M Y O B

For some years, my parents had been sponsoring a young boy in Vietnam through FFP (Foster Parents Plan), known only as Tai and a number. It seemed natural that I should try to get in touch with him while there.

My letters were also referring to my “Number one friend”. This was the masseur I had met in the parlor on Phan-Than-Gian Street: he stayed with me, used the motorcycle, and kept me well pounded with his massage skills. We had sex occasionally, but mostly that was taken care of by the boy I’d met first at the Loc Building who helped me move to my apartment, and who visited regularly.

Monday, 13 May 1968

Dear Everyone~

First, belated Happy Mothers Day to those to whom it applies: somehow in the week’s chaos I forgot about it—there aren’t all the advertising reminders down here (since the Holiday is unknown to the VN).

The accompanying article tells a number of tales. The bunker complex referred to was discovered about 2-1/2 miles (line of sight) from me, and it is that area which I’ve watched US planes work over several times. Last night, E-4 Jets struck it four different times (apparently the VC were trying to move back into it) with B-40 rocket-bombs. These are big ones, and at 2-1/2 mile range they sound as though they were next door, and shake the building pretty hard, yet there is little to see unless one is atop the Rex, and even then the haze usually prevents seeing much.

Yesterday, and possibly again last night, the VC managed at last to hit and cause damage to the NewPort bridge, so that this AMs news broadcast said traffic on the Xa Lo Bien Hoa was limited to essential Mil only. My bus came at its appointed time, but I was discussing a block away the liklihood of its getting through, which seemed small, so I didn’t go. I expect it will just get tied up in a monumental traffic jam and eventually return to town. I’ll try tomorrow, unless I hear otherwise, to go to work, though of course the only real reason I bother is to get mail.

Yesterday, Hung and I went out to the Cho Lon PX as planned. It was open, swamped with people, of course. There was a good deal of shooting not far away, and when some jerk cleared his rifle near the entrance, you should have seen everybody (including yours truly) dive for cover! At that moment I was waiting for Hung to come back from the Va Ep (garage) where he was getting the left-turn signal lights on the Honda fixed. When he got back, we di di mau’d!

On the way out there, we stopped to see my “family”. Their place is not bad by Saigon standards, but they sleep in a bunker every night, and are getting ready to move to what they hope will be a safer area—for which I can’t blame them, but where they will go I’m not sure. There is an uncle on the scene, related somehow to the Papasan who isn’t around, and he works for PA&E! He’s a photographer, but has not been able to get to Tan Son Nhut to work all week. He’s Phillipino, speaks good English, and is very pleasant. Apologetic, of course, about the house situation, but of course under the circumstances…

Having boo coo time, I think I’ll try later today to get in touch with Miss Green at FPP and see what I can learn of Tai. I hope, of course to be able to get good news, but there is always the possibility it will be otherwise.

On the way to Cho Lon yesterday we passed a large refugee camp put up on the site of what was to have been a large new school: I’d been by it when it was just a couple of acres of cleared land awaiting construction. Now, it is a forest of semipermanent tents (wood bottom, fabric top). I do not think it was designed by an Architecture Professor at Cambridge! It was, at least, orderly, if crowded, and the Red Cross was much in evidence, so it is quite likely that many of the occupants are better off than in the hovels they inhabited before!

I just went out and bought 4 Saigon maps to send with this—I’ll mark them with useful info to help keep you up to date. The accuracy of these is poor, and there’s no scale of distance, however. . .

Later, Monday, 4 PM

I have just returned from visiting Foster Parents Plan. This morning I took the Honda and went seeking the place, but somewhere along the way the number 160 Yen Do had got fixed in my mind, and I was not able to find that: of course I had the letter with me, but dinky-dau me, I didn’t have sense enough to look at it until I got back to the apartment, where, of course, I found the number was 105 Yen Do. This afternoon after lunch I tried telephoning, but Miss Green was out until 2 PM; hence about 2:30 I got a taxi and headed out again, this time to find that it is at the corner of Yen Do and Cong Ly, so I’ve passed it many times on the way out to CM0.

Miss Green turned out to be precisely the charming older lady that I’d expected, with a copy of “Suffer Little Children” on the bookshelf. The outfit seems to be the best organised of any I’ve found here yet: they’d received a copy of the letter from New York, and although she scolded that office for forgetting the “V number” (Tai’s ID) they had dug out his card and were actually more or less expecting me.

The faily lives in a portion of Cho Lon into which Americans are not presently allowed: she was not more specific, probably fearing I’d try to go there. They have positive news that the family did not suffer in the Tet offensive, but do not have information on the current drive.

All of the familys receiving assistance within a 60 mile radius of SGN come to the Yen Do office to pick up their moneys and visit the caseworker: someone from Tai’s family, if not Tai himself, is expected in on Wednesday 22 May, and I am to go there on that day and meet with whoever shows up: the caseworker will act as interpreter. I’ll take that day off (if indeed I am working again by that time); there isn’t time to get a letter back from you with any specific questions you want asked, so I’ll have to sort of play it by ear.

Miss Green was highly doubtful that the letter you say was written in January actually was, since she says they are generally running farther behind than that. She was also interested in my own “family” and what little I had done for them. Alas, she is not at all optimistic about the future, feeling that much more hardship and war will hit Saigon before it is over. That of course remains to be seen.

So there you have all the news I can get at this moment; I’ll write the evening of 22 May (be prepared for the possibility that no one will appear: what with curfews and limited movements in many parts of Cho Lon it is quite possible they won’t be able to keep the apointment, but much depends on what happens in the next few days), which will mean you should get some info around 29 May.

Saigon HAS been quiet all day so far: not a sound I’ve heard even in the distance, which seems a little odd considering how noisy it’s been for the last week. I spoke to some chaps at noon who said the remaining lane of the Newport bridge was successfully tested at 60 tons this morning, so traffic should begin to move some, but it will be congested. There is an alternate route to LB through the “boonies”, but military escort is required to traverse it because of the dense jungle that surrounds it and the known presence of snipers. I’ll not try it, I think!

More tomorrow:

Letters arrived from home, and one was from my brother Rob, who worked for an aircraft company and was being sent to VN for some purpose he could not divulge. He mentioned having to get a lot of inoculations, just as I had done.

Long Binh Tuesday AM, 14th May 1968

Made it through to LB OK this morning; structural damage to the New Port bridge is not great and the section that dropped into the water can be replaced without too much difficulty.

Yesterday  remained quiet, all through the night as well; same parts of the curfewed areas are being opened up slightly. It would appear that the offensive is over for the time being.

Received letters from everybody this AM. Todd’s with his latest set of notepapers which are indeed lovely and ought to sell well; Dad’s with the welcome pictures of the family taken at Easter; and Rob’s letter telling among other things about his proposed trip to VietNam.

Todd’s letter included photocopies of the downtown area of SGN from the Nat’l Geographic article. I still haven’t gotten hold of a copy of that issue—it would have been faster if someone had bought one and mailed it over! The particular photo he sent does not show any part of where I have lived, and my present location is just off the picture at bottom right, as is the Rex BOQ. The area that I lived in before moving is in about the opposite direction from the view in the picture, as you all may be able to figure out from the enclosed maps.

Rob: How to contact me if you reach Saigon is a problem. I have seen a number of [Company] people around the Rex, and I’ll contact them and find out where the office is. I can put you up OK, though not in the most luxurious surroundings: if you’re on an expense account, the Caravelle is only a block away, but expensive. Numerous other less dear hotels in the area, though. You will, if you come into Saigon, arrive at Tan Son Nhut AB, and transportation into downtown is not difficult to arrange—if you go by taxi it costs 100 piasters (less than $1.00), and your destination would either be the [Company] office or my place. If the latter, tell the driver “Rex” or Nguyen-Hue / Le-Loi (Nyoon Way / Lay Loy) and he will drop you at the circle. The map below will direct you to my place. If I know the exact day you arrive, I’ll have Number 1 friend on hand to let you in, otherwise I might be at work unless you come Saturday afternoon or Sunday. On the other hand, if you let me know exact day, I can take a day off to be on hand, perhaps even meet you at TSN. I can be reached—with patience and luck—by telephone on any Military class A telephone, the number Long Binh 2268, but don’t rely on it! Cam Ranh Bay, is of course, a number of miles North, and with sufficient notice I might get travel orders to enable me to accompany you there for a few days, but it would take time. As for HK or elsewhere, I really don’t know, but I’II see what I can find out. Anyhow, sure would be swell if we can get together however briefly while you’re in country. As for the sore arm, well, toi rat tiek: now you know what I went through!

Will close this now and get it off to you all.

Love, as always~
Bruce

___________________

SAT 18 MAY 1968

Dear everyone~

Since I last wrote, and I can’t remember exactly when that was, things have quieted down quite a bit. Midweek there were some more rockets landing in Cho Lon at night, but otherwise little action around Saigon. Curfews are being relaxed somewhat, although it looks as though the 2100 to 0700 one will be with us for some time.

Emergency repairs are started already for the New Port Bridge. The major effect of that damage has only been to slow traffic to a crawl: most of the week it has taken nearly two hours to go out in the AM, but somewhat less coming back at night: but today, coming in at one PM, it took more than two hours!

Dad’s letter of 12 May, packed with clippings, arrived this week. Among other things, he mentions being puzzled still by the fact that the French Beaucoup comes out in Vietnamese as “Boo Coo”. Well, now, it doesn’t AWAYS sound like that—sometimes one hears it nearer to the French pronunciation. But transliterations usually get somewhat garbled in the process anyhow.

The Vietnamese alphabet is composed of 12 Vowels, 17 Consonants, and 9 Double Consonants; there are about 30-odd diphthongs, however, each having (to a Vietnamese!) distinct sounds: as if this were not enough to master, there are 5 diacritical marks which further alter the pitch (for the most part) of a spoken sound! Through this latter expedient, a single word can—and usually does—have an assortment of meanings depending on the accents. A simple word like Ba, for instance, has at least five distinctly different meanings (among others, it means three, old woman, and father)—not to mention contextual shades of meaning that also may appear!

We understand that on the eve of Senator Ribicoff’s investigation (recommended) of USAID, PA&E and RMK-BRJ, PA&E has been sold to some outfit I’ve never heard of called Gulf & Western Industries: they’re listed on NY Stock exchange at 50 or so, but I suspect that when the word gets out they bought PA&E it will drop to ten or so! They’ve bought themselves a peck of troubles, if it is true. What effect this will have on the employees, or on myself in particular, is hard to guess at this point, probably little: but it is increasingly clear that my tenure with the firm will never reach the anticipated 18 months, for I am completely useless to the organization—and trapped by Smythe in such a way I can’t transfer to some duty-post where I could at least do a day’s work for a day’s pay. Just where I’ll go, or when, or how remains to be seen, but one of these days. . .

In anticipation of a possible visit from Rob, I got my passport back from the Company and was surprised to find that in three month’s time they succeeded in getting my “Brown-Book” receipt, which means I am now legally in the country! A lot of people don’t ever get them, and I probably will never see the brown book itself, which is a work-permit and residence visa combined. But with what I have, I can get exit and re-entry visas with little difficulty, as long as I do it myself and don’t rely on PA&E to do it for me.

That about brings you up to date: the frequency of my letters varies inversely as the VC activity apparently, so when you don’t hear much you can assume things are status quo. I will write Wednesday nite after my meeting (if any) at Foster Parents Plan.

Love to all~
Bruce

As the letter above makes clear, I was pretty sure the lab was never going to be approved. There had been talk almost from the day I arrived at Long Binh that Dan Smythe would be transferred, but either no one could accept him, or (more likely) he was one of those who “knew where the bones were buried”, and was invulnerable to attack or transfer, no matter how much his staff hated him. I began formulating plans to escape this place, not because I did not enjoy it, but because I was a useless appendage to the US effort. With rockets landing frequently, Saigon at this time was a dangerous place to be, so if I was going to remain useless, I was going to go elsewhere!

Nevertheless, the possible visit from my brother was something to look forward to!

More letters to come!

Rex BOQ, Saigon

In 1965, the National Geographic had an article about Saigon, in which this photo appeared. The well-lit building is identified as the “Abraham Lincoln Library, a facility of the United States Information Service”. Now that I think on it, the USIS did indeed have the ground floor as I recall, but the rest of the structure was the Rex BOQ. The corrugated cover over the “rooftop club” had not been erected when this photo was taken. Le Loi Boulevard is at the right, heading southwest.

National Geographic Map of Saigon, 1965

This map, also from the June, 1965 issue of the National Geographic will help my readers identify some of the places I’ve mentioned so far. Much of the city was essentially off-limits to a tall american like myself: I stood head and shoulders above everyone in a Vietnamese crowd, and as such was perfect sniper-bait.

I continue with my letters—here are the next two:

21 April 1968

Dear Everyone~

I’m still using up this small paper that was all I could get when I first got here. Now that Xerox copies aren’t being made of my letters, I guess it’s OK.

Todd remarks in his last letter that the word I had in-tended to use was beaucoup. Now, “beaucoup” is correct as far as French goes, but it has been transliterated into Vietnamese as Boo Coo. Oddly I have been able to discover only two words of french origin that have come into every-day use by the Vietnamese, boo coo being one and “fini” being the other. But of course there are boo coo English words now coming into the language, one of the more amusing being “cao boi”. One reads about the Saigon cowboys in the states from time to time—they’re the Vietnamese equivalent of our “gangs”, and the starting point for their excursions is quite obviously american TV and movies. It is amusing. if rather tragic, to see some of them all dolled up in wild clothing (”Mod” is in vogue here right now)—and not one of them tall enough to reach my arm-pit. For the most part, they occupy themselves with minor thievery, draft evasion, and such, and so far have not gotten into the big-time dope and all that. SInce marijuana is indigenous and used at times by most everyone, there’s certainly no future in that!

The week here has been fairly uneventful. It is clear that any program I have hopes of establishing must wait until Dan Smythe goes—which should be fairly soon according to all the indications I can get. He simply has no vision whatever, and will delegate no responsibility. The operations group has been moved out of the lab, so now I have an office and a desk. By virtue of rescuing a typewrite from the PDO (Property Disposal Officer) and rebuilding it myself, I also have a typewriter. So far, no filing cabinet, and no supplies to work with whatever. When people bring in samples, I just tell them to report to their installation manager or commanding officer (as the case may be) that we are non-functional due to lack of supplies and I’m very sorry we can’t do anything for them. This alone should eventually bring about some pressure to get out from behind the eight-ball, probably about the time I finish my 18 months.

Dan’s latast bug is that I am supposed to visit all the PA&E installations on a sort of PR mission to tell them what the lab will someday be able to do for them, etc., etc. But as I see it, this is putting the cart before the horse: I concieve of myself looking ridiculous with a line like that, and would much rather make the tour armed with instructions and so forth showing capability NOW to do this that and the other, and please comply.

The weather remains about the same. Scattered showers now and then for brief periods, and continued warm. I am enjoying perfect health as the warmth seems to agree with me surprisingly well.

Looked for the April issue of National Geographic yesterday, but the March issue is still on the stands here at the equivalent of $1.50, yet! I assume it is the April Issue that has the article on Saigon, and it isn’t due here for another  day or so.

Todd’s letter expressed surprise about my finding a stamp-store in Saigon. You must understand that with the exception of the curfew, now 9PM to 6AM it is business as usual in Saigon, and  in the down-town section there are stores of every description open and doing a thriving business. Products from all over the world are readily available at fairly reasonable prices, if one shops around for them. There are at least three stamp stores down there, and I’ve passed others in various part of town. Everything is terribly overcrowded, and there are times when one can hardly move—walking—on the streets. The only businesses hurting now are the bars and prostitutes, since military passes are scarce, and the bars must close about 8:30. Now that Abrahms is to take over from Westy, there will be a wholesale removal of military from Saigon—a welcome and wholesome idea as far as I can see, but it will mean quite a bit of re-training of Vietnamese people when they go!  Apparently, Long Binh will become the military center for this area—already a large expansion program is under way to accommodate the influx.

Replying to Dad’s question, I still plan to get an 8mm movie camera, and possibly an inexpensive tape machine so I can send narratives along with the films. So far I haven’t had much time to explore this, though. Our PX privileges are limited to items $25.00 or less (recently upped from $10.00), which will allow for an adequate (though hardly hi-fi!) tape machine. The camera I have to get on the local economy, which will require some shopping ’round—and so far I haven’t even seen the model I want.

Luv again~
Bruce

As the next letter describes, I found and rented an apartment. Essentially, it was a single large room with a balcony looking out over Le Loi Boulevard. The “kitchen” had been stuffed into what was originally a closet, and was essentially non-functional. I opened the cupboard under the sink there and saw numerous beady eyes looking back (huge roaches). So I said, “OK fellas: I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me!”—I never went near the kitchen again! The bathroom was off in a corner, rather rudimentary, with only cold water. Where the toilet emptied I never wanted to find out!

Sat. 27 April 68

Dear everyone~

Well, quite a lot has happened this week—nothing really earth-shaking, but enough to keep me busy!

Monday evening our bus broke down on the outskirts of Saigon (Gia Dinh), and I guess they didn’t get it fixed overnight, because it didn’t show Tuesday AM. So, I took the opportunity to look for an apartment. The owner of the Hotel I’ve been in since reaching Saigon decided rather suddenly to convert it to apartments, and the prices he proposed to charge for them were outrageous, so I decided to move. I found quite a nice studio apt right downtown, a bit closer downtown than I really wanted, but too nice and convenient to pass up. The new address is 49/1é Etage Dai Lo Le-Loi. That’s No 49, upstairs, first floor, Boulevard LeLoi, in English! The cross street, if you have the Nat’l Geographic map handy, is Pasteur. The Long Binh bus comes in LeLoi and turns out Pasteur in the morning, and comes in Cong-Ly to Le-Loi in the evening, so I’m much better located in that respect. Can sleep until 0600, get ready and go to breakfast at the Rex BOQ (corner LeLoi & Nguyen Hue), and catch the bus just before seven AM: in the evening, barring hold-ups on the hiway, I’m back to the apartment by 1800. All this is really a big improvement over former location. The place has a ti ti kitchen, reefer, and all conveniences except hot water—and I intend to rectify that just as soon as I can!

As if to answer my question whether or not electrical storms are known here, we’ve had three this week already! Monday night’s was a ways off but quite a show; Thursday there was another visible from LB, and some rain there. But this afternoon, mua mua (monsoons) hit Saigon for the first time, really. It took me (and a lot of others!) by surprise: about 4 I stepped on to a bus bound for the Cho Lon PX; it was just spitting a little then, and didn’t look like it would amount to much. Within a few minutes, it really began to pour, and walking the fifty-odd yards from the bus-stop into the PX I got SOAKED to the skin. It continued like that for close to two hours; I got re-soaked getting back to the bus—by this time the PX yard was 6 inches deep in water. We drove through foot-deep water on the way back into town, and there were, of course, jillions of stalled cycles, cars, trucks and so forth all along the way. I got drenched again going from the bus stop to the apartment, and after shedding my wet clothes, stood in my front window to watch the pandemonium on Le-Loi BouIevard for awhile—it, too was nearly a foot under water in places. About 1545 I stretched out for a nap—and when I awoke an hour later the rain had stopped and the street was clear of water! it is still wet out, but not raining, and the temperature is now about 70 degrees—quite delightfully cool by Saigon standards. Amidst all the rain, there was much lightning—some of it struck very close to the PX when I was there: quite noisy and spectacular.

We are all expecting another Tet-type offensive by the VC on or about May 1. You may hear of it before I, as before! Hopes for any real peace-talks are dimming rapidly here. Radio Hanoi has, predictably, been making propaganda hay out of Johnson’s hedging on the location, as any idiot would expect them to do: I am as inclined as they to suspect his motives, in view of his shifting positions. It has been said by some that China has nearly fifteen Divisions of troops stationed along the NVN border to assure that Hanoi will not go to any peace talks. Naturally, with our absurd policy towards China, there is no way for us to properly assess their role in this whole thing. The big question that nearly everyone gets ’round to asking after being here any length of time is when—in Heaven’s name—are we going to wake up? And if we ever do, will it be, as usual, too late?

It’s about time I turned in. All is quiet now. There were six mysterious explosions around town (probably incoming rockets) about 0230 this AM but then all was quiet again. What tonight holds no one knows, as usual. My friends in the Bamboo Telegraph tell me the VC won’t do anything this time  but, as with all that one hears here, I don’t rely on that much: it’s a perpetual game of “wait and see”.

Love to all
Bruce

More letters coming up!

August 9, 2009

By the time the next letter was written, I had managed to go out and procure a typewriter. This is facilitating transcribing my letters now, using OCR software. Most of the copies Dad kept were carbon-copies, though, so the images aren’t all that sharp; OCR is not perfect anyway, so some fairly heavy editing still is required. But it IS faster than key-entry.

The borrowed typewriter with its Vietnamese keyboard was difficult to use because the letters had been rearranged in accordance with their frequency of use, so frequently-used english letters were in the wrong place. There were also a number of letters which occur in Vietnamese, but not in english. (The Vietnamese language is akin to chinese, and for the most part is incomprehensible to westerners: the typical characters were replaced with a romanized alphabet  by Missionaries a long time ago).

Saturday, 9 Mar 68

Dear Everyone,

As you will have guessed by the time you begin to read this, I have now gotten a typewriter! This one has a standard keyboard! After trying out the hazards of a Vietnamese typewriter,  I couldn’t hack it, and decided to get one of my own. As you can see, I’m not altogether used to it. It’s an Ollivetti “Dora”, a small light portable, with an assortment of features, including halfline spacing, along with an arrangement coupled with the spacebar that allows one to type in an extra letter in case of an error; i. e., god and good here occupy the same space.

Having run nearly out of money, this morning I went out to CMO and arranged an advance on my salary of $250.00. That much, at least is safe from the Infernal Revenooers. Of this, I spent $75.00 on the typewriter, and $50.00 on a very nice all-band portable radio. In both cases, the prices are about half US., and I think very reasonable. I bought both on the “local economy”—our PX purchases are limited to $10.00 items max.

So you can all heave a small sigh of relief: the folks won’t have to Xerox my letters and remail them and Rob & Todd won’t be several days behind on my letters.

There’s really not too much to report. I haven’t had any letters for several days—heaven knows this is not unusual—so don’t have any answers to send along. Life is settling down into something of a routine, involving a very early (for me) arising around 6 AM and a quick cup of coffee, sometimes, and taking a cyclo at 7 over Phan-than-Gian St. to Hai-ba-trung Street, where I wait for the bus which goes to Long Binh. The trip out Hiway 1 usually turns out to be the most interesting thing all day! Then, at 5, we leave LB and reverse the process. When I get here, I must first, of course, take a bath (shower) to remove the layers of LB dust and grime. Then it’s dinner (usually here, because of the curfew), and usually a bull-session with someone, or a relaxing interlude alone on the verandah. Then, to bed fairly early, ready for the next day. It all goes quite quickly.

I just discovered that I goofed and didn’t put a sheet of paper between two carbons on this sheet, so somebody will have to get a Xerox of the first page, at least! Toi rat tiek (I’m very sorry).

You may not believe this—knowing my finickiness about eating—but I’ve actually had a number of Vietnamese meals since I got here, and have enjoyed them immensely. One of the local specialties is a sort of meat roll, made up of a very thin rice-flour tortilla, with heaven-knows-what inside. I’m told it is is best not to ask what the filling is, so I haven’t done so! There’s also a very good chinese soup that is made here, lots of noodles and things, with some meat and a few shrimps added for good measure. And last night, several of us ordered chicken curry, which turned out to be very good (quite mild on the curry) and very filling, what with both potatoes and rice included! Alas, I have not lost so much as a kilo, and won’t, If I keep eating like that!

We understand, unofficially, that the curfew is going to be lowered to 9 PM next Monday, which will enable us to get out a bit more in the evening and get some other meals. I don’t remember whether or not I mentioned that the hotel has lowered its prices materially or not—I’m now paying 500$ [dong] for a single room, per day, rather than the 600$ for a double paid previously. This is a shade over $4.20 per day ($130 per month), which is hard to beat in Saigon, considering the fact that it includes maid service, and considering the fact that the facilities are so good. Hence, I’m staying put for a while, as I mentioned before.

There are indications of some action at Long Binh. 24 hour power is presently being installed (it has been in the works for quite a long time and is just now being accomplished, despite the fact that 24 hr hi-tension lines go right past our compound). I have submitted the listings of the equipment items I must have, and there are indications they might actually be obtained. Meanwhile, not much is doing, and I double up with the operations department from time to time when they are short-staffed (which is always). I have in mind a good training program for the Vietnamese, to be implemented as soon as the lab is functioning. This is a big thing with the Govt and the army now, and so it will win a lot of points if I can bring it off. But it’s a long ways off, unless I miss my guess about how fast the army can move on a project such as mine.

The electricity here tonight is currently (you’ll pardon the pun) going through a series of gyrations, so I think I’ll go play with the radio a while, and finish this up tomorrow.

Sunday AM

How curious! Most of the programs on the radio are in foreign languages. However, Radio Hanoi spews forth a constant stream of messages to “American Service Men fighting the unholy war in Vietnam”, and Radio Peking spews forth a constant barage of quotations from Chairman Mao Tse Tung. In both cases, the female voices used almost exclusively have a familiar ring and resemble closely the voice of Radio Moscow.

Hanoi repeats endlessly all the UPI and other descriptions of the draft-dodgers, burners, etc all over the world. Some of it is undoubtedly true, some of it embellished, and some false. The same thing happens here: at one point last night, I had Hanoi on the radio, while a plane was flying by overhead sending propaganda messages down via sound-powered microphone! And, when Hanoi broadcasts messages (allegedly in the voices of) from the group of US boys who recently defected in Japan, one has to realise that Radio Sgn is simultaneously broadcasting statements by captured or defected VC. One only wishes that the entire war could be waged thus, through words, instead of the way it is: the outcome is likely to be the same, either way.

Today’s Saigon paper carries an excellent (if heavily censored) article criticizing the American way of making war in this country. There’s a lot of truth in what is said. In essence, it points out how unprepared for fighting a defensive war our machine is. The other article enclosed is for information—although you may find it a bit alarming, it is not sent with that in mind. This only Premiere Ky’s view, and may not be correct. In any event, our security (as americans) is not any less than before, and most of us with sense enuf to stay out of trouble have quite successfully avoided it.

I’m going to set out now for the PX: there are a few items I want to pick up, and the concierge wants a few rolls of film. I will continue (finish) this letter later.

Later

That was a waste of time! I wanted some chewing-gum and a fly-swatter, and they had neither. Despite scads of color film, they had no B&W that Sao wanted. The place was swamped, and the air-conditioning was off, so it was sweltering as well. I stayed long enuf to get a spare set of batteries for the radio, then came right back, after stopping at the snack-bar for what (for want of an appropriate name) was called a milkshake. In a few minutes I shall go up and have a sandwich of some sort. Sometime this afternoon an aquaintance here is supposed to take me along on a short visit with a VN family with whom he’s been acquainted for some years. One of the daughters teaches for VAA., so I should get some information about that, and of course it will be a chance to meet some nice people.

So, for the moment I will close. Please supply the missing page 1 for Todd, and send this on to him: full copies went to Folks and Rob directly.

Love to all
Bruce

Street stall in Saigon, 1968

Clowning around at a street stall: I’m offering the photographer a pair of dark glasses.Most of what’s on the table came more-or-less directly from the PX: much of it is Military Issue. Directly behind me is a cyclo, probably the one I rode in to reach this spot, and it is likely the photograph was taken by the driver. I’m sorry the photo is light-struck—thems the breaks! I was most likely actually shopping for temporary replacements for glasses I had dropped and broken: see below.

14 March 1968

Dear Everyone~

I’m going to start this letter tonight, and probably finish it tomorrow. I got a long letter from Todd a couple of days ago, and Dad’s letter of 5-6 March at the same time.

Before I forget (which I have in several previous letters), I recall your mentioning your foster-child’s name in one early letter: apparently, that one got lost in the shuffle between hotels, because I have reread everything I have and can’t locate the reference. Please repeat, with all available information. Have you had any word from him since the Tet offensive? There might be something I could do. . .

The radio has turned out to be a very wise investment. I’m still locating stations and the times they broadcast useful info (that rules out most of Peking’s programs!), and more particularly, music. Oddly, some of the best music is coming from what appears to be either India or Pakistan—and the reception is pretty good in the evening. V 0 A and A F R T S, sharing the Manilla transmitter, get out much more comprehensive world news than does heavily censored AFVN.

The curfews have been extended from the former hours of 0700 to 1900, to 0600 to 2000 hrs. This enables us to put in an actual 8½ hour day. Leaving the hotel at 6:30 and returning about 18:00 makes it a long day, though. The other two hours are consumed, of course, by the bus-ride. These still are the most interesting parts of the day. The bus route I now take, which picks me up and drops me just a block away from the door, goes all over robinhood’s barn in the process (specifically, through the sections of town known as Go Vap, Gia Dinh, and Bay Hien, if you have gotten a map…), so there is always a lot to see.

Traffic on Hiway 1 is pretty much back to normal—it staggers the mind. The average is 21 dead each week in accidents. It is the sort of traffic that would bring an average US freeway to a stand-still, yet somehow it moves at breakneck speeds in spite of all but the worst pileups. There aren’t many bicycles (because of the distance and a few long hills), but POV (power operated vehicles) of every other description are found by the thousands, and it all ranges on up to the largest US Army equipment. Yesterday there were five more-or-less wrecked vehicles noticed on the way in; today, one accident involving two people on a motorbike that was a bit grisly (though they weren’t killed).

No word yet, of course, from the IRS. I’ve followed up my original letter with three other reminders of my desire for action on their part, and threatening a couple of other moves I’ve been told of if they don’t get off the pot: we’ll see if anything comes of it. Actually, if they don’t move right away, I intend to drop the matter, and let the sum they have earn 6% for ME until such time as I feel like coming back in person to claim it. That will in a small way offset the loss all that money I had to pay them represents. Once I get a paycheck here and get my bank-account back in operation, having over 300 bucks “on deposit” with IRS won’t make any real difference.

A couple of weeks ago, I dropped my dark glasses and broke the right lens into two pieces. I immediately ordered a new one from SF, and epoxyed the broken one back together as a stop-gap. The new lens came today. But YESTERDAY, I dropped them again and shattered both lenses. So now, I’m short the left one! I’ve ordered that one, and when it comes, I will begin carrying the case. . .

Unexpectedly, we had an inspection by a US Army Team today. I gave them the whole ugly story of what the lab amounts to, and what my problems are. However, in the exit report, nothing whatever was said about it. Apparently Dandy Dan Smythe talked them into dropping it until the next inspection, on the premise that something will have happened by then. I think it’s unlikely that anything will, but in fairness to him, I have to admit that I had only yesterday turned in my “program” to him, and there has been no time for him to act upon it. The ball is in his hands now. It seems likely he will be leaving around 22 April: in that case, Long Binh will see a celebration that ought to make Tet look puny. But the liklihood is that Smythe will leave the lab as a thorn for his successor to grapple with. Meanwihile, I may volunteer to operate a water point or some such thing, as we are desperately short at the moment in that department, and it should at least give me something more to do than I can accomplish under the present setup. The wheels of the US Army grind exceeding slow!

0530 arrives early tomorrow—so it’s beddy-byes now until tomorrow, when perhaps I shall have heard from someone, and can add answers to anything I receive.

15 March 1968

No letters today, but lots of action at Long Binh: Dandy Dan went on a rampage of personnel “actions” (i. e., position shifts) as a result of the inspection yesterday. Looks like I’ll have a new boss, for the second time in less than a month! It really makes no difference to me—nothing is happening anyhow. He may have a near mutiny on his hands tomorrow, since no one thinks for a moment that his actions have improved anything. God—what a stupendous mess he has made of things!

The weather has grown steadily warmer since my arrival, and now ranges from 35 to 40 C, depending on whether or not one has any shade. It is surprisingly dry, but this will change when the monsoons hit in mid-May.

The news today is all about [Senator Joseph] McCarthy’s performance in New Hamp, and the probability of Bobby throwing his hat in at last. This, I fear, could possibly throw a lot of weight to Nixon which would be pretty bad. It is amazing, how much control Moscow has over the next US election: they could assure Johnson’s win by getting Ho Chi Minh to the bargaining table (which they could assure by a simple withdrawal of support), or they might well assure Johnson’s defeat by a reverse process. One has to give Moscow a lot of credit for playing it cool: they’ve created chaos all over the world without ever having fielded a man.

There is a lot of talk in the news also about the gold problem. Whenever I hear of this, I think of HMT’s [Henry Moore Teller, first Senator from Colorado] predictions, way back in 1896: it looks as if he may yet prove to have been a true prophet. And while Johnson talks out of one side of his mouth about the dollar drain, and its impact on the “chronic unemployment problem”, out of the other he continues a policy of pouring millions down endless ratholes here. There are, for instance, about 5000 “third country nationals” here, nearly all Korean and Phillipinos. Their base pay hovers around 500 US dollars, plus living allowance of $175. With the kind of overtime nearly all of them show (whether actually worked or not), few of them send home (their home) less than $1000 each month. Virtually all that money goes out of the US. Its purchasing power in Korea is such as to make equivalent millionaires out of most of these people.

Now, the rationale for their existance here (besides the nonsense about being part of the Free World Forces), is that they are performing essential services that the Vietnamese can’t do. Vietnamese are not allowed to operate any water points, nor any generators on military bases, because no one can be sure they aren’t VC, and won’t either a) sabatoge their installation at a critical moment or b) disappear if they come under attack by VC.

If one accepts these criteria (and a whole lot of sensible arguments could be lodged against doing so), the question is, why not replace those 5000 people with American “hardcore unemployed”, thereby keeping most of their pay in the US, and employing them, and teaching them a trade as well? A policy like this could reduce the dollar outflow by at least $100 Million each month (taking into account PX privileges and other benefits extended to TCNS). At any rate, I am in complete agreement with—is it [Senator] Mills?—whoever it is that is kaboshing Johnson’s continuous pleas for a tax hike, and insisting on cuts in spending instead. A time has come—long past, in fact,—when our policies of backing the dollar with production and lavish giveaways have got to be drastically cut back: the shakiness of gold on the world market attests, I think, to worldwide doubts that we will take anything more than a cursory look at the policies that have nearly ruined us before we plunge on towards what seems to be our ultimate goal—WWIII—which will be the only way we can create enough demand for our excess output.

Bedtime has rolled around once again, so on that cheery note I will close and get these into the mail tomorrow: with luck you’ll get them (your) Monday next.

Love to all~
Bruce

How about that last line: “. . . our ultimate goal—WWIII—which will be the only way we can create enough demand for our excess output.” Fortunately, I’ve lived long enough to see that prediction go down the drain, but it has meant that our “excess production” has been shipped off to China, our production capacity along with it. When WWIII does come we could well end up having to buy our warships from China, in order to have ships with which to fight—China!  Oh, my!

Anyway, by this time we were able to get around well enough that some documents were issued: most of these were delayed by the Offensive and curfews. Here is my SOOM card:

SOOM Card

This got me into any open Officers’ Mess in the country. The food in most of the BOQs was quite good: food in the messes on LB Post varied greatly from terrific to gawd-awful!

Here’s my Identity card:

My Identity Card

Except for the few items typed in, I have NO idea what most of it says!
More in the days ahead: stay tuned!

Continuing with Vietnam and the Tet Offensive, still not quite over.

Monday, 19 February- 1968

Dear Everyone –

Went to work as usual this AM. The first news I got was that yesterday (Sunday) my immediate spvsr (Chief of Operations) had decided to transfer. Since the Post Installation Mgr & he didn’t get along well anyhow, this was OK with the former. It was also OK with me, since Mr. [redacted] was not a very dynamic sort of person & it was obvious to me that he and I were going to clash before long. A new CO was on hand by noon—the fastest work I’ve seen accomplished here yet!—and I think he will be a much more successful person. The Post Installation Mgr? Well, he made a big thing of telling me, when I first met him, that he had been a PIM longer than anyone in VN—which I took immediately to mean either a) he was such a fine PIM that he couldn’t be replaced or b) he was such a bad one that he’d never managed to get himself promoted. The latter assessment of the situation begins to show itself as the more likely one, now. He’s handled his personnel in this crisis very poorly, we feel. He’d better show some real management ability to me soon, or we are going to clash!!

Enclosed copy of today’s Sgn DN [Daily News] is interesting both for its content and its omissions, which are due to government censorship. You can see what we’re up against in the way of news!!

Enclosed also is a very poor little map, showing more or less, central Saigon. I’ve appended my location and a very few details. I’ve seen so little of it, really, that I can’t mark very many places.

Map of Downtown Saigon, 1968

Your worries about my food are needless. I thought I’d lost some weight during “the siege”, but—alas—I haven’t lost a single kilo!

The “siege”—third stage—continues, though with less intensity locally. There was an incident yesterday morning on the Long Binh – Bien Hoa hiway, which closed it temporarily. I didn’t go to work anyway, so wasn’t involved, and it was all cleaned up by morning. Tonight as we drove in about 5:30 helicopter gunships were working over another portion of Go-vap, an outlying section of Sgn which, like Cho-lon, has seen some pretty intense fighting. Tan Son Nhut is being mortared pretty regularly, and I’m not sure what this has done for the tenuous commercial flights recently reinstated.

As you can see, the direct route from Saigon Port to Long Binh & Bien Hoa is directly up the main street of Sgn! New Port, more directly accessible to LB-BH, was severely damaged by VC raids, hence a lot of freight, vehicles and so forth are being moved each day right through down-town Saigon. Needless to say, the sight is appalling, and traffic is snarled up maddeningly as a result. Tu Do Street is hardly 3 US-car-widths wide, and there is always a double line of small cars parked at the curb on each side. 7 days a week, tons of cargo move right up the main street, around the cathedral, and on to Bien Hoa or Long Binh. Quite a sight, as I said!

One of the more delightful things about which I’ve said very little so far is the gekkos—small lizards that live everywhere and—happily—eat bugs by the millions. They’re everywhere, though they hide out during the heat of the day. But at night they come out and gather around the lights.The silly rascals can crawl—run, actually—along any surface, straight up, or upside-down on the ceiling, with perfect ease. They have about 270 deg of vision, and any bug that lands anywhere near them is doomed to be a a gekko’s dinner. They look something like Chameleons, but are a uniform color. Occasionally they make a sort of chirping sound amazingly like that silly noise I [used to] make, but usually are silent—and very diligent in their duty.

Bugs aren’t much of a problem here. Mosquitos are the worst offenders, but if one keeps a sufficient stiff breeze in the room by means of a fan (usually a ceiling fan) they aren’t very bothersome. I got badly bitten one night when the electricity was off, but the bites were only unsightly, not painful. Roaches are to be found occasionally—frequently in dumpy places like the Tourist Hotel, and more frequently still in shanties, I’m sure—and they are usually real big ones. Despite their harmless nature, they are still ugly and one of the few beasts to whom I take a real dislike! But I’ve only seen a couple so far, which is good, and I understand it’s pretty easy to keep them out of one’s quarters if a determined effort is made.

Love to all—

Bruce

Statue of a Soldier, Saigon 1968

This hideous statue of a VN soldier stood in the middle of Le Loi Boulevard between Nguyen Hue and Tu Do Streets. His gun was aimed directly at the National Assembly building, at the photographer’s back. The Rex BOQ (formerly Hotel) is to the right.

2 February 1968

Dear Everyone~

Today is Washington’s Birthday (here), and although I guess I could have gone to Long Binh as usual and sat on my hands at double-time, I elected to stay home & look for an apartment. Spent most of the day at it, without finding anything. So I’ve decided to take a single room here at the Loc Building, 318 Phan-thanh-Gian. (In Vietnamese that comes out approximately “fantanyan”). It’s a comfortable place, clean, well kept, and secure. About a 20 minute walk to downtown, or a 20p – 10 min cab ride. I’ll take most of my meals out, though there is a restaurant here, of sorts.

I found out why I’ve been having GI [gastrointestinal] trouble— found three daphnia (a small water-flea typical of polluted water) in a bottle of Bireley’s orange drink here the other day! Although it is supposedly “pasteurized”, it’s probably done in bulk, before going into the bottles. At any rate, I’m off Bireley’s. Cokes are bottled at the same plant—so I guess they’re out, too. I’m beginning to see why “33″ is so popular—nothing could possibly live in that “pickling bath”—but I’ll drink water only before I’d take that stuff again!

The formula for US Army iced tea is as follows: fill one bucket (preferably with lots of rust) with water. Add a tablespoon of Clorox to sterilize. Add ice to chill. Serve. One tea-bag may be added for color if desired.

There are so many marvelous little changes here that few people bother to observe, but which contribute to what little charm the place has left. For one thing, everything is scaled down in size to fit the population’s general smallness. (cf. previous letters) Elevators, for instance, are tiny. The one in the Rex [BOQ, formerly hotel] was rated by Otis [India] for 8 persons. 8 americans got in it one night, and it plunged all the way to the basement. (The Rex has no basement). So now it is posted for 4 persons (or, as some pfc, no doubt, added, “2 Officers”). Chairs and tables in restaurants tend to be miniscule, as do seats on busses. The long Binh bus (a Mercedes) seats 80 Vietnamese comfortably—about half that number of americans, UNcomfortably. I practically have to crawl in and out of it—a good case of “Flebus” would help immeasurably!

Oddly, the beds here in this hotel, though slightly narrower than US standard, are longer—and quite comfortable for me. The bathroom fixtures, on the other hand, are sort of “sports-car” equipment, and one has to assume some unaccustomed positions to use them. And since Vietnamese are almost totally devoid of body-hair, they put very fine screens in the floor-drains, which plug up immediately when I take a shower!

Under separate cover, I’m sending a bundle of newspapers that I gathered up, mostly, after others were through with them. You may be the only house in town with the Saigon Post in the stack with the New York Times! But since you are still plagued by the SF strike, I thought you could use some news!!

I’ve decided to get an 8 mm movie camera. Bell & Howell has a very nice one that’s virtually automatic and not too expensive. Hence, you should look around for one of those small 8 mm viewer contraptions. It will be month or so before I get it, but it will enable us to share a few experiences, visually at least.

You’ve probably figured out by now that when you get to Hawaii for  your long-awaited trip, you’ll be about 1/3rd of the way to Bangkok—why not plan to fly over for a week—with luck & plenty of advance notice, I could probably get there at the same time. On the other hand, you could doubtless get an entrance visa to Vietnam itself if you should feel compelled (!!) to view Saigon University. I pass it every day—it’s out of town a ways on Hiway 1—right smack-dab in the middle of Charlie territory. Several large buildings are completed, but idle . . .

I’d marginally planned (or hoped) to spend Christmas in Australia. On talking to an Aussie this morning, though, it seems that December & January are holiday months there, and prices skyrocket. So I’ll probably plan that for next February or so. Any leave I take before then will be to HK or BK, I suspect.

My new immediate spvsr at Long Binh is a much better man than his predecessor and think there is a much better chance, with his help, I can get a program started. It’s obvious that I’m going to have a brief personality-clash with the [Post] Installation Manager—but I think I can handle it in such a way that it won’t happen more than once. Among the milder remarks by others that I’ve heard about him are the following choice items:

“There is nothing like a good Post Installation Manager, and Mr. Smythe is nothing like a good  Post Installation Manager!”

“Mr.  Smythe suffers from delusions of adequacy”

“In a recent popularity poll, Mr. Smythe came in just slightly above Ho Chi Minh!”

The rest of the comments don’t bear repeating. All I can say from my own personal experience is that so far, he has yet to show me any indication of real management ability. We shall see!! He makes a big thing about the fact he’s been a PIM longer than anyone here (which he likes to intimate is because he’s such a good one). The fact is, he’s been demoted twice, and is so genuinely disliked by so many people that it’s all he can do to remain a PIM. He broadcasts his insecurity every time he opens his mouth. Cèst la viê!!

The chap I’ve been billeted with here was supposed to go to his assignment in Qui Nhon, today, but it’s a 50-50 chance that the transportation  actually works out and he gets there. I’ve been fortunate to learn a great deal from him, and he was always in good humor and pleasant, with  a great sense of camaraderie, and a long collection of amusing anecdotes.

Time to go to bed soon. There’s an unusually pretty sunset right now. One doesn’t see them too often. Morning half-light here lasts only about 15 minutes, and against the lightening sky the clouds (usually present) are a curious black color. The length of days doesn’t vary much here, and the sun rises and sets quickly. Sunsets are brief and usually not spectacular, twilight is short, and darkness overtakes the city almost suddenly. Against the present reddish clouds, there is already a flare aloft to light the way for some sort of action, or to allow surveillance against infiltration or strikes…

Last night around midnight there was a good deal of action due North. At least 3 Charlie emplacements were lobbing mortars and rockets in all directions, and despite heavy “FWF” attack, were still lobbing them out at a great rate when I crawled into bed at midnight. The action was, as best I could judge by timing the flashes & sounds, about 15 miles away.

On that delightful note, I’ll close. As Walter Cronkite would say, “that’s how it is…”

Love to all~

Bruce

My narrative will continue as soon as I can find time to transcribe more letters.

MY LIFE IN VIETNAM

I begin here a long series of pages relating events in my life while in VietNam. I wrote many letters which were circulated among family and friends, and which my Dad saved: I still have them.

Because I was writing to many people (Dad copied and re-mailed many letters to a distribution list I supplied), there is little of the gay side of those times included. That aspect has been covered in a couple of my stories (on Nifty), but will be included where appropriate in the pages which follow.

I consider myself reasonably articulate and observant: yet, prior to arriving in VietNam, I’d have been hard-pressed to take a stand on the war there. It was something that was, for those not directly involved, pretty much in the background. President Johnson’s “guns and butter” philosophy was designed to keep the war in the background: the kind of war-time sacrifices (rationing, “War stamps” and all that sort of thing I grew up with during WW II) were not imposed, so it was easy for Americans to ignore the Vietnam War. As I would soon discover, it was not so easy for the Vietnamese to ignore.

War Savings Stamp

What  I think is significant, (and clearly revealed in my letters), is how quickly I perceived what a colossal mistake the whole war was! Now, what particularly appalls me is that we clearly learned nothing from the experience, for we continue to this day to wage war where we should be waging peace.

For any of my readers unfamiliar with the Tet Offensive of 1968, I recommend reading the WikiPedia synopsis before going on with my narrative and letters. As far as I know, these letters will be the first on the net from a civilian who was there, at least for a while.

27 January, 1968
Dear ones all –

We made it, but it was a long haul. The group, 16 in number, embarked LA about 8PM on the 25th, and 21 hours later touched down at Ton Son Nhut Air Base, Saigon, VN. It was, of course, dark all the way to Guam (we stopped at Honolulu and Wake) but there the sun caught up with us and we were able to witness a beautiful tropical sunrise at about 7:30 local time. From Guam we flew directly to Saigon, by-passing (but flying directly over) Manila. The actual flying time was about 17 hours; the distance 8920 miles (according to PanAm charts). Although tourist class and filled every inch of the way, the flight wasn’t too bad—just long. Somewhere along the way I made an estimate of my total flying miles and was disappointed to find it’s only about 40,000 miles.

Pan Am Ticket Stub

Our arrival at Ton Son Nhut was about 10:00 am local time, and after the usual clumsy customs and immigration clearance, we were transported to PA&E HQ (nearby) for a quick briefing and a little paperwork. Then on into Saigon proper for billeting at Loc Building, 318 Phan-thanh-Gian; this is a hotel, and quite a good one by local standards; H & C running water, good food & reasonable rates. Quite modern and up to date, though architecturally unlike anything we know in the states. Naturally!

Reason For Voiding Will Be Explained Later

It is Saturday here, the first day of Tet, the celebration of the New [lunar] Year (of the monkey). We’re told the streets of Saigon are not the place to be the next 5 days, so haven’t seen much so far. I’ll have plenty of time to get familiar with it all, apparently.

My only observation so far is that the US “Military Presence” is all-pervading and EVERYWHERE!! Since there is active fighting within 50 miles of Saigon, it’s a pretty tightly controlled place. Ton Son Nhut Airbase (Airport, really, but converted to a base) is a veritable beehive of aircraft operations, visited not only by half a dozen international carriers, but by hundreds of Military aircraft as well.

Our briefing was exactly that — brief — and not too instructive. However, it does appear I am the first “chemist” to arrive here under PA&E contract, and it appears I’ll be based at Long BInh. This is the largest [US]army installation in VN, situated about 12 miles out of Saigon. Reportedly, it is one of the safest places to be in all VN, and of course is handy to Saigon. All this will become clearer as full briefing gets under way Monday. (Tet notwithstanding, PA&E works on!)

The weather — right now — is terrific. About 75, and not overpoweringly humid. January is, of course, Saigon’s best month, and it will get steadily hotter until late in May when monsoons arrive. But for the moment weather is great and a welcome change from the cold dampness of SF. (If I had elected to fly down Thursday from SF, I’d have gotten fogged in and barely made it, as one of our group found out).

The time change is catching up with me; so, though it is early here, I’ve got to hit the sack for a while. Please find an old shoebox or equivalent to toss the various items included [with this letter] into — I’m an inveterate saver of such reminders of various adventures; also circulate this letter to family and somebody retain it later on.

Whatever else, don’t worry! Though there’s plenty of trouble to be gotten into here, one has to seek it out — it rarely works the other way. I’m not here looking for it, so the law of averages works in my favor!

Love to all from (of all places!) Saigon, VN
Bruce

Here endeth the first letter: of many yet to come!

PARENTHETICAL INFORMATION

An odd fact was that for a number of years, Saigon was the only place outside the northern hemisphere where my two brothers and I had all been at one time or another. My oldest brother passed through in 1958, and my older brother visited Saigon on business while I was there. I met him at Ton Son Nhut as I would at any other airport. But the building he stayed in took a rocket hit that night and he was “urged to depart”, which he did! When older bro finally went to Europe, Saigon lost this distinction.

INITIAL IMPRESSION

Within just a few hours of arrival in VietNam, I realized I was going to like it! Everywhere I turned there were scantily-clad youngsters, most often bare-legged.  As a confirmed chicken-queen, I thought I’d found heaven!

Wrong kind!

Unfortunately, I had only a cheap little Instamatic camera, so I got far too few photos of much of anything in Vietnam. It would be some time before any of us got away from the Loc Building, because of the Tet madness, about which more later!

My second letter from VietNam will appear soon.

July 5th, 2009 Mail to: [email protected] (if you’re so inclined).

FOURTH OF JULY

As anyone who has read this blog knows, I wanted to be a locomotive engineer when I was a youngster, but it never happened. So, I spend time around steam whenever I get the chance. This past weekend on the Niles Canyon Railway was terrific fun because there were two locomotives to be admired:

Double-Heading With Two 2-6-2T Locomotives

Except for getting my face rather sun-burned, it was a fine day and will keep me  satisfied for a while.

PREPARATIONS FOR VIETNAM

This photo was taken in the lab, of which I had just become the Director. It was 1966, just before the end of my brief affair with Cornell. I was 30 years old.

Bruce at 30

Within two years, having survived a year of therapy to get over Cornell and nearly a year of harangue from the IRS, I was ready to move on.

It turned out that all applications for employment with PA&E were sent to the Contract Management Office in Vietnam, where the decision was taken to hire me; paperwork was then returned to Lost Angeles for further processing. All this took several months, and I had forgotten I’d even applied. So, when the phone call came, “Do you still want to go to Vietnam”? I thought it over briefly and said “Yes”.

PA&E stood then (and I believe still does) for Pacific Architects and Engineers. They were neither Pacific, nor Architects, nor Engineers, but never mind: they had a contract to provide bodies (which they called personnel, of course) to go to VN “in support of the military”, which is to say, “do things the military did not want to bother with”.

A few days after agreeing to be a candidate for the job over there, I resigned my job, and began to “lighten up”. I ran an ad in the paper, “ECCENTRIC LEAVING THE COUNTRY: EVERYTHING GOES”, which drew more folks than I thought possible to pick over the few oddments I had accumulated up to this time. I sold enough stuff to put together the final payment to the IRS.

The Company sent me to a local physician for a physical exam. This consisted of the doctor looking at me as I stood before him fully clothed: “You look healthy,” was all he said, then, “I’ll be right back.” When he returned, he carried a small metal tray with a white cloth on it: on the tray were six hypodermic needles, a sugar-cube of polio vaccine and a small-pox scratcher, and in the next few minutes all eight items had been administered. Three shots in each arm, a small-pox inoculation on one, and a cube-full of polio vaccine on my tongue. It was about 3 in the afternoon.

Holy Jeezus! By evening I could scarcely move either arm. I remember going to Zim’s for a hamburger, and could barely lift it to my mouth. By the time I got home from that, I was running a fever. I called  a friend I knew and told him to being over a “gallon of red”, which he did, and together we got smashed.

A few days later, arms still barely functional, I tossed a few clothes and what little else I still possessed into my Dad’s former car, a nice ‘53 Chrysler, and headed South. I would stay a couple of days with my brother and then be off to Vietnam. It was late January, 1968.

However, thing took a slightly different turn. There were delays. More papers to be filled out. Eventually, my brother dropped me off at LAX early one morning where we were to have an “orientation session”, before departing for for Vietnam. There were about 15 of us at the meeting, where we got “filled in” on almost nothing of any real importance. About ten we walked out to a Pan Am plane and headed out across the Pacific Ocean.

Now, whenever I fly, I watch the waiting crowd and try to guess who my seat-mate will be.  It wouldn’t have mattered if there HAD been a handsome dude there: he would not have wound up seated next to me in any case. Instead, I picked out my seat-mate alright, and, typically, he was old and ugly—and the nicest fellow! He saved my life, in a sense, because he was going back to VN for his third tour with PA&E and his girlfriend there. He went by the name “CA”, had a slow texas drawl and a dry sense of humor. Most importantly, as it turned out, knowing the ropes as he did after three tours gave him an edge on the rest of us who were neophytes.

I saw my first tropical sunrise ever from the airport at Guam, our first stop (for re-fueling). One minute it was dark, and the next it was full sunshine! We had an hour or so on Guam, which was essentially an hour too many. It’s a god-forsaken place, and the passenger terminal was run down and messy. Not soon enough, we were airborne again; next stop Ton-son Nhut airport, Saigon.

Now, I knew there was a war going on and I knew it was going on in Vietnam: but exactly where Vietnam was, I would have been hard-pressed to say. “Somewhere in Indo-China,” if you had asked…

COMING UP:

I learned a whole lot in a short time over the next few weeks: some of what I experienced and what I learned will be in the next page of this blog.

Until next time!

BEFORE I BEGIN…

… to describe the next events in my life’s record, I have a few words about the current scene. As I mentioned in my last page, I read a whole lot of blogs: these have displaced downloading freebies from commercial websites. Still, I find myself saving far fewer images than I used to pull down from Usenet. One reason is that the blogs seem to favor what I would call more “manly men”: well developed, if not overly so, and really not in the genre I prefer, which is toy-boys. Another reason is that more and more men these days are covering vast areas of their bodies in tattoos. It really puts me off, given that the unadorned male body is so beautiful in and of itself. At the same time, more and more men are sporting assorted metallic devices: piercing of the ears and other parts too fierce to mention, some approaching and occasionally passing the level of mutilation. These images, too, put me off, though I guess there are some who enjoy that sort of thing. Even with these caveats, I retain and sort on average 1500 images a week! The number of available images is staggering! In general, I do not put on my hard drive:

• Photos of  butts. For my taste, this is the least appealing portion of the male body.

• “Head-shots”, faces.  If they don’t show dick, I don’t save!

• Photos of guys screwing. For reasons that I hope to make clear, fucking has never been my forte!

• With few exceptions, photos of men over 25. I told you I was a retired chicken queen!

• Photos of violence, rape, bondage, torture and the like. Definitely turn me off!

• Photos of guys in leather drag. Likewise, not my thing.

• Photos of guys in female drag. I rate a guy with a dick dressed as a girl as bizarre!

OK: YMMV!

Even leaving out these categories, my collection of images swells ever larger, leading to ever-larger hard-drives for storage. While I have plans to eventually improve these images by de-logoing and so forth, I’ll probably croak before getting around to that. My executor has instructions to wipe and destroy all the drives when the time comes.

So, geting on with the story, here is the next installment of my life.

MAKING A LIVING

The job at the repair shop finally petered out: the owner simply mismanaged it so thoroughly that he lost his clients. So the first order of business once college was out of the way was to find a job. It was a long and arduous task. Silicon Valley was years in the future, and jobs for a fellow with a Chemistry minor were not easy to find.

But, I eventually landed a job in a small independent testing lab. The Director (and owner) was a nice fellow, willing to train me. I was chagrinned to find that I had actually learned very little of practical value in college, but Howard was patient and before long I was pretty much running the place. Money was sufficient for my needs. Life was good, though I felt it could be better in ways I found hard to discern.

I BEGIN TO COME OUT

Following college, I decided it was time to get a “place of my own”: the room I’d occupied for a year and a half close to SJS did not allow me to cook, and some sort of domesticity thing was developing. I moved to a wretched apartment in Santa Clara, near my work. It was cheaply built, and was placed on a huge ant-hill, apparently: I was plagued by ants the whole time I was there. But it did have a (small) kitchen, a living-room, a private bed-room and a bath with shower. It was all I needed, and I could bring tricks there withoutworry. My recollection now is, though, that I had very few visitors there.

My new job was actually quite fun, and the pay was decent and regular. I settled into a routine. Except, at about the time I moved out of San Jose, I discovered the one gay bar then in San Jose: the Crystal. It was owned by well known brothers who owned a couple of other bars and were reputed to be Mafia family members. It was only gay at night: by day it was a lunchroom and watering-hole for nearby office tenants. It was also right across the street from a Catholic retirement seminary.

I didn’t dress like this to go to the Crystal, but this IS me about that time. ——->

So, after work, I would take a nap, then get dressed for a “night out” and drive into San Jose to hang out in the Crystal. By 9 pm or so, it had switched to gay, the bar-tenders had switched as well, and the place got to be quite a lot of fun. Over time, I came to know some great guys more-or-less my age, but there were not many to whom I was particularly attracted. Still, it was comforting to discover, at last, that there were other guys with many of the same predilections as myself. [In my era, it was entirely possible to reach majority without ever hearing about “homos, queers, or fruits”. I don’t think this is the case today!]

Apparently, few at the Crystal were attracted to me: I worked as unofficial bar-maid for a while to keep from having to just stand around trying to look pretty, or at least not bored to death. I drank only beer, because I found soon enough that I could not drink enough of it to get really drunk before I was so filled up there was no room for more. However, I did drive back to Santa Clara many a night when I was probably DUI, but for some reason  never got caught.

There was one fellow, a regular at the Crystal, who was exceptionally attractive: a wispy blond with (as far as I could assess with him dressed) a nice bod and a beautiful face. Despite repeated tries, I could never get him to give me so much as the time of day. He was, in many respects, the first example of “eye candy” I had encountered. Needless to say, he was popular with most of the patrons, and I watched him trot off with various tricks, always wishing I could be one of them. His name was Hugh, better known as Jeff, derived from his last name. I certainly was not celibate by any means: impromptu parties were common on weekends, and I generally found myself going to one or another of them; since I had a car, kids without one could get a ride with me. I generally would up in bed with someone cute enough to turn me on and get me off. Week-nights I often went home alone. It was a time of wild abandon in some respects, though it left me unsatisfied for the most part.

There came the time when I did go home with a fellow I was not particularly attracted to, but I was lonely and didn’t want to go home alone yet again. We were both slightly drunk, he somewhat more than I, but the promise of a romp in the hay led me to go with him to his place. Once there, and with few preliminaries, we found ourselves in his bed and he wanted to fuck. What he didn’t know, and I failed to tell him, was that up to that time I had not been screwed. I suppose I wanted him to think I was more “out”—or more popular—or more experienced than I really was. Whatever: it turned out to be a night that may well have saved my life, for he fucked me brutally and my protestations of pain fell on deaf ears. It put me quite off the idea of getting fucked ever again, and while there have been a few occasions when I got fucked (and on fewer occasions enjoyed it), my relatively unspoiled bum may be one reason I never developed AIDS.

Then one fateful night, to my astonishment, my idol Jeff hit on me as the Crystal was closing for the night. We walked to his place, not far from the bar, and I got to see what he looked like desnudo. He was spectacular! Tight body, not overly muscular, utterly glabrous and very fair. He looked very British, though in truth he was born out of wedlock in a whorehouse (I was to discover, years later). Like myself, he was totally front-oriented, and we had a marvelous romp. Indeed, over the next week or so, we had numerous romps and sleep-overs. Within a week, I was in love. I fell for this guy in a way I had never suspected possible: I wanted to be near him every moment. I wanted to eat him every few hours. I wanted to wait on him hand and foot. I wanted to wash him everywhere every day. I wanted to move in with him, and I wanted to call him my lover.

It was not to be: Jeff thrived on conquest, and as soon as he conquered someone, he moved on. I’ve found over the years this is one of the greatest failings of gay guys in general: the conquest is everything, and the variety which results is their chief delight. Poor me! I had this stupid notion of settling down and living happily ever after in some sort of domestic bliss. It has been my pattern: I’ve tried it a few times since, but it has never worked, for one reason or another.

I did, however, move into the same building in San Jose occupied by Jeff, a set of four ancient flats at 79 Devine Street (we called it, “ten doors away from Heaven”). Once I got over Jeff’s rejection of me (it wasn’t really rejection: he just moved on to another trick. And another, and another…) I returned to my regular cruising at the Crystal. Jeff and I remained friends until we both moved to San Francisco and lost contact.

I remember one night well: I came into the place around 9 pm and noticed a stranger standing by  himself near the juke-box. He was pretty, hispanic and looked very young. As I went down the bar greeting the guys there, most of whom I knew as friends, I asked who pretty-boy was: no one knew. So, when I reached the end of the bar, I went over to the juke-box and dropped in a quarter.

“Anything you’d like to hear?” I asked the boy.

“No.”

“Would you like a blow-job?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me.”

We waltzed out of the Crystal. The fellow had a car, I directed him to 79 Devine, we repaired to my bedroom. I found out only that he was  enrolled in one of the several Catholic boys’ schools in the area, had gone “over the hill” and had to be back by ten o’clock. He was hot to trot! I sucked him off in a trice, and he departed, never to be seen again. I’d done my first piece of trade. I was back at the Crystal by ten, where my upstaged friends greeted me: “You brazen hussy! Cradle-robber! You whore!” They were all envious, none having had the balls to proposition the kid.

About this time, rapidly getting bored with the Crystal and having to live down my new-found reputation , I overheard someone talking about the “milk run”. Once I got the details, I realized it might be something I would enjoy. I had a car, I had an apartment near First Street, and I had my evenings free. Whoooieeee!

In the late 1950’s, Moffatt Field north of San Jose was an active air base. Guys on leave would come to San Jose to take in movies, drinks, or girls if they could find any. They often hitch-hiked back to the base, using First Street, which headed north to the Freeway  up to the base. I (and several other queens) would pick up guys and proposition them, very often getting them home and getting them off. We all knew that a guy hitch-hiking alone could be had: guys who did not want to fool around usually hiked in groups of two or three. There followed a period of a year or so when I rarely went back to the Crystal, opting instead to service as many “fly-boys” and “air-dales” as I could. I could get a thirteen-button fly open faster than you can say Jack-off Jack Robinson!

Several of the boys became regulars: they would drop in, change into civilian clothes and leave. They’d come back, often a trifle drunk, and I would sober them up with coffee and get them back into their uniforms after getting their load. One or two would occasionally reciprocate, not that I demanded it, but they evidently were comfortable enough with themselves to allow it. And several of the fellows introduced me to buddies they knew would appreciate my services. In time, I worried because there were so many sailors coming and going to my apartment, and I began to drop some of my clients. Then one night, my favorite of the bunch announced that he was shipping out in a few days. He cried, telling me this: he would be going to Korea. He took me to dinner. Back at my place I did him and he did me. Then I took him back to the base, and never saw him again. It seemed to be a sign: my clientele dropped to almost none, and I went back to the Crystal.

There, on a fateful night, I went to the john to take a leak, where I met Johnny. My life took a new turn!

My days “doing trade” turned up later in several of my stories, now all available on the Nifty Archive.

Through these years I spent little time with family. My brothers were all some distance away, and my folks were wrapped up in their own activities. As far as I was aware, none of them knew I was gay. Of course, I was dead wrong, but that’s a tale for the next page.

Coming up: Out for good!

[email protected]

March 6, 2009

BEFORE I BEGIN THIS EPISODE

Even I was out of my seat several times as President Obama spoke to Congress–and to us–last week. It is so very refreshing to hear someone who can put thoughts into words and words into sentences! Listening (which I admit I was rarely able to do) to Ex-President Bush the last eight years was painful! Watching him I simply could not manage.

The republican response from Bobby Jindal was excruciating. Choosing him, presumably because his background vaguely resembles Mr. Obama’s, was tacky: that Bobby felt obliged to capitalize on it was even tackier. That his speech had been prepared without having heard the President is inexcusable. If Bobby Jindal is the best the repugnants can put forth to articulate their message, there’s little to fear from them. As usual, Rachel Madow summed it up best here.  To top it off, now we find he lied!  Sheeesh!

ONE MORE THING:

The router for my LAN gave up the ghost last weekend, necessitating purchase and installation of a new one. I have to say this for LinkSys: they’ve finally gotten their gadgets together with their installation disc and made the configuration far easier than it used to be. I actually managed to get the new router up and working without calling the Geek Squad or other assistants. Of course, there’s a down-side to that: some of those Geeks are really, really cute! But, on with my narrative.

SAN JOSE STATE

Although the summer job I took was located in Santa Clara, I elected to live in San Jose, not far from the State College campus. I had been so uncomfortable at UR, with all its rich kids, that I quickly decided SJS was a better fit for me. Additionally, it became apparent I could work part time at my new job and attend SJS in the fall. The job was far from onerous, in a small shop that specialized in repairing furniture and other “stuff” that had been damaged in transit. The boss had  contracts with several trucking companies and railroads, so a never-ending stream of broken, crushed and battered items came in. What could be repaired satisfactorily usually went to the customer who had ordered it. Some items were beyond repair (we were the deciders) and went to the dump. Some items that could be repaired but which the customers did not want went to various outlets. The work was varied and sometimes challenging and it fit well with the “fixit” mentality I had developed early on, which went back to my days in Carmichael and which found their way into Heartbreak Motel, one of my stories available at Nifty.

Come fall, I enrolled it SJS (now SJU) and discovered they had something called a “General Major” which led to a BA in “General Studies” (I think the program has long since been abandoned). Essentially, I could take courses in any department I wanted! I went back to Chemistry (my first love), but filled out the days with all sorts of other subjects: law, religion, music, physics, social studies, philosophy: I read the catalogue, and if a subject looked interesting I enrolled! It was a very interesting year-and-a-half: the extra semester was necessary to amass the necessary units and to pass, finally, the American History course I’d blown back in Junior College.

CONFUSION SETS IN

Soon after I entered San Jose State, Dad got married for the third and last time. My new stepmother and I did not get along all that well, but it was clear she loved my Dad and he loved her likewise: seeing him happy at last, I began to feel the usual family pressure to marry and settle down, despite my near-certainty a different life-style was preferable. So I began seeing the only girl who had ever paid much attention to me way back in High School: we had gone on a few trips with the Horseless Carriage Club together back when I was “into” old cars. No sooner than we got together on a couple of dates did I decide to propose marriage! I’ve really never figured out why I did this. I had absolutely NO interest in her physically: in fact, her body was quite repulsive to me when I saw more of it than I cared to when we went swimming.

Unfortunately, not long after this “affair” began, I recalled some of the descriptions of cruising I’d heard from my friend back at Redlands. One Saturday night I went to a local theater and sat in the very back row of the nearly empty place. A chap came in and sat right next to me and began a game of “kneesies”. When he departed, I followed him to the john, but invited him to follow me back to my little room. He was somewhat older than I, and no beauty, but it was he who first shoved a cock in my mouth: right there and then I knew I was born to be a cocksucker! I knew instinctively this was the kind of sexual activity I wanted, as often as possible!

My poor betrothed! She no longer had a chance! I maintained the charade for a while. Driving to visit her in Hayward, I would pick up hitch-hikers in the hope one would proposition me: none did. It slowly dawned on me that if I was ever going to have any guy-sex, I would have to initiate the action. It would be a while before I got comfortable with that idea.

Meanwhile, after about 6 months of living the lie, I called off our engagement. Darley was devastated, saying my being queer would not make any difference, and so forth and so on. But I was NOT going to put her through all that, so we parted, never to see each other again. When I announced to my folks what I’d done, my  new Stepmother’s reaction was, “Oh, thank goodness: for a while there, I thought you were really going through with it!”  She knew far more than she let on, but I continued to dissemble to my family out of worry they could not handle my being queer. In reality it was I who was having the trouble dealing with my sexuality.

MORGAN

During my first Semester at SJS, I met Morgan, a musician, and one of the most beautiful guys I ever met. He was a preacher’s son, and we got along famously, except for one thing: I wanted to get into his pants in the worst way, but was afraid of rejection, so I never could bring myself try it. We took some trips into the hills and did some camping together, but the subject of sex never came up, dammit! At the end of that year, he went off to Juilliard. We corresponded, and his letters came back filled with “hairpins”! It seems he had had the hots for me, but could never bring himself to say so. Bummer! However, when summer vacation time rolled around, he returned to San Francisco, stayed with his parents, and took a temporary job in a local church while their regular organist was on vacation.

After a joyous meeting at my place, where “all was revealed”, we fell into a routine where I would drive up to San Francisco in time to appear at the door of the church as if I had attended the service. When Morgan’s Postlude was finished, we would repair to a twinkie-bar for a couple of drinks (the speciality of the house was a “Thunder Collins”: Thunderbird wine watered with Collins-mix. Just the thought of it now makes me gag!) Then we would return to the church: the sunday-school room had a carpet on the floor, and we would have an afternoon of wild sex! Fortunately, no one ever came back for something they forgot: we were never interrupted.

But at the end of that summer, Morgan went back to Juilliard, and eventually settled in Chicago. I rarely ever saw him again. Our “relationship” had been entirely one of wild, crazy sex: there had been no thought of love, permanence, or anything except getting together and getting off!

To be continued: Finally, I come out!

[email protected]

February 6, 2009

I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll live long enough to finish this blog! In the narrative, I’m only out of high school, still confused about my role in relation to others, and not particularly sure what I might want to do in life. The narrative will continue, but on this page I want to discuss some contemporary items.

/rant mode on/

ADVERTISEMENTS ON THE TELLY

I watch a lot of TV. More properly, I sleep a lot in front of the TV. I have seen the first ten or fifteen minutes of hundreds of programs, but fall asleep during the first spate of commercials, largely because I turn off the sound, tune out  the subject, and nod off.

It amazes me to think there are thousands of people working in the advertising industry who sit around all day and come up this stuff! How can they live with themselves? What I see on cable (never watch regular TV) is so blatantly stupid and stultifying, its hard to imagine anyone can be so unimaginative as to think it up. Do they really think I am so stupid I would fall for any of their blandishments?

Here’s a few of the worst currently on cable:

• Nutrisystem, which spends five minutes trying to make me believe I can lose weight like the guys shown, while displaying a “results not typical” flag. So, if the results aren’t typical, why are they saying they ARE typical? “Three months of complete meals”, while noting that we have to “add-in grocery and produce items”? Then the meals are NOT complete. It is all a bunch of lies.

• L’Oreal “Regenerist” creme, $7.00 for an ounce bottle with ingredients worth a quarter at most (the bottle probably costs more than the contents). The comely lass in the ad is young and has a naturally flawless appearance for which she was selected. The inference is that using this crap will make someone look as nice as she does. Are there folks out there who fall for this? Can they be that stupid?

• Capital One Credit Cards.  Producing these ads, with dozens of actors, sets, stupid “plots” with the “What’s in your Wallet” punch-line must cost a fortune. They could afford to charge several percent less to the cardholders if they did not spend all this money on stupid ads like these. And, what’s in MY wallet is MY business! I can assure you there is no card from CapOne.

• Geico ads, with that stupid anthropomorphized gecko with a fake accent. I guess Warren Buffet can afford to saturate the radio and TV waves with this crap, but he could charge even less for the insurance if he’d spend less on these dumb ads. I even got a junk-mail offer from GEICO, which I sent back with a note: “Coming soon to an internet near you: Sick_of_GEICO_ads.com”. Somebody has to do it!

• Auto Insurance ads in general, now all promising to “save XX percent by switching to Bumfuck Insurance Company.” So, with a half-dozen switches, I could get my insurance down to zero? Not bloody likely!

• All Ads for women’s hair products. My stomach turns every time I see these, not because I am queer and could care less about most women or their hair, but because I know there are millions of women in the world who are lucky if they have even a scrap of soap with which to wash their hair, most likely in sewage. Imagine how much good the enormous sums spent on useless hair preparations in “developed” countries could do if spent in less developed countries.

• Automobile ads, especially the “cash-back” come-on. Do people really let themselves get hooked on that gimmick? It’s a loan added to the price of the car! The interest rate is exorbitant!  Or, the “zero interest” lie. Read the fine print: “$1.66 per hundred dollars financed” is 1.66 percent, which is NOT zero!

• ALL ads, with the “fine print” buried at the bottom of the screen, in non-contrasting lettering, and there for so short a time NO ONE can possibly read it!

/rant mode off/

I could go on like this, but you get the idea: advertisements are utterly wasted on me, and I suspect they are wasted on almost everyone. Time, effort and money down the drain!

ITS A LOT OF

Still, there have been a few adverts I like: the FedEx ad fedex-commercial2 with the cavemen was funny, but ran for only  a short time. [On the other hand, the cavemen GEICO ads are beyond stupid!] The home warehouse ad homewarehouse1 was entertaining as well.  There are lots of ads from over-seas that show europeans to be more discerning and clever at writing ads, and willing to be a bit risque at times. (My favorite is this Hyundai ad: hyundai1 We see these on award programs for “best ads”, but we never see the ads themselves on OUR TeeVees.

There was ONE ad that induced me to buy a product. Very clever, but again it ran only a short while. The ad itself was perhaps 20 seconds in duration, but really packed a punch. The scene was a typical kitchen, with an empty table in the foreground. John Houseman walked on camera with a bottle of something clutched his hand: he plopped the bottle down vigorously on the table, looked into the camera with his wonderful scowl, and said “Use Puritan Oil!!!”  I was so intimidated I actually did buy a bottle: it was around for years, since I rarely cook with oil. But I loved that ad. Only three words—imagine that! [A much longer ad for Puritan Oil with Houseman in his inimitable style can be seen here.]

THE FINANCIAL CRISIS

More appalling than anything else, for me, is this: NONE of the perpetrators who have gotten us into this mess has yet gone to JAIL: my sense is that none will.

A friend of mine is fond of an old aphorism (I’ve no idea where it originated): “A fish rots from the head”. With George the titular head of our government, things went to pieces right down through government and the private sector as well. Dubya was never held accountable for anything he did, and everyone took that as their cue to do whatever they liked—no one would care. For the most part no one did! Now it comes to light that the SEC had been warned about Bernie Madoff ten years ago. Nothing was done. Many people foresaw the business downturn, especially those watching the sub-prime mortgage fiasco. Nothing was done. Many people warned Detroit to build better cars. Nothing was done. There was NO ACCOUNTABILITY.

Now, with nearly every system in the country breaking down and falling apart the Republicans still WANT TO DO NOTHING! There are even “conservative Democrats” who WANT TO DO NOTHING!

I’m beginning to wonder of anyone can ever set things right! President Obama has the right ideas for the most part, but obstructionists used to the old way of doing things in Washington are unwilling to work with him.

The current issue of The Nation (America’s oldest news magazine) has a fine article by Jonathan Schell (not his usual one-page piece, but a full-blown article) describing in detail how all the forces came together to get us into this fix. I have not finished the piece yet, so don’t know if he has a prescription for putting “Humpty-Dumpty back together again”.

TROMPE – L’ŒIL

Judging by my perusal of numerous gay blogs, the current “ideal man” seems to be a twenty-something (where something = ±2) fellow with six-pak abs. Now I read that many of these “chiseled abdominals” are painted on! Ain’ nuthin’ sacred?

Coming soon: I go to College. Stay tuned…

MISCELLANEOUS

• I read a lot of blogs, including some by youngsters dealing with finding themselves gay. Of course, every situation is different, so there’s no universal advice to be given. Except to say, “hang in: as my own blog will eventually relate, I figured things out to my own satisfaction and had a full and interesting life. It does take time…“

• While I empathize with these kids, I envy their ability to put together blog pages and web sites that are absolutely smashing! The process has pretty much defeated me so far. Maybe some cute young thing who likes old men (yeah, right!) will come along and give me a hand. With the blog, I mean…

• As it is developing, my format seems to be a chronological exposé of my life:  So far, I’m not even out of high school! But, the pace will pick up as I got out into the world. A buddy (well, he started out as a lover but things quickly degenerated) went to Europe the summer of 1963. This was my first glimpse into other life-styles. Later, I spent time in Vietnam, rode a motorcycle from Phnom-Penh to Singapore, worked in Australia, Philippines, Egypt, Ecuador and elsewhere, so there is much to tell. Here are a few photos to give you some idea of what’s in store:

Ready to depart Saigon, September, 1968, on a Honda CB-125

Ready to depart Saigon, September, 1968. I have two saddle-bags and a cheap suitcase strapped on the luggage rack. The bike is a Honda CB-125 bought used from a compatriot leaving the country. The national assembly building in the background had been hit by a rocket a week earlier: note the canvas roof, top right.

All wood Siemens Train, Athens 1979

These beautifully maintained all-wood Siemens train-sets were still in use in Athens in 1978. I loved riding them. I hope some have been preserved.

Guayaquil & Quito Railroad, Ecuador, 1979

Perched on the tender of Engine Number 11 of the Guayaquil & Quito railroad, Ecuador, 1979. I had a fabulous time riding almost everything they had working at the time. I went back in 1994 to find very little of it running, and now there seems to be almost nothing left.

• Throughout it all I was queer—not flaming, but not really hiding it either. I had my share of “interactions”, and have no regrets, now that things are winding down.

• The chronology will be interrupted from time to time by observations on the current scene, political or other sorts of rants, and whatever else occurs that I think worthy of note.

• WordPress has informed me three people have registered with my blog. You know who you are, and I hope you find my recollections entertaining. Someday I may find out how to give proper credit, but right now I remain a novice. I managed to figure out how to number the pages so they come in the right order, and that is a big accomplishment for a newbie. But for the time being my readers are stuck with the plain-jane WP theme. Any cuties out there wanna give me a hand?

To be continued …