It Wasn't All War
Fourth Day in South Vietnam, October 8, 1969
Warned that I should be prepared to “hit the ground running”, I was assigned to provide supplemental maintenance training to communications maintenance personnel at outlying communication centers in Da Nang (northern most of our ABs), Tuy Hoa [(TooeeWa) on coast midway between Saigon and Da Nang], and Pleiku [(playkoo) – midlands between Cam Ranh Bay and Da Nang).
Today, I’m in Da Nang. The crew was very experienced and attentive. We got a lot covered and would finish early the next day. One of the crew was a first-tour Staff Sergeant named Chris Blackwood, a black guy. Making E-5 in less than 4 years is an achievement for any man or woman, but particularly for a black man in the 60s. He was quite astute and seemed quite outgoing and “hip”, if you know what I mean. He took me aside and warned me that racial tensions were running very high, told me to be very careful what I say. I asked if I had something to offend him that prompted this conversation. These were his words to me….verbatim: “No, man. It’s just you and me, but this nigger’s educated himself. I know how it works, but most of these poor niggers have no education and a lot of attitude. Right now, a lot of them are wondering what they’re fightin’ for.” I’ve never forgotten those words and I heeded his warning….until the late hours of that day.
Can’t sleep, but I refuse to spend the night laying behind a revetment or under my bunk in a flak jacket. Somebody’s lobbing mortars and an occasional rocket on our end of the base. Our barracks are right across the street from the runway and very long display of F-4 Phantom fighters. I supposed those are the intended targets, but the Viet Cong’s aim of the ground launch rockets was inexact at best. It’ll be over soon. They’ll run out of ammo. “Black Power” came rolling by. “Black Power” was a flat black armored half track sporting a “mini-gun” up top. It was the only all black one. All others were camouflaged. It was also the only one with an all black crew. Inscribed on her faceplate in olive drab lettering, it said “Black Power” and a clenched fist was drawn beside the words. There had been a good bit of racial tension of late, I guess. I could hear the crew cutting up inside. Apparently, they had eliminated some Cong by getting them in a crossfire at the corner of the base.
About 1am, I undress to my olive drab boxers, grab a towel and head for the latrine. A shower sounds good to me…even a cold one. The showers were individual metal stalls about 30 inches x 30 inches square. As I walked in, I saw four black guys playing craps, using a shower stall as the table and backboard. I nodded to the two guys that looked at me. One nodded back. After a shower, I dried off and was heading back to the barracks. I noticed there was a pretty good wad of MPC (military payment certificates – money) laying there as one of them rolled the dice. Very casually, I said, “It’s kinda boring around here. Can I get into this game?” You would have thought I had a gun or something. They all looked at me for a moment or two. The one who nodded earlier said, “Sure, man. Go get your money.” Two of the guys actually smiled. One never did. I didn’t know it then, but this was “Black Power’s” crew.
I got some cash and threw on my fatigue pants and flip flops. The group seemed friendly enough, so we were having some fun winning and losing a little money….but a little can add up. The dice came to me again. I was ahead about 30 dollars. I started rolling….and winning, rolling….and winning, rolling….and winning. I was on a roll like you only read about or see in a movie. I couldn’t lose, no matter how difficult the point. I was totally rapt in the luck I was having when I realized I was up several hundred dollars. No one was talking much. Things had gotten serious. Later, I was told I had made 22 consecutive points – an unheard of run of luck, no matter where the game is played. I rolled the dice for my 23rd point. My point was 4. I looked at their faces and knew what had to be done. I grabbed $200, tossed it in and said, “Gentlemen, only the hard way wins. Any other 4 or craps loses. Who wants some of that? More money suddenly appeared on the shower floor. I was shaking the dice when the guy who never nodded or smiled looked at me and said, “Man, you make this point….I’ll cut you.” He sounded serious and one of the other guys said, “Aw, man. It’s just luck, man. You wish it was you. Shut the f*** up.”
I threw the dice. I think I knew as I released them. There it was….double deuces, the hard way. I won. Suddenly, I felt something hot in my right lower abdomen. I looked down and I could see blood seeping through my fatigues. I looked up and the guy who never nodded was holding a knife, a butterfly knife with a thin blade about 4” long. It was dripping blood. Now, the wound burned like fire. I pressed hard against the wound and said, “Man, you cut me.” His face got gray. His eyes got big. He was breathing very fast and shallow. He suddenly snapped back and said, “Oh, God***n. Oh, God***n.” He dropped the knife and grabbed me. “Come on, man. Keep pressure on it, man.” He grabbed all the money in the shower and wrapped it up in his shirt. He helped me to a jeep and took me to the dispensary, just down the street. On the way, he told me his name was Lee and kept apologizing. He even cried a little...not something he would normally want a white guy to see. An orderly saw my situation and I got immediate attention. After a brief exam, the doctor used some long hot device to cauterize the wound. Man, it burned like fire. He had looked at the wound before cauterizing it. He looked at me, looked at the black guy, and asked, “How did this happen, Sgt.?” I glanced at the black guy. He was visibly shaken and sweating profusely. So, I said, “You know those 2 new barracks they’re building. We were looking them over and I tripped and fell on an exposed nail….a long one.” The doctor looked the black guy for a long moment, then looked back at me. “Are you sure that’s what happened?” “Yes, Sir. Just a clumsy accident.” “Tell your CO you’re to stay off your feet for 3 days, then you come back and see me.” He knew I was lying. He told me so 3 days later….but was respectful of the motives.
Lee took me back to my barracks, then went to the Communications Center and told them what the doctor ordered. When I woke up, I was very sore. I noticed a large lump in my cot, under the blanket. It was a camo shirt full of money….my winnings. I stayed in bed that day, but the next day I limped over to Lee's barracks. He and the crew were there. He had told them what I had done to save his ass. He and they thanked me profusely, and some good relationships were formed. I gave them back their money too. They tried to refuse it, but I won out. Easy come, easy go. After all, it’s only money. I like to think I also accomplished something to reduce the racial tensions.
When I had occasion to go back to Da Nang, I got to ride in “Black Power’ when they went on patrol. With their starlight scope they spotted some would be infiltrators nearing “no man’s land” and the mini-gun spoke. I’ve never seen so many hot casings pouring out. Lee was the gunner. Suddenly, he screamed, “It’s meat!” They scanned the area again and were convinced they had killed all the would be infiltrators. There were no signs of life, only signs of death. Even the vegetation was cut down.
What a night! 23 consecutive points!
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