The New Daily (W)Rite April wk 1

The New Daily (W)Rite

wko1

Thursday,  April 3, 2o14

 

So March 29th was Vietnam Veteran's Day. I have to be honest and say . . . I didn't know we had a Vietnam Veteran's Day! It may be a new thing. Anyway, a Facebook friend (Rustin Sparks) writes this page, Oklahoma, The Way I See It, and he decided to do this Vietnam Veteran Day special where he interviews vets. And I got in touch with him and we had lunch, well, HE had lunch. I just sipped on an ice tea. And we talked a long time about Oklahoma and Norman Town . . . and when we finished he took my picture . . . and we never got around to talking about Vietnam! However, when I got home, I received an IM from him asking me to write down some stuff about my experiences. He asked me some specific questions, and I wrote a LOT! When I get talking about 'Nam, I write a BIG LOT! He only published a bit of what I wrote. So, I thought I'd share the pic he took AND the stories I told him on my blog.

Marine Corps Cooks

In Vietnam
(Semper Fi, Stir and Fry)

 

1. How old were you when you went to Vietnam?
I was 19 years when I hit Vietnam. When I got to the staging area to catch a convoy to whatever unit I was assigned, I saw a couple of black Marines sitting in the dirt listening intently to a portable radio that was broadcasting the news: “Dr. King has been assassinated.” So, that was either the 4^th or maybe the 5^th of April of 1968. I would turn 20 years old in May.

2. What did you do in the war?

I was a Marine Corps cook assigned to a headquarters unit at Camp Carroll. Yeah, being a cook was not very glamorous. In Nam people respected us okay because you don’t fuck with the guy who cooks your food, but stateside? We were the lowest of the low. I wrote this monologue about being a cook in Vietnam. Most of it is true:

Nam ‘69

What you see before you is a United States Marine,

the finest fighting man in the entire world today!For a cost of three hundred fifty-two dollars and… thirty-two cents

my Marine Corps gave to me this fine

M-16 rifle. For an additional cost of

eight hundred and forty-seven dollars

my Marine Corps taught me to fire this fine M-16 rifle

with such speed and accuracy that I’m capable of knocking

a fly off a shit wagon at about’a thousand meters.

For a total expenditure of three thousand, eight hundred,

ninety-nine dollars and… thirty-two cents

My Marine Corps successfully transformed me

from a puky civilian… like you…

into a lean, mean, fighting machine!

And then do you know what my Marine Corps

in its infinite wisdom did? It sent me to Vietnam

as a goddamn cook! This was embarrassing.

When I came home from Vietnam and

I would walk down the street in my fine,

Marine green uniform, people would stop me

and ask, “Hey, man, are you a Marine?!”

And I would answer, “Sir, yes, sir!”

And they would say, “Hey, man, were you

in the Nam?’

And I would answer, “Sir, yes, sir!”

And they would say, “Hey, man,

what did you do in the Nam?”

And I would answer, “Sir, I was a cook, sir!”

“A cook?! Why, boy, you ain’t shit!”

If you are a cook in the Nam… no one will write to you.

Your mama and daddy will not write to you.

Your mama and your daddy if asked by a neighbor,

“Hey, man, where is your son?” would rather say,

“ Oh, he’s a draft dodger up in Canada…”

Than admit that you’re a cook in the Nam

‘cause they are embarrassed!

The only people who will write you

are the ugly girls who advertise

for pen pals in the Stars and Stripes.

Still you do not tell them you are a cook

for they are ugly  and have enough

to be embarrassed about already.

There is a brother in the Nam

from San Francisco and of Oriental descent.

For the price of five American dollars

he will dress up in black pajamas and

you can have your picture taken capturing

a genuine Viet Cong  to send

to the ugly girls who advertise

for pen pals in the Stars and Stripes.

Sooner or later they will send you

pictures of themselves…

And if they are too ugly,

there’s another brother  in the Nam

who will write them back and say,

“Dear Suzy Q, Joe Blow will not

be writing you anymore for he has stepped

on a landmine and killed himself.”

Now, this may sound cruel to a civilian… like you,

but as all good Marines know, war is… embarrassing!

 

3. Give me two or three of your most prominent memories of the war.

   a. Once I was in the mess hall storage area stacking some C Ration cases when an enemy rocket landed just outside the mess hall. Damn thing hit so close it knocked me off my feet. I lay on my belly with my arms wrapped around my head. I could hear the shrapnel flying right above me. I waited for the sound to stop, got up and ran for the nearest bunker.

 

   b. As I said before, I worked for a Headquarters unit which was made up of a bunch office pogues. I don’t know what they did. Just a lot of paper pushing, sort of Marine Corps accounts, I guess. Anyway, the pogues hated it when the grunt units would roll into town and wanted to use “their” mess hall. And the grunts hated the pogues because they acted all high and mighty. It was sort of like the Sharks and the Jets except with bigger guns and not much ballet dancing (hee!). Anyway, I was chief cook this one time, and one of the pot shed grunts told me there was a problem in the mess tent

where the pogues and grunts sat to eat chow. So, I go rushing in there, and sure enough there’s this grunt on top a picnic table yelling at some office pogues, "I’m gonna kill you motherfuckers!” He pulls a grenade off his flak jacket and pulls the pin! Fortunately, his buddies talked him down, got the pin back into the grenade and quickly got the fuck out of there. I went over to the pogues (they were all cowering in a corner of the tent) and asked what the hell happened. Well, turns out they were all pissed ‘cause the grunts were there, and they started picking on this one kid saying stuff like, “Boy, you smell. Don’t you ever take a bath?” This pissed me off and I told them that if they wanted to use my mess hall again (it wasn’t MY mess hall, but what the hell) they better not fuck with anybody anymore!

c. Cooks got along with the grunts. We respected them. One time me and this other cook were shutting down the mess for the night when this group of nine grunts came out of the jungle! They must have been on some kind of patrol. This one grunt asked if they could still get chow. We couldn’t heat anything up because the stoves were all off, but we could get them some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some milk. They said that was fine, so we feed them and then we finished shutting down the mess for the night.  An hour later, me and that other cook go to the club for a beer and there are the grunts we fed sitting at a table. The head grunt motioned us over. Him and his pals wanted to buy us a beer for feeding them. Well, you learn real fast to NEVER turn down a free beer. So we sat and that head grunt pushed his chair real close to us and thank us again for feeding them. And then he said, “Is there anybody giving you any trouble?” And me and the other guy laughed and said, “Yeah, our Staff Sergeant is a real pain in the ass.” AND then the grunt got even closer and said, "Tell me where his hooch is. He won’t bother you again." And it dawned on us that this cat was serious. We said it was okay. We didn’t want that kind of thing. And that grunt just looked at me and said real soft and gentle like, "Are you sure? ‘Cause I’d do it, man. I got nothing to lose. I’m not gonna make it out of this country alive, anyway.”

4. When did you come home, and what was your transition back to civilian life like?

Well, I left Nam on April 18^th, 1969. But I didn’t get out of the Corps until ’71. I did get a 30 day leave that I got to spend with my parents. And I learned that in civilian life, at the dinner table, you shouldn’t say, “Pass the motherfucking mashed potatoes, please.” I did go on a blind date with some girl that an old friend of mine had set up for me. We were walking down the street, a car backfired and I jumped down into the gutter with my hands over my head. The Girl didn’t know what to make of that. Needless to say . . .  no goodnight  kiss. In the 80s I was working at the Library Bar washing dishes on a Saturday afternoon, and it was hot, and the kitchen reminded me of the mess hall at Camp Carroll, and there was 60s music playing, and one of the cooks threw an ice cream scoop into the empty metal sink next to me as he yelled, “INCOMING!” and the sound that scoop made when it hit the sink? Well, it sounded like a rocket hitting so I hit the ground. I thought it was so funny that so many years later my body had not forgotten what to do when the rockets come. 

5. What is your favorite thing to do now, and why?

Well, take pictures, write poetry and watch TV. Sometimes I write about Vietnam. Not much though. I did write a play about Marine Corps cooks in Vietnam. Actually, I got it produced through the Street Players Theatre back in the 90s. It went over pretty good, I think.
 
4:56 PM

Believe it or not, David and I were out of our respective holes by 9 AM! Yes, it's true. He called about 8:30 saying he had some "chores" to do around town. I'm not sure if he was still up or if he had gone to sleep for a few hours . . . but I jumped at the chance. I shaved fast, brushed the old teeth and was waiting for him to call me on the phone.

First stop was the library. We just walked in the doors and BAM! The lights in the library went out! No big thing 'cause the library has BIG windows. The cute librarian told us about a sort of contest they were having. Each library worker picked 5 (?) books and created a short poem from the titles they selected. And the library users were voting on which poem they like the best.

Next stop . . . the tag agency. He needed to get his tags for the car renewed. I went in and the girl doing the picture taking for the licenses asked if I need any help. I said, "Naw, just waiting on this guy." "Were you in the military?" she asked. I'm sure she was reading my blue jean jacket with all my Marine Corps patches on it. I was waiting for the "thank you for your service" cliché that folks like to say to anyone they suspect was in the military. "The reason I asked," she continued, "is that if your driver's license has a "Veteran" tag on it, you can get free stuff around town. You can get the tag for free." So, I took her up on it and then she added, "Oh! I need proof that you were really in the military . . . " I showed her the "war wound" I had on my finger. Not enough to get the vet. tag. She needed something in writing. Oh, well.

And then it was coffee time. Lights were out in the Gray Owl . . . but again, not too much problem they had the BIG windows too. And fortunately, they had coffee already brewed. We both got iced coffee to make sure. While we were there an old friend of mine, Norman Hammon, came in. "Hi, guys," he said to me and David. Norman was once a really good friend of mine. But that was way back in time. These days, we just give each other a friendly, "hi" and a fast handshake. Too much bullshit had happen for us to call ourselves friends anymore, I guess.

So, after coffee, we went out to the car and David had a ticket for expired tags. Hee! Turned out he should have put the tags on the car right after he got them. And that was our day. Tomorrow we are heading to the  Medieval Fair. Lots of picture taking tomorrow! :)