The Zippo
The Zippo
Tan Son Nhut Air Base, South Vietnam, April 30, 1968
April 30, 1968
Phase Two of the Tet Offensive, often called “mini-tet”, had begun just hours before our plane made its landing approach. Although some passengers said they could hear the “ping” of NVA/VC rifle fire off the fuselage, I heard nothing but the sounds of the plane. We debarked into a tunnel of revetments filled with sandbags and were met by an Air Force First Lieutenant who told us to get in line for “battle wear” and weapons. After a quick review of each person’s orders, we were funneled into the process. I was issued a flak jacket, a helmet, and an AR16 with several clips of ammunition in a belt. Later, the issue of weaponry was found to be a mistake, not appropriate for all those entering; so I was one of those compelled to turn in all weapons....after the attack. Still, being “outfitted” for war was a complete surprise – and quite disconcerting - especially to an Air Force guy who was assigned to do a two week teaching/training session and return to Hickam Air Force Base, Hawaii. We could hear automatic weapon fire and mortar explosions just hundreds of yards away. The next day, we were told that NVA/Vietcong attempts to penetrate the main entrance were successfully thwarted….at a cost. While standing in the lines, we would pass some retail counters with some of the essentials for sale….things like pocket knives; cigarette lighters, flints and fluid; shaving kits and sewing kits and what all. I picked a plain Zippo, a full size. The girl asked if I wouldn’t rather have something to remind me of my time in Vietnam. I said, “I have a feeling I won’t need any reminders.” She said, “Special price today. I sell for two dollars.” It had a map of Vietnam that showed Saigon and DaNang and Hanoi on one side. On the other, it said, “Welcome to Vietnam.” Okay. I bought the lighter with the map on it along with 2 small lighter fluid dispensers and a small package of 6 flints. Kept the lighter until 1982, when I donated it to a Vietnam Veteran with a Zippo collection. He contacted me about the lighter a couple of years later. The reason will be revealed at the end of the story.
In the meantime, I was told that I would be assigned a bunk area in the compound across the street. Normally, this compound was reserved for personnel assigned to the Air Force Communications Squadron, the Army’s Red Horse Civil Engineering, and those on Temporary Duty (TDY)....like me. As I stepped toward the terminal exit, headed for the compound across the street, an Air Force Staff Sergeant grabbed me and said, “If you hear a siren, get your ass flat on the ground and don’t move ‘til you don’t hear it anymore! Got it?!” I nodded and hurried across the street to the compound and another Air Force Staff Sergeant in a bunker grabbed me, looked at my orders and told me to go in the third barracks. As I entered the third barracks, a big Air Force Master Sergeant saw me. He shook his head and mumbled something, then said, “This is your bunk. Put your stuff here and follow me.” I was on edge…on edge. The sounds of live fire were more intense than before....sounded closer too. I hadn’t come prepared for battle. I was just about to put the duffel bag on the bunk when a HUGE flying roach landed on my bare mattress. Now, when I say HUGE, I mean HUGE. Imagine a roach just slightly smaller than a dollar bill! ….a flying roach! I was on edge, I told you. On edge. I exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, look at the size of that son of a bitch!” The Master Sergeant came running back. “What the Hell’s holding you up?” Again, I said, “Look at the size of that son of a bitch!” He grabbed the giant bug, snapped its head off and sucked out its innards. “It’s just a damn rice bug! Let’s go! Bunker three!” I almost gagged on the way, but he dropped me off at bunker three, manned by two other Air Force guys like me. "Keep your eyes open and be ready!"
Remember what the Staff Sergeant in the terminal told me just before I ran across the street to this compound? “If you hear a siren, get your ass flat on the ground and don’t move ‘til you don’t hear it anymore!” Just as we in bunker three introduced ourselves, the sirens went off. I asked what that meant. They told me it meant the perimeter had been breached by the NVA/Vietcong. It was apparent that both of them were scared out of their wits. I hadn’t even had time to get more afraid when we could hear a lot of people screaming, “Get down! Get down!” I craned my neck and could see a guy running toward the compound gate. “Get down! Get down!” they kept screaming. He kept running. Just then, a troop truck of heavily armed ROK troops (Republic of Korea army) came around the corner, no doubt on their way to provide reinforcements at the main gate. “Get down! Get down!” was the last thing the young man ever heard. The ROKs, trained to kill all that moves during a breach of the perimeter, shot that boy to pieces. It took my breath away to watch him die. He had come so close. He was only thirty yards from the compound gate...,the distance between bases in baseball, and maybe twenty yards from our bunker. One of the guys in my bunker was softly crying. The other guy put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. He looked at me and asked, “Got a cigarette... and a light?” I handed him my pack of Camels. While he took a couple from the pack and handed one to his friend, I found one of my single use lighter fluid dispensers and the flints. The lighter already had a new flint, but needed fluid. I squirted the fluid into the cotton stuffing and put the lighter back into its case. I blew on the wick and thumbed the wheel. The spark lit the wick the very first strike. I said, “Wow! First strike” as I leaned over and lit their cigarettes. We huddled there until the all clear was issued quite some time later. They went to their barracks and I went to mine. I never saw them together again, although I did see the one who had been crying. I could tell he wanted to avoid me, that I reminded him of what he had seen. I was only there for two weeks, but I never heard anyone speak of the tragedy …never.
Many years after my time in the Air Force, I was still using the lighter. Its hinge pin was a little loose and the lid flopped a bit, but what the Hell. It was dependable. One day, the hinge pin finally broke and slipped out. I tried to find a pin or needle the right size, to no avail. One evening, I was about to officially retire the lighter to the trash when my wife handed me a Zippo box. She said, “I’ve always heard if you send it back to Zippo, they will fix it for nothing. Who knows? What can you lose?” So, I boxed it up, along with a note about its history, and sent it to Zippo. Four months went by; but finally, one Thursday, I received a package from Zippo. I opened the package hurriedly. Inside the package was a hand-written note and my lighter. The pin had been replaced, the body carefully buffed, the cotton and wick and flint replaced. It looked great! I filled it with fluid, blew on the wick, and thumbed the wheel. It lit the first time, just as it had so many years earlier, when it was new. I was impressed. Then I read the note:
“Dear Sir:
We at Zippo are proud supporters of our military troops and are honored to have completely repaired and reconditioned a lighter of such experience. We are sure it will provide you many more years of dependable service. Of course, there is no charge for these services; but please do note that your lighter is not a Zippo, but a "Zappo”, made in Korea.”
I had never paid attention to the bottom of the lighter; but sure enough, it was a Zappo, made in Korea. That was why the veteran with the Zippo collection contacted me....to tell me it was not a Zippo, but that he valued it just as much as any other in his collection.
Guess that’s why the girl gave me a “special price today”.
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