Duffle Bag Diaries

Fifty-three years ago this June I met Taylor H. Davis as we began our mutual yet individual journeys through three year careers in Uncle Sam's Army.  The place was North Fort Lewis (now JBLM) and the occasion was BCT (Basic Combat Training), an unbelievably terrible but somehow beneficial eight weeks in our young lives.

Anyway, over the past half-century my fellow BCT bunkmate and I have managed to keep in contact with each other.  Below is an email Taylor recently sent me to share with you all.  Enjoy!

Dear Gordy; 

Your dedication to feeding the fires of friendships over the decades has returned to you a wealth of people who hold you in high regard. Count me among them. I can only imagine the number of friendships you have which have lasted more than 50 years. I have a handful, with you being one of them. 52 years, ol’ chum. 

Gordy, here is my first entry of true Army stories which you can use in your blog. 

Duffle Bag Diaries By Taylor H. Davis Volume 1, Issue 1: 

“The Deceptive Songwriter” 

Winters at Ft. Lee, VA can be harsh. It’s not unusual for everything to be coated in ice. Everything. Total silver thaw. And, yet six pages later in the calendar, summer can be just as extreme. Late August in 1967 found Ft. Lee sweltering in heat with curlicues of heat radiating and pulsating off the streets and sidewalks, and every Quartermaster training class taking extra breaks to either cool off or, in the case of classroom-type training, to try to wake up. The Vietnam War was in full-tilt rage and had to fed with replacement forces continually. The voracious consumption of trained soldiers had Ft. Lee conducting Quartermaster-related training around the clock. “24/7” as they say today. 

One such training program was the 8-week “Stock Control & Accounting” advanced individual trading (AIT) course, and one specific classroom of about 25 trainees, all sitting at desks in the stifling heat, was struggling to concentrate on the droning words of the Specialist 4 Instructor standing on the raised platform above them. Most of the class was able to maintain contact with consciousness and actually learn, while, understandably, there were those few, predictable, bobbing and drooping heads. One individual in that group of mostly conscripted sufferers, however, didn’t seem to be affected a whit by the choking heat or the monotonous delivery of the Instructor. This trainee’s attention was riveted on the 

page he was writing on. It was like he was on his own island, as he seemed totally apart from the activities of the rest of the class. After a while, his nearby classmates took notice of his distracted ambivalence to the course being taught. So, during one of the breaks, out on the sidewalk in front of the aluminum-sided classroom, 3 or 4 of his classmates asked him, “What’s up, man? What are you doing in class? You know if you fail this, they might bounce you down into the Infantry, then straight to Vietnam and then your ass will be cooked for sure!” The unaffected soldier replied, “I’m writing a song. And I think it’s gonna be pretty good”. He beamed when he made that declaration, and it took the rest of the guys off-guard, surprised that he wasn’t ruffled by the possible specter of dying in Vietnam. “Yeah, it’s good. You wanna hear what I’ve written so far?”, he offered. “OK, but hurry. As soon as this cigarette goes out, we’re back in class.” 

He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket, opened it, and began reading: 

You've long been on the open road. You've been sleepin' in the rain. From the dirt of words and mud of cells Your clothes are dark and stained. 

But the dirty words and the muddy cells Will soon be judged insane. So only stop and rest to yourself And you'll be off again. 

And take off your thirsty boots And stay for a while. Your feet are hot and weary From a dusty mile. 

“That’s it so far. You guys like it?”, he asked. “Yeah, I guess so. Maybe if you play it for us in the barracks, it’ll sound better”, one man offered. Just then, the Instructor stepped to the door and called all the trainees back in the classroom. 

Over the next week, variations of the above scenario repeated themselves, until during one break, the fledgling, doomed-soldier (but-ever-focused) songwriter said his song was complete. “It’s finished”, he said, as he proceeded to read the remaining verses to all: 

And maybe I can make you laugh And maybe I can try. Just lookin' for the evenin' And the mornin' in your eyes. 

Then tell me of the ones you see As far as you could see. Across the plain from field to town A marchin' to be free. 

And of the rusted prison gates That tumble by degree. Like laughin' children one by one They look like you and me. 

So take off your thirsty boots And stay for awhile. Your feet are hot and weary From a dusty mile. 

And maybe I can make you laugh And maybe I can try. Lookin' for the evenin' And the mornin' in your eyes. 

I know you are no stranger Down the crooked rainbow trial. From dancing cliff edge, shattered sills Of slander shackled jails. 

But the melodies drift from below 

As walls are bein' scaled, Yes and all of this and more my friend Your song shall not be failed. 

Then take off your thirsty boots And stay for a while. Your feet are hot and weary From a dusty mile. 

And maybe I can make you laugh And maybe I can try. Just lookin' for the evenin' And the mornin' in your eyes. 

Then take off your thirsty boots And stay for a while. Your feet are hot and weary From a dusty mile. 

And maybe I can make you laugh And maybe I can try. Lookin' for the evenin' And the mornin' in your eyes. 

“I’ll play it for you guys tonight. This time I’ll sing it instead of reading it, and my guitar will make it sound better, too.” 

The prospect of his highly anticipated musical debut that night must have made the remaining, intervening hours of afternoon class drag by for this poor, misdirected soul. But like all things, the class that day did come to an end. And that night, as promised, he sang his lovely song. It was truly beautiful. 

I was there, and I’ll never forget that first impression I had of his gentle artistry. 

2.5 years later, in January 1970, after I’d returned from Vietnam, I was in a Portland, Oregon hippie-type record store, Music Millennium. I picked up a 1965 album by Judy Collins, entitled “Fifth Album”, - flipped it over and I was both shocked and deeply disappointed. There, on Ms. Collins’ album, in my very hands, was a song, “Thirsty Boots”, written by one Eric Anderson, which he’d been performing in Greenwich Village since the early 60’s. It seems that my military colleague, back in 1967, had simply recalled the lyrics from her album, jotted them down over time, and then basked in his hijacked glory as he introduced us to an actually wonderful song. I thank him for that. And for making those sweltering weeks at least tolerable, way back then during those Ft. Lee days, which today, I look upon fondly. 

Here’s the link to “Thirsty Boots” by Judy Collins on You Tube (by the way, I prefer John Denver’s version): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckPMoLH-c2s 

Huh?! Can You Hear Me Now?

For quite a while now I have been noticing that when my beautiful wife Karin talks to me from across the room, I have been asking her to repeat at least part of what she just said.  After this had been going on for a pretty long time (like months and months and months!) I decided to avail myself of the VA’s hearing testing program.  Let me tell you that several years ago I had my hearing checked at the main audiology clinic for our health care provider and I was told that I was not a candidate for hearing aids.

Well, to continue my story, after we moved to Lacey I decided to phone the VA near Joint Base Lewis McChord to see if I could get an appointment to be rechecked.  To make a long story longer, in August I went to the VA American Lake campus about a half hour north on I-5.  Turns out that my hearing had deteriorated enough that I qualified for VA-provided hearing aids.  In September I went in for an appointment to have my ears cleaned and then have molds taken so the hearing aids could properly be fitted.  I was told it would be about four to six weeks when they would call me to come back and get them.  I was amazed how easy the process was!

I was surprised to get a phone call about two weeks later to let me know that my new hearing aids had arrive and could I come in on Sunday, September 29th to have them fitted and adjusted.  I was delighted!  The aids were fitted and also adjusted to optimize their how they performed.  I was shown how to clean and generally take care of them.  And, maybe the best part of this is because I’m a veteran, there was No cost to me!

So now when someone asks me if I can hear them now, I can tell them “I CAN hear YOU now!”

1st Aviation Brigade Encounters 50+ Years Later

In May of this year we moved into a brand new house in an active-55 community called Ovation at Oak Tree in Lacey, Washington.  Lacey is about 60 miles south of Seattle just north of the state capitol of Olympia, and just south of Joint Base Lewis-McChord (JBLM).  As you would expect there are lot of military families living in the area (JBLM is the fourth largest military installation by population in the world) and we encounter them everyday at Costco and the other shopping venues in the Olympia area.

This summer I spent a lot of time at our local Home Depot buying this and that as I put in our back yard.  One of the great selling points for moving to this new house (we had been in our “starter” house in Kirkland for nearly 43 years) was that the front yard was mowed weekly and generally taken care of through our home owner’s association dues.  The back yard is small but totally unimproved except for the fence surrounding it.  I’ve put hardware cloth on the bottom of the fence to prevent our two dogs, Mr. Puggles and Penny, from digging out and exploring the neighborhood; we designed and built a low 10’ by 20’ deck; added a raised flower bed with a small manufactured pond and fountain; and finished this summer’s and fall’s exterior projects with spreading nearly ten tons of washed gravel on a path.  I’ve done most of the work myself just to stay in shape.

On my many trips to our neighborhood Home Depot I usually wear a t-shirt with an Army logo of some kind plus the great 1st Aviation Brigade hat that our friend Miguel (Mike) Anza gave me a couple of years ago.  One day a young man stopped me and said “I know that logo!”  (I was wearing a shirt with a large 1st Aviation Brigade patch on it.)  I asked him why he knew it and he told me that he was in a training unit at Fort Rucker; click on this highlighted link for further info on today’s Brigade.

And another time when I was getting ready to check out of Safeway, another man (this time about my age) stopped me and greeted me like a brother because he had been in a helicopter company in the highlands.  We chatted a little while, trading a couple of stories and welcomed each other home!

I frequently hear the unmistakeable throb of rotors and see Blackhawks or Chinooks overhead.  Occasionally we hear the distant booming of artillery or rapid fire of machine guns as troops are practicing at JBLM.  Since we moved to Lacey it’s been fun to be peripherally part of a military community again!

Happy Thanksgiving!

First, let me wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving!  The picture above is of the front of the menu of our 1968 feast at Phu Hiep fifty-one years ago.  As I remember it, we had turkey and all the fixings.  And, in the tradition of the military, it was very good too!

Second, I apologize for the hiatus I’ve taken since the end of June, but here I am again, still well and taking nourishment and the occasional dark beer or really pretty red vino.  It’s been a very busy summer and early fall.  I’ll add some more thoughts/stories in the next weeks.

By the time most of you get this you will probably have eaten way tooooooo much, and are watching a football game!  Have fun with your family and friends!

Reunion In Norfolk!

It’s not too late to register for the annual OV-1 Mohawk Association Reunion being held in Norfolk, VA, October 10-12.  This year’s event(s) promise to be outstanding because in addition to the usual breakfast, lunch and dinner activities, our Reunion Guru, John Bosch, just announced “We have some very exciting news to share with you. Dr. Joe Masessa’s Mohawk Airshow will be coming to our reunion! On Friday, Oct 4 we have made a change to the tour offering. Instead of going to the Norfolk Naval Base, we will go to the Hampton Roads Regional Airport to see Dr. Masessa’s airshow and then have time to see the aircraft up close and personal.”

Be sure to go to the Association website to see the schedule of activities and to actually register online.  There is a list on the website of those who have already registered.  And be sure to ask any of our buddies who were in the 225th if they are attending. 

Vietnam's Valley's Of Darkness

Our friend and comrade Jim Thomas sent me a note around the time we were getting ready to move this spring, hence my tardiness in posting this on the Observer.  Here’s his note to me….

Gordy, hope all is well in the far west. We had two hurricanes last year and it is still wet around here.

I wanted to touch base to see if you could give a shout-out for a book that I've been working on for 10 years. It’s about a 225th pilot that has to leave the unit to fly helicopters for a special mission that involves the 5th Special Forces and his trials, hardships and misgivings along the way. It's not a porno book but you won’t find it in a religious store either—it's about life in the Army in Vietnam. There's a link below and any help and or feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanking you in advance.  H J Thomas.

https://tinyurl.com/valleysofdarkness

Ed. note:  I’ve ordered Jim’s book…take a look at the link because right off the bat you’ll see a map of RVN with Phu Hiep prominently labelled, and the 225th is acknowledged on the first page.  I would have my copy in a few days; I’ll write a review and publish it after I finish it.

Heavyhearted News From Minnesota

I recently received some very troubling and sad news from my Cost Guard (and Vietnam Veteran) friend Dave Pitkin in Washington State.  His sources in the Midwest sent him the below obituary notice.  Many of us older folks are sure to be heart-broken, distressed, grief-stricken, down-in-the-dumps and, indeed, despondent after reading the disturbing news below….