143 days, 2 June
I really don’t believe it. More rain, still three formations a day for an average of two hours each – in the rain (ah-choo!) while they called names. They even pull us out of KP for each one in case our name is called for shipment. They called mine today; twice.
They call out different groups for shipment. My name was called and two of us answered. The other guy got to the formation first so I went up to the speaker’s stand to find out which one was supposed to go. Of course that was stupid because in the Army you simply don’t ask questions because they’re either in too much of a hurry or because you’re stupid – besides the Army never makes mistakes. Needless to say, I barely approached the clown when I was rudely informed that he couldn’t answer questions now because he had to read 500 more names and to get the hell out of the way – besides if I had paid attention I wouldn’t have any mistakes. So I went back.
Then they called Robert Hughes again – only I answered. I fell into the group and tried to sign in but it was Robert P. Hughes – sorry about that.
Of course I got cussed out pretty well because I didn’t know what I was doing, but I found out where I was to got to find my group.
I leave tomorrow at 9:50 am to Travis Air Force Base in Frisco, then at 12:00 noon leave for Bien Hoa Airport, Vietnam, by way of Seattle, and Tokyo (I dunno, that’s what it says.) I hope it doesn’t rain. We go by a commercial flight on a 707 jet (Northwest Airlines). This place is so ridiculous and depressing that you’re almost glad you’re going to Nam just to get out and away from it.
The only reply I can get about my physical is “Sorry about that; maybe you ought to get a couple extra pair of glasses.”
144 days, 3 June
Finally saw a little bit of Frisco today (sun!!) Wouldn’t you know it, the day I leave the sun comes out? We got a bus ride to Travis AFB over a freeway system about 4 times as big and complex as ours in Columbus; double-decker jobs with roofs, even the first layer is raised and there is parking space underneath all along the freeway.
The countryside is beautiful along the coast – rolling, and in the distance mountainous. I was looking for some kind of wild car, surfers, or topless go-go girls on the exit ramp, but all I really saw that assured me I was in California was an oil refinery with about 80 oil tanks, like at the Sinclair place, only painted in pastel pinks, blues, yellow, greens, and purples – crazy man!
We boarded our plane - no big thing, I guess flying’s beginning to get routine. There was one Japanese stewardess that . . . well, maybe Vietnam won’t be so bad after all. We flew over the coast and some huge mountains to Seattle. (over the mountains we had some turbulence that got to shaking the plane so bad it looked like a big bird the way the wings were flapping.)
Down and up again in Seattle, farewell USA. Rather a weird feeling, there’s the World’s Fair Space Needle, there’s the ocean – clouds – I bet it’ll rain in Tokyo.
145 days, 4 June
Crossed the international Dateline.
146 days, 5 June
I think I’ll stop counting the days. I lose track now.
Tokyo was cool and cloudy. We stopped at an air base instead of an airport so I didn’t get to see much. Naturally, just as we were ready to board it began to pour. So we had an extra wait while the crew fitted a pair of Goodyear Rain-tires so the plane could get better traction on the runway.
We stopped again in Okinawa. What a change! I stepped out the door and sweat began to roll. You wouldn’t believe the humidity, I thought it was raining for a while. It was only about 70-75 degrees, but by the time I got to the terminal I was worn out and soaked and had a headache. The terminal was air-conditioned, but only if you were lucky enough to find a vent where the air was coming out. Anywhere farther away than 5 feet and the heat took over. I saw one guy wearing an aqua-lung; I tried to read a magazine but the pages were damp and stuck together; they had goldfish in cages instead of bowls.
It began to actually rain so they called us out to the plane. You know – when a Japanese stewardess asks you if you want coffee, tea, or milk, you really feel silly if you don’t say tea. You also get a dirty look, a few choice words (hand-written Japanese characters) and a well placed karate blow, after which you’re not in much shape to drink anything.
I got a little more sleep in, I had no idea what time it really was, but for the first time since we left Travis (about 19 hours) it was dark, so . . . I woke up when we started over Nam. We got below the clouds and could see the land below (where else) off in the distance on the horizon every once in a while you could see the flash of artillery; other than that the only light was that of the airplane and the only sound, the sound of the jets (707’s that is). Talk about butterflies! One was so large it attacked our airplane.
Surprisingly it wasn’t raining and it was cooler than Okinawa and less humid. I hate coming into a place when it’s dark and you can’t see where you are (especially here). There went another of those damn butterflies.
They piled us onto buses with armor plating and screened windows and gave us two armed and plated jeeps as escorts and sent us down the road. Everything seemed gloomy and mysterious until we passed through a small village. The place was really weird! Nothing but little shacks lined along the road almost looking like they were all in one, they were so close. Dirty, drab and with a smell that’s indescribable; the whole place smells like it – you even notice it when you get off the plane. It’s sort of like the way these little straw trinkets you get at parties that are made in Hong Kong or something, only stronger and worse in some areas.
Almost every house had a sign in front of it selling something. (Didn’t see any red lights). One house might have a photography store, then about 10 others right next to each other would have the same thing. Another might have ice for sale (guaranteed safe to eat) or a restaurant or car washes and always every house for about three blocks would have the same thing. It’s like Foo Yung saw Lee Song building a car wash and decided that’s a pretty cool idea and begins one himself. Then about 20 neighbors have the same idea (I didn’t see any cars). All of a sudden one enterprising person figures that there’s too many car washes, so he sells ice and the same thing happens. If somebody was smart they’d start selling cars for all those stupid car washes.
I just killed another butterfly – weighed 18 pounds.
We processed in and exchanged our money and got an hour’s sleep before we had to get up. Our breakfast was exactly the same as at Ft. Knox, and the day has been exactly like those at Oakland except no rain during formations, at least. Formations for guys shipping out to their units, all this place is is a shipping point, so don’t write me here, as I’ll be moving again soon. Where, I have no Idea (why did I capitalize idea?)
This place is strange, too. The barracks look like the ones at Ft. Knox (old wooden ones) only they’re surrounded by sandbags and are built on mounds of dirt. They have screened walls, or maybe better to say the walls are screen, with the bottom half covered by loosely spaced boards, except at the top where the screens serve as windows.
6 June, 1967
Greetings from Camp L.B.J. [The notorious U.S. Army Vietnam Installation Stockade was known to GIs as the Long Binh Jail--or simply Camp LBJ - a contemptuous reference to President Lyndon Baines Johnson. ]
What started out as a normal day turned into quite an experience today. Twenty of us were loaded on a truck and sent away on our detail – in Saigon. We never got off the truck until we reached one of the Army’s camps just outside of the city, but to get there we had to go thru the middle of town.
The road to Saigon is a four lane paved road, the inside lanes restricted it seems to the Vietnamese and their old beat up trucks, bicycles, Hondas, rickshaws, and strange little three wheeled vehicles called Lambrettas. They look like motor scooters with full windshield and front and a truck bed type compartment in the back over the rear 2 wheel axle. Some of them are open but most are closed completely except for the absence of doors. They look reasonably comfortable for about 3-4 people but they squeeze in the wife and about 8 kids somehow.
The natives drive down the road on whatever they can afford at about 30 miles an hour (that’s the fastest the most expensive thing they can afford goes) and the outside lanes are for the Army trucks and jeeps doing about 60. The problem arises when some farmer tries to pass a Honda with a water buffalo cart using the truck lane; they pull out without warning and when the Honda sees he’s passed by a water buffalo, he speeds up, but the buffalo tries to pass anyway; along comes a 2 ½ ton truck at 60. The result – buffalo steak.
Every ½ mile or so there’s a truck or bike or something broken down and about 25 gooks running around like headless chickens trying to find out what’s wrong. Everything I saw on the road looked like it had been through 3 wars starting with the American Revolution; so did the people in them, for that matter. About like Jere’s Rambler, or the ’34 Chevy down at the body shop – in its present condition.
Saigon itself you wouldn’t believe. All but the main part (about 2 blocks long) was about like the village I described last time, only larger in area. Little shacks with open fronts, made out of all different kinds of material; lumber, tin sheets, plastic, straw, or spider webs – all mixed together in the same shack. Everything is crammed together as usual and all the garbage and trash is thrown out into the “yard” or in the gutter of the street, if there’s no more room in the yard. Actually, there’s no real distinction between gutter, street, or yards – just where the dirt blends into the street unless the street is dirt too.
The downtown section was a little nicer but still confusing. There seems to be no traffic lanes, just bicycles and Lambrettas and anything else from buffaloes to buses darting in and out in any direction not looking where they’re going. It’s worse than the start of last year’s Indy 500. They do have traffic cops, but I’ve never seen anybody look so helpless in my life. I think the streetlights are for decoration.
Everywhere you look there’s a guardhouse made out of sandbags and covered with screen with at least two well-armed guards inside – just so no one forgets where he is.
We went to an R and R processing center and did general hard labor. Picking up trash, painting fences, laying barbed wire to keep little kids out of the compound. That’s right, barbed wire to protect the camp from little kids! After we finished I saw them crawling and playing inside of it.
We also loaded barrels, empty, onto a truck to carry them to a dump somewhere, there must have been about 50 of them. When we were finished with them I asked our sarge what they were. Embalming fluid! Each one was empty, but they contain enough fluid t do 55 bodies. I hope that’s the last time I come in contact with that stuff.
This post, like the one I’m in, had Vietnamese working in the PX, service club, and the mess hall. They serve the food in the chow line and wait tables for the cadre in the mess hall. It’s kind of funny to hear them talk to each other. I just can’t understand how they make any sense out of such mixed up chatter; they do understand some English thought, luckily. They try to please you and it really hurts them if they think they haven’t.
In the service club, for example, I was going to buy a Coke. The guy in front of me ordered an orange drink and the girl misunderstood him and poured a grape drink. (They understand enough to know what a grape drink is or a Coke – ask for a Pepsi and really get confused – but this guy just pointed to the machine and she thought he wanted grape) She was real proud of herself, that she had done the right thing, but when he didn’t take it, her face fell and I thought she might cry. Then she perked up and with a smile poured another two grapes and an orange. As soon as I stepped up, she shoved the grape drinks toward me and said “Glape?” Again I didn’t think and asked for a Coke. She didn’t give up. “Glape?”
“No, a Coke. I want a Coke.”
Again she looked very unhappy and started to reach for a hand grenade. I was relieved when I saw all she had was a Coke, no, wait a minute, it was two Cokes. I guess since I said Coke twice, she thought I wanted 2. She looked up at me with a big cute smile and big persuasive eyes and I couldn’t help myself and I bought both of them.
Most of all the girls I’ve seen so far have been that way. They’re so small they’re really cute. The only thing is they all look dirty. What I mean is, they need some good clothes, and a little bit of soap (a few bad teeth, but not many; most have beautiful teeth).
I have seen a couple in American clothes with their hair combed, etc. and they really look sharp. I’m getting married in two weeks. Sorry about that, Marlynnn.
7 June, 1967
This morning, partly because my foot hurt and partly because I wanted to get out of morning details, I went on sick call. I have a bruised tendon in the back of my ankle right where my foot bends when I walk, probably caused by wearing my boots just after my leave, The doc bandaged it and now it hurts more than before and the bandage also makes it hotter.
I also talked to a sergeant today who told me that I should get out of being in Reconnaissance over here because of my eyes, if I show my physical to my C.O. when I get to a unit. I wish I had more time at Oakland. Maybe I could have been sent back to Ft. Knox. He said that recon is a rough job over here, even worse, in some cases than infantry (V.N., dirt), so I hope he’s right. I’m not too worried though, there are a lot of guys here going home for good and they say time goes real fast. And come to think of it, they’ve all been in good shape; I have yet to talk to anybody who’s been killed over here. (They’re building a cage for the butterflies.)
Can you imagine what it’s like to stand in a formation during a monsoon? You’re soaked to the bone in about 5 minutes. I got put on a detail today that was improving the heliport here. We were covering the asphalt with large rubber mats; don’t ask me why. The things weighed 1500 pounds apiece, so they said. It took 15 men to carry them. We laid them out and drove large stakes, that looked like three foot thumb tacks, through them to anchor them down. Every once in a while a chopper would try to land and we would wave him off. (Butterflies, too).
We had two anchored down and one laid out completely, but still loose, when another helicopter tried to land. Well, some young lieutenant thought it would be okay to let this one land since two of the mats were anchored. Everybody ran to get off the landing area, but too late. The wind from the chopper caught underneath the first mat – the loose one – and picked it and me and three other guys about 10 feet off the ground. The mat, about 20 by 50 feet, almost wrapped around the ‘copter, but he pulled up in time. Good thing he did; if it had caught in the blades it would have crashed for sure and we would have been on Huntley-Brinkley [NBC news] tomorrow night. The cover blew about a hundred yards across the field like a piece of Kleenex – 1500 lbs. worth.
When it went out from under me, I went in a about a 5 foot arc into some bamboo shoots and scratched my back and bruised my arm (guess I’ll go on sick call again) the other two guys lit in the mud and were covered head to foot. It might have been bad but there was nothing serious. It was like someone pulling a rug out from under you only with a much grated force. I hate helicopters!
Of course we had to pull the thing back and put it down again (“Here we are folks, at Crosley Field [Cincinnati Reds – editor’s note] the game has been called because of rain. The ground crew is putting the tarp over the field now…”) We got it down again, all secure. Of course while we were driving the stakes we had another monsoon. I wonder if they have this trouble at Kennedy International.
Guess what, I leave tomorrow for Cu Chi and the 25th infantry division. Cu Chi is about 20 miles northwest of Saigon; about 40 miles from this place. From what I hear they haven’t had much activity lately. At least it isn’t up north someplace but I hope I can get out of it like the sarge said. Funny isn’t it, everybody says, I’ll get out of Nam, then they say I’ll get out of “front line” duty, but here I am going to an infantry division to be a recon scout. I hope somebody’s going to be right soon. I hope it’s not going to be the butterflies.
5th day, June 8
Chao ong. Ong manh khong? Toi manh;
Today I finally got out of Long Binh. I was glad too, because I’d Binh There too Long.
So here I am in Cu Chi (coo chee). Compared to Long Binh (name of compound at Bien Hoa) this place is like Disneyland. Can you imagine such conveniences as electric lights, electric plug-ins, mirrors for shaving, board sidewalks (not to mention bored privates) and cold water in the lister bags [Lyster bags are canvas water bags – editor’s note]. It’s huge; from the air it looked bigger than Ft. Knox. They’ve got basketball courts and volleyball; you can shoot pools in about 4 service clubs. The sidewalks make it like a resort if it weren’t for the artillery firing into the jungle (or wherever it’s firing) and the helicopters. They’ve even got the streets named.
Of course there’s a catch; we won’t be here very long. This is just another shipping station, so still no address and still no unit. My base camp will be here with the 25th infantry, but exactly where I’ll be I still don’t know.
I saw a little bit of the war today. We flew out of Ben Hoa airbase on a military plane. While we waited for takeoff (about an hour) we saw several jets taking off and coming in; to and from bombing raids up north. One came in smoking quite heavily from the mid-section. Also during our flight to Cu Chi we went farther north to drop off a few other people at Loc Ninh and Phu Rien (look it up in your nearest World Atlas). Down below us you could see villages and rice paddies and round water-filled holes – bomb craters. Here at Cu Chi just a few minutes ago a chopper came in and dropped of 6 V.C. prisoners at the airfield just across the street.
Have you been getting my other letters? You should have about 3 from the time I left. They told us to use only our name and service number for a return address while we were in transit; but here they told us not to do that because they keep them in Saigon unless they have a complete return address. If this one seems delayed it’s because I’m waiting for assignment before I send it.
I was going to end today’s letter with the previous paragraph but I just got back from the PX and you wouldn’t believe it. So far I’ve seen no slot car tracks or cars in Vietnam, but at the PX in Cu Chi they sell the good Cox hand controller for $1.98 ($7.98 in the states). If Jere wants to get back into racing I’ll send him one!
6th day, June 9
I thought the butterflies were bad – you ought to see the crickets. When we got up this morning there were 3 inside our building. At least five feet long and - - - no, I’m exaggerating a little bit, but at first I thought they (the lighting is terrible in here; I can’t see what I’m saying) were some kind of scorpion. The ones inside were about 2 ½ inches long from head to wing tip. About the size of our thumb, maybe. You can hear them breathe. They scream when you step on them (we tried spray, but they blew it back at us). When they sing it sounds like The Ray Coniff Singers. Fabulous!
I could send one home and Jere could stuff it; he stuffed my mouse head, and it was smaller than the crickets.
I found out what else this place has – Putt-Putt. The greens had booby traps instead of sand traps so I didn’t play.
Today it rained again. Every day since I left home it has rained. Here it isn’t constant drizzle though. It’s sunny and hot then sudden downpour and then cloudy and hot. I guess I can expect rain for the next four or six months. One thing about the storms though, there is no thunder or lightning. This country is so poor it can’t even afford lightning let alone electricity. I hate the rain. It makes everything muddy because this place hasn’t a blade of grass either, and it makes the crickets grow (how can the people be so small and the crickets so big?)
Now here’s something to make the butterflies grow: tomorrow I go to the 27th infantry for my permanent unit. I’ll still be here at Cu Chi for my base camp at least.
P.F.C. Robert L. Hughes
US – 51877626
HHC 2 Bn 27th Infantry (or Inf.)
25th Infantry Division (or Inf. Div.)
APO SF 96335
And that’s right, it’s PFC now, so you’d better keep straight and return some of this correspondence or I’ll use my ranks and have you destroyed. Yipes! Stripes! (only one).
I was down at the service club again tonight spending my extra $20 a month and came across the TV room. There’s a station in Saigon called AFTV (Armed Forces TV) which show American reruns. I saw Batman, Gunsmoke, Andy Williams, and Johnny Carson all with no commercials and just one news report; ¾ Vietnam and ¼ Israel. The rest was sports and weather. “Today it was 110 at Da Nang and cloudy, raining and 98 at Pleiku, 105 and sunny at Na Trang, and here in Saigon it was only 89 and cloudy with some rain.” She (that’s right – “she”) gave temperatures of the R&R centers and the States also.
So much for today, big day tomorrow.
Chao ong, Toi tich,*
Bob
(figure that out yourself)
[He writes this upside down: * “Greeting, I am fine How are you?”]
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