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, 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 in our relationships. 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 basic training or been on a ship, but now
he was on his way to Vietnam. A few
friends and I took him under our care 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 shoulders every morning 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, setting it on the
deck, before quickly 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 swimming 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. You could find these individuals furtively sitting in clusters on remote corners of the deck at night, staring up at the stars above the open Pacific, and saying things that they thought were profound, but were really rather obvious (or nonsensical) to the unaffected. We stopped at Hawaii, Midway, Guam, and Subic Bay PI, as well as underway refueling on our Trans-Pacific voyage. Destroyers are faster and thirstier for fuel than the Askari repair vessel of my previous voyage.
During our stop at Subic Bay, I was assigned Shore Patrol duty. This meant that, instead of drinking with shipmates, I strapped a Gov't .45 pistol to my waist, stayed sober, and watched fellow sailors making sure that they did not get into trouble while drinking. Interestingly, that evening I had a chance to talk to one of the barmaids, Teresa DeGuzman, who told me she had a college degree in education but could make more money serving drinks to US sailors than if employed as a schoolteacher. Such was the economy of the Philippines.
After arrival, we cruised the Gulf of Tonkin guarding aircraft carriers, and our destroyer’s six 5-inch 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 at UC Santa Barbara and immediately took a bus south to meet my new housemates at Goleta. I had no vehicle, was extremely committed to my new environment, and I did not see Mike
again for years.
The story gets worse from here, as recounted by Mike. 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 where he worked construction. 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 suspected scabies. When he stated his name, she started asking
if he had been to Vietnam and knew a guy named Wayne Grabow. It freaked him out because he had never met Dawn, but she had heard me talk about Mike. 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 with 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 US-built 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 broken swing on our neighborhood playground is still broken. 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, 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, and Dresden. It was my first
visit to Prague. The atmosphere of
celebration there was evident. I watched a sword swallower perform in the open city plaza. We stayed
at what today would be an Airbnb, an apartment where the occupants stayed
elsewhere during our visit. Terezin had been a model Nazi prison camp shown to the Red Cross to give the impression of fair treatment for inmates. (Inmates were shipped elsewhere for extermination.) 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. We came from the north and Kotor is on the south side of the bay. There is no bridge; you take a ferry to get from one side to the other.
NY City fire station with flowers and photos of the firemen who died.
Statue of Liberty with a US Flag flying.