Book: "Tiger Papa Three"

The Illustrated Confessions 

of a Simple Working-Class Lad
from New Castle, Delaware

by Edward Palm

Publisher:  CreateSpace
Pages:  264
Formats:  Paperback and Kindle

Paperback Edition
Kindle Edition

About the Book:

The Combined Action Program (CAP) in Vietnam was an enlightened gesture of dissent on the part of the Marine Corps.

The Corps recognized that our search-and-destroy strategy was immoral and self-defeating and that the war could only be won by winning those elusive hearts and minds out in the countryside. 

Toward that end, the Corps stationed squads of enlisted Marines, augmented by Navy Corpsmen, in villages to train and patrol alongside village Popular Force units. 

Through a combination of chance and circumstance, in 1967, I became a CAP Marine. This is my account of that experience, including how I readjusted to life back here in "the World" and the circumstances that prompted me to join the Marine Corps in the first place. 

As a one-time aspiring photojournalist, I have also included a gallery of the photographs I took during my time in Vietnam. --Ed Palm

Paperback Edition

Kindle Edition

Review:

"This book is outstanding. Ed tells what it was like to live during that era, growing up under the shadow of WWII, the attraction to the Marine Corps for many young men, and the closeness that developed between Marines serving in a very perplexing war that was not popularly supported by those back home. 

I have known Ed for some time. We went through Officer Candidate School, the Basic School, and Communications Officer School together. We lived close and our wives became good friends. 

 I of course have a signed copy of his book which he gave me several weeks ago during a visit. Ed writes extremely well – English is an art form for him. He is not afraid of controversy and his book represents the feelings of many who served through this era.  

The men he talks about remain friends and maintain a lively discussion through emails. I am fortunate to be included. I strongly recommend this book to those who served, or are interested, in this era. For anyone interested in a good read, this is it!" --Ed Meyer, Major, USMC Retired

About the Author

Ed Palm

A native of New Castle, Delaware, Edward F. Palm served in Vietnam as an enlisted man with the Marine Corps’ Combined Action Program.

He earned his Ph.D. at the University of Pennsylvania with a dissertation on the moral vision of selected Vietnam novels and has since published and presented on various aspects of American culture as well as imaginative representations of the American experience in Vietnam.

Returning to the Marine Corps in later life, Palm became an officer and taught military affairs at the University of California, Berkeley, and English at the United States Naval Academy before retiring as a major in 1993.

He went on to serve as a tenured professor and division chair at Glenville State College (in West Virginia) and has held dean appointments at Maryville University of St. Louis and Olympic College, in Bremerton, Washington. He has also taught full-time online for Strayer University.

Now retired, Palm devotes his time to photography and writing, including a regular opinion column for his local newspaper, the Kitsap Sun. His full CV is available at www.EdwardFPalm.com.

Through no fault of his own, Palm now makes his home about as far from Delaware as one can get and still be in the contiguous United States—in Bremerton, Washington.

Another Blog Post About Ed and his Books

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

Book: "Content With My Wages"

A Sergeant's Story 

Book I-Vietnam

by Gregory H. Murry

Publisher:  No End To Publishing Company
382 Pages
Format:  Paperback and Kindle
Release Date:  January 6, 2015

About the Book:

This is a history, memoir, and a critique of certain combat actions of the 1st Infantry Division during the years 1966 and 1967 in Vietnam.

Growing up in California with an intense interest in military history and surfing, the author joined the National Guard in 1963. In 1965, he joined the Regular Army and was assigned to the 4th Armored Division in West Germany. In 1966, he requested a transfer from the 2nd Battalion, 54th Infantry to the 1st Battalion, 16th Infantry, 1st Infantry Division in Vietnam. 

Arriving shortly after the disastrous battle of August 25th, 1966, at Bong Trang, he joined a rifle company that was being rebuilt by a Special Forces captain who had replaced the former company commander, KIA in that battle. 

He describes the battle in detail by blending official history with the recollections of two of his comrades who were there. He then returns to the battle and dissects it, using personal accounts and official interviews of many of the participants, to include MG William DePuy. 

Assigned as a machine gunner, the author began to learn the ways of a combat infantryman in a jungle war. Three months later he was given more responsibilities and began serving in leadership positions as an acting sergeant, until he was promoted to sergeant.

He recounts a number of road clearing operations, ambush patrols, and search and destroy missions, which took place shortly before his battalion’s participation in the largest operations of the Vietnam War: Operations Attleboro, Cedar Falls, and Junction City. 

During Junction City, he participated in the battles of Prek Klok I and Ap Gu, one of the most lopsided victories of the war. Between operations, are descriptions of medical evacuations, hospitals, base camp amusements, rest and recuperation (R+R), and more. 

In June of 1967, the 1st Battalion, 16th Infantry and the 2d Battalion, 28th Infantry fought the 271st VC Regiment in the battles of Xom Bo I-II during Operation Billings. During Xom Bo II, on June 17th, the author’s platoon was at the center of the main enemy assault. 

Out of forty-three men, he was one of eight who walked away. Once again, blending his own narrative with those of his company commander, an RTO, and one of his machine gunners, he presents a grim picture of close quarters infantry combat against a determined enemy. 

He describes the battle of Onh Thanh in October, 1967, which took place shortly after he left. There, the 2nd Battalion, 28th Infantry was almost completely destroyed by the 271st. Using published accounts, documentaries, and official histories, he shows how soldiers react to leadership that attempts to paint a rosy picture of a disaster. 

Returning to the chaos of American society in 1968, where he was assigned for a short time to the 1st Battalion, 3d Infantry (The Old Guard) in Washington, D.C., he finished his enlistment at in California at Fort MacArthur, near Los Angeles. 

Finally, he relates his own struggles with the memories of the war after he returned home and tells how he found peace by overcoming PTSD. 

A professional soldier, the author used official after-action reports, histories, studies, and recently released information, to paint a more accurate picture of the successes and failures of the leadership, tactics, techniques, and procedures of the U.S. Army and Generals William Westmoreland, William DePuy, and John Hay. 

He also describes the lessons learned at the squad, platoon, and company levels. These are timeless and should be of great interest to anyone considering serving, or a making career, in the armed forces. At the same time, he warns us of the pitfalls that will be encountered when studying military history.

Buy Paperback at Amazon

Buy Kindle at Amazon

Review:

"A revealing account of the Vietnam war as seen through the eyes of a young infantryman. 

This is the real-life version of “Platoon” with all of the naïve expectations, confusion, fear, camaraderie, and the courage many young American solders experienced in the fog of war. 

The Author writes, not just to tell his story, but to pass on “lessons learned”, in hopes that future generations of soldiers will benefit from his experience. 

I enjoyed it immensely and look forward to the next two books on the Drug War and Afghanistan." -- Tabbed783 (January 9, 2015)

About the Author:

Greg and Wife, Faith

Greg Murry retired from the Texas Army National Guard in 2005, after returning from Afghanistan, where he served as an Intelligence Advisor to the Afghanistan National Army.

After his discharge from the Regular Army in 1969, he returned to the surfing beaches of Southern California, before drifting down to Mexico, Central and South America for several years. 

Back in the states, he moved to Texas, where he worked on a drilling rig and on a road construction crew. In 1985 he became a police officer in Austin, and four years later, he re-enlisted in the National Guard. There, he co-founded an ad hoc special operations unit that supported law enforcement agencies, by conducting low-visibility surveillance operations in the War on Drugs. 

He also served as the operations sergeant in a Long Range Surveillance unit, as an intelligence analyst with G2, and as a BNCOC and ANCOC instructor/small group leader. He has written memoirs of his service in Vietnam, the Drug War, and Afghanistan. 

Greg Murry is married with children and grandchildren.  He lives in Austin, TX, where he continues to read and write about military history and the situation in Afghanistan.

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“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

Landon's Odyssey: by J.A. Gasperetti

Publisher: Author House

Paperback

492 Pages

About the Book

Gil Landon, a returning Vietnam veteran, has a pervasive feeling of angst.

His love is gone, his graduate studies interrupted, his prospects for a job are bleak, and his treatment for a war wound mediocre.

This is quite a plateful for a veteran to handle while trying to acclimate back into civilian life.

To make his current state more tolerable, Landon begins a journey, an odyssey, if you will, to find some relief by seeking his past to improve his future. 

His voyage of discovery is prompted by the discovery of six letters, which he inexplicably finds in a shipping crate he sent back to himself from Vietnam. They belong to six wartime buddies, who Landon plans to visit and belatedly deliver their respective letters. 

The letters are the mysterious glue that holds the story together and propels it forward. 

As if by black magic, one of the letters brings him back to an old college anti-war adversary, Josh Hannigan, who knows the location of Landon's lost love: Becky Morris. 

Unknown to Landon, Hannigan is the fortuitous acquaintance of one of the letter recipients: Johnnie Krupke. Krupke's letter links him to Hannigan and Corsican heroin dealers. The hunt is on to find Landon and the evil contents found in Krupke's letter that Landon has in his possession. 

Through a series of flashbacks, both to Landon's college days and his Vietnam experiences, the characters are defined and shaped. 

The major players all come together for a climactic ending in the psychedelic kingdom of Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco during the turbulent year of 1968. 

To give added flavor to this evocative age, the songs of the 60's are included throughout as a thematic emphasis in the respective chapters they are inserted. 

Painted over a broad national and international canvas, Landon's Odyssey is truly an epic journey. It is a unique and relevant tale for a generation, one still coming to grips with the tumultuous times.


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Joe's Website

Joe Gasperetti

About the Author

Joe (J.A.) Gasperetti was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He received his B.A. and M.A. degrees from the University of Wisconsin, with course work at both the Madison and Milwaukee campuses. Now retired, he enjoyed a successful career in sales and marketing. 

Joe is a Vietnam veteran, who served with the 4th Infantry Division in 1966-67. His novel, Landon's Odyssey, is loosely based on his wartime experiences, as well as providing an historical fiction glimpse into the turbulent 60's. It will also provide the uninitiated with what all the buzz was about.

Landon’s Odyssey is his first novel. He is actively looking for a screen play writer, since a number of readers believe it would make a good movie.

Joe now lives in Iowa City, Iowa, with his wife of 43 years, Anne. They raised two daughters, Talia and Larissa.

J. A. Gasperetti
4th Infantry Division
Republic of Vietnam, 1966-67

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Waiting for Willie Pete: by Byron Edgington

Revenge: Capt. Ahab ("Moby Dick") and Cdr. Ahearn 

CJ: Here's a piece for the blog if you want to use it. It's an excerpt (Chapter 57) from my novel in progress about Vietnam.

A cross between "Matterhorn" and "Moby Dick", "Waiting for Willie Pete" is about a lift company with a commander who's a madman.

Captain Ahearn seeks revenge on his old nemesis, Colonel Dung, an NVA infantry commander who wounded him several years before.

Ahearn will find Dung and kill him -- even if it means losing his entire company.

 
Steve Piper is the company goat, the man no one likes.

It takes place in the club the night before a big mission to find Colonel Dung.

Piper's speech defending himself is a tribute to my fellow VN vets, guys who share the honor of having served.  As Steve Piper says, "...when the cause seems hopeless, the only thing to honor is the call, and each other."

Enjoy the piece, and share it if you like. And happy Veteran's Day to my colleagues.

I’d finished presiding over Benning’s initiation. He’d failed in his first attempt with Lady Hooker and rushed outside to compose himself. 

In his absence, I grabbed a Strohs from Ted and settled at the bar, listening to the company song. 

“…goin’ home in a body bag, doo dah, doo dah, you’re goin’ home in a body bag, all the doo dah day..’ 

Frank wandered over. “Hey, Foot, big day tomorrow. Gonna finally get that bastard Dũng." 

“Or he’s gonna get us, Reverend. Seen the latest?” 

“G-2 hasn’t got it right yet, Frank.” 

He sucked his PBR. “Let’s hope they’re wrong this time, too. Army intelligence is one of them oxymormons, you know?” 

Cold Strohs filled my nose, but I fought it back. “Aren’t you getting short, Frank?” 

He took another pull. It wasn’t like Frank Tiberi to ponder. This time he pondered. “Don’t matter, Rev,” he said. Then he sucked his beer dry, slapped my back, and got up to leave. 

“Frank?” 

“…in the morning, Reverend.” He eased toward the door. 

CCR filled the speakers. 

‘…I see the bad moon arising…I see trouble on the way…’ 

I went back into my Strohs, what was left of it. It was ten P.M. and I was about to retire to my hooch. 

A shout from the pool table turned my head that way. “…give it up, asswipe!” 

“Stebbins, you don’t know…” 

“…know an asshole when I see one, Piper. Nobody cares about your dead brother anymore, okay? Knock off the sob story and go the fuck home to California.” 

“…think you’re so damn smart, Stebbins, got it all together…” 

“…none of us got it together, Piper, especially you.” Stebbins stabbed Piper’s chest, backing him across the room. 

I’d seen Tony in his more aggressive condition, and knew that beer fueled it.

The briefing an hour before hadn’t helped. Ahearn had ordered us into the room, seething at men who’d come late, even though we’d flown from dawn to dusk. 

Waiting for us to file in, he'd paced, grumbled, and smacked the map with his cane. “…here, men, right next to LZ White! 

Tomorrow we will find him! Tomorrow is the day, men. Launch at first light. We will find that bastard, or…" 

“…or die trying…” 

“…asshole…” 

“…total insanity, Ahearn…”  

The commander had stormed out, hobbling across the compound in the ominous dusk.

Creedence wailed through the club. 

…I see earthquakes and lightnin'…I see those bad times today… 

From out of the shadows, Fisk loomed over Piper. “…take my dog and get him killed, Piper. You must have the reverse Midas affect, everything you touch turns to shit.” 

“…sorry about Major Barkley, Mike, I never…” 

“And what’ve you been doing in ops, Piper? Cassady says you harass him every damn night.” 

Stebbins shoved Piper toward the door. “…skating out of flying, on sick call all the fucking time…” 

“…never lets me fly, Tony, you know that.” 

“’cause you never want to, Piper.” 

“Goddamit, listen to me for once!"   

Piper staggered toward the center of the club. Reeling, drunk, he pulled out his .38 and waved it around. His arm came up. He aimed the gun overhead, and his eyes clamped shut. 

The clap slapped my ears, a single shot popping into the ceiling. Dust filtered down, coating Piper’s shoulders and hair. 

“Just goddam listen!” 

Beer cans slapped the bar. Heads came up. 

Fisk staggered backward. “…take it easy, Steve…” 

“Back off, man, nobody meant…” 

“Whoa…” 

My ears ringing, I eased off the stool and started toward Steve Piper. 

‘…I hear hurricanes a blowing…I know the end is coming soon…’ 

Ted snapped the toggle and the music stopped. The only sound was Piper’s ragged breathing. 

I eased closer to him, and stared into his hollow eyes. 

Chest heaving, the pistol sweeping back and forth, Piper fixed each of us in a ghostly stare. Saliva dripped from his open jaw, and sweat beaded on his forehead. But his gun hand never wavered. The dark pistol stuck into the dim light, rounding on each of us, an evil presence that could not be ignored. “Just…god…damn…listen!” 

We listened. 

“Since my first day in this unit I’ve been the guy everybody picks on. Find one guy to harass so you don’t have to deal with your own fear.” 

“…not it, Piper…” 

“Shut up!” He raised the gun to chest level and swept the room again. “Just shut the fuck up and listen. You always gotta have a nigger, a guy who gets the shit end of the stick, ain’t that right, Double D?” 

Daggert’s voice sounded. “Seems like it, doesn’t it?”

“A guy you gang up on so you feel like you’re part of the crowd.” 

“…sorry, Steve, we…” 

“Shut the fuck up, Tony!” Piper centered the room. Tears streamed down his face and the little gun bobbed and weaved. 

“Here’s what I know about being an outcast. I understand what it’s like. Hey, Palmer!” 

My neck prickled. “What?” 

“You ought’a know better’n anybody. Think I didn’t see you and that Chrisman guy?” He creased his eyes and sneered. “…love you, Cal…love you too, Jimmy.” 

At that moment I knew enough to do what Piper ordered. I just shut up. 

“Stebbins, you think I don’t hear you almost every night in your bunk? That girl kicked your ass, so you beat yourself to death dreaming about her? She’s gone, Tony. You took your hits, get over it.” 

“…don’t have a clue, Piper…” 

The pistol swing toward Stebbins. “Wanna take a few more?” 

Tony’s palms rose, and he fell silent. 

“Frank, you know the number of times I wanted to laugh in your face? Got your insignia ‘embroiled?’ A bull in a Chinese shop? Do they really talk like that back in Jersey, Frank? Dad must be really proud.” 

Tiberi shook his head. “Guess I need to pay more attention, Steve, I…” 

“Guess so. Mike, do you really think that goofy novel’s going anywhere? GIs screwing native girls? There’s a unique idea. That’ll sell a million copies, Mike.” 

Piper examined every one of us. “You guys’re right; I shouldn’t bring Keith into every damn conversation, but he’s why I came here. I could’a skated, as you say, Stebbins. But I didn’t. I volunteered to come here, to make up for my brother’s death. 

I’m no different from any of you. As a kid, I listened to all those war stories. Saw the movies growing up, John Wayne, Audie Murphy, The Longest Day, Sands of Iwo Jima. 

Hell, my dad didn’t just go to that war; he knows the guys I saw on the big screen. They were my fucking neighbors. 

I read all the comic books, the heroes of that war—our heroes! Then what? Then they sent us to this shitass little place and it ain’t like any of that. Vietnam ain’t a thing like we were told it would be. 

They told us we’d be fighting for freedom, and liberty and to defeat the commies. Bullshit. None of that’s true. 

Here’s the biggest thing: I want to know what the fuck it means when we’re told one thing all our life and then learn something completely different. Does that give us the right to beat up on somebody else?” 

Piper studied all of us, his chest rising and falling. He lowered the pistol. “Have I ever shamed any of you? Harassed you because you’re here without even knowing why? Have I?” 

Heads sagged. Outside in the compound, two men shouted about guard duty, their battle rattle clanking as they crossed the gravel. 

At a remote sector of the base a mad minute started, outgoing rounds popping and cracking. 

“Have I ever made your lives miserable? Made you the butt of the joke? Why the fuck’re we here, anyway? To pick on somebody weaker? I thought we came here to stick up for people like that? 

Those ARVN guys board our aircraft with their damn chickens and ducks and rice, and I see the people we came here to fight for, to give them a shot at what we have. And you pick on me, because I volunteered to help with that?” 

“…hopeless cause, Steve.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Mike.” 

“It does matter, Piper. There ain’t a fucking thing we can...” 

“Heroes, all of you.”

“…shit…” 

“…fucking crazy, Piper…” 

“Get over it, man…” 

Piper’s head wagged. “All heroes, including my…” 

Stebbins’ voice. “Jesus, the brother thing again…” 

“All heroes, Tony. Know why?” He slammed fingers at his chest. “Because we came, that’s why.” 

Tears flowing, Piper scanned the room. He swiped an arm across his runny nose and went on. “Enemy’s no threat to us. Shit, our biggest threat is our own damn commander.” 

“How’s that make us heroes, Piper?” Stebbins said what all of us were thinking. 

“Because, you came, Tony.” 

“…dad’s were heroes…” 

“It was easy for those guys, with Hitler, the Japs, the Germans. The threat was real, and everybody knew it. There’s no threat here, and nobody knows why the fuck we stay. 

At home they say we ought’a pull out. Mom sends me clippings. It’s bad back there, guys. People are sick and tired of Vietnam, the body count, the terrible command decisions, lost battles at places they can’t even pronounce.” 

Piper pointed the pistol at each of us, one by one. “Outcasts,” he said, an evil smile playing on his lips, head bobbing. “Your day’s coming, my friends. You’ll get back to the world and no one’ll give a shit about what you did here. No one will give a fuck that you risked your life for your buddies and did your duty. 

You’ll want so bad for someone—anyone—to ask about it, to be interested in what you did over here, and how it went. No one will. They’ll ignore you, change the subject, and walk away. They’ll talk about their own lives instead, their kids, their jobs, their new Chevy. They won’t want to hear about Vietnam. 

As soon as you start talking about it they’ll give you a look that says I don’t care and please don’t bring it up again in polite company. Hell, even our girlfriends, our wives, our kids and grandkids will ignore what we’ve done here. 

Then you’ll see what it’s like to be the outcast. People will shun you. They’ll shun all of us.” Piper licked his lips. “We’ll have war stories. We’ll just have to tell them to each other and move on. You’re all heroes, every goddam one of you.” 

Piper’s head bobbed and his chest shuddered. “My brother died over here. But your dreams died over here. 

There’s a special kind of honor in serving at a dishonorable time, in a dubious cause. A special place of honor in serving when the cause seems hopeless, and the only thing to honor is the call, and each other. All heroes, and all my brothers, every damn one of you.” 

Piper riffled his shirt and produced a tattered scrap of paper. He balled it up and tossed it to the floor. Then he shoved the pistol in his belt, grabbed his cap and walked out of the club.

Mike Fisk retrieved the paper and unfolded it. He scanned the lines, cleared his throat. “…be dipped in shit.” 

“What’s it say, Mike?” Tony moved into the light. 

We all shuffled toward Fisk. 

“Dear David…a pleasure to see you and Colleen at our home in Palm Springs before your departure for Vietnam.” 

“David?” Frank leaned over the letter. “David who?” 

Fisk went on. 

“…Peter and I have lost our older son, Keith. We know your options as Steven’s commander are limited, but please see that he’s kept out of harm's way as much as possible, if that can be done.” 

Fisk looked around at all of us. “Piper’s mom. Guess his folks and Ahearn…” 

Silence. One by one we grabbed our hats and filed out into the night. 

The next morning, as we lifted off to engage Colonel Dũng at last, Steve Piper was ensconced in the right seat of Ahearn’s Huey. 

As he took off, I raised my hand and saluted. He saluted back. Then he flew off toward the far horizon.

Byron Edgington

Byron Edgington

The SkyWriter

Website
Blog
Byron's Book

Other Articles by Byron Edgington:

Vietnam: Arriving at the Truth
Do Guns Equal Safety?
Laotian Rescue Mission
Ho Chi Minh
Terror and Hilarity
A Return to Vietnam
The War That Will Not Let Us Rest
War: A Waste of Youth
The Right Seat is the Wrong Seat
Jim, Frank, and The Snake
Smokey, The Alcoholic Pup

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Smokey, the Alcoholic Pup

by Byron Edgington

Smokey

When we weren’t playing with fire, or flying, (which activities were often the same), we drank.

And, like boys the world over, we had a dog. Unlike most boys, we got ours drunk almost every night.

Smokey was a Vietnamese version of the Heinz 57 dog, several varieties, none of them dominant. 

Smokey the alcoholic pup was part beagle, part terrier, shnauzer, pit-bull, on and on. He was a little black dog with white-ish feet, and ears that stuck straight up, except when he’d been imbibing. 

I’m not sure where Smokey came from. He likely wandered on base looking for scraps of food. Ever the cynical GIs in an Oriental setting, we joked that the pup came in fear of his life, to escape a Mamasan’s wok. 

Regardless of where he came from, Smokey settled right into the company. We adopted him, and made him official pet of the Comancheros. And fit right in he did; Smokey loved his beer.

Of an evening, after the flying was done and the war closed down for the day, we’d retire to the ‘O’ club. Soon the sound of snapping beer tabs filled the dim room, and suds flowed like water. Georgia Peach, Tony Lowe seemed to be in charge of Smokey’s entertainment, and vicariously of ours. 

Tony spilled PBR directly onto the bar, and the little pooch lapped it up. Little did I know at that age that dogs have the same affinity for booze as their best friends. Smokey drank, and lapped, and drank some more, with predictable results. 

It wasn’t long before Smokey’s ears sagged, and his beady little eyes crossed. Soon the little dog’s already too short legs would no longer reach the top of the bar, and he had to stoop to find it. So, his canine manners somewhat better than ours, he took one last slurp, his furry little knees buckled, and Smokey went nighty night, sweet dreams little pooch.

Cheap drunk. Hair of the dog, one might say.

We waited for the intoxicant to work its magic on ‘ol Smokey. When it did, and his little peepers yawed out of trim and then shut down, we’d roar with laughter at the animal’s almost too perfect imitation of the likes of us. 

Despite his drinking problem Smokey was a great little dog. Tony had ideas of taking him back to Georgia when he, [Tony], left Vietnam. Alas, it was not to be. 

Rest his beer-soaked soul, Smokey succumbed, (from cirrhosis of the liver?) at the tender age of three, which is twenty-one in dog years. Oblivious men that we were, the chilling similarity never occurred to any of us that Smokey was, in fact, our age. 

We buried Smokey on the flight line where, with every takeoff, we tipped our helmets to a real, hard-drinking pal.

Byron Edgington/101st Airborne Ret.

[Excerpt from From Chapter 11 of "The Sky Behind Me, A Memoir of Flying and Life" ©2012 Byron Edgington]

Jim, Frank, and The Snake  
Byron's Website

Byron's Blog

"I used to live in the sky; now I write about it." ~Byron Edgington

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale