriend who had learned where the ship would dock and flown her down in a helicopter to greet her son.  The Askari captain was stunned.

Mike was athletic; he could walk on his hands and encouraged me to learn how to do it.  (A skill I was able to maintain until I broke a bone in my shoulder while skiing, Lake Placid, age 55.)  So, he volunteered for SEAL training.  Imagine that, in Vietnam trying to be a SEAL and never attending boot camp!  He was sent to a location in the Philippines for preliminary testing but lacked the will to stay with it, carrying a log on his shoulder while running on the beach.

Next, Mike got into drugs.  He wasn’t the only one, and it ultimately came to the attention of the officers.  A surprise inspection was held.  All suspects were held in one room and then their lockers and bunks were inspected one-at-a-time for drugs.  Mike asked to go to the bathroom and had a moment to remove the large box of marijuana from his locker, leaving it on the deck, before returning to confinement.  When it was his turn for inspection, the inspecting officer kicked the offending box out of the way to access his locker.  No drugs were found!

Even though no drugs were found, Mike, and others, were sent home, separated from the Navy, and given general discharges.  (A general discharge, while less than honorable still allows benefits.)  Mike was first sent to Saigon, packing with him his large box of marijuana.  While in Saigon awaiting further transportation, he was approached by a Vietnamese man offering a deal:  If Mike would buy him a refrigerator in the US military PX, the man would also pay for a new stereo system for Mike.  Mike agreed to the arrangement.  Mike replaced the packing material in his stereo boxes with his stash of marijuana.  It was all shipped back to the US.

The result was that Mike was back in California, separated from the military, had GI bill benefits for college, and had a new stereo and a large amount of marijuana for personal use.  How is that for punishment!  Months later, when my first Vietnam tour was complete and I was assigned to Long Beach, I visited Mike and met his sister, a nice looking blonde.  Mike knew the area, had friends, and was someone to hang out with when I was off duty.  He had access to a private pool where we could take dates and have an outdoor picnic.

From there, I was sent back to Vietnam a second time.  On the new ship, there were also shipmates secreting drugs onboard prior to our departure.  We did stop in Hawaii, Midway, Olongapo PI, but did not set foot in Vietnam.  Instead, our destroyer’s six 5” guns were used for coastal fire support.  I was discharged from the US Navy at Treasure Island, San Francisco one day before college classes began, I had no vehicle, and I did not see Mike again for years.

The story gets worse from here.  Mike didn’t stop the drugs.  One night he passed out at a party and broke two front teeth.  He ultimately lost his job, was kicked out of an apartment, and dropped out of school.  He moved to Hawaii for a while.  Five years later, Dawn and I were living in Sonoma County (northern CA), and she was working in a medical office.  A young man came in seeking care for scabies.  When he stated his name, she started asking if he had been to Vietnam and knew a guy named Wayne Grabow.  It was Mike L.; he was living in a cabin in the woods in NorCal.

 

Mike L. working on the deck crew painting our ship.  Lower left is Irwin T., another California boy, serving his time on the ship.  Irwin's wife sent him an enticing calendar featuring pictures of her to keep him monogamous.  (It worked, and, no, he didn't share the photos.) Irwin eventually was a student at UC Santa Barbara at the same time as me, although he had to improve his grades at a State College before being accepted.

PANAMA

Summer of 1979 our family was assigned to Fort Gulick on the Atlantic Coast of Panama.  Carter was President, and it had been decided to give the Panama Canal to the country of Panama.  The Canal Zone had been there for generations.  People born and raised there were called “Zonians”; the government and culture they knew was about to disappear.  The Canal Zone was prosperous, efficient, and well-maintained.  Panama was a grubby, backwards country run by the dictator, Torrijos, who died in an unexplained plane crash in 1981 and was replaced by Manuel Noriega.  Noriega had received his military education at the US-led School of the Americas on Fort Gulick where we lived.  It was agreed that there would be a one-year transition period.

During the transition period, US buildings were refreshed to be in good condition prior to a Panama takeover.  The preschool our children attended was deemed not adequate for turnover and was closed for renovation.  For law enforcement, joint patrols between Panamanian police and those in the Zone were initiated.  The Canal Zone police were good at catching criminals, and the Panamanian police dealt out harsh punishment.

Noriega ruled by force and corruption.  In our three years in the zone, Noriega never visited the Atlantic coast.  It was rumored that he feared being killed if he were to visit the neglected town of Colon. We experienced the entire transition.  Once the Canal Zone was gone, the US flag was not allowed to be flown unless the Panama flag was flown above it.  Thus, we had a base ceremony in which the US flag was lowered at sunset and then a small explosive charge was detonated to bring down the flagpole.

We have visited Panama twice in recent years.  The home we lived in is still there, part of a civilian neighborhood now.  The clinic I worked in is now part of a resort hotel complex.  The buildings that the US renovated are now abandoned with the roofs caving in and the interiors ruined.

Panamanians have a favorable opinion of the United States.  Many have US connections.  English is widely understood.  They remember that the US came back later and deposed Noriega the dictator in 1989.  The US dollar is still their standard currency.  However, Panama is trending to leftist influence and return to strongman government, like other countries in the region.

 

GERMANY

We arrived in Germany in summer 1988.  After accepting new leased quarters in the small town of Elsenfeld, I also needed to buy a second car because I would be commuting to Aschaffenburg, some distance away.  I visited the local German Ford dealership, happened to strike up a conversation with the owner, Hans Schafer, of the dealership, and we became friends.  He found me the perfect car, but we also developed a social relationship, visited each other’s homes, met his wife Ursula, dining out, and some holiday gifts.  The Soviet Union was breaking down.  Hans and I had discussed the dissension occurring in the Soviet Union, but we were both surprised when the Iron Curtain collapsed so quickly.  I was incredibly busy at that time, but Dawn was able to take advantage of this historic passing.

She visited Prague both before and shortly after the borders opened.  Great shopping for porcelain and crystal.  The difference was striking.  The streets of Prague had been silent (everyone with the sense of being watched by secret police), then the streets and central plaza became the site of celebration. Dawn also took our children out of school and drove to Berlin where the three of them witnessed the Berlin Wall being toppled.  We still have souvenir Wall fragments stored in our basement.  The children were also able to witness passing through the East German border guard process (still functioning at that time) with the entry to the guard station, showing of passports and strict questioning.

When the Iron Curtain guard gates had completely been abandoned, we were able to take the entire family on a day trip to East Germany, only about two hours away.  The differences were striking.  They had crude heating systems, smoke billowing from chimneys; thus, all the homes were drab and sooty.  The cars, i.e., Trabants & Ladas, were pathetic little boxes with smoking exhaust.  When such vehicles ventured onto the autobahn, there were instances where they were run over by much faster cars who didn’t see their tiny dim taillights.  This is what communism/socialism gets you.

 At the end of our Germany tour, we booked a cruise for the entire family, Venice-Dubrovnik-(Yugoslavia)- Athens-Rhodes-Crete-Corfu-Venice.  We were about the only Americans onboard.  The US Marine barracks in Beirut Lebanon had been bombed only a few years ago (1983), and terrorism against Americans was still occurring (Achille Lauro cruise ship hijacking, 1985).  A Lebanese couple approached us while dining and said, “I hope you are not afraid.  Beirut is actually a very nice city.”  We were most impressed with Dubrovnik, which was amazingly beautiful with the same tall fortress walls present for centuries.

 

NETHERLANDS

Summer 1991 we moved to a new assignment in southern Netherlands.  My dental clinic was located at Schinnen, our home was a nice civilian rental home in Hulsburg.  This was a much more relaxing assignment than Germany.  But war broke out in Yugoslavia!  Our Dutch acquaintances asked us, “What will the United States do about this?”  My answer: “This is a purely European conflict.  Why doesn’t Europe take care of this?  The US is always criticized for getting involved and now we are criticized for NOT getting involved!  What do you want?”  Of course, the US did get involved.  America is both expected and criticized as the world’s policeman.  Dawn and I wondered; what will happen to beautiful Dubrovnik?  That conflict raged from 1991 to 1997.

We made a road trip to Prague, Terezin (Nazi concentration camp), and Dresden.  It was my first visit to Prague.  The atmosphere of celebration there was evident.  We stayed at what today would be an Airbnb, an apartment where the occupants stayed elsewhere during our visit.  In Dresden, we stopped at the tourist information office and were treated as if it was still a communist dictatorship.  Instead of being given information on various accommodation choices, they dictated to us where we were to stay and what the fee would be.  Our reaction, “No thanks, that is not how we live.  We are leaving.”  We got back in the car on the autobahn and drove home, arriving after midnight.

Years later, 2016, Dawn and I revisited Dubrovnik and Croatia, renting a car, and driving from Zagreb to Montenegro.  In Dubrovnik we visited two museums of the war (one in the city itself and the other atop the overlooking mountain) and are happy to report that although the city received significant damage, it has been rebuilt to its original magnificent self.  A young server at a restaurant there explained to us how the war had taken away the enjoyment of his teenage years.  Many of the defenders of the city were simply young men who took up arms with little or no military experience.  When we stayed in a B&B at Plitvice, the family told how they fled to Italy for those seven years and came back to find their home destroyed by those who had been their neighbors.  Such reasonable and educated people with yet profound ethnic grievances.

The Bay of Kotor, Montenegro.  You take a ferry to get from one side to the other.

Montenegro is a beautiful site on a large, protected fiord.  Unlike Croatia with its tourism-inspired private economy, Montenegro is a socialist country, very welcoming to Russians (signs in Cyrillic).  In Dubrovnik, shopkeepers are out early each morning to sweep and wash their entry and sidewalks.  By contrast, Montenegro was dirtier and more neglected.  Parking was poorly organized and out of control.  Socialism takes away incentives for personal pride and excellent customer treatment.   

NEW YORK

Summer 2001 found us assigned to Fort Drum, New York.  Naturally, we took the opportunity to visit New York City.  Washington, DC, is the most economically and racially polarized city I have experienced.  But New York was different.  We experienced people patiently queued in lines with no one trying to cut in.  We saw young people on buses get up to offer their seat for older people.  When in the subway station, people would notice us looking at our route map and would come over and offer to help us.  Riding the subway, people from very diverse backgrounds would strike up conversations together.   The restaurants were not as expensive as expected.  We took a tour of the World Trade Towers; standing on the roof looking out over the entire city was breath-taking.

We were readying for military retirement at that time.  September 9, Dawn returned from a trip hunting for our future retirement location.  Two days later, I was treating a patient when the word came that an aircraft hit one of the Towers.  Instantly we knew it was not an accident.  Our whole world had changed.  On her trip of just two days prior, Dawn was able to practically run on to any waiting flight with no hesitation or interference. That world was gone.

New York City shortly after Sept. 11, 2001.  Smoke still rising from the city and the World Trade Towers are gone.

NY City fire station with flowers and photos of the firemen who died.

The areas of worst damage were blocked off to allow crews to work undisturbed by onlookers.

Statue of Liberty with a US Flag flying.

Not long after, we re-visited New York City with our two children. Remnants of buildings, piles of rubble, memorials with bouquets of flowers, cranes and other construction equipment still sifting through the wreckage.   It was hard to fully consider the enormity of the consequences.

Back on base at Fort Drum, a few people suggested that I may not be allowed to retire.  As the dental representative, I attended the initial meeting of base command staff to plan the 10^th Mountain Division’s deployment to Afghanistan.  They would be the first major unit to be sent.  The meeting was nothing like Hollywood would envision it.  Instead, the meeting had a business-like atmosphere.  History, geography, culture, climate, previous Soviet experience were all discussed in a very fact-based manner.  There was no ego-based intonation.  Very calm and thorough.  Sequencing of necessary logistic preparations was begun.

Shortly after, we began processing the troops for deployment.  I remember one young soldier telling me, “We understand that we may die on this mission.  Our main hope is that, if this happens, our lives will not be wasted.”  These outwardly ordinary individuals accept a set of solid values which they are willing to die for.  Our service members have more respect, discipline, and commitment than most civilians.  I couldn’t increase their pay or provide better base housing, but I tried to give them the highest quality dental care possible.

 

CIVILIAN TRAVEL

Dawn and I continue to travel to foreign lands and get a sense of what life is like there.  There are good people everywhere with most of the same concerns we have here in America.  Watching people live in the corruption and inefficiency of Third World countries is educational, but not particularly pleasant.  In a sense, we are all neighbors. We want everyone to share in a life with progress and hope for the future.