The Date: 16 January 1968
The Time: 0600
- Buzz!
Buzz! Buzz! Yawn! Time to get up.
Yawn! What's happening today?..............Oh! I'm leaving for Vietnam!
TODAY!
IT'S TODAY! I'M REALLY GOING! WOW!
- Liliane,
"Have some breakfast."
Ed, "I'm not
really hungry." Sigh!
- Ring!
RING! It's the damn door bell, my driver is here. Sigh!
"Goodbye, Biscuit, my favorite doggie."
"Goodbye, Donnie! You're the man of the house, now!" Heavy load to place on a 7 year old.
"Goodbye, Liliane, my love!" Sigh! Choke! Tears! The door slams! I go down the stairs, into the car. (I don't remember who the driver is, but he asks if I am ready, and I nod, because I can't speak). One last look back as we drive off; and I remember what my best friend said a little less than ten years ago as we left Ogden, Utah, and his wife and kid behind on our way to active duty at Ft Belvoir: "It's a hell of a world where you have to leave your family behind and go off to war! (Or something like that, most of you know what I mean.)
Leaving is
not new, for I have been in the Army almost ten years; but this is the
hardest one yet.
Wow! It's thirty years later as I write this, and there is a lump in my
throat, and my eyes are watery. It's almost as if it were happening again.
- There's about
four feet of snow on the ground, and it is 22 degrees below zero.
I don't talk much on the way to Frankfurt, and my driver respects that.
I am traveling light, just two bags. I'm wearing civvies. I
don't have a sweater, nor do I have a coat, because I won't need them.
I have fatigues and a khaki uniform, and boots, in the bag. And,
I have a passport, issued 11 January 1968.
The Time: 1000
- That drive
from K-Town sure went by fast. I thank my driver and he wishes me
luck from the 370th Engineer Company. I walk into the terminal, and
head for the Pan Am counter. I am scheduled to fly out on Pan Am
2, east bound, at 1200. All is in order, and I check my bags, and
wait. Home is a long ways away. We board the plane, a Boeing
707, at 1130.
- The plane
taxies to the end of the runway, turns east, and accelerates. I look
out the window at familiar sites flashing by, and think to myself, "What
the fuck are you doing on this plane? Idiot, you don't have to go!
STOP THE PLANE! LET ME OFF!! I DON'T WANT TO GO!!!" My
thoughts are booming in my head, but, of course, the words don't come.
Rotate! Lift Off! Wheels Up! "Goodbye, Germany!"
The stew asks
how far I'm going, and I tell her, "Saigon." "Army," she asks?
And I nod. I'm not in first class, but the scotch is on Pan Am.
We fly over the Alps, and they are gorgeous.
- We land in
Istanbul, Turkey, and have an hour off the plane. I am still in shock
at actually leaving, and get off to wander through the terminal and it's
bazaar. Not quite the smell of the Orient, but the hustle and bustle
is there, and I can't begin to describe all the things one could buy.
Silks, and meerschaum pipes, and brassware, and.....well, you name it.
I am impressed, and begin to come out of my doldrums. Next year,
on the way home, I think.
- I watched
the sun set, and get back on Pan Am 2. We take off, and fly up into
daylight. As we head for Lebanon, I watch the sun set a second time.
Now, I don't remember the time, but we land in Beruit, Lebanon, and I get off the plane to get the smells and see the shops of another new airport. I get down the steps, and look at the brightly lit hills of Beruit, and remember that it has been called, "the Paris of the East."
I gotta take a few pictures, and whip out my camera. Why are those men with guns shouting? Wonder what's going on? The stewardess comes flying down the steps, "Sir, get on the plane, now. Put away your camera. ON THE PLANE, NOW!" The shouts are directed at me! I get back aboard, fast, and the stew tells me that because of the 1967 mid-east war, "....they think you could be an Israeli spy!"
Me! A Spy! Naw! But, I go to the john, take off my dog tags, and stick them in my jockey shorts. The tags have imprinted on them, "ST. CLAIR, EDWARD B., JR. 05700405, CAPT. A+ HEBREW!" I stay in the john until the plane starts to load, and go quietly back to my seat.
We take off. I have another scotch, or two, on Pan Am, and joke with the stewardess about being an Israeli spy.
Nothing happens, and around mid-night we land in Karachi, Pakistan. It is late, the airport is a dump. I walk around a bit, and get back on the plane.
