MARCAD Whitbeck!

When I arrived in Pensacola late that day in march 1964, my perception of the military was based upon what I had seen in the movies, in other words, fantasy. It came as something of a surprise, consequently, that the meanest, ugliest and biggest sonofabitch in the world would offer himself as the apparent, official welcoming committee. As a matter of fact, saying it was a surprise vastly understates the feeling that gripped me as he pulled his hulking mass onto our bus like a gathering storm and, with a roar that shook the dirt from under the fender wells, bellowed, "Get your shitbird civilian pansy asses off my bus and line the fuck up outside. NOW."

As my heart sank to the bottom of my miserable "civilian pansy ass" I realized that I had most likely made a very serious misjudgement and thought, as did the thirty or so other miserable humans on the bus with me, "What the fuck have I gotten myself into?"

As it turned out, those other guys would become lifelong friends, bound by the experiences we would share over the next 18 months learning to fly airplanes and helicopters as Marine Aviation Cadets in the U. S. Marine Corps. After flight training came fleet training and then Vietnam. While we haven't all stayed in touch since that time, even now, 41 years later, they are all special people, special friends, who will always hold permanent residence within my mind's reservoir of memories.

MARCAD Whitbeck, 1966

The military is all about war and what to do if found in one. The guys on that bus would come to share a comaraderie only those who have been in a wartime military can understand. Some of us would survive the consequences of the war experience and some wouldn't. Norm Whitbeck is one who has clearly survived in one sense, but in another he is yet still suffering the wounds of those lessons and experiences. His ultimate survival remains in front of him. He is an absolute and unflinching friend and I love him ... even though he's from Pennsylvania and talks like he's from Manhatten.

I hope to tell you about Norm in future postings as this site proceeds along. I have no experience with weblogs and hve no idea where it will take me but I'm sensing the pathway will reveal itself as I trek along its twisting way. I lost track of Norm for over 30 years only to have him stumble by accident back into my conscious world just a few years ago. Maybe he'll join me on this walk like he did when we first met in Pensacola that spring of 1964, and help me share with you what it was like being a Marine Aviation Cadet in the Naval Air Training Command, and preparing for what we've come to refer as being "in country."

Somehow ... we kept on smiling.

Somehow in the midst of it all, we could always smile. (Khe Sanh, summer '67)

38 years ago and today.

Today, my wife, Pam, and I were fortunate to have some very nice friends come by to see our vinyard. When I was in RVN, I could never have imagined how or what it might take for me to eventually, someday, find happiness, but now I do.

Jim Martin, wife Celia, son Devonte (I hope that's correct. He's ten.), and friends Particus and Clive dropped by to pick some grapes and share some of their wine. What fine people. We sampled wine they had made as well as some we had made. Having someone taste your very own wine is very scary. But their assessments were very gentle and sincere. After they left, Pam and I talked about how much we liked each of them and that we want them to come here whenever they can.

My life is so different from any I could have imagined 38 years ago when I was there "in country." I am so incredibly fortunate. War is such a lesson, a revelation, for those who survive the main event.

Mission over

Buddy, there ain't anything like gettin' back aboard ship ... alive ... and knowing a good hot meal and air conditioning were waiting. Not having to worry about "incoming" would mean a another safe night with comforts that the less fortunate guys stuck ashore could only dream of. It was a brief but greatly appreciated respite for the squadron. It never lasted as long as we all wanted. Morning would start the war all over again ... ashore.

End of a long day.

Sitting in that seat for 6-8 hours makes for a very long day when the cockpit temperatures routinely ran in excess of 100 degrees and the humidity over 90%. The "D" ring just to my right when pulled would release the heavy protective plates put there to protect the pilot from small arms fire, should he find himself in the water, allowing access to the safety release pin that, in turn, would open the door and let him "swim to safety." Yeah, right. That is, if you could also release and get free of the 40 pound chest protector plate which was attached to his upper body with monkey tape (velcro).

This shot was made just after touchdown aboard, I think, the LPH Tripoli after a very long day flying missions in the northern I-Corps area between Phubai and the DMZ. A San Miguel beer after a day like that, of which there were many, would be gone in one swallow. Seriously. They were so incredibly cold and delicious.

Monkey Mountain backdrop

Mission weary at Marble Mountain (Monkey Mountain in the background) just south of Danang. The 2nd Lieutenant bars were followed by Captains. I never saw silver 1st Lieutenant bars because they needed more Captains. New in-country. Late spring, 1967.

On Standby at Phu Bai

On Sparowhawk standby at Phu Bai, summer 1967.

... we were so friggin young.