Most Airmen stationed at Tan Son Nhut were unarmed and rightly so I might add because of their total lack of combat training. Many of them lived in hooch's on the perimeter of the base lightly defended by ARVN (Army of the Republic of Viet Nam) solders. I lived in a two story screened barracks on a concrete slab that had louvered wooden walls so the air could flow through. It had an open bay on each floor with lockers placed on opposite sides next to the walls in a long row the length of the building. The lockers separated metal bunk beds from each other forming a cubical for two people. Hooch is military slang for a thatched roof native hut. So this was a derogatory description of the way we felt about our Air Force housing on Tan Son Nhut. Due to a previous order all sand bags had been removed from around buildings for the purpose of base beautification. After the Tet offensive we were sent out on a sand bag detail to fill sand bags to be placed around the lower floors of our hooch's for mortar protection. This of course was a joke. We slept in bunk beds with one airman sleeping above the other. If a mortar or rocket would have hit just outside the hooch every one above the lower bunk on the lower floor of the hooch would have been killed or injured. The sand bags provided some protection against bullets for those on the lower floor but the walls on the top floor were no protection. I was told once never to worry about the bullet with your name on it. Instead I should worry about shrapnel addressed to occupant. I slept on the top bunk, on the top floor and I felt like I had a target painted on my body. As we filled the sand bags we were talking with each other about how ridiculous the base beautification policy had been and wondering who could have thought up such an idea when I heard a faint whistling sound. I looked up and said “What was that, did you guys hear it?” This was followed by two loud explosions. I assume a couple of mortars were lobed over our heads as we were packing the sand bags. At least we didn't have to look far for cover as we already had a hole in front of us to jump into. I believe, in their arrogance, our fearless leaders thought the VC would never be capable of a massive attack on Tan Son Nhut. There was sure very little fore thought wasted on protecting Base personnel. At the very least there should have been a clear free fire zone around the Air Base so the VC could have been seen in advance of an attack.

In March I started working Monday through Saturday on the evening shift in a back room of the Engine shop called the S.O.A.P. lab. SOAP was an acronym for Spectrometric Oil Analysis Program. Engine oil was burned in the S.O.A.P. machine to create a spectrum of colors which corresponded to different varieties and amounts of metal content. The purpose of this was to predict engine wear. Working the night shift had its advantages though. It left me with a lot of day light hours to spend exploring. I remember riding my bicycle to work one day and stopping to feed a baby elephant chained along side the road. He wrapped his trunk around the grass in my hand and stuffed it into his mouth, handful by handful, until I had to leave for work. I also remember puppies being born in the engine shop and how we all raised them. Some airmen even kept monkeys. What filthy animals they were. The monkeys I mean, not the airmen. Occasionally our S.O.A.P. machine would brake down. While it was being repaired we had to run our oil samples at Bien Hoa Air Base. My NCOIC (Non Commissioned Officer in Charge) informed me that I was going to drive a two and one half ton truck to Bien Hoa and back. I hadn't driven any kind of vehicle in the two years I'd been in the Air Force and had never driven a two and one half ton truck before. Saigon was a chaos of pedestrians, ox-carts, mopeds, taxicabs, and trucks. The VC could be anywhere on the trip. I'm sure you can understand why I became a little sober. After a while I got used to driving and it wasn't so bad.

It was around this time that I remember trying to make friends with the local Vietnamese. I became friendly with a VNAF Sgt. (Vietnamese Air Force) who invited me to his home for a meal. His house was a Coke crate and plywood affair set on pilings over the river. He introduced me to his eighteen year old daughter who latched on to my arm and from then on was close by my side. His wife served me a good and very spicy meal that consisted of rice with a small portion of meat sauce that contained little hot red peppers. Some time later I had to relieve myself so I asked to use their latrine. It was a back room with a hole in the floor over the river. I was afraid to ask where they got their drinking water. We went to the Saigon Zoo, which I thought looked kind of run down. His daughter held one of my hands and his son the other as we walked along. The Vietnamese seemed to like holding hands because I could see a lot of them around me doing the same thing. Then my friend asked me if perhaps I could do him a favor. It seemed his refrigerator had broken down and due to the war was impossible to replace. If I didn't need my ration card for a refrigerator; would it be OK if he used it? He would pay for the refrigerator and all I would be out was the ration card and some time going to the Saigon PX (Post Exchange) with him to pick it up. My roommate had a refrigerator and I didn't need one so reluctantly I agreed. We went down to the PX and bought the refrigerator. Then we hailed a small motor-cyclo type of taxi and were about to leave when an MP (Military Police) stopped me. He took me aside and said, "Don't you know it's dangerous to carry a refrigerator down Saigon's streets?" and "Some people would slit your throat for one." I told him what was going on and he said, "That refrigerator would bring ten times what I paid for it on the Black Market and my friend was ripping me off." Well it was too late by that time so we brought it back to his house. But I avoided him after that. I can't say I blamed him. I liked the Vietnamese and life was hard for them; I just didn't appreciate feeling like a sucker.

I also remember developing a sore throat around this time. I went to the clinic for some antibiotics and on the way passed in front of the morgue just as a body was removed from a green sack. It was a very hot and humid day and the attendants had left the door open for some badly needed air flow. The soldier inside the bag didn't have a left arm or a head. He looked like a steer in a slaughter house. When the attendants noticed me standing there with a green look on my face they closed the morgue door.

On May the 6th 1968 a group of us from the 460th FMS helped stop the VC from over running Tan Son Nhut. I described this stand off attack in one of my stories entitled "Attack on TSN". This battle has become known as Mini Tet. It just goes to show you that the flight line wasn't the only dangerous area on Tan Son Nhut. On that day the VC chose the area near my hooch to make their attack. Through the grace of God we held them long enough for the Security Police to arrive or many unarmed airmen might have died. As it was Sgt. Jerry Fish paid for it with a severe wound. If your reading this story Jerry my hats off to you. Thanks for your sacrifice.

As the Engine Shop hanger was right on the flight line, there were many nights when our work would be interrupted by loud explosions and the base attack siren going off. We had a mattress stored behind the S.O.A.P. machine. Sometimes we would take cat naps on it between running oil samples. But mostly we used it to cover our heads with during mortar and rocket attacks. When the all clear was sounded after 4 rounds had hit us in one such early morning attack on June 14 1968 at 0340 hours, I walked out the back door of the S.O.A.P. Lab into the engine shop hanger. And I found that a mortar had hit just outside the rear entrance. It had sprayed the interior of the engine shop with shrapnel and blown small holes through the front of the building. There was shrapnel lying all over the engine shop floor. And a Cessna U-3B Blue Canoe serial number 60-6058 sitting in a Quonset hut behind the engine shop was hit and destroyed. Several buildings near the engine shop sustained damage from rockets or mortars.

Even the Base Exchange had its share of bullet holes as I discovered one day when I walked out behind it. The air-conditioning duct had half a dozen bullet holes in it. I had stepped out of the theater across from the BX after a movie and walked out behind it to watch the monsoon rain come down. The rain was mixed with some hail. I got a kick out of watching some Vietnamese who were running around like children putting the ice in their mouths like they had never seen hail before.

In August I went back to my previous job in the Engine shop maintaining jet engines. We were working an extended day shift of 12 hour days all week. The reason for this I've forgotten but it lasted until my DEROS ( Date Eligible for Return From Overseas ) on September 15th. Tet and the Spring offensive had caused us all to became a little jumpy. Some times a loud noise of any kind would make us jump or hit the ground seeking cover. Once another airman and myself were assigned to do a minor repair on the GE J79 engine of an RF 4C Phantom II out on the flight line. I told the other airman to go on ahead of me. I needed to pick up my tool bag and then I'd catch up to him. The flight line could be a dangerous place. Sappers were known to sneak on to the Base to destroy our aircraft and even your friendly Vietnamese Base barber could be a VC. There was always the chance of a mortar or rocket strike too. I retrieved my tool bag and then decided I'd ride my bicycle out to the revetment where the Phantom was parked. As I came up behind the airman I called out to him. I guess he hadn't heard me come up behind him on my bicycle because he jumped about three feet into the air, turned around, and came down swinging a wrench. I came close to going home in a body bag that time.

I have many memories of my tour in Vietnam. I remember hearing a rumor when I came back from my TDY to Cam Ranh Bay about a sniper killed in early February on the Ray Dome near the Air Force chow hall durring the Tet offensive. He was said to have been either a disgruntled airman or a VC. I found out later the only body removed from the Ray Dome tower was that of an Air Force Sgt from Ohio. We will never know for sure if he was the sniper or shot in the cross fire. I remember the VC mortar and rocket attacks through out 1968, the close calls I had from some of these near misses, the damaged buildings from those attacks, and flares in the night sky.

I remember walking along the road near my hooch one evening when I was startled by the noise made by air spilling from under the parachute of a spent flair. The flair almost hit me as it landed beside me. The airman walking alongside me asked me if I wanted it; and like a fool I told him no. I found out later that the silk parachute was a prized war souvenir.

I remember monsoon rains, Vietnamese kids fishing for minnows in the run off ditches, heat, humidity, rats running along the rafters in my hooch, and stray dogs running all over the base.

I even remember seeing part of a Martha Raye show at Camp Davis on Oct. 6, 1967. I didn't have time to watch her whole show. But I did catch part of her act. I was slightly shocked at the foul language she used. Not at the words, I had heard them all before, but that a woman old enough to be my grandmother was saying them. I was told later that she was starting a 33-day tour in Vietnam and the heat got to her. She collapsed on stage just as she was getting ready to do the final number. And was taken to the dispensary, recovered, and went on with the rest of her tour. According to Stars & Stripes magazine she made more appearances in Vietnam than any other celebrity. To the troops she was affectionately known as Colonial Maggie. She had received her prized Green Beret and the title of Lieutenant Colonel from President Lyndon B. Johnson, himself.

Even though my memories of my tour in Viet Nam have dimmed over these many years it is thanks to my "Letters from Viet Nam" that I can still share them with you. My fondest memory is of getting on the "Freedom Bird" that was heading for home. With that memory in mind I would like to say to you all, "Welcome Home".

War can be a necessary evil. As a youth my thoughts turned to war. But I've found that advancing years bring a peaceful sprit. Below is a verse that I found scrawled on a latrine wall in Viet Nam. It describes my feelings these many years after Vietnam.

This is a war of the unwilling,

Led by the unqualified,

Dying for the ungrateful.

Peace is a casualty of war.