RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,248
('prove my pathetic point')
I can remember my friend
Jack, back from one of his
two or three stints in Vietnam,
as a medic along the 'front
lines' - although as he'd
point out and as became
common knowledge, a 'war'
such as that was had no real
'front' lines; they were instead
everywhere - paddies, trees,
bushes, marshes, each held
their own terrors and anything
at any time could pop out and
surprise with its own version
of lethal imprecision. In contrast
to myself, Jack was the sort of
guy - perfectly normal - for
whom the military made sense,
was apt, and held no areas of
doubt or ambiguity. Jack had
wanted to be a brain surgeon
(no kidding), went to Upsala
College until it closed up, and
became instead a medic in
Vietnam. On the day of his
induction, I drove him in my
car, along with another friend,
to the assigned induction
center on Broad Street, Newark.
My friend and I, I'll admit, viewed
it as a comedy scene; the poor
schlub, Jack, rolling himself into
the Army, to be whacked with
rules and regulations, willingly;
objecting to nothing and just
doing what he was told. (Boy,
weren't we tough)...That other
friend, by the way, them moved
to San Francisco, where he lived
for some 30 years, eventually
blowing his brains out in an old
garage in Vallejo, CA, and staying
that way, behind the wheel in a
Renault LeCar, where he's blown
those brains out. Talk about weird
irony....brain surgeon Jack?
-
Anyway, Jack made it through OK,
re-enlisted, as I've noted, a few times,
and even eventually wrote a nice,
self-published book about it all,
entitled 'Incoming.' In it he details
many of the tales and stories I'd
been told. I'm even in it, named
as 'Fields,' in the episode wherein
I go to pick him up, in the freezing
January dead of Winter, in my
unheated Jaguar, from JFK Airport,
for one of his leaves or downtimes.
Having gotten lost on the way
there, the unheated Jaguar was
late and tropical Jack had been
freezing his Montagnard butt
off while waiting, for some
reason, outside. Getting into
the 1957 unheated Jag for the
ride home - in which he thought
he'd be all warm and happy, was
a real sour spot. Jack is in Florida
now, somewhere. I've lost track.
He left Rahway long ago.
-
With Joe, my 'brainless' friend,
(thanks to his last seating in that
Renault LeCar), Jack, and myself
as a third, we'd sometimes stand
around wherever we were (it seems
now it was always Winter, always
cold - all my memories are of
our 'cold' weather), and they'd
go back and forth endlessly over
the 'qualifications' of a girl, were
they to marry. It was the most
bizarre list of things I'd ever
heard of, and left out any and
all references to erotic, sexual,
or romantic likes or dislikes -
which omittance I just marked
of to their naivete and just left
it at that. It contained things
like 'paneling,' (She'd have to
like paneling, which was a house
interior thing back then that lots
of people were doing. Now it's
a joke); dogs; guns; pipe-smoke;
various movies; the list went on,
and was probably the dumbest
thing I'd ever heard. My own
points of view and interest were
completely different, but I
tolerated this stuff. The absence
of books, art, creative stuff and
the rest was galling to me. Jack
eventually married, and stayed
that way. Joe, before his untimely
demise, (not sure if it can be
called 'untimely' if you yourself
have chosen the timing, but that's
a question for another day) had
himself churned through some
three wives and four girlfriends,
each one the latest and greatest,
but only for a time. It was, in
fact, the romantic entanglements
which led to his self-shooting -
according to the note he left
behind.
-
It was confusing, yes, and always.
But, let me get back to the Vietnam
story - because it always brought
me to reflection on the attributes
of 'War' - the weird terrors involved,
the dividing line between simple
'warring' and more complex idea
of simple 'terrorizing' under the
guise of war. (I guess it all still
goes on today, when ideological
and religious allegiances take over
that same territory). There's a place
in Jack's book were he relates the
story of a 250 mile convoy-like
field trip he was assigned to as
a Medic. His companion in this
huge truck was some 40-year
old guy who Jack considered
already ancient (I guess he was
an army 'Lifer' or something);
his last name was Pidgeon, and
in the book and episode he's
referred to simply as 'Pidge,'
his camp name. Anyway, this
huge truck, pulling some equally
huge, wheeled armament, had
NO floor on the passenger (Jack's)
side; the travel kicked up dust,
rocks and pebbles, to the extent
that, along the way they decided
to take off their flack jackets and
coverings to place them down,
instead, on the floor. That stopped
the dust infestation but, as Jack
mentions, left them unprotected
and without coverage from any
flak, shrapnel, or open-arms
fire they might encounter, and
which was, as well, against the
prescribed regulatory advisements.
'The trade-off was worth it, we
figured. After all, no one lives
forever,' is how Jack put it.
-
Jack relates how, before leaving,
he'd stocked up on the usual candy
bars the Army gave out to throw
to the Vietnamese kids along
roadsides, making what they
claimed was a sort-of goodwill
effort to gain local and popular
support. Jasck had never eaten
one of these before, so he tried
one - he found it horrible and
as close to the Ex-Lax chocolate
stuff his grandmother used to
foist on him. He never realized
how bad this candy was, in fact,
until he saw Vietnamese kids
throwing it back at them! (The
Army called them 'tropical
chocolates' because they never
melted, even in jungle heat).
-
The overlap here, with warfare
and terror, is as follows, and
comes a bit later here: Once
again, children are involved.
I'll let my friend Jack tell it:
"Three hours later, pulled over
for a rest and piss stop, the
convoy waited. Children
rushed up to our trucks,
trying to sell us cold canned
or bottled sodas. A cold soda
was a buck...a worthwhile
tradeoff after sucking down
tons of road dust and drinking
warm canteen water...Just before
our convoy departed camp that
morning we were once again
warned about buying soda
from the locals. The VC and
NVA were adding ground
glass and acids to soda bottles
and cans and then giving them
to children to sell to us. This
was old news. We were all
told about these and other
dangers during our in-country
lectures months earlier at our
ports of arrival. I found it hard
to believe that children would
willingly sell us such deadly
drinks. Ground glass was the
medium of choice for bottled
soda. It was a simple process
to remove a bottle cap, pour
in a quantity of ground glass
and then immediately close
it again. If done quickly enough,
little carbonation was lost, thus
keeping the soda as fresh and
tamper-free-looking as possible.'
....There's then a long paragraph
about how acid was added to the
sealed cans, but I won't recreate
that here. You get the picture.
-
This and other instances related
here has always made me think
of how vile humanity can find
itself stooping to most any low
level if the commitment to cause,
indoctrination, and momentary
belief is strong enough. I'm not
a fan of any of this stuff; politics
and Vietnam itself have always
been enough to prove my
pathetic point.
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