our lady of mount carmel church, rancho cucamonga, ca w/photos

the old catholic church still stands where it has for as long as i can remember and was there even before i was born.  one of the oldest catholic churches in the area.  the church sits just steps away from the old padre winery.  while i was visiting padre winery the other day i stopped by the church as well.  the church was my grandparents back in the day.  they could walk there very easily and did several times a week.

our lady hasn’t held up as well as padre winery.  plenty of parishioners but not the well to do types of other parishes in cucamonga.  just your average work a day joes go to this church these days.  the salt of the earth types.  not unlike in the old days.  the old days, when the street that fronts it was smaller.  the intersection was also the home to some old stately eucalyptus trees.  long gone due to street widening projects and the addition of curb and gutters.

since the church stands so close to padre winery i’ve been by it many many times over the years.  though i hadn’t been inside of the church since june of 1968 or 1969.  the day of my grandfather’s funeral.  you would think i could remember the exact date but i was in a wisdom tooth extraction haze and all i really remember about the day was the huge cloud of incense drifting about my grandfather’s coffin.

i made it back inside the church the other day.  it was an odd experience at best.  there have been some changes and the floor is now carpeted.  i guess carpet is easier to maintain than the old hardwood floors.  the simple beauty of a very very old and small catholic church that served old italians and mexicans remains.

i miss, nona and nono, italian for grandmother and grandfather.  the little house they used to live is gone.  but the little church they worshiped in still stands.  stands like a memory of a long ago past.

our lady of mount carmel catholic church.

 

jmh

 

padre winery, rancho cucamonga, ca w/photos

the other day i finally got around to making a trip back to my childhood.  specifically, i had been wanting to take some photos of the old padre winery just down the road in rancho cucamonga, ca.  i’ve mentioned the winery in a few blogs and a fiction piece here but there were no photos in any of them.  so, what i thought i’d do was take some photos and stick them up here then sorta run the deal down one more time.

padre winery has been around since the late 1800’s.  and it was the first winery in california bonded by the feds allowing them to sell wine and brandy.  the original building is still standing.  amazingly enough even after all the semi sorta large earthquakes that have rumbled through the area.  i guess it gives testament to some thing or another.  over the years the winery has been owned and operated by a few different folks.  it has had a few other names as well.  but to us long time cucmongaites it was and always shall be, padre winery.  sadly, it no longer produces wine.  those days are long gone.

my mother’s parents lived in a house a few hundred yards west of the winery.  that old wonderful house with the root cellar, in which my grandfather made wine and vinegar, no longer stands.  my grandfather worked at padre winery up until the time he retired.  he’d been there for many years.  i spent a lot of time with my grandparents when i was a kid.  soaking up old world italy and wineries.  that is up until the time my folks thought i was old enough to manage on my own during the summer.  though soaking up stuff never ended.   

when my grandfather worked at padre it was owned by the vai brothers.  i loved walking over to the winery and wandering around looking at stuff.  perhaps more importantly smelling the wonderful smells that can only come from a winery.

these days the winery is owned by a local family that has long roots in the area.  wine roots.  they gave it a go trying to make it a producing winery over the years but money being what it is things never panned out.  padre winery is for sale.  there are a few businesses where the old redwood wine vats used to be and it’s kind of sad.  especially to me.  i worked at padre winery myself for a year or so back in the early to mid 70’s.  i’ve recounted that tale as here as well. 

i’d been by the winery a number of times over the years.  once even stopping with the brown eyed girl so she could see the place.  old padre winery.  at any rate, i was alone the other day as i wandered about taking these photos.  alone with my thoughts and my youth. 

as you will see there is still a beauty to the winery.  an elegance and charm not seen these days in much of any kind of architecture.  there was something else as well as i walked around.  something mystical and wonderful.  or maybe it was just the fact that padre winery has been around for years and years and saw a huge amount of wine in various stages pass through the grounds.  it was a smell.  the smell.  that wine smell.  a sour tart vinegary musty smell now.  but still a wine smell.  the old girl still has it.  a complete package other than the fact the wine itself is long gone.  the elegance and the smell have stuck to her and she wears them well.

i hope the old lady remains standing.  standing as a monument to old california and old cucamonga.  not swept into some re-development black hole and razed.  re-development.  the good old boy deal where the pols and hucksters make money hand over fist and we the people lose our history and magic that comes with the old things.  old wonderful places like padre winery.

padre winery and the old tasting room.

 

the old cellars.

the still where the lees and muck were processed into 180 proof alcohol.

the old girl still looking good.

jmh

arizona and new mexico road trip w/ photos – october 2009

our trip to the southwest went very well.  fine scenery and company plus  some great food and drink along the way.  what could be better?  as a matter of fact, we’re already planning our next sojourn into northern arizona and southern new mexico.  long lazy stays in both places with none of the 400 mile drives and associated moving every few days.  the long drives were the killer.  trust me, 400 plus mile drives every few days are not something we want to tackle again any time soon.

all and all a fantastic trip.  great scenery leading the way.  i could boor you with the details of daily stuff with some days much better than others.  i won’t do that.  i’ll just let the photos tell the story.  we think there’s magic in a few of them.  hmm, yeah, sedona can do that.  a magical place if there ever was one.

the grand canyon has a bit of magic as well.  we saw it on one of it’s hazier days.  although it was still stunning if not exhausting.  elephant butte, new mexico.  the place where an old dam makes a lake of the rio grande. 

yes, the road still holds some magic.  we found that magic in the southwest. 

a room with a view in sedona, az.

approaching sunset sedona. az.

sunrise and another sunset in sedona, az.

the grand canyon on a hazy windy cold day.

grand canyon sunset.

manny’s buckhorn in san antonio, new mexico.  voted one of the best burger joints in the usa.  fabulous green chile cheeseburgers. 

elephant butte, new mexico.

the harvest moon over elephant, butte.

the old plaza in santa fe, new mexico.

yours truly waiting for a table at the plaza cafe santa fe, new mexico.  one of the best meals on the adventure.

 

the lorreto chapel in santa fe.  and the staircase.  a story worth looking up.

hasta la vista, sedona.  we will be back.

all photos copyrighted 2009 john hauge.

jmh

thunderstorms and neon signs or a pox on me(?)

the brown eyed girl and i will be leaving on a 10 day or so road trip early next week.  that is unless my current bout with shingles takes a turn for the worse.  the shingles came on last thursday night.  i thought i’d been bitten by a spider.  no such luck.  i’m on the steroids and i’m starting to look like the guvernator in his old days.  yeah, right.  plus i’m taking the usual other stuff so hopefully things will be ok and the trip will go down.   

i’m using the title of an old hank III tune here as the title for this blog as i think the song is a great road tune.  this trip more than likely won’t be one of my usual fear and loathing road runs.  at least that isn’t the plan.  though if i’m lucky i’ll have one of those in a few months.  veering here.

at any rate, we’ll be traveling around the southwest.  with stops at sedona, the grand canyon, elephant butte, santa fe, albuquerque, and flagstaff.  not necessarily in that order but sorta and maybe taos as well.  we are both looking forward to the trip. 

the brown eyed girl has relatives in a few of the stops so it will be cool meeting my new kinfolk and seeing a few again that i’ve already met.  plus, some spectacular scenery as well.  with any luck we should have a number of nice photos to share with you when we get back.

if any of you have any suggestions regarding things to see in any of those spots feel free to send them along.  we would appreciate it.  also, if you have some cool places for a bite to eat they would be appreciated too.  we’ve got things to do and see but more options are always welcome.

a sedona, az sunset.  something i hope we see on a daily basis.

 

jmh

surf city, usa or point break(?)

it’s the last official weekend of summer.  years ago my last official weekend of summer usually ended sometime in october when the water at the beach began to get a little to cold for comfort.  and the sun’s rays a bit to weak for tanning.  ah, a lifetime ago in the sun.  i have skin carbuncles as a mute testimony of those long ago days.
  

the beach of choice was usually huntington.  surf city, usa.  though many others were tossed into the mix of a lifetime of beach going.  orange county beaches were always the favorite.
 

these photos have appeared here in my blog before.  not this blog but my other blog that i deleted the last time i deleted my other place.  confusing but it really doesn’t matter.

a few years ago my friend, dfr, sent me a bunch of old huntington beach photos.  old photos of olden days and king oil.  oil wells to rival texas or one of those far middle east places.  oil wells thick as fleas on a mongrel dog.  yeah, so calif was once a kick ass oil producing hot bed.

huntington beach in particular.  oil so abundant it oozed up under the water coating your feet with a thick tar when you went swimming, body surfing or surfing.  of course that was long ago.  the price of land all over so calif making the oil wells and smaller cricket pumpers just wisps of imagination.  but rest assured they were here and alive.  a few of the cricket pumpers still live in a few places.  sad lonely reminders of long ago.

back when i was a kid the wells were still around but not alive to the extend of what you see in the photos.  they were just mere ghosts of the past.  but still around.  by the early 60’s oil gave way to a housing boom that still, to this day plods sadly on.

the brown eyed girl and i watched, ‘point break’, the other night.  it was her first time.  i’ve seen it any number of times.  it’s one of my all time faves.  after that last viewing i’m ready to move it into my top ten.  the brown eyed girl wasn’t or isn’t that impressed by the movie.  it really doesn’t matter that much.  the beach scenes of huntington in the movie and my wandering through some of the old photos of the old days made it necessary for me to write this and share s few of the photos with you because…
 

it’s the last days of summer here in locust land.  dreams still die hard.  the old visions want to hang on.  hang on for what may or may not be eternity. 

huntington beach, circa 1964.  

huntington beach, circa 1954.  my friend dfr and fellow summer campers.

the old days looking south at pacific coast highway.

when oil was king.

the huntington beach plunge.  an indoor swimming pool with salt and fresh water pools.  they were still around in the 50’s.  i loved them as a kid when the rip tides and undertow’s were howling they were a refuge. 

the beach from the pier.

fade to color.

jmh

wedding planing for the elderly, the final chapter(?)

yes, the knot has been tied and the vows all said.  i’m a married man again.  fine by me as the brown eyed girl is one very special woman.  i mean what else can you say about a woman that would actually marry me?  not much i’m sure.

as you may or may not know we were married in liberace’s old mansion or villa or late 1950’s re-modeled tract house in vegas not far from the famed ’strip’.  an old friend of the brown eyed girl, and now a friend of mine, is a business partner with the person who owns the place now.  they usually charge a nice sum of coin to have a wedding ceremony there.  we, on the other hand, slid in for free.  pretty sweet.

our home base for the vegas deal was a suite in the venetian hotel.  a place neither of us was very happy with for a number of reasons.  let’s just say that, if and when we go back to vegas, we won’t be staying at the venetian hotel.  we’ll be going a few doors down to the wynn hotel.  count on it.

well, at any rate, the drive out to the heart of mojave desert and it’s environs was uneventful.  um, sorta, but that’s not for here at least not now.  our first stop in sin city was the county clerks office.  it took a few times around the block to find it, as the address was covered by a tree.

it was late sunday morning and we expected the place to be jumping with a bunch of drunken fools there to get paperwork so they could marry some of the local cocktail waitresses they met the night before.  that, sadly wasn’t the case.  i mean that action might have been fun to watch.  right?  but on the other hand, an almost empty office made things very easy and quick for us to get our papers in order and get out of there.  the wedding was scheduled for the next day at 10am at liberace’s place.

we arrived a bit early for the ceremony so i was able to wander around a bit and take some photos of the place.  liberace’s ‘mansion’ is showing it’s age but then again aren’t we all?  the place was probably built in the late 50’s or early 60’s in what is nothing more than your standard tract house neighborhood.  an upscale tract house neighborhood that’s getting a bit seedy but still nice. 

here’s a few photos i took of liberace’s place.  but before that a few of the view from our hotel window.

front view of liberace’s home

liberace’s living room.

the grand hallway.  we were married at the end of it.

the spot where we were married.

a portion of liberace’s bathroom.

liberace’s bedroom.

the piano johnny carson gave to liberace.

 
the ceremony was very nice and rather quick, which was fine by us.  we found a minister on the web who came out to the villa and married us.  reverend phil, a nice gent from southern texas, performed the wedding.  visit rev phil at: http://www.lvrev.com  the brown eyed girl and i found a few things we wanted him to incorporate in the ceremony and he did.  one of the pieces was from the american writer and poet, james dillet freeman.

Blessing for a Marriage


May your marriage bring you all the exquisite excitements a marriage should bring, and may life grant you also patience, tolerance, and understanding. 
May you always need one another – not so much to fill your emptiness as to help you to know your fullness. A mountain needs a valley to be complete; the valley does not make the mountain less, but more; and the valley is more a valley because it has a mountain towering over it. So let it be with you and you. 

May you need one another, but not out of weakness.
May you want one another, but not out of lack.
May you entice one another, but not compel one another.
May you embrace one another, but not out encircle one another.
May you succeed in all important ways with one another, and not fail in the little graces.
May you look for things to praise, often say, “I love you!” and take no notice of small faults. 

If you have quarrels that push you apart, may both of you hope to have good sense enough to take the first step back. 

May you enter into the mystery which is the awareness of one another’s presence – no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities. 
May you have happiness, and may you find it making one another happy. 
May you have love, and may you find it loving one another.

the other piece was the navajo wedding blessing:

From A Navajo Wedding Ceremony:
Now you have lit a fire and that fire should not go out.
The two of you now have a fire that represents love,
understanding and a philosophy of life.
It will give you heat, food, warmth and happiness.
The new fire represents a new beginning – a new life and a new family.
The fire should keep burning; you should stay together.
You have lit the fire for life, until old age separates you.

if you recall one of the brown eyed girl’s great grandmothers was a full blooded navajo.

after the ceremony, the owner of the place popped a bottle of champagne for us and we all had a drink.  very nice indeed.  i must say, all in all, the wedding site was actually very nice in a weird sorta way.  as a matter of fact, the brown eyed girl laughed through a good portion of the ceremony due to the weirdness of it all.  the surroundings.  not me.  well, maybe not.  lol.  visit: http://lasvegasvilla.com for more info and some more photos.  anyways, thanks to robert and dez for their kindness and hospitality.

that evening, some very old friends of the brown eyed girl treated us to a lovely wedding night dinner at, b and b ristorante, inside the venetian.  b and b is owned by chef mario batali and winemaker joseph bastianich.  it was a truly memorable experience in fine italian dinning.  however, the next night topped it.

the following night we went over to the wynn hotel for dinner at, bartolatta di mare, owned by chef paul bartolatta.  i have to say, that on numerous levels, it was one of the most amazing dinners i’ve ever eaten.  an array of italian and mediterranean family style dishes that was belly busting fine dinning at it’s best.  it would be hard to find another eatery with better italian fare.  it was simply amazing.

we didn’t go to any shows.  we spent our time wandering around eating and drinking.  with a bit of gambling thrown in as well.  i don’t gamble much anymore and don’t really care for it either but the brown eyed girl more than made up for my lack of desire to gamble and won a few hundred bucks playing the slots and blackjack.  very nice.

so, like what else can i say?  other than i’m happy we went to vegas to get married at liberace’s place.  a few members of the family were there as well as a couple of the brown eyed girls oldest friends.  what could be better?  not much.  i want to thank you all for your good wishes and more importantly i want to thank the brown eyed girl for being there for me.  she’s is truly the love of my life.

jmh

pink boxers and war

while noodling around yesterday i came across the yahoo, and elsewhere, story of a young soldier over in the middle east who went to his firing position in his boxers and flip flops, during a fire fight.  seems like the secretary of defense, robert gates, is all a gog over the situation.  he’s happy about it.  well, it’s memorial day weekend or more to the point, dead soldier weekend, and i guess they needed to sound pro troopers and military.  plus, i’m sure folks everywhere are getting a kick out of the story. 

it makes me think back to my time in nam.  i’ve written any number of things about that experience here and other places.  if you are a regular, i have no intention of bothering you with details you may or may not remember.  if you aren’t a regular reader, you can always go through the archives or rummage through the vault.  or just wait for me to trot the old stuff out again.  but i digress. 

while attached to macv advisory team 48, in nam, we had this major on the compound.  he was either s-3 or s-1.  military jargon for stuff.  not really important to this story.  other than the fact, he got his pink boxers all tied up in a knot about us peons and other soldiers hitting our firing positions in levi’s and flip flops; bermuda shorts, flip flops and no shirt(my personal favorite) or other variations of civilian attire; or maybe just our regulation gi boxers and flip flops, during alerts. 

yeah, civilian attire.  it was macv and they didn’t care what you wore on the compound if you weren’t on duty or working.  well, most of them.  any the ways, this particular major was not happy about the way we fell out during those alerts.  he made it his mission to see that we all hit the firing positions and bunkers in full regulation military gear.  yes, sirree.  no more of this civilian attire or gi boxer nonsense.  there was a war going on after all, and said war, demanded we be properly dressed for the occasion because mr charlie might not like it.  boy, howdy.   

said major, even held a few ‘practice alerts’ and those ‘practice alerts’ weren’t over until he personally inspected each position to see if things were being done to his strict liking.  yes, indeed.  practice alerts for dress code violations in a war zone.  no showing up with your weapon and ammo in boxers.  nope, not for that major.  not good enough.  thank you jesus.  thank you, lord, for some damn fine smoke and drink to help us all through the night.

well, we suffered through a couple of his practice alerts held in the middle of the night.  a lot of pissed off troops and lifers as well.  yeah, he wanted every swinging dick on board for his madness. 

as it turned out, things were very quiet during the time of his practice alert stuff and everyone passed with flying colors.  like what else were we gonna do?  frag him?  it was bullshit but it wasn’t worth a capital crime and/or offense. 

one night, a few weeks after all the hoopla about the dress code and fighting charlie, i was working the night shift in the commo bunker.  at the time, macv was using our commo bunker for their toc(tactical operation center) while their toc was getting a face-lift.  charlie or the nva, lobbed a few rockets or mortars into our general vicinity. 

the alert was sounded and it was all hands on deck.  everyone was to go to their alert positions and deal with whatever in full military uniform.  thankfully, due to the practice alerts, it was decided, by my signal sargent, my alert position would be in the commo bunker.  lucky me, i was already up, working, in uniform, where i was supposed to be and with my m-16 and ammo.  woo hoo!!

the incoming rocked my little world but i just opened my secret area door and casually leaned on the door jam to watch the deal go down.  a total lapse of military protocol but whatever.  i was probably somewhat loaded and had been listening to, ’spooky tooth’, and reading porn at the time.  another breech of protocol i’m sure.

on a side bar drift, the secret area was a perfect place to have a nice non-legal smoke.  or take a nap.  we had it set up so even if you were dead an alarm of sorts would wake you.  though in hindsight it wasn’t necessary.  incoming was incoming and could wake a dead man.  count on it.

the drifts just keep on coming.  WD40.  the perfect weapon cleaner, for us lazy folks, was also a very good and efficient smoke cover-up.  better than incense.  yeah, ok.  i did take my m-16 down to the firing pin assembly at regular intervals and properly cleaned it.  so there.  i could be a good soldier if i felt like it.  my life depended upon it.      

at any rate, i was just waiting for orders and THE word to send something to somebody somewhere about something or another via my secure radio teletype.  real alerts were always something.  some worse than others.  but always angsty and an adrenaline rush regardless.  while i was standing in my doorway watching stuff, in came the major of dress code and practice alert fame. 

ah, yes, goddamn.  he was resplendent in his steel pot, m-16, ammo, un-tied jungle boots, gi issued undershirt and boxers.  yep.  that’s it.  nada mas.  no one, of course, said a word about his poorly dressed alert apparel.  lots of subtle snickering to be sure but not a word.  after that night, it went back to come as you are for alerts, and the only thing that mattered was the m-16 or some other weapon with plenty of ammo when you got to where you were supposed to be.

it’s interesting to see how things have or haven’t changed.  i wonder how melvin laird would have felt?  or perhaps dean rusk?  or macnamara?  at any rate, it’s dead soldier day weekend.  a time to say a prayer for those brothers in arms who never made it back.  a time to say just how much you appreciate the sacrifice of those who didn’t come back and those who are serving or have served and did come back.  whole or not.  seems like none of us ever come back whole.  a tragic veer if there ever was one. 

dead soldier weekend.  a proud american tradition since the civil war from whence it got it’s origins.  you may not like war, this current one in particular.  you may even be in the support the troops but not the war politically correct crowd.  tell you what.  god bless the child that wears his boxers to a fire fight.  at least he showed up and was ready for trouble.  god bless anyone who even shows up for the coming fire fights.     

make no mistake, it’s not what you wear to a fight.  it’s what you do when you get there.  happy memorial day weekend!!  light a candle for america. 

 

jmh

saigon holiday, 1971 part 3

this is the final chapter of the saigon trip.  i hope you enjoy it as much as the other two chapters.  i want to thank all of you for reading.  i appreciate it very much.

saigon holiday, 1971  part 3

we had to get a cab to the nearest boq.  way too hung over, plus too hot and humid to walk.  after an overly zealous breakfast and along with the cab fare we were broke again.  two more days in saigon and no money give us an idea of sorts.  finally.  grab a cab to air america.  catch a flight and just go back to ham tan.   this means stiffing the cabbie at the gate but we are too broke to care.  we caught a cab and it deposited us at the air base entrance.  we bolt and run like rabbits.  the cabbie to old to catch us and he’s unarmed.

main entrance, tan son nhut air base.

feeling better about things we hit the air america terminal and ask about a flight back to ham tan.  we are told nothing is available for the next two days.  the only flight we can get is the one we had already booked two days down the road.  sleeping on the floor of the cia owned and operated airline for two nights is not allowed.  probably not even for five minutes.  the cia doesn’t run flop houses.

there’s a soldier in the air america terminal who hears of our plight.  he tells us to go to the chopper pad about half a mile away and see if we can hitch a chopper ride back to ham tan.  this lifts our spirits as it’s still early morning.  however, by noon we are beginning to realize we were stuck.  no chopper rides today.

the heli-port at tan son nhut.

we seem doomed to some sort of living nightmare.  when out of the blue this vietnamese army guy with a jeep walks up and says, you guys want a ride?  yes.  where to?  ham tan.  no way, way to dangerous.  so bill comes up with a plan.  i’ll give you this watch if you take us to bien hoa.  we figure we can stay in our company area and go unnoticed for a few days and somehow manage to get back to saigon for our flight back to ham tan.  the guy says, let me see the watch.  of course he doesn’t want it as it’s total junk and had already stopped running.  so no ride.  the viet then says, hey you guys got ration cards?  yeah, we have ration cards.  virgin ones.

you see with ham tan being out in the nowhere boonies the army gave you smokes for free and there was booze on the compound.  you didn’t need to use the ration cards.  so they stayed virgin.  this changed later but at the time it was so.

with that information the viet’s eyes light up.  he says, ok, i give you money.  then we go to the px(post exchange) and you buy all the cigarettes and beer on the cards for this month.  then i’ll take you to bien hoa.

this was actually a mother load for the viet.  the black market value for all the smokes and beer was a nice hefty amount of coin in any man’s language.  having learned a lot in the past day or so we say, nah, for all that you take us to ham tan.  once again, no way, too dangerous.  ok.  we counter with, xuan loc, which is about half way to ham tan.  we know a few guys there and we figure we can spend the night and worry about tomorrow later.  ok, deal, says the viet.  with that it’s off to px we go.

after wards we load the guy up with the smokes and beer.  he then says, ok now we go to bien hoa, driving to xuan loc is too dangerous.   we counter with, ok.  we’ll throw in the junk watch and you don’t get shot right here and right now.  and we go to xuan loc.  the viet takes the watch and drives us the forty miles or so to xuan loc.

an aerial view of xuan loc.

it was late afternoon by the time we got to xuan loc.  the viet guy bitching the whole way.  he dropped us off at another macv advisory team compound and went off to find a place to spend the night.  we ate some dinner, watched a movie, then slept in guy’s bunks that were working the overnight shift in the commo(communication) bunker.

there aren’t many mosquitoes in ham tan.  the beach and all.  too dry or something for mosquitoes even in the monsoon season.  however, in xuan loc they were thick and nasty.  the smell of fresh meat drove them particularly insane that night.  even with mosquito netting they were relentless.  waking up in the morning we found that our sheets were spotted with blood.  our blood.  spotted from rolling over in our semi sleep and squashing the little sated bastards into the sheets.   the guys came in looked at their now blood spotted sheets and were not happy.  xin loi, sorry about that.  it was time for breakfast and planning.  something.  anything.

someone at breakfast suggested we hit the chopper pad and talk to the
air traffic controller.  we say that didn’t work in saigon.  we are told not to worry.  so off we go to the chopper pad.  a very busy place.  even busier than saigon.  you see, in xuan loc there is a war going on.  the air traffic controller tells us ham tan is no sweat.  unless the chopper is on a medivac or a mission, he’ll have them come in and pick us up, for he is the lord of this air space.

a portion of xuan loc international airport.

not long after that a chopper lands and we are pointed to it and told to hop right in.  well, of course the chopper is already full and i have to sit with one leg out in space while i hang on to the door frame.  all this while trying not to get in the door gunner’s way.  my first chopper ride and when it was over i would never want another.  we didn’t know if the pilot was unhappy about being made to pick us up or if he was trying to avoid shit on the ground.  we never found out.  none the less, it was an even worse ride than the flight to saigon on air america.  hard to believe but true.

ham tan in sight.  finally home again.  that’s how it felt.  it always did.  we get back to the compound and everyone is surprised to see  us back so early.  before we can explain why in walks our company commander with the executive officer and first sargent in tow.  we of course are counting our blessings.  thanking everyone from god and buddha to swami vishnu the air controller didn’t flag down their helicopter.  finally some good luck or so it would seem.

this is indeed a rare visit as the company commander never came out to ham tan.  it was too dangerous for him.  he always sent the executive officer out on pay days or for whatever.  but today he’s in ham tan and feeling fine.  noticing bill he says, hold on there lad.  we were trying to get out of the bunker.  is that a .38 special you have there?   first sargent, write him up for that unauthorized weapon, and that boonie hat as well.  yes, sir.  for you see, macv didn’t care what kind of weapon you carried as long as it worked and you could shoot it.  the rest of the military were locked solid into the bullshit.  hats were the same with macv as well.  some other units too but not our signal unit.  as bill was getting reamed i sidled out of the bunker before someone decided to go off on me.  off to the hootch, my bunk, and home for some much needed sleep.

fini

the photos in the story were just taken from various places on the net.  googled, in other words.  i want to thank whoever for having them on the net for me to find and use.  i’m not making any money on this deal so i suppose it might be ok.  any the ways, thanks again to whoever, the photos added to the story.

i used to have photos taken in nam.  even a few from saigon.  those i lost long ago.  moving frenzies being what they are.  frantic.  i also had some photos of ham tan and the advisory team.  those are now being cataloged at texas tech university and their vietnam center and archive.  at some point you will be able to be view them on line in the archive.  you should visit that site: http://www.vietnam.ttu.edu/ i think it’s the best vietnam archive in the country.

yeah, i know the ending is sorta anti-climatic.  it was what it was.  all in all, i think it’s a good story.  thanks for reading.

this story/idea is registered with the writers guild of america, west.

jmh

saigon holiday, 1971 part 2

the saigon, circa 1971, true story continues.

saigon holiday, 1971 part 2

the hotel we decided upon was the caravelle.  the place where all the reporters stayed while in saigon.  plus, we had heard the ladies up on the roof were amazing.  the only trouble is they threw us out.  we weren’t officers or reporters.  just lowly draftees.  so we caught a cab and went to a hotel both of us had stayed in on previous saigon trips.  a decent enough place but not the caravelle.

we arrive at the hotel and check in. the hotel staff are not pleased with the sight of bill’s .38 pistol and low slung holster.  give it to us.  no.  this goes back and forth for a bit but in the end they let him keep the pistol.  we unload stuff in our rooms then head off to get more vietnamese money.  i wanted to go to the uso for my exchange and bill still wanted to go for the street deal.  who’s going to fuck with us?, he says.  i have a 38.  ok fine, but first we go to the uso.   another mad cab ride in one of the ubiquitous old yellow and blue renaults.  they were always mad dashes in those old dented wrecks.

saigon traffic, 1971.  note one of the blue and yellow taxis on the left of photo.

the uso in saigon, a sadder place on earth would be hard to imagine.  the place was totally depressing.  it was as if someone had tossed a wet blanket over saigon.  none the less, i got my money changed.  we head back out on the street and bill searches for the rate he wants, the perfect deal.

there were plenty of saigon cowboys to wheel and deal with.   however, before he got around to his money exchange he buys a watch from one of the cowboys on the street.  the amazing thing was he was conned into buying the watch with gi money.  bottom line, it was an incredibly stupid deal but what could i say?  he wouldn’t have listened anyway.  equally amazing is neither of us was drunk or stoned yet.

bill finally finds the rate he wants from some other sleazy saigon cowboy and the guy says, follow me.   the guy leads us around and around and we end up at the opening of this very dark alley.  dark and it’s the middle of the afternoon.  bill says, hey, we aren’t going in there and remember i have a gun.  the guys says, ok wait here.  then he splits.  when he returns he shows bill a roll of vietnamese money wrapped up in a tight roll with a rubber band around the roll.  bill takes the money, looks it over carefully and says it’s all there.  somehow the guy gets the roll back.  bill then hands him his money.  the saigon cowboy hands bill back the roll then poof he’s outta there.  he runs down the alley while yelling something about mp’s(military police) but there aren’t any around.  bill checks out the roll and finds that only the two outer bills are large denominations.  the rest of them are just ones.  useless vietnamese ones.  about the only thing they were good for would be toilet paper.  bill just got ripped off for two or three hundred bucks.

we are in saigon for three days and now half of our money is gone and   there’s nothing we can do.  no idea where the cowboy went and even if we did it would have been suicide to try and get the cash back.  the cops?  yeah, right.  no way.  street money exchanges were illegal.  so it’s another mad taxi ride back to our hotel then up to the hotel’s top floor for some booze, smoke, women, and hopefully solace.

roof top view from one of the old saigon hotels.  maybe even the hotel where the story takes place.

all the hotels i ever stayed in while in saigon were pretty much the same. the top floor elevator doors opened into something that must have been experienced to fully appreciate.  at least a dozen or more ladies converging on the elevator doors as they opened.  just another insane saigon scene.  all of the ladies trying to grab your private parts at the same time.   grabbing your privates trying to get your attention in hopes of making a ‘connection’ as it were.

we weren’t in the the mood for that action just yet.   we shooed the ladies away and went to the bar for some drinks.  after a few drinks we were more in the mood for the ladies.  we make a connection and two of them sit at the table.  more drinks are ordered.  after a few more rounds the ladies said they were hungry and they wanted us to buy them dinner in the hotel cafe.  by this time we were drunk enough to agree.  hamburgers all around.  some mystery meat that reeked of god knows what.  amazingly we didn’t get sick.

after dinner it was more drinking and scoring some smoke for later.  at some point, and to this day i still have no idea how it happened, my ‘date’ got a hold of my wallet.  things had been bad but were about to get dire in an instant.  yelling about the deal would only have gotten us tossed out of the place.  then it would have been, no room, no sex, no money, no nothing.  when i got my wallet back there was only enough money left to pay for the services of the two ladies for the night.  meaning around $40 or so.  at least we were drunk and about to get loaded with our dates then have some more fun.  tomorrow’s problems were the furthest thing from our minds.

saigon night life, 1971.

that night passed blissfully.  the early morning as well.  while the two ladies shower up bill and i met and wondered just what we are going to do.  now broke and no one to turn to for a loan.  we were stuck in saigon for two more days with no money.  a very sad prospect.

bill’s lady turns out to be a hooker with a heart of gold.  sorta.  she gave us $5 in military money.  then said, that’s enough for breakfast at a boq and a cab ride back to air america.  boq, bachelor officer quarters. a boq but any soldier could go into any mess hall in nam and eat for a very nominal fee or for free.  viets knew air america as they could fly it as well.  sometimes.

we were so happy we could shit.  after the ladies left bill did just that.  a huge turd that refused to be flushed.  a turd the likes of which neither of us had ever seen.  we found the mamasan and she sent some old woman to get the turd to flush.  the old woman was not happy as waved her shit stick about.  cursing in loud vietnamese the old lady finally got the turd to flush.  mamasan then tells us to get out.  she already knew we had no more money.  it was goodbye and get the fuck out of here, gi.

story registered with the writers guild of america, west.

jmh

saigon holiday, 1971 part 1

long ago in another lifetime i got to spend some time in downtown saigon, south vietnam.  those fun trips were courtesy of uncle sam and you the american tax payer.  you folks and myself included are still paying for those excursions in many ways.  this is a true story about one of my trips into saigon.  there were other adventures in saigon as well but this one was sorta special in a number of ways.

over the years most of you have seen any number of films about the vietnam war.  with the exception of, ‘good morning vietnam’, they were all pretty much your typical war movie.  they were just set in a different time and place with a 60’s and early 70’s pop music soundtrack.  this story is different.  though the soundtrack would be the same.  very loud rock ‘n’ roll.

i think the tale is pretty self explanatory and straight forward.  it could be viewed as a sorta new version of stan and ollie.  though there is a serious side as well but mostly it’s just about two guys that can’t catch a break.  you may see it differently.  just remember this all happened to me in vietnam on one particular trip to saigon.

some of you have seen this story before.  yes, i’m still messing with it.  eventually i might get it right.  i hope you re-read it here.  this is its  first foray into general public viewing circles.  it will appear in several parts.  yes, it is untitled.  there is a title but i decided not to use it here.  plus, i’m not sure i like the title any way.

i suppose i ought to add there is a sorta mature subject matter involved in the story.  if you aren’t mature then don’t read it.  that being said, i’m not your parent.  nor do i want to be.

this story is registered with the writers guild of america, west.
saigon holiday, 1971 part 1

 

i was stationed with macv advisory team 48 in ham tan, south vietnam, from 1970 to 1971, in a signal unit attached to macv(military assistance command vietnam) in order to give them secure communications.  ham tan is 80 miles east southeast of saigon as the crow flies.  the macv compound was an old french mission that was taken over by the u.s. army.  it was and still is located about 3 or 4 klicks (kilometers) from the south china sea.  a fairly nice place relative to other places in vietnam at the time.  as attached signal we didn’t live in the french mission area but in regular vietnam style hooches.  the advisory team, including signal personnel, never numbered more than 50 or 60 soldiers at any time.

by the time i was in vietnam, saigon was off limits due to the usual serviceman’s lust for debauchery.  the military had had enough.  the only personnel allowed in saigon were macv people and military stationed there.  being attached to a macv unit gave us access to saigon.  once cleared with our sargent we just needed to go see the macv clerk or company sargent and they would cut some travel orders for us and off to saigon you went for some sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.  all of this unknown to our signal company and signal battalion headquarters.  they would have frowned upon the very idea.  plus it was illegal for us to be there.  though macv advisory team 48 didn’t really care.

macv advisory teams were a diversified lot.  regular army folk, draftees like me, green berets, cia, and more cia.  the teams had a number of missions as well.  training south vietnamese troops and advising them, running phoenix programs, pru units, and chu hoi programs among other things.  you can google some of the stuff if you are interested.  it would be a good history lesson.  any ways, there were any number of things going on at any one time.

there were only three or four ways you could get to saigon from ham tan.  walk, a very bad idea.  drive, a bit better but not much.  though it was done by us signal personnel.  and that’s a whole other story in itself.  driving from the saigon/bien hoa area or vice versa was at least a four or five hour adventure.  helicopter, wasn’t generally done unless it was an emergency.  or you could take air america, the cia owned and operated air transport system for vietnam, laos, and thailand.  macv would book you a flight, no problem, both ways.  that was because air america flew out to ham tan every day with mail and passengers.  the planes were only 6 seaters with a single large propeller and a rolls royce engine to power it.  they were rated for only 10,000 feet but flew higher to avoid gun fire and artillery.  this made for some interesting flights due to air pockets and the plane being so small.

the air america plane.

a fellow signal mate, i’ll call him bill, and i decided we should go to saigon together.  never having done so as a team.  we would spend the usual three days of getting drunk, smoking dope, and having sex with the bar girls.  a flight was booked and travel orders cut.  a few days before we were scheduled to leave i changed some military script into vietnamese money.  bill said he would opt for doing a deal on the street so he could get a better exchange rate.  by this time military script was illegal tender for the vietnamese as most of it ended up going to north vietnam or so the story went.

the day of departure we went out to ham tan’s so called airport early to await our flight to saigon.  ham tan international as we called it.  a piece of crap dirt runway with a wind sock for a control tower and an equally forlorn terminal.

there were only three of us going to saigon that day.  bill, myself, and a macv captain, a black guy, who was going in for business not fun.  i was happy to see that our pilot was one i had flown with a few times before and i thought of him as one of the best.  there was however a co-pilot that day.  something you usually never saw on these particular air america flights.  with the co-pilot seat empty you could sit up front with the pilot.  i did it once and only once.  i’m not pilot material.  nor do i care for heights.

we boarded, the wind sock checked and off we went.  at this point it becomes clear why there is a co-pilot.  he’s a new guy and the old vet is checking out his flying skills.

sitting in the passenger section of those planes gave you an unobstructed view of the cockpit.  the new guy revs her up and begins the take off.  only thing is the plane is bouncing like a ball down the dirt runway.  the bounces kept getting bigger and bigger.  so much so it was obvious we were in big trouble.  the old hand grabs the controls of the plane moments before we run out of runway and careen into certain disaster.  he then miraculously gets us airborne while yelling all the time at the new guy.  the black captain, who was very black, was a nice shade of gray at this point.  i was ready to jump.  but it was only the beginning.

the plane got off the ground and up into the clouds and air pockets, made even more hair raising with the new guy at the controls.  instead
of the usual several hundred foot drops we were dropping several thousand feet with lots of yelling coming from the cockpit.

we finally made it in one piece to tan son nhut air base in saigon.  the new guy is bringing us in for the landing.  at about 30 feet or so off the ground the air traffic controller radios that a plane load of dead bodies is coming in and they have priority.  we were being waved off.  the old hand grabs the controls and makes this amazing left turn while he flips the plane over on it’s back.  yeah.  we flew upside down at 30 feet or so over most of the air base.  simply amazing.  bill and i about crapped our pants.  the black captain had turned white.

after the hair raising turn we go back for another try at landing.  the new guy back at the controls.  this time the guy can’t get the plane on the ground.  this is a huge runway due to jets, bombers, transports, etc.  however, he’s fast running out of runway and he can’t get the plane below 10 feet.  there’s only a few yards of runway left when the old vet grabs the controls, yet again, and dumps us on the ground like a stone.  i suppose it was either that or another left with a flip over deal again.  i don’t think he was up for another one of those.  his passengers sure as hell weren’t.

we were a long way from the air america terminal.  during the entire taxi ride to the place its more yelling up in the cockpit.  we get to air america and what’s waiting for us are the dead bodies in their body bags nicely lined up on the tarmac.  the perfect ending to a memorable flight.  the old vet pilot felt sorry for bill and i so he gave us a ride in his personal car to our hotel.  it was out of the guy’s way but he figured he owed us.  a very nice gesture indeed.

tan son nhut air base from the air.

story registered with the writers guild of america, west.

jmh