JACK'S BLOG
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7/21/2012 2 Comments Hey, Tea Party! What's Plan B?OpinionTHERE STILL APPEARS to be a 50/50 chance that Barack Obama will be reelected President this November. It appears that at least fifty percent of the voters believe that George W. Bush is responsible for everything that's gone wrong during Obama's presidency. It also appears that they don't give a damn for anything that Mitt Romney has accomplished in his illustrious career. They remain focused, with Obama's help, on the record of a corporation that Romney left two years before it continued succeeding without him at the helm. Don't waste your time telling me that it's inconceivable that Obama should be reelected. I know all the arguments against voting for him. They're pretty much the same as when he first ran for President and it was inconceivable then that he should be elected. But, he was.
Now, I know that you're all focused on either defeating him or getting Romney elected. As nonsensical as that may sound, I think you know what I mean. The result will be the same whether you vote for Romney or against Obama. Still there are a lot of voters who don't agree with you. Many of them are either voting for Obama or against Romney. Some of them are members of my family and I bet that some are members of yours. I'm not saying that you should surrender and accept the inevitable. There's nothing inevitable about any election, especially this one. As I said, it's a 50/50 bet at this point. A flip of the coin. Tell me. Would you get on an elevator if there was a 50/50 chance that it would fail and you would plung to your death? Go ahead. Take a moment and flip a coin. Don't have time? You're going out? Driving somewhere? Would you go if there was a 50/50 chance that you wouldn't arrive safely? Flip a coin. All I'm saying is that you better have Plan B ready. Don't wait until he's elected. That may be too late. So, what's Plan B? What are you going to do when Obama is reelected? When the cost of the “Affordable” Health Care Act keeps getting more unaffordable? When we run out of money to spend and the government keeps on spending it? When a wheelbarrow full of dollars won't even buy a pound of butter? When they come to take away your guns? Don't tell me you're going to fight. C'mon, we're all too old for that. Sure, I'll use my gun to protect myself from a home invasion, but I'm not about to march into the hills and join an insurrection. Hell, I live within a mile of them thar hills and I'm not sure I could make it that far. So, what's the plan when transportation grinds to a halt, when electricity is rationed, when clean water stops flowing in the taps. Okay, maybe that was hyperbole. Still, it's going to get ugly and you need a plan. You can't just survive another four years and expect these clowns to elect someone rational. Trust me. There's another Obama waiting in the wings, and he/she will be elected by the majority of Americans who will be even more firmly attached to the public teat. The sad truth is that you had our chance. You could have done something years before to imbue your children with pride in their country and a sense of the opportunities that only America used to provide. I ask again: What's Plan B? You could vote with our feet. Move to Texas or Utah, North Dakota or any other state that remains true to American ideals and the Constitution. Someplace where the governor has the guts to tell Obama to take his health care plan and... well, you get the idea. But, what is going to happen when Obama declares martial law and federal troops come to enforce his brand of federalism? I suppose you could shift to a barter economy among yourselves. We could establish communes where we could sustain ourselves, and pray for the quick demise of this perverted image of America. Funny thing is that you won't have to reinvent it when the progressives finally turn on each other and consume themselves. You already have a perfectly good Constitution and flag to represent you. Again, IRS agents will insist that you value that which you barter and pay taxes on it. After all, doesn't American own everything and you are only allowed to keep your fair share. Isn't that what Obama is preaching this campaign season? Given the state of affairs in the rest of the world, I don't think you will have to worry about any external threats. They're is just as bad of shape as we are, probably worse. I know that you're still hoping to clean out the White House and Congress this coming November. Trust me, I'll cast my ballot with you. I'm just not sure that you're going to succeed. Even if you do, it may be too late and I think you should have Plan B in your hip pocket. What do you think? What's Plan B?
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VietnamONE OF THE greatest shocks I recently received came when I was roaming the streets of Garden Grove in Orange County, California, and suddenly found myself in Little Saigon. The colors and textures of the storefronts as well as the signage I could not read but intuitively recognized as Vietnamese, instantly took me back more than 40 years. I was back, really back in another time and another place. I'm not sure if that was the incident that first made me conceive of writing a book about the Vietnam War. I know that I was egged on by all the nonsense I see about it on TV and what I was hearing from children that they were being taught in school. I often have been tempted to kick in the screen when I see a Mike Wallace retrospective. But, recently there was a show that gave me the greatest shock of them all; House Hunters International aired an episode of an Swedish family moving to Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), and searching for a new home there. The last time I was in Saigon, there was just one working traffic light in the whole city. There were bunkers at each end of every bridge and warnings were prominently posted to keep you from stopping anywhere on the bridge or you would be shot (to prevent saboteurs from detonating car bombs). Although it was once known as the Paris of the Orient, it's beauty was masked under a patina of peeling paint. At first glance, there's little in this episode of House Hunters International that even remotely resembled my memory of the place other than the plethora of motor scooters and motor bikes crowding the city streets. If you watch it, keep an eye on the parts of the city surrounding the modern edifices and beautiful homes that they focus on. There's a lot of old Saigon still in evidence. Like Communist China, the leaders of Vietnam are putting a lot of lipstick on the pig. There is the illusion of prosperity, but still the ravages of a centrally controlled economy are in evidence.
VietnamSOME WHO SERVED in Vietnam were posted in Saigon, and there have been many stories written and filmed of their experiences there. I went there but rarely. My first visit to Headquarters, United States Army, Vietnam (USARV), located then in Saigon and later moved to Long Binh, was to visit the officer in charge of casualty reporting. I had just been assigned to head up the casualty office of the 9th Infantry Division, and wanted to coordinate with them. My driver dropped me outside the headquarters building and went off on another errand while I waited for someone to come take me inside. I stood there watching a river of humanity swirl past me on motor scooters belching blue smoke until an MP tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to join him in his bunker where he guarded the door to the headquarters building. “You're making me nervous,” he explained. I had just arrived in-country and wasn't street-wise to the fact that Viet Cong, usually women, rode on the backs of motor scooters driven by their confederates, looking for idiots like me to shoot as they passed by. I hadn't seen much of the city on the way to USARV HQ because of the confused traffic patterns that distracted me even though I wasn't driving. After my initiation by the MP, I was too focused on the mass of people around me to see it. I felt vulnerable sitting in an open jeep until I had returned a few more times and decided to stop worrying about it. I had been in-country about two months when I decided to quit smoking one day. I'm not sure why, it was cheap enough; a carton of cigarettes only cost two dollars. The health scare had not yet been realized. I simply quit and my men laughed. I promised them all the beer they could drink if I fell off the wagon, and soon found myself headed back to Saigon with a driver, a jeep, and a trailer. On the way back from the docks with the trailer full of beer, street urchins known as cowboys began climbing on, breaking into cases, and pilfering cans every time we were stopped by the congestion. One intersection was so jammed with trucks and motor scooters that we sat for several minutes while I attempted to hold back throngs of the little thieves. Frustrated, I left the driver to defend our cargo while I walked to the intersection to direct traffic. People obeyed because I was armed, and the intersection was quickly cleared. I was probably in more danger standing in the midst of those throngs, bullying them into obeying my commands, than at any other time during my tour of duty; even when we got lost on the way back. A stalled convoy blocked the road on the way back to Long Binh and we detoured through Ben Hoa to get around it. We took a wrong turn there and ended up on a rural road bordered by rice paddies on both sides. It was too narrow to turn around, especially with the load of beer in the trailer behind, so we keep on looking for some place with enough room when we came upon an American patrol. They were strung out in double file, one on each side of the road, and I had the driver stop so I could talk to their platoon leader who confirmed that we were going in the opposite direction away from where we needed to go. I thanked him and we continued on ahead of them, leaving them to wonder what kind of an idiot I was. I should have referred him to the MP at the USARV headquarters for a conference. We found a farmhouse about two miles farther on and were able to turn around in their front yard. Later, when we passed the patrol now going in the opposite direction, I stopped and told the patrol leader that all seemed safe for the next mile or two and wished him a good day. Now, he was certain that I was an idiot. I was. My next trip to Saigon was by helicopter, and I had a much better view of the city. We approached from the south, over the Mekong River. The city sprawled from the docks and tank farms on the Saigon River and extended as far as I could see to the north, east, and west. It was comprised on one-, two-, and three-story buildings; there were few that were taller. The Vietnamese used bamboo for structural support, except in a few government buildings and hotels, and it couldn't support the weight of a skyscraper.
Once known as the Paris of the Orient, it had decayed after the Japanese replaced the French colonialists during World War II and never recovered its glory. When I arrived, it was crumbling at the edges and a patina of peeling paint covered almost every wall and ceiling. Few bridges had escaped attack, and those that remained open had gaps in the roadway. Sandbagged bunkers stood on both sides of each end, occupied by machine gunners and displaying signs that warned against stopping anywhere on the bridge; violators to be shot. I only found one functioning traffic light in the whole city and it was largely ignored. There were no one directing traffic either; police officers probably feared exposing themselves in the rush of traffic, just as I had learned. Thus, intersecting traffic wove around each other in scenes resembling a figure eight race course in a demolition derby. Amazingly, I never witnessed even one accident despite the crush of horse drawn, pedal powered, and gas powered bicycles, tricycles, scooters, buses, trucks, autos, and jeeps. I'm sorry that I only saw the city once at night; that was my last night in Vietnam as I waited at the barracks near Ton Son Nhut Air Force Base for my flight out the next day. I couldn't see much from under my mattress. It was the first night that the North Vietnamese Army rocketed Saigon following the destruction of the Viet Cong during the 1968 Tet Offensive. I had nowhere else to go, so I simply dragged my mattress off my bunk and over me, and went back to sleep. VietnamTHE COMBAT INFANTRYMAN BADGE (CIB) was the most sought after decoration in Vietnam, especially by people who didn't deserve it. You probably never heard of it. However, now if you see one on a soldier's uniform, you'll understand its significance. While heading up the Awards & Decorations Branch of the 9th Infantry Division Adjutant General's Office, I was constantly beset by requests to issue orders awarding it to non-combat officers. No enlisted man ever sought one for himself. Another award, the Expert Infantryman Badge is similar in appearance - it only lacks the laurel wreath - is earned by infantrymen who demonstrate exceptional infantry skills by participating in rigorous testing. The four explicit rules governing the award of the Combat Infantryman Badge were simple: (1) the recipient – any enlisted man or officer below the rank of general – had to be assigned in an infantryman's Military Occupational Specialty (MOS), and be assigned to a combat infantry platoon, company, battalion, or brigade; (2) soldiers with a primary MOS other than infantryman could receive the award if they were trained as infantryman and met all other requirements; (3) the recipient's unit had to be engaged in combat with a hostile force; and (4) commanders were not authorized to make any exceptions to these requirements.
My duty as a platoon leader of a base camp reaction force did not qualify me for the award (in case you were wondering). These requirements were spelled out in Army regulations that I wore like armor when confronted by superior officers demanding that I ignore them. One major slammed his hat on the ground and shouted at me to issue orders awarding the CIB to every member of his non-combat unit. He cited another infantry division that was handing out CIB awards to everyone. Incidentally, the commanding general of that division was subsequently ordered by the theater commanding general to rescind every order and reissue them only to qualified recipients. 7/16/2012 2 Comments Not all heroes are decorated and not all heroes who are decorated are without fearVietnamI WAS THE leader of my youngest son's Cub Scout Den. During the last of four years, I had to prepare them to become Boy Scouts. They had to learn the Scout Promise, Motto, and Laws. They learned the meaning of “thrifty,” “clean,” and “reverent.” My assignment to head up the Awards & Decorations Branch of the 9th Infantry Division's Adjutant General's Office during the second half of my tour of duty in Vietnam, uniquely qualified me to help them understand the Boy Scout admonition to be “brave.” Like most people, including adults, they equated bravery with a lack of fear. However, after telling them a few stories they began to reach a different conclusion. I told them about Audie Murphy, the most decorated combat veteran of World War II. Some say that he listened in bewilderment as a citation of his heroism was read. It seems that he had lapsed into a fugue state on at least one occasion when he acted above and beyond the call of duty. All fear was lost, and he attacked like an automaton. After listening to several stories such as this, the boys began to see that a person may perform seemingly heroic deeds without a sense of fear. They then pondered if that was truly brave. It was a short leap from there to the conclusion that bravery or courage is “doing what is right or required in spite of the fear of the consequences.” This is the lesson that I wanted them to learn. It was the same one that I learned in Vietnam. The commanding general of a U.S. infantry division is authorized to award any decoration up to and including the Silver Star, which he occasionally did in the afterglow of a major battle. We would follow up with the appropriate orders and citation to memorialize the award. In most cases, recommendations for decorations came from field commanders, and I convened a board of officers about once each week to review them on behalf of the division commander. I was given a roster of officers who had been assigned to the Awards & Decorations Review Board, and called three to sit on each week's panel. I generally selected one senior officer, lieutenant colonel or colonel, to chair the board, and two lower grade officers, captain or major, to fill it out. Generally, I gave them the date, time, and place, and they dutifully showed up. The first time, however, I called the 9th Infantry Division Provost Marshall, a full colonel, to chair the board, he listened to my summons and asked, “Am I the senior officer on the board?” When I replied that he was, he informed me that he would tell me the date, time, and place of the meeting and hung up. I waited a few heart beats and called him back to ask when and where he wanted to convene the board. He asked for the time and place I had called with. After I repeated the information, he said that would be fine and hung up again. We had a delightful relationship following that first encounter. I always respected officers who wore their mantle of authority well, and effectively destroyed any hope of a career in the Army by disrespecting those superior to me who I had to bully to get anything done. The Awards & Decorations board rarely disappointed me with their decisions. However, there was one that drove me to discard their votes and have them recast by another panel. A medic was cited by his unit commander for having rushed headlong to save a fallen comrade despite a hail of gunfire directed on him from a Viet Cong ambush. The victim was the point man of an American patrol who had sprung the ambush before his comrades entered the killing zone. As he fell, all of the Americans went to ground except for the medic. He rushed forward and covered the fallen man with his own body until the enemy was driven back, and then provided life-saving aid. He was recommended by the unit commander for an award of the Silver Star. The Awards & Decorations board were inclined to grant the award until I read the closing line of the recommendation; the medic was a conscientious objector. Personally, I found it noble that he served in combat even though his status could have shielded him from being drafted into the Armed Services. The panel of officers that day voted unanimously to reduce his award to a Bronze Star with “V” device signifying valor. I discarded their recommendation and the medic was ultimately awarded the Silver Star that he, in my opinion, deserved. My most humbling duty was investigating and memorializing recommendations for the Medal of Honor. I was honored to work on four. I will probably create separate postings for each at some future date. However, I cannot leave this posting without providing some insight into the care taken by the Armed Services to insure the validity of an award of its highest honor. I bound each recommendation for award of the Medal of Honor in a three inch loose-leaf binder approximately three inches thick. It was divided into several sections including a detailed description of the action being cited, witness statements, intelligence assessments of enemy strengths and deployments, operational orders, weather reports, and everything else that I could provide that would help a panel of senior officers, located in a Washington, D.C. office, truly understand and appreciate the danger to which the individual had exposed himself and the significance of his accomplishment as well as the consequences of his possible failure. Common wisdom dictated that no one could be awarded the Medal of Honor if they had not been seriously wounded if not killed. However, in one instance, the recommendation succeeded despite the fact that two individuals had succeeded in destroying several enemy bunkers and routing a Viet Cong company-sized force of nearly two hundred men, and escaped unscathed. Both men were awarded the Silver Star within moments of the end of the battle, and reassigned to division headquarters to await their DEROS (return home from the combat theater). Interestingly, both made terrible garrison troopers suggesting that true heroes are not as suited to the parade ground.
7/16/2012 4 Comments Let's play #Hashtags. You're it!BloggingTWITTER CLAIMS THAT its Tweeple invented #hashtags. I don't see any reason to doubt them. Even so, Tweeple complain about them. Why do you suppose that is? Hashtags are useful for marking keywords and phrases that help Twitter users find Tweets and links that might be of interest to them even though they are not generated by someone they are “following.” #Okay, #somepeople #overuse #them. In fact, I might have been an offender in my early use of Twitter. Still, it takes some creativity to compose a Tweet by stringing together nothing but commonly used keywords and phrases.
That's the rub. Words and phrases aren't actually “key” unless they're commonly used. Just adding the “#” to a word or phrase doesn't make it “key.” That's why I occasionally search Twitter looking for an audience by finding those words and phrases that are currently popular. For example, since my novel, Rebels on the Mountain, indicts the poor performance of America's diplomatic community, I look for words and phrases that those interested in diplomacy are currently using and find ways to incorporate them into Tweets that could inspire someone to click on a link to my book on Amazon or to my website where the book is promoted. As of today, the following words relating to American diplomacy are being used: #Diplomacy and #StateDepartment. I composed a couple of Tweets using these to try and attract the attention of anyone using them. Trending keywords and phrases present another opportunity for attracting a new audience on Twitter. Fundamentally, Twitter maintains a list of the most popularly used words and phrases. You can see it on your “Home” Twitter page. You may either use them as plain text in a Tweet or as a #hashtag. Keep an eye on these each time you visit Twitter and use them to catch the eye of a new audience for your Tweets. "#Bookfriends" was trending as I was writing this blog post and I Tweeted “#bookfriends going on a Caribbean Cruise? Take this book [Inserted: Amazon link to Rebels on the Mountain] @jackdrsm” I soon received this reply: “@jackdrsm The blurb sounds interesting. I added it to my TBR pile :) and if you're very geeky try my debut [Inserted: Amazon link to The Prince and the Program]” Well, I am geeky, so we purchased each other's books. How's that for ecommerce? 7/14/2012 5 Comments Where do we draw a line?OpinionREGARDLESS OF WHO wins the elections in November, we face the greatest challenge to our liberty in the history of our Republic. We are at the brink of being disarmed. President Obama and his Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, are working assiduously to make the United States a signatory to the United Nations Gun Ban Treaty. If ratified by the United States Senate, which is dominated by the President's political party, we will lose our right to bear arms inasmuch as this treaty would supersede our Constitutional Second Amendment Rights. Indeed, even if the President and his majority in the Senate are not reelected, they would have time to sign and ratify the treaty before they are forced to vacate their offices. You may check out these assertions if you like. The President and the Secretary of State have made no secret of their opinions in this matter. It is highly unlikely that any argument will dissuade those who agree with this ban. No statement of fact or opinion will sway their resolve to support the United Nations Gun Ban Treaty. They will always believe in the power of what ought to be over what is. As Rudyard Kipling wrote, these people ignore The Gods of the Copybook Headings – wisdom drawn from reality-based observations. “When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promiced [sic] perpetual peace. They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease. But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: 'Stick to the Devil you know.'” Remember, no tyrant has ever risen or remained in power over an armed populace. Am I saying that the President, his Administration, and his party are tyrants? No. They are merely the most recent manifestations of progressivism which has been attempting to replace our liberty with the tyranny of egalitarianism since the beginning of the Twentieth Century. With the signing of the Interstate Commerce Act 1887, progressives laid the cornerstone of a central government that could regulate every aspect of our lives and the erosion of our liberties began. The progressives have made great strides since that time. They have used the general welfare and commerce portions of the Constitution to chip away at every limitation on the enumerated powers of the federal government. However, for them to go further, they must insure that the people are submissive to their desires. They must disarm us. Like the Imperial Japanese Army and Navy, they understand that America's armed population is not to be trifled with. I remember listening to an interview with a senior officer of the Japanese Self Defense Forces who had served as an officer in the Imperial Navy during World War II. At the end of the interview he was asked why the Japanese hadn't invaded the West Coast of the United States after their successful attack on Pearl Harbor. The interviewer qualified his question by observing that with the destruction of the Pacific Fleet, there was nothing to prevent such an invasion. The Japanese officer agreed with the interviewer to a point. Yes, we had no significant Army to oppose such an invasion. However, the officer pointed out, they were afraid of the armed civilians in America, most of whom had military-caliber weapons and took great pride in their proficiency with them. The Japanese high command knew that they would be out-manned and out-gunned as soon as they pushed their invasion far enough inland where their army would be beyond the covering fire of their naval forces, and they expected to lose. I know too that I could not dissuade those who might support the U.N. Gun Ban Treaty by any recitation of the facts that support private gun ownership. When they aver that U.S. murder rates are unconscionably high because of unfettered gun ownership, they do not care that those murder rates are highest in those places with the most restrictive gun ownership laws. When they aver that other countries enjoy lower crime rates because citizens are not allowed to have guns, they do not care that the evidence shows that foreign crimes rates have risen after guns were taken away from citizens. The simple truth is that anti-gun people will not be dissuaded by scientific proofs and evidence. They are influenced only by opinion – their opinion – and their only argument is to continuously repeat the same opinions. Unfortunately, the President probably will sign the U.N. Gun Ban Treaty regardless of anything we say or do. Our only hope is to convince our legislators in the United States Senate that it is not in their interest to ratify that treaty. Don't waste your time participating in Internet petitions. These have no force. Only letters and calls to your Senator, a flood of them, can influence their action. Even though a majority of us may speak our opposition to the U.N. Gun Ban Treaty, there are progressive Senators who will vote against the will of the people and the Treaty may be ratified. Still, we must try. We cannot allow our liberties to be eroded any further. At some point we must proclaim, "This far and no farther!" Then, we must turn them back. Vietnam AS I WATCHED the casualty reports cross my desk, I began to surmise that anyone who survived their first month “in-country” had a better than even chance of surviving their one-year tour of duty. The reason seemed obvious; until a soldier acclimatized to the extreme heat and humidity of the Mekong Delta, they could hardly react effectively in a fire fight. Indeed, until I acclimatized, I often thought that if someone pointed a weapon at me, I might welcome it. It was a good month before I could function in that heat and I had had a full year of strenuous training before I arrived.
Imagine the plight of the average infantryman newly-arrived in Vietnam. Most had just eight weeks of Basic Infantry Training and eight weeks of Advanced Infantry Training. None of it had occurred in anything remotely resembling the climate of Vietnam, especially the humidity of the Mekong Delta. Over the years, I have wondered why our soldiers were not sent to U.S. Army bases in Panama, the Philippines, or Thailand, to better prepare us for our tours of duty in Vietnam. I have wondered how many lives could have been saved and how much more combat prepared we would have been. We will never know. Fortunately, shortly after command of the 9th Infantry Division, “The Old Reliables,” shifted to Major General George G. O'Connor, the Reliable Academy at our division headquarters at Camp Bearcat was established, and newly-arrived soldiers were given two weeks in-country training. Not only were they exposed to combat techniques taught by seasoned veterans, but also, they were given two weeks to acclimatize to the weather. I was no longer the division casualty officer when the Reliable Academy began operations, but I believe that it must have saved lives. It seemed to scare the bejesus out of the enemy. At the end of every training cycle, the Academy graduates participated in a patrol to set up Listening Posts and Interdiction Points (LPIPs) outside Camp Bearcat. These positions were never disturbed, and trainers speculated the reason was the fact that the newly arrived soldiers were extremely trigger happy. No one dared approach them with the trainees shooting at every sound and perceived movement. Ultimately, they still needed to be assigned to seasoned units and be teamed with experienced soldiers to settle them down. I wonder if other combat units in Vietnam did the same? 7/11/2012 3 Comments ¿Habla usted Vietnamese?Vietnam I HAVE STUDIED eleven languages in my lifetime and speak none of them well. Lack of practice. Of them, Asian languages seem the most difficult – and I'm sure they say the same about ours – because it uses parts of the tongue that we never employ, much as German uses guttural sounds that are not common in English. Also, subtle changes in inflection have significant effects on the meanings of words and sentences. I was fortunate that I had a native translator with me on most occasions that I had to communicate with Vietnamese civilians outside the base camp. I was also fortunate that I usually had the same one. Although he was born and raised in Saigon, he communicated well with rural civilians. Not all city boys could. For those occasions when a translator was not available, we were provided with a pocket-sized phrase card supplied by the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam – the MACV Phrasebook. It contained useful words and phrases written in English and Vietnamese. You only had to point to something you want to say in English and hold it up to a Vietnamese-speaker who couldn't read his version. Most people living in the rural areas were illiterate. No problem. Between each English/Vietnamese pair of phrases was a transliteration – an English approximation of what you wanted to say or ask. This brings us back to my earlier point about the importance of inflection in Asian languages. Also, there was the fact that there were many sounds which we had never heard and which could not be enciphered into English letters. Besides which, how many of us can even interpret those that represent English. Read the pronunciation guides in an English dictionary and get back to me. Lastly, there were only about a hundred or so phrases to work with. What were the chances that any were appropriate to your needs? Not very good. For example, I arrived at a Vietnamese village with a jeep and a driver and a package to deliver to the headman. The section for Entering a Village included the following choices:
Of course, the guard at the entrance to the village was illiterate. Thus, I was reduced to reading the transliteration aloud, hoping that he understood – "yon sa trong ton." (How the hell do you get 'yon' out of "mang?" Now, that may be wrong. You see, my card had been soaked through from sweat and humidity, the ink ran, and I was quite sure that is what it said. However, I took a breath and read it aloud to the best of my ability. I was met by a very puzzled look. So I tried a variation. Here's another game: How many ways can you pronounce that combination of letters? Please, add your list to the comments section below. After many attempts, I had attracted a large crowd of Vietnamese who sat on the ground around me and laughed uproariously at everything that came out of my mouth. I believe that there were a few Viet Cong among them who could have shot me but felt that my embarrassment was a superior form of torture. An American unit arrived, led by a major who explained that the village chief had been sitting on the ground next to me the whole time. đó là cuộc sống* *that's life VietnamTHERE I WAS in Vietnam, surrounded by some of the best cuisine in Asia, or the world for that matter, eating Army chow. Generally, Army mess halls are the brunt of many undeserved jokes. The most vocal critics are boys who have known little more than their mother's food. They have never had to pick up a salt or pepper shaker because mama made everything exactly the way they liked it seasoned to a perfection defined by the tastes they had developed soon after being weaned and never varying. Ketchup or salsa were the only condiments they needed to make anything acceptable to their palate. I, on the other hand, had grown up cooking. I began by doing prep for my mother after she joined the workforce when I was about age 9 or 10. By and by, I began starting cooking family meals on those days when she worked late. As a Sea Scout, I became the ship's cook and did the shopping as well as the meal preparation. Inasmuch as my father had avoided service during World War II and my brother never really shared with me his experiences in the National Guard, I had little to prepare me for military life other than Beetle Bailey comics. I fully expected to see “Cookie” in my mess hall in Basic Training, wearing a dirty sleeveless t-shirt and slinging mystery meat and potatoes (that I would have to peel on KP duty). Imagine my surprise when I discovered basically good food that needed just a little “adjustment” with table condiments to sate my appetite for reasonably good tasting, if not delicious meals. Surprisingly, the mess hall food in Vietnam was equally good when you could get it. Meals in the field were, of course, another matter. C-Rations had not been manufactured since 1949, and Meals Ready to Eat (MRE) would not make an appearance until long after the war in Vietnam was a distant memory. Modern soldiers have told me that MREs are pretty good; certainly better than C-Rations. “'49 Cs” or “C-Rats” (as we called them) were a mixed bag; some edible, some barely, some almost good. Finding canned fruit in your B12 (dessert) package was always a treat. Peanut butter and cheese spread were inedible since the oil and solids had separated since the manufacture date; but, the oil could be burned to heat up the other portions of your meal. Also, every C-Ration kit included an accessory pack with a small bundle of toilet paper, chewing gum, can opener, and cigarettes. The latter had long since dried out and burned with all the ferocity of a fuse when lit allowing the smoker one brief puff before singing nose hairs. Surprisingly, Air Force personnel who could not otherwise obtain C-Rations, seemed to really like them, and we were able to trade them for almost anything the Air Force had in surplus that we desired. For example, we built a shower outside our hooch using a jet fighter wing tip tank as a reservoir; painted black it absorbed the suns rays all day providing us with a hot shower at night.
Fortunately, I never had to survive on K-Rations. These were meals in a highly concentrated form, usually mystery meat by-products, grains, and fruits, all compressed into a bar and wrapped in foil, providing lots of calories in a most unappetizing form. Members of Long Range Reconnaissance patrols carried them to survive extended periods of time while operating in hostile territory where they could not be resupplied easily. You could survive on them, but had little inclination to do so. Unfortunately, a tour of duty in Vietnam was like a stint in rehab for the milk-drinkers among us. Like most young American men, I had been raised drinking copious amounts of milk. Our family milkman wept when I marched off to war. Every Army mess hall stateside had a refrigerated dispenser with two large boxes of milk; one whole and the other chocolate, and it made early Army life bearable. The milk we were served in Vietnam was reconstituted from either powder or condensed milk, and it was undrinkable, even to those of us who were addicted. Imagine my joy when, on R and R to Hawaii, I sat at a breakfast counter while I waited for my hotel room to be prepared, a waitress delivered a large glass of milk unbidden. When I mentioned that I had not ordered it, she replied simply, “You were going to,” and she was correct. I downed it in one drink and asked for more. One of the unfortunate side effects of mess halls catering to our tastes was that our excrement smelled far different from that of the Vietnamese who ate more vegetables, rice, and fish. If you had a bowel movement while hiding in a listening post or sentry bunker, your location would be advertised to any Viet Cong hundreds of yards down wind regardless of how deep and how fast you buried it. Even your body odor was dictated by diet, and our scent was detectable by the enemy. Conversely, we could find them, especially at night using our noses as well. The only relief from Army cooking came in the care packages that we received from home or the food that we bought from the Vietnamese. There were rumors of Vietnamese sabotaging food and drink, and some soldiers were afraid to touch any of it. I felt that if I bought something from a street vendor who was catering to the local clientele, and that I selected my own portion rather than allowing the vendor to pull something out of a special stash, I was safe. Thus, I came to discover Vietnamese cuisine. Vietnamese cuisine is not loaded with the heavy sauces such as Mandarin cooking. It is not as spicy as Szechuan nor Thai dishes. They are more likely to use rice paper whereas other Asian cooks might use wonton skins or crepes. The sauces are delicate and they use fish, shell fish, and oysters, while limiting the use of pork and beef. Pho is their best national dish consisting of vegetables and very thinly sliced meat cooked in hot broth as it comes to the table. The diner is then provided with an assortment of condiments rivaling the selection of kimchi found on a Korean table. Towards the end of my tour of duty, our Division was joined by the Royal Thai Regiment. We built an annex to our base camp Bearcat near Long Thanh, and officers were frequently invited for a Thai meal and an evening of kick boxing for entertainment. Anyone who could eat everything placed before them was awarded a Dragon Pin that became coveted, not for the quantity one ate, but the ability to swallow molten lava with impunity. I could not end this reminiscence without mentioning the snack foods that we survived on. Necessity is truly the mother of invention, especially when it comes to developing a comfort food from whatever you find at hand. With a loaf of bread pilfered from the mess hall and a can of mayonnaise or peanut butter (yes, they came in cans painted olive drab – Army OD) we added whatever ingredients we could come up with. Peanut butter and mayonnaise – the mayonnaise lubricated the thick Army-issued peanut butter and helped it go down. Onion sandwiches – simply slices of onion and mayonnaise on bread. Don't laugh, we developed a taste for them that has stayed with me to this day. It's funny how many other foods I still eat though they were viewed with horror when I first enlisted. SOS (Shit on a Shingle) – creamed ground beef in a greyish white sauce served on toast for breakfast (the Navy version was made with rabbit and nowhere as good), remains one of my favorites. It is one of those foods that can transport me back to those days when I was a better man, certainly more fit and full of adventure. |
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