The Christy Collection
Military Stories and Articles
Where did you go to Boot Camp/ Basic Training? What specific memories do you have of instructors, fellow recruits and any rigorous training?:
Saturday, July 20, 1968, is still the longest day of my life. This is how it began as I entered Naval Officer Candidate School – officer boot camp – at Newport, Rhode Island.
“HEY, YOU!”
The voice belonged to a khaki uniform.
I pointed to myself, “Who me?”
Where did you go to Boot Camp/ Basic Training? What specific memories do you have of instructors, fellow recruits and any rigorous training?:
Lackland, in winter…
I quit my high school senior year in South Bend on the November day JFK was assassinated. Being a foster kid and ward of Cook County court I was given one choice; enlist or go back to school. I chose USAF because my uncle had been in blue working on Boxcars in Japan during Korea, and everyone else in the family going back to the 1700s had been Army. I scored high on “Abstract Reasoning” – as my wife and kids would attest still holds true 60 years later. In almost exactly one month I found myself in Indianapolis taking the physical, and the oath with about 20 other guys my age. After spending that night in a seedy hotel part of the city, we were put on the civilian equivalent of a C-131 (aka T-29) Samaritan recip. Bound south vector to San Antonio, at age 17; my first airplane ride, and into the unkowable.
What was your favorite bar/ recreational establishment from your Military Service? What do you remember most about this place and do you know if it still exists?:
After getting wounded, I was given a three-day R&R in Vũng Tàu. I stayed at the Grand Hotel, which had been taken over as an R&R Center. Many GIs had cute dinner dates that first night. I don’t do nightlife, so there would be no opportunity to find even a plain Jane for me.
On my second day, I passed a barefoot woman in an alley. She was dressed in filthy black pajama peasant rags sporting rips and patches while smelling like raw sewage. I said hello to her in Vietnamese in the most formal manner. She returned my greeting, and we continued our separate ways. Suddenly, she came running back. As a Chinese Nùng, she was from the lowest strata of Vietnamese society. They were treated like animals. Other than her fellow Nùngs, I was the first to show her any respect.
What was your favorite bar/ recreational establishment from your Military Service? What do you remember most about this place and do you know if it still exists?:
The Vung Tau Airfield NCO Club – 1966. On March 11, 1966, three months after I arrived in Vung Tau, Viet Nam, the NCO club served pizza. I loved pizza. So, hearing it was on the NCO Club menu, I hurried to get mine. A half a kilometer from the Club, my nostrils flared and I wiped drool from my mouth with the back of my hand as the smell of baking pizza dough wafted by. Before I opened the door, I could already taste the succulent wedges loaded with spicy pepperoni, steaming tomato sauce, and cheese that spilled off the edges.
Inside, the smoke-filled Quonset hut buzzed like a squadron of WWI bi-planes in a dogfight as others chomped, chewed, drank beer, bullshitted, and belched approval.
Huong, the Vietnamese waiter, came to my table, pad in hand, pencil on ear. He had read my mind. “You want pizza pie?”
“I’ll take a pepperoni pizza with extra pepperoni, Huong.” I wiped my drooling mouth again, this time with a paper napkin.
“No have pepperoni pizza,” Huong said.
“Then give me a sausage pizza with extra sausage and black olives,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“No have sausage pizza.”
“Well, Jeezus H,” I sat back up. “What kind of pizza do you have?”
Huong smiled, obviously pleased with my irritation. “Have cheese and Veenamese pepper pizza is all.”
“Then bring me a cheese and pepper pizza with extra pepper and a beer.”
Huong padded off to the kitchen and within fifteen minutes, I had my pizza. With two hands I guided the pointed end of a steaming wedge into my mouth. I bit. I chewed. The melted American cheese tasted heavenly. The Vietnamese hot peppers had been grown in Hell. Fire scorched my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Tears streamed from my eyes. Smoke must’ve poured from my ears. I gulped down my beer and ordered two more before eating another piece.
After four slices, my mouth and tongue had gone numb and I could no longer taste the pizza. I finished it without a whimper. Three beers later, I paid my tab, whistled all the way back to the tent, and plopped on my cot. Twenty minutes after I laid down, my stomach began to work on the meal. Internally, the peppers fired burp guns at pizza slices which lobbed gas canisters back. My tent mates complained each time I belched or farted. Frog Fogarty moved his cot outside.
Some time later, the pizza wars ended and I dropped off to a fitful sleep. In my dreams, a blazing wheel chased me around the compound and I burped fire.
The next morning, after I showered, shaved, and ate breakfast, I headed for the latrine. If I had known my rear was going to catch fire, I would have taken a fire extinguisher with me. It took a few minutes before I realized that the pizza wars hadn’t ended. The Vietnamese peppers were now firing parting shots.
Regardless of all that, the hot pepper pizza proved so popular that the NCO Club was always full.
Obviously, the Vung Tau NCO Club is no longer in existence. Did the hot peppers burn it down? No one knows, but it’s a definite possibility.
What was your favorite bar/ recreational establishment from your Military Service? What do you remember most about this place and do you know if it still exists?:
Well, I’ve visited a lot of bars in my life, but the standout is the Cubi Point Officer’s Club, Tailhook, or “Cat Room,” which housed the infamous “Cat Room Catapult.”
I was a newly-minted ensign serving on a Fleet ATF/diving vessel during the Vietnam War. An initiation ritual for junior officers was a trip to this bar, a cinderblock space two stories beneath the club bar and dining room. An aircraft cockpit was mounted on rails that exited the bar through double doors and then plunged into a tank of water. Once strapped in, compressed gas fired the sled down the track with one chance to hook a cable and stop the sled from plunging into the water. A very kindly NAC officer provided me with a tip that saved me from that fate.
What was your favorite bar/ recreational establishment from your Military Service? What do you remember most about this place and do you know if it still exists?:
During basic training at Ft. Jackson, South Carolina, there was a place called Charlies Beer Hall. We were allowed to go there about half way through basic. The beer tasted weak [I think it was 3.2] but we could get together and listen to music.
The reason that place is so memorable for me is it is the last time I saw some friends I grew up with. While I went on to Korea, after the Pueblo capture ,others went to Viet Nam. Some back story —I was the youngest of my high school graduates at 17. When I turned 18, April 1967, I went to the draft board to register and volunteer for the draft. I was told it would be at least a year until I was called. Guess what? I got a letter requiring me to report on Aug. 10,1967. when I told my friend, he laughed at my surprise in a joking way. So while I was at FT. Jackson ,I ran into my friend who was just starting his training. We had a good laugh,but that was the last time I saw my friend Franki Toderello. He was KIA June 6 1968.
What was your favorite bar/ recreational establishment from your Military Service? What do you remember most about this place and do you know if it still exists?:
“The Green Parrot” – My Favorite Bar in Key West, Florida. The Navy was in the process of closing several bases around the country, and my first duty station at NAS Albany, Georgia, was on the list to be disestablished in 1974. The whole Vigilante Community Air Wing was to be transferred to NAS Boca Chica in Key West, Florida, the southernmost point in the United States.
What was your favorite bar/ recreational establishment from your Military Service? What do you remember most about this place and do you know if it still exists?:
Amid multiple combat deployments that often felt like an unyielding storm after the horrific events of 9/11/01, the Tiki Bar in Guantanamo Bay (GTMO), Cuba, emerged as a beacon of solace, a slice of civilian pleasure amidst the harsh realities of military life. As soon as I walked into the bar, I felt the lively and energetic atmosphere. It starkly contrasted Afghanistan’s desolate and melancholy landscape, providing me with a much-needed respite from the harsh realities of the real world. Picture a place where time seemed to slow down, where the rustic charm mingled effortlessly with the soothing rhythms of reggae and salsa that danced through the air, creating a harmonious backdrop to the laughter and camaraderie that filled the space.
Which song do you connect most to your time in Military service? What specific memories does this song bring back for you?:
The Ballad of the Green Berets by SSG Barry Sadler – 1966. Captain Bracey, Mr. Stephens, and I were headed home to Vung Tau after a day-long parts route or “milk run.” The deHavilland Caribou was empty. Deadheading back. It had been a long day, and I was tired. I laid down on the empty troop seats and put my flak jacket under my head. As I reread my latest “Dear Bill” letter from Myra Faye, I hummed words from a recent Righteous Brothers song: You’ve lost that lovin’ feelin’, oh-oh that lovin’ fe-e-elin’. . .
Which song do you connect most to your time in Military service? What specific memories does this song bring back for you?:
We Gotta Get Outta This Place was released by The Animals in the summer of 1965. The Animals were a British pop group, and the song’s lyrics talked about escaping from inner-city poverty in England. It had nothing to do with the war in Vietnam, but that didn’t matter. It was the chorus, sung— almost screamed— by Eric Burdon, that hit home.
We gotta get out of this place
If it’s the last thing we ever do
We gotta get out of this place
‘Cause girl, there’s a better life for me and you
Which song do you connect most to your time in Military service? What specific memories does this song bring back for you?:
The Song “We gotta get out of this place” by the Animals! We used to sing it all the time in the field in Vietnam. It also applies to the year I took stateside between deployments in Vietnam. I was assigned to Fort Lewis, WA, as a training officer for reserve and national guard units sent to Vietnam while awaiting my orders to join the 101st. One of those units was a MASH hospital. They arrived without their contingent of doctors and nurses but with a Major in charge. We were told to take them out to the field and set themselves up under simulated combat conditions. I had a small group that I was to take out to secure the site from the “aggressor” troops before bringing the full outfit. As we were preparing to leave, and I was issuing weapons and blanks, the Major came down to the supply room and pulled out a crate of tear gas grenades that they had been given in the event that they were called out for crowd control. I told him we would not be needing those and suggested that he put them away. Once we left, he apparently grabbed two and hung them from his web gear.
Which song do you connect most to your time in Military service? What specific memories does this song bring back for you?:
Song Connection: “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd. Why: There’s an evocative power to “Comfortably Numb” that deeply resonates with my decade of service in the U.S. Coast Guard. The song speaks of transitions, of changes, and of coming to terms with realities. For me, it mirrors the transformative journey from a young, high-spirited recruit fresh out of high school to a seasoned Coast Guard member and, later, an IT professional, attributing my skills and discipline to the robust training and values instilled during my service in the Military. Specific Memories: Every time David Gilmour’s soulful guitar solos waft through the air, I’m transported back to moments just after a mission. Amidst the adrenaline rush of success and the weight of responsibility, there was also an inexplicable sense of peace, almost a comforting ‘numbness,’ knowing we’d given our best — “You have to go out, you don’t have to come back.” The song, in its profound depth, takes me to countless nights sailing beneath the Caribbean stars on the USCGC Dependable, where the vastness of the ocean would often make us contemplate life and our role in the grand tapestry of the nation’s defense.
