M Y O B

Finally, I got to call myself a Senior! (Funny what a thrill that was then, but now that I’m a senior again, the appellation has lost its luster!) I pretty well had a lock on graduation, having managed to get passing grades in everything, even PE.

Secondary sexual characteristics were finally making their appearance, so with my body more nearly resembling my peers, and with them growing up and realizing the folly of beating up on a defenseless kid,  I was able to enjoy my final year in high school. My old Dodge made it into the yearbook,

My Final Year in High School

though stuffed with people was a rare sight: my classmates for the most part thought I was really peculiar to have eschewed the popular Fords and Chevies they drove.

Though my “career” as a writer would come much later, I did do a lot of writing in  high school and college. I still have a large binder with my oeuvre from that time collected in it: looking over it now, I realize how clear it must have been to adult readers (teachers, councilors, and so forth) that I was queer: my regret is that it wasn’t equally clear to my classmates, who probably would have rewarded me with a lot of rampant cock, if only they had known! How I would have loved it, if only I had known.

My English Lit teacher was amused by several of my poems. The most famous one, submitted to (and rejected by) numerous contests was this quatrain:

The day was cold

The food was old:

Soon it was covered

With ugly mold.

Only slightly more serious, if a trifle  longer, was a parody (1951) on a famous poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

DIRT WITHOUT MUSIC

I am not resigned to the dumping of dirty dishes into the hot water.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been for time out of mind:

Into the water they go, the dirty, the greasy.

Crowned With bones and scrapings they go:

but I am not resigned.

Scraps and bones, into the garbage with you,

Be one with the gravy, the indescribable mess.

A fragment of what we ate, of what we chew,

A  tidbit, a morsel remains, but the best is eaten.

The celery crisp and green, the stewed tomatoes,the onions, the beets

They are gone. They are gone to feed the dogs.

Elegant and curled Is the broccoli. Fragrant is the broccoli.I know.

But I do not approve

More precious was the taste of that lamb than all the Four Roses of the world.

Down, down, down, into the suds of the dishwater

Gently they go, the greasy, the gummy, the gooey;

Quietly they go, the handle-less, the broken, the chipped

I know, but I do not approve, and I am not resigned.

So that year my mischievous nature asserted itself: I pulled off numerous pranks, harmless kid-stuff, which nevertheless greatly vexed the Dean of Boys, in whose office I found myself quite regularly. The man was a pompous fart who harangued me about such things as morality, living an upstanding life, and so forth (remember, he was convinced I was queer and active, but unaware that I was not even out to myself). He reported to my father regularly, and may have been surprised when Dad refused to chastise me for any of it: he knew I was just “feeling my oats” and testing the system, something quite normal for a late-blooming teenager. As for the Dean, he  became a role model (years later) for Newt Gingrich. The day after his wife announced she had cancer, he filed for divorce and took up with a young bimbo half his age. This was too much for red-neck Modesto: he was fired and run out of town. I went on to graduate, a gangly nerd with a lot of very strange habits, totally out of synch with my classmates.

This is me in rented drag for High School Graduation.

To be continued …

email:     [email protected]

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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!

NEXT

A WORD ABOUT FORMATTING

I am transcribing my letters from longhand, exactly as written. It seems I was enamored of the mdash in those days: I used it far too often! After a while, I was able to obtain a typewriter, and these letters I should be able to reduce using OCR. We shall see…

Bear in mind, while reading the next letters, that I had been in Vietnam all of 18 days, and was beginning to get my eyes open!

Thursday, 15 February 68

Dear everybody –

Two letters, both mailed on the 10th, arrived today from home. I think improvement in delivery will be observed when commercial flights into Saigon are resumed The only way in (except military) is still Air Vietnam from HK or Bangkok. Pan Am has flown in a few charters, but no scheduled flights yet. Apparently, mail is going out on a better schedule; this is bound to lead to confusion and crossing of letters en-route, but so it goes.

I am well, and by no means hungry. Except for my first experience with “Ho Chi Minh’s Revenge” (the local euphemism for “Montezuma’s Revenge” in Mexico)—probably brought on by food but possibly encouraged by Primaquine (malaria pills)—there is little news. Vietnamese curfews have been relaxed somewhat again, a good sign.

The clippings and articles are much appreciated and I’ve been passing them around. Oddly, I liked W. Lipman’s article concerning his contention that Johnson and Wilson have failed to observe the meanings in power-shifts in Asia. The LA Times article “perspective” has only one debatable issue—re the declaration of martial law, which they see as smashing the “constitutional facade” built after the Buddhist revolt. This is unfair, from the present vantage point—only time will tell whether or not the “facade” is restored along with the return to normalcy. A coordinated attack (by outside force) in any part of the US would almost certainly be met with the same response, as was, for example, Hawaii following Pearl Harbor.

There is really little to distinguish calling out the Nat’l Guard to cope with internal disorders, or declaring Martial Law in the case of external attacks. Such times require prompt decisions—even if they later turn out to be the wrong ones—and simply cannot wait for a debate by a National Assembly. Even in the recent [USS] Pueblo fiasco, the decision on retaliation or negotiation was made by one man, regardless of what sort of “constitutionality” or other terms it (later) becomes couched in . . .

And Peter Arnat, who probably sat out the attack in his suite at the Caravelle [Hotel in Saigon], speaks of “man-high mountains of garbage in front of the BOQs”—implying falsely that the garbage accumulated only there: and the “man” to whom he broadly refers must have been (like himself in all probability) prostrate with “Beer 33″. The Vietnamese men are, indeed, small in stature, but the least of them—vertical—stands well above any garbage piles I’ve seen (though he would doubtless be entirely lost in the piles in New York or Memphis. . .

For that matter, on a pound-for-pound basis, the stamina of the Vietnamese (whatever their political persuasion) has to be admired, for it far outstrips our own. A larger-than-average VN man, for instance weighs in at around 120 lbs. One sees commonly pedicabs (operated by one man) carrying whole families, not to mention articles of furniture, malfunctioning motor-bikes, large potted trees, and such manner of things—and all accomplished for wages that amount to less than a pittance. . .

The women, in general a bit smaller than the men, are, when under 30-35 years old, amazingly beautiful and congenitally feminine in intriguingly subtle ways. The national garb, called an Ao-Dai, (usually seen in slightly modernized version—i.e., without the closed, high-neck collar—introduced by Madame Nhu) adds marvelously to the effect. The women age very quickly—seemingly almost over night; one never see an aging woman, only young ones or old ones. Some of the old women have their own grace and charm, most notably in their calmness and wisdom. . .

Now, with american civilians here, it is another story altogether. I speak mostly of men, because there are very few american women here. All but a very few are here

Beer 33

primarily for the money; second for the women & booze—both of which are much more readily available than in the states; thirdly (in many cases) to get away from family or other obligations; and last and least, to work. PA&E’s management (I don’t doubt that other companies are the same) is composed of a boneyard of retired military people, few of whom have any apparent abilities beyond boozing and girl-chasing, at which they apparently excel. Earlier I mentioned the local beer—”33″ (Ba-moui-ba, usually pronounced incorrectly as “bammyba”). It’s facetiously referred to as “half formaldehyde and half embalming-fluid”. It’s not a great deal stronger (in alcohol) than US beer, but the only beer I ever tasted that was worse was English “Bitters”. For myself, I drank half a bottle-ful, sent the label home for a souvenir, and will never touch another one! Like anything else, one can acquire a taste for it—it’s not unusual to see some nut here put away a dozen bottles in an evening’s time—but why to bother with doing so is a great puzzle to me, bad as the stuff is! And hard liquor—US brands—without all the domestic taxes, are incredibly cheap, and hence sell extremely well. The VNese drink very little, if at all, and never drink 33!

I  sent home the wrapper from a packet of toilet paper. I wonder at the significance of the fact that it is one of the few items one see still labelled in French. . .

In fact, a gov’t decree forbids any signs in any language except Vietnamese. One sees a few—many of course on US reservations—but around Saigon proper, very few. About the only common one is “WASH CAR” along the Long Binh-Bien Hoa highway. The entire area is “off limits” to US civs & mil pers, which leads one to suspect—accurately—that the sign means something altogether else than what it says. . . (They also do wash cars, incidentally!)

It’s now 10:30 pm—ooops! 2230—and time for bed. I’m feeling better now. The distant booms of artillery to which one becomes rapidly accustomed here have begun, and can be expected to last throughout the night as usual.Tomorrow arrives earlier than one wishes. So – love to all – hope you’re well and not too worried about me: I plan to enjoy this experience, and so far have not for a single moment regretted coming over.

Love –
Bruce

That’s a modern bottle of Ba Moui Ba (which simply means “thirty-three” in Vietnamese), but the label is pretty much as it was in 1968. I’m told the beer has improved vastly: I certainly hope so!

So, how, after only 18 days in country, could I have discovered the sorts of things described in the letter above?  It turned out there were not a few people I came into contact with, PA&E folks and others, who were utterly disillusioned by the situation, and had no qualms about saying so: in these letters I am largely parroting them. Despite their misgivings, though, they were still in Vietnam! The reason for that, of course, was money. The eighteen-month rule for tax-free status almost guaranteed that guys who signed up for 18 months (as I did) would stay: they had nowhere else to go except home, which would negate their tax-free status.

Continuing:

Saturday, 17 February 68

Dear Folks~

Your note and clippings of Feb. 13 arrived today. Only four days, so I guess delivery is improving. The clippings are very interesting—most especially John Randolph’s one on Saigon as a “Sin City” ready for a knifing.

From what I’ve seen so far, I’m willing to bet that if the VC had not attacked, that article would never have been written. Yet everything he says of Saigon (and much more he didn’t say) is entirely true, VC notwithstanding.

It is clear to me that one of our biggest  mistakes in this “effort” has been to create the opportunity for the existence of companies like PA&E, RMK-BRJ,  and the various others who bring in the U.S. civilians. I cannot believe that any of the work we or others are doing could not be done through normal military channels just as effectively (if not more so), and at far less cost. The question boils down, of course, to the reasoning behind the existence of contractors to the military in a place such as this.

Certainly, the arrangement is not expedient, liaison between the military and the contractor’s employees gets to be a problem at times—frequently a bottleneck. The facilities constructed, operated or maintained by civilian firms are probably no better than the military could do for itself. There must be some other reason for the existence of our companies—and that reason is really very apparent here.

The U.S. civilian population here serves mainly as a channel for pumping money (US $) into the economy, in the mistaken belief that this will in some way benefit the Vietnamese. Americans being what they are, however, (cf. previous letter) the results aren’t as predicted (by economists, anyhow).

There are about 11,000 U.S. civilians here. They all have all the privileges of the military, can use most military recreation facilities and so forth. The only real distinguishing features between the civilians and military are 1) no uniform 2) higher pay 3) do not live in military quarters (some exceptions).

The single most prevalent local institution that figures into the economic situation is “the shack job”. Anything from 80.00 to 120.00 [dollars] a month buys the services of a mistress. There is nothing clandestine about it; the PA&E Asst to Chief of [redacted], who lives in this hotel, has his “wife” with him—a very charming Cambodian lady. While the “shack” is officially grounds for terminating, it is used only when they want to get rid of someone and can’t get anything else against him.

Now, one’s mistress is almost always not one’s maid. That’s a separate matter, though most maids only take care of one or two customers. They do all the laundry (for both), cleaning, bed-making, etc., for a monthly fee. So there’s another 50-75.00 per month going into the economy. Both the maid and the mistress, incidentally, pay VN income tax at a rate of about 40%. So does the hotel or apt-house owner; rents are running now 150-250.00 per month depending on location & conveniences.

There are other curiosities, though. For instance, it is commonplace for both military and civilians to get PX items to give their girl-friends and/or mistresses as gifts; this is perfectly legal. The most common items are cigarettes, beer and liquor. Now, the receiver rarely consumes these items, but sells them instead. (This is usually not taxable, because it is untraceable). Hence, a fellow who pays the equivalent of $1.00 or 2.00 for drinks in local bars is often paying for the very same liquor he bought for $1.00 or 2.00 for the whole bottle! The same for the other items mentioned.

Well—the whole business goes on and on. It’s all here. In effect, by allowing the expatriates to create here what they feel is some sort of utopia (more often euphoria!) there is created a channel for dumping thousands of dollars per day into the economy. The evidence of it is everywhere, but as I’ve previously mentioned even that which gets in by this route fails for the most part to filter down to the indigenous poor; and the inevitable inflation in this system really hurts them the most. One can really believe they will inherit the earth. . .

With great justification, many Vietnamese come to look on us as Santa Clauses. Every now and then a VC turns up (usually dead) who was employed by a U.S. company! Regardless of their political persuasion, every possible ruse to part U.S. civilians (& military) from their money or possessions is used, from outright thievery & trickery right on up. It’s become a high art—and great sport—here, the philosophy being, of course, that with everything to gain and nothing to lose, why not?

Well—why not, indeed? We set ourselves up to be taken, so we certainly can’t complain when we are. But on a different tack, is this really the way to win friends and influence people? Can it be safely said that these policies instill any degree of patriotism among the populace? Any degree of sympathy for “democratic processes”? Or for that matter, any degree of real freedom—the sort we espouse so strongly? I think not—and I think events in the past few weeks have shown it conclusively. If anything, the general populace tends to feel we failed to protect them, and/or that our presence here caused the assaults in the first place.

Another curiosity is the policy of non-aggression. South Vietnam has no guerillas in North Vietnam. It has, in fact, precious few troops anywhere near the DMZ. Holding that part of the country, and bombing near Hanoi is strictly our business. But down here, we never engage the enemy—we wait until he engages us. Today as we left Long Binh around 1 O’clock, we were massing a line of tanks along the LB perimeter; a hundred or so VC were actually visible setting up some positions a half-mile away from the road. Similarly, the road from Long Binh on out to Bien Hoa complex was “red” all day – i.e., closed to all but emergency traffic because of VC activity in the fields that were formerly jungle but now have been burned off, nearby. For a while, a bunch of them were out there digging a trench WITH A TRENCHING MACHINE (in broad daylight), and all we could do was watch. A single mortar well placed would have stopped it cold—but that is “aggressive”, so we have to wait and wait and wait—and when they open fire, we can go to work. I make no claim to be any kind of military strategist, but the situation just doesn’t make sense to me . . .

One reads in the States, incidentally, that the Black Market has been wiped out in Saigon. Of course, nothing could be farther from the truth. What has happened, fairly recently, is to close up the channels by which money made on the black market could be sent out of the country—obviously this goes counter to the plans of getting it into the country in the first place. But (discretely, of course!) one can play the black market all he wants as long as he spends it all here—all it does is stretch one’s dollars a little farther in terms of goods & services bought. Here again—though BM operations are grounds for termination, a rather high PA&E official told me himself where to get the best rates on converting “green” (U.S. $) into piastres. The official rate is $1=118$. The unofficial rate hovers around $1=170$ (transposition of the $ sign designates US Dollars or piastres [piastre = dong; piastre was a holdover from the French].

I’m happy to report the dispensary had just what I needed for the minor gastrointestinal disorder that kept me busy for a day or so. It’s one of the occupational hazards one encounters here.

Will do some looking for an apt., and may add to this tomorrow.

Sunday PM, 18 Feb

Last night was a bit noisy. The long-expected “third offensive” apparently was mounted, somewhat haphazardly it turns out. Tan Son Nhut was hit again, and a number of delta towns were struck by mortars, but no follow-up ground action ensued. Nevertheless, from 3 this AM on our sleep was frequently interrupted by very loud blasts from various directions.

Went down-town this AM—things are picking up, and a number of stores were open. Went out to the main PX in (Cho Lon) and picked up a few minor items needed—and found out where it is located. Looked at a couple of apts in the AM—not much good came of it though. Most of them were too far from the bus-line to be suitable. But I’m in no particular hurry—and with the raft of resignations from PA&E (and other companies) resulting from recent action, there ought to be some good places on the market soon. Napped in the afternoon—catching up on sleep lost (or at least interrupted) this early AM. Had a pleasant dinner with a congenial group here this PM, and am now about to turn in with the Asian ed’n Time & Newsweek—which should answer your questions re those periodicals in last letter.

How about a subscription to Scientific American for my B-day? That will solve the problems of checks going around the world several times—and it’s the one magazine I haven’t seen hide nor hair of since I got here.

So, another week begins –

Love to all–
Bruce

We’ve been reading a lot lately about the foul-ups by the civilian contractors in Iraq: we learned nothing whatsoever from the experience in Vietnam! I later worked in several other nations where, though there was no war, there were a lot of U. S. expats whose primary purpose was to feed money into the local economy at a low enough level that less of it could be skimmed by the government (as opposed to funneling it through the government directly, where almost none of it trickled down to people who needed it).

ANOTHER SIDE OF THE STORY

Many years later, I wrote one of my “feelthy storiez” that incorporated some of my experience in Vietnam. Here is the relevant excerpt (from Back to Heartbreak Motel):

“Seeing that diminutive jockey sent me back to Vietnam once again. Viets are small people, and I thought the boys were especially cute. In those days, the ubiquitous garb for youngsters up to puberty (and occasionally well beyond) was a pair of brief shorts, sometimes a tee-shirt, and clogs: rarely much else. For a leg man like myself, it was paradise!

“I had arrived there with a group of other “round-eyes” just before the famous Tet Offensive launched by the VC in 1968: while that raged, we were confined to a small fairly modern hotel away from the city center. I knew nothing about Vietnam, so latched on to an older man who was returning for his third tour of duty:  he knew the situation well, and explained that as long as we laid low, we were in little real danger. The VC were after much bigger fry. But, almost two weeks without sex was a problem for me, then in my prime, and the situation was made worse by one of the boys on the hotel staff, who got steadily sexier-looking as the duration of my sexual deprivation increased. It seemed to me the lad made more than the usual number of excuses to visit our room, and subtle glances convinced me his gaydar had registered me appropriately. With my mentor around most of the time, I could not approach the boy, but I resolved to do so as soon as the coast was clear.

“However, my first encounter with a local fellow occurred in the whore-house just a short distance from our hotel. Once we were able to move about,  C. A. introduced me to getting a “steam-job and a blow-bath”, as it was locally known. I discretely enquired if the house had a masseur: of course they did, yet another vestige of the french occupation, I suppose.

“My first encounter was a revelation: I had never had any kind of massage in my life, but the practice of bathing first (useful, given the hot climate) was particularly enjoyable for me. The masseur’s name was Hung: he was small, wiry and strong! Yet, his touch was gentle as he soaped me all over, then rinsed me with cool water. After drying me off, he put me on his table face-down and went to work. He really knew his stuff! I found his rubbing, pounding, and punching very relaxing. When he tapped me to turn over, he discretely placed a small towel over my private parts and went to work on the rest of me. Of course, when he got to my legs, particularly my thighs, the little towel rose up majestically; I’m sure he knew it would. His touch became lighter as he worked his hands up into my groin, played with my balls, and ran his fingers through my pubic hair. By this time, I had let my left arm drop over the side of the table so I could explore his bare legs, and as he began working with me under the towel, I slipped my hand into his shorts: he had a nice little boner, but my fingers had almost no pubic hair to run through. When Hung put one hand around my engorged prong, two weeks’ of  frustration—repeated visual stimulation by the young boys all around, but no contact—worked their magic! He jacked me with his right hand as he fondled my shriveled balls and whisked the towel away just as I  got off: my gawd, what a mess! I shot my wad over and over, flooding his delicate hand: he in turn came in my hand. It was glorious! After another wash, it was over.

“However, it was commercial: not very expensive, true, but done for profit, not for fun. I resolved to find some play-mates who might be as intrigued by me as I was with them. The boy, Nguyen, at the hotel was at the top of my list, but the place was so small and intimate I knew anything I might do with him would be known within minutes.

“As soon as things returned to normal after Tet, I sub-let an apartment near the city center. I engaged Nguyen to help me move a few sticks of furniture into the place, at the conclusion of which he seemed loathe to depart. The massive bed captured his imagination, and he had long since captured mine. Seated close, I stroked his glabrous thighs, which was all he needed to begin stroking my somewhat hairy arms. His hard-on pushed at his shorts, and within minutes we were both stripped bare and pawing madly at each other. He seemed as taken with my body-hair as I was with his lack of it, and he was not at all bashful about sucking my dick, as soon as I had tasted his. He had a small prick, but in perfect proportion to his size; on his pubes there was not much more than the suggestion of a bush, and there was not a trace of fat anywhere. When he came, I thought I might drown: he seemed able to shoot forever, though he eventually calmed down.

“For the remainder of my tour in Vietnam, Nguyen dropped in several times a week; we carried on the same way every time, but neither seemed to get tired of it. I became hooked on the Asian somatotype, and remain so to this day.”

This is a snapshot of the masseur mentioned in the excerpt above

Nguyen was younger, and much better looking!

That’s all for this page: the saga will continue as time permits.

NEXT

May 29, 2009

NUCLEAR NON-PROLIFERATION

Before I begin the next phase of my narrative, a word about non-proliferation. It seems to me the notion is flawed, as it maintains some who have the bomb, and some who do not. Inevitably, those who do not have the bomb want it, hence Iran, and other countries  trying to make one, or buy one from North Korea (who needs the money and will sell anything to anyone).

My answer would be to scrap the non-proliferation treaty and offer a bomb (or several) to  any country that wanted one and was willing to take on the expense of maintaining, protecting and accounting for it. It seems  to me that everyone who does not have one would take one (or a few – the number does not matter). What matters is that when everyone had “the bomb” anyone tempted to use one would know they would be subjected to instant annihilation if they did so. The plan is Mutual Assured Destruction (MAD) carried to its ultimate extreme. While it could lead to the end of the earth as we know it, my feeling is that would not happen. MAD did a good job of staving off nuclear war for many years, until Dubya substituted his “Preemptive Strike” (PS) doctrine, and see what that got us! The problem with preemptive strike is that anyone can strike preemptively: there is nothing to prevent Iran or North Korea or any other country from adopting that policy, and there is really no rational protection against it. MAD would be a far more potent dis-incentive to “strike first and ask questions later”, which is how George implemented PS. The total destruction of a sovereign nation (Iraq) was the result: there is a lot of blood on George’s hands, and I wish to see him pay the appropriate price for it.

CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The two years between 1964 (divorce from Johnny) and 1966 (next love) were relatively uneventful. At work I was moving up the ladder slowly; away from work I was foot-loose and fancy-free. I played the field, often spending Friday and Saturday nights at a mixed bar called Bligh’s Bounty. At the time, it was a pretty laid-back place where guys who liked black men could hang out, and where black men who likes whites could do the same. I got to know some very nice fellows: most of the time the juke-box was low enough so a decent (and occasionally indecent) conversation could be had. That came to an end with the installation of live go-go boys, who danced to a much louder juke-box.

The guys were pretty enough, though they rarely were allowed to “let it all hang out” in those days: they wore skimpy speedos or posing-straps. But the notion they were up there being looked at by all the guys in the place resulted in awesome attitude problems: they were untouchable, whereas the more ordinary folk in the bar were at least open to the notion of a toss in the hay. I managed to trick from Bligh’s now and then, but most of my sex was occurring in the tubs, specifically the Turk Street Baths.

The TSB was, in those days, a fairly classy and reasonably safe place. It generally filled to over-flowing on weekends, but my favorite night was Thursday. The Thursday night crowd was mainly made up of guys who couldn’t wait for Friday and who were “hot to trot”. In the feverish weekend crowd, too many guys were waiting for “Mr. Right”, so a less-than-perfect guy like me went without. But on Thursdays? Whooooopee! I could usually score, and had some really wonderful nights there.

Just once in those days, I contracted a case of anal clap. I knew I was taking a chance on a fellow I’d not seen before and who was a bit more drunk than I’d have liked: but he was cute, and hung poorly-enough that I could manage. Later, at the City Health Clinic, a nurse gave me two shots of penicillin, one in each hip.

She said, “A few deep squats will help relieve the sting”.

I replied, “Lady, how do you think I got into this condition?”

She fell out, laughing: I’d made her day.

I resolved to be more careful.

FATEFUL MEETING

One night I stayed at Bligh’s later than usual, and joined some fellows who invited me to ride with them over to the Jumping Frog on Polk Street. I’d heard of it, but had never gone: it stayed open “after hours”. But when we got there, it was packed beyond managing, and was filled with fumes from smokers, and everyone there was more drunk than I, and more drunk than I cared for, so I departed, planning to catch an “owl” bus that took me within a block of where I was then living. I missed a bus by minutes, and had to wait an hour on the street for another. When it arrived, now around 3 in the morning, there was only one person (beside the driver) on it, a black dude seated at the back of the bus. I dropped down beside him, and we struck up a desultory conversation that soon lapsed, until it devolved that we both got off at the same stop. I suggested he could stop in for coffee, and he agreed.

I was not immediately drawn to Cornell: I got the impression he was straight, but we were engaged in somewhat similar work and there were topics we could discuss meaningfully. We drank coffee and chatted amiably until nearly 5 A M, when he decided he should be getting home. For whatever reason, as he stood, I simply said, “I’d really like to hug you before you go”.

THE STORM

That was all it took! Pretty soon we were rolling around on my bed, kissing and carrying on. We were in no hurry to get undressed, and in fact never did. He got my manhood out of my pants, but for the most part, we engaged in frottage, something with which I was not very familiar. We went at this for at least an hour, and I found him very exciting: he was gentle and caring: what of him I could feel was smooth and silky, and I wanted more, more, MORE!

All of a sudden, he leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom. I got there soon after to find him mopping up: he’d had an orgasm in his pants! The familiar smell of cum (not to mention hours of exciting fore-play) led me to jack off and add my seed to his, a process that took only a few moments, but which was explosive on my part. Then I helped him clean up, gave him a clean pair of my own tighty-whities, and sent him on his way after exchanging phone numbers.

The upshot of all this is we saw a good deal of each other for a few months. I discovered that Cornell was an expert fucker: he fucked me often, and made me enjoy it every time. To do so, he had to get nude, and I reveled in his superb body, very black, glabrous, and without any adipose tissue at all. He was not particularly muscular, but just perfectly constructed and sexy. I was very soon wrapped up in Cornell, and it seemed like he liked me and appreciated my sense of humor and my horniness whenever he came around.

In late March that year I took a short job in Albuquerque, New Mexico, then took a train to Chicago, thence to Montreal and St. Hyacinthe, PQ, home of the famous pipe organ builders Casavant Freres Ltee. The notion at the time was I should go to work there. Cornell looked after my place while I was gone.

But the weather sucked! Winter was over, but Spring hadn’t sprung: it was miserably cold, and I quickly decided it was no place for a native Californian. Also, I spoke no French, and it was clear that to work there I would have had to do so. I shortened my stay and took a train to New York: Easter was fast approaching, but I really wanted to get back home to Cornell. I phoned him my ETA and headed west by plane on Easter Sunday.

When I entered my house, it was empty. Until I reached the bedroom, where Cornell was waiting to surprise me. Man, oh man! Coming home to a beautiful guy I was hoping before long to call my lover: what more could a 30 year old gay boy want?

What, indeed!

A few days later, the roof fell in on my life. Cornell announced he was already married (to a guy) and that his dalliance with me was over. It had just been a ”lark”, a conquest, and it was done.

Jesus H. Christelberger! I went into a deep funk. I managed to keep working, but going home every night, alone again, no prospects, no nuthin’, sent me into a tail-spin. I stalked his house, hoping for glimpses of him, but he eluded me. I was, to put it mildly, heart-broken.

How I got out of this depression will be reported in my next episode, so stay tuned!

NEXT

HUA HIN TO CHUMPHON

The arrow indicates Chumphon

Wednesday, 9 October 1968

Following an early breakfast (there is one restaurant in Hua Hin that specializes—if you can call it that—in European food) I got on the road about 7:30. The day was spectacular—but of course in the tropics a beautiful day can degenerate quickly into a dreadful one; even the smallest cloud can suddenly drop prodigious quantities of water, and if one happens to be in the way, one gets wet. Today however it rained only once, & I had no more stopped & put on my rain coat than I drove out of it & had to stop again and shed. Had I known, I wouldn’t have bothered with the coat at all. From Hua Hin the road moves inland, through a series of large fertile valleys. Pineapples, bananas & coconuts appear to be the principal crops. The road has some ups and downs, but not much, as the hills are all low, but craggy and very pretty.

Driving along, I noticed a hill with a radio transmitting tower on top. As the road up there was not gated, I drove up for a wonderful view. The composite view above gives a good idea of how the lush Thai countryside looked. Another view is below:

View from Radio Tower Hill

Somewhere in South Thailand

There being little to delay me (except one very large lizard—nearly two feet long—that was crossing the road, and which I coasted quite close to before it saw me and disappeared into the bushes) I made unusually good time, arriving at Chumphon just before 1 PM!! Now, Chumphon is a division-point on the RSR [Royal Siam Railroad], so most of my afternoon was spent in the rail yards—and much of this evening as well. I shot up most of a roll of film, losing (for sure) only one or two, I hope, when the camera jammed a bit. It rained around 4, so I took the opportunity to wash up and take the camera apart. These Kodak gadgets are as much glued together as held any other way; although I began the trip with a tube of glue, it long since sprang a leak & had to be discarded. So I had to scout around here and find some glue, which I managed alright, and the camera is now back together, its critical part cleaned of dirt & lubricated.

NOTE TO READERS: Like any other railroad division point, Chumphon was a busy place. The station and yards were then out of town a ways, up a gently sloping divided road. In the median-strip there were several preserved locomotives on permanent display: their running-lights were wired for electricity and lit up at night. It was a lovely scene, but wouldn’t you know: the two photos I took were ruined when the camera jammed. I doubt if there is any trace of those locomotives left now.

Locomotives in the woodpile at Chumphon

Locomotive 375 being fueled at Chumphon

Strange things happen to luggage on a motorbike. Everything packs down into remarkably little space in the course of a day, but once disturbed it can’t be put back again. Pills disintegrate unless packed very tightly with cotton. Some toilet-paper I used to pad my shaving gear in its little plastic box is now a mass of shredded paper. Plastic bottles can chafe on something & wear right through, and tooth-paste tubes will do the same. It can all get pretty messy!

Already a change in plans is contemplated, I can no longer resist and if all goes well, I shall take the 7 am train to Phunphin, hopefully returning the same day. Phunphin is a town I do not otherwise expect to reach, but of course that is not the real reason for going there! Since I don’t want to miss what looks like a lovely (perhaps wet, but lovely) mountainous crossing to Ranong  by moto, the train trip will be a round-trip side-trip. We’ll see how it goes. Unless I get to bed soon, I’ll never wake up in time, so…

More tomorrow,

Bruce

NOTE TO READERS: I am having some problems with the software, so will break this post now and continue on the next page. Please bear with me: I’m not much of a computer whiz at all. By the way: the big lizard was a harmless Monitor Lizard, and the only one I saw!

NEXT

My letter of September 27th, 1968 continued:

Since the border is officially closed, there isn’t much for the customs people there to do, & they had to spend nearly 1/2 hr looking for the tax stamps (about 3¢US) required on the paper-work for the motor! But, at length, I proceeded. From Aranya Pradet to the intersection with Hiway 33, there is no pavement, & what with recent rains, the road was pretty bad in spots—slippery and muddy. When I got to pavement (about 60 km) the machine was covered with red laterite mud; but I ran into another storm almost at once which washed the worst of that off very quickly. I sat this one [storm] out [in a bus shelter] with a family whose son spoke  fair English, & so passed a pleasant half hour or so. Pressing on, dodging a couple more storms, I reached Chachoengsao just at dusk, and checked into a brand-new hotel, where I had a very comfortable room for US$1.75. Not much edible food, though (had a bowl of Chok, the Thai version of Chinese Soup; it has every imaginable [& some unimaginable] thing in it) but it is not bad. The next AM Ieft about 7:30 & was just nicely under way, with nice warm sun & cool breeze, when I had the first flat tire of the trip. The stem pulled out of the “chambre d’air”—inner tube—and it went flat instantly. That took about 3/4 hr to fix by the road-side (I had a spare tube), & I then proceeded as before.

First Flat Tire

BACKSTORY: Chachoengsao was a very frontier-ish sort of place. I met up with a group of pretty rough-looking guys who wanted me to take them to a movie: having nothing else to do, I did. The “theater” was a tent with some old wooden bleachers; the projector was an old 16mm, and the movie was an ancient US “western”. The boys—six of them with me—obligingly sat up on the rear-most seat, where it quickly became apparent some of them at least were horny: lots of clutching at their own crotches, a universal signal! With some trepidation I groped the boy nearest to me and found him hard. One thing led to another, as the old saying goes: in the end, we all jacked off together and left quite a mess behind. They all wanted to come to my hotel, but this I felt unwise, so when the movie was over I sent them on their way. It was cheap fun: the cost for the seven of us to watch the movie was less than a dollar!

The Thai’s drive on the left—which is a bit harrowing in itself, as I’m unfamiliar with that approach of course. They also drive like madmen, just as the Cambodians, but of course traffic is much heavier. One reaches the outskirts of Bangkok about 40 km out, and from there on traffic gets very heavy. I arrived about noon, wandered around till I found a reasonable hotel, took a nice lunch & flaked out for the afternoon!

I’ve decided to proceed to Singapore. This will take me down the Kra Isthmus, along the west coast of Malaysia, through Penang to Kuala Lumpur & eventually to Singapore. Depending on how my money lasts, I might go from there to Darwin, Australia, & by train from there to Melbourne (friends there, C&E people), but that is speculation. Accordingly, I put the Honda into the Agency Shop today for a check-up & engine overhaul: it has 7000 miles that I know of on it, maybe more, and this is the first place I’ve hit with a Honda-accredited repair team. Although the machine has run well, I want it to be in first-class shape for the next leg of the journey: it is 1000 miles, just to the Thai border, almost as far as Kuala Lumpur, and about half that to S-pore! So I shall have a week or two here in BK—about all I want, I think—it has all the modern conveniences, and all the modern ills, such as smog!

BACKSTORY: When I departed VN, my vague plan was to go north from Bangkok, across Burma, and across India. My brother, Todd, had done this ten years earlier, traveling by air and train, and had found Burma particularly agreeable. However, ten years later, Burma was (then as now) firmly closed. Southward lay Singapore…

Am having photos developed & printed; they should be ready (if the camera worked) to enclose with this letter in a few days.

BK has marvelous old (French) street-cars! Not many, but they must constitute some of the oldest rolling-stock in the world apart from the cable-cars in San Francisco!!

More later,

Bruce

BACKSTORY: Fond of streetcars anywhere, I rode the old cars in BK several times. The tracks ran along the sides of the streets, a few feet from the edge of the sidewalk: people parked their cars right on the tracks, which brought the old trams to a halt with much clanging and shouting. We often had to wait for some time before parked cars were moved. It was apparent these trams served only a few folks and were utterly out-of-place in Bangkok, trying its best to modernize. Little did I know!

The letter was continued on the 29th:

Why-why-why? do tourists insist on traveling with little children? I’ve met a number of travelers  poking around with under-2 year-olds with them. Not to mention the expense, there is an awful burden on themselves and others, and all it does for the child is to enable him to say in the future, “I was in wherever when I was a year and a half old and I don’t remember anything about it.”

I watched, fascinated sort of by the contrast, as a Dutch couple eating in a nearby restaurant spent all their attention on their little boy, harnessed into a chair; special food, heated in the kitchen just for them, special spoon, etc., etc., etc. (And mama & papa had to order for themselves something not on the menu).  Two tables away was a Thai family, with a littler little boy, who sat unassisted & fed himself from portions of the same food his parents were eating. No fuss.

Children grow up rapidly in the orient and they learn much more in the process—at least as much about living—than american children. Parents start their children walking as soon as they are weaned or before; toilet training the same time: I can’t see that either hurts the kids any. It is frequently astonishing to see the things small children do here—even hard work—without complaint.

Caught a small cold (air-conditioning territory again!) so have been rather sluggish. Besides, the Moto being in the shop means walking, which is OK except that BK is a big place. Took in Dusit Zoo (nearby) today; quite a good zoo, & very popular (on Sunday) place to go. Tomorrow I have to go to the airport, pick up and re-pack my bag there are and ship it on—I think now I’ll just send it on to Robb, since I can’t imagine having any use for the stuff in it for quite a while.

BACKSTORY: There really was a time when one could pack a suitcase and send it anywhere in the world as “unaccompanied baggage”. This was very handy, and you could arrange to have your baggage at your destination even before you got there! In my case, I had sent a bag from Vietnam to Bangkok, thinking at the time I might settle in, or get work in, Bangkok. I quickly decided this was not to be, so shipped the bag on home via by Brother, Robb. Getting the bag out of customs at the airport involved a little money under the table, of course, but I had become so used to this in VN that I thought nothing of it.

Bangkok is expensive. I want to take one of the bus tours in the next day or two, & then press on fairly soon. One sees in Bangkok a preview of what Saigon will be like ten years from now, and frankly it isn’t all that pretty. Grinding poverty in the very shadow of splendor; gawdawful traffic, & smog at times; very little of Thai culture—and much of the bastardized american-thai substitute.

The Thais do have what must be the most lavishly decorated trucks and busses, though. Most start life as a Mercedes or Toyota 1½ or 2½ T chassis. The bodies (except cab) seem to be built locally, mostly out of wood, all carefully finished and polished. The whole is decorated with vast amounts of chrome trim, with hammered designs, and (fake) rivet-heads running in rows everywhere; also popular are painted scenes in little chrome frames tacked on here and there. To all this is added rows of colored lights all over the place, so at night it all looks like a moving giant Xmas tree. (And I do mean Xmas!)

Curiously, one’s surroundings change quickly after crossing into Thailand. Of course, this is emphasized by the border being closed, hence the Thai and Khmer cultures do not mix. Thai homes are built of wood, on or very near, the ground & not raised up 10-12 feet as are Khmer homes. Bangkok is largely built of wood, & there are large fires at times (I see the remains of one in some shops just down the street from this hotel). One leaves French behind quite rapidly, too, at the border; not nearly as many people speak English as the booklets say, though. Street signs are frequently nonexistent &  it is a hard city to get around in. The layout is odd, & compounded by one-way streets, traffic-circles & such. Driving on the left still seems odd—I suppose it will for quite a while—but I’ll have that from here on, so I’d better catch on. Making a right turn against oncoming traffic becomes precisely the problem that making a left is in the states.

Enclosed photos better than I’d expected!

Much love to all,

Bruce

Buddhist Temple, 1968

Buddhist temples like this are everywhere in Thailand. This was one of the first I encountered, so I snapped a photo because the weather was fine. Of Bangkok itself, I got no pictures: the reason will become apparent in future letters.

Stay tuned!

NEXT

As the second tour of duty in Cairo neared its end, I was chatting with a fellow from Kansas CIty one night: we shared a huge old flat at the time, a Company facility that was being shut down. I mentioned that in the previous year I had tried to take the boat & train to Sudan, but had been unable to get a visa. “Well, let’s try again!” says he. We turned in our passports and requests at the Sudanese Embassy, and a couple of days later, the visas were approved. Committed now, we arranged for passage. Lance had not even gotten to Luxor, much less Aswan, so we arranged to spend some time in each place as we wended our way South.

In Luxor, we spotted this fine old steamer, now in private hands:

I got aboard and found the steam engine intact!

There was time for a few photos in Aswan:

That’s the Oberoi-Aswan across the Nile

More modern accommodations were available on the Nile

They tend to all look alike, but this one is classic

There were two boats to Wadi Halfa each week. The Thursday boat was run by the Sudanese, the Tuesday boat by the Egyptians. We got lucky and were on the Thursday run. The train took us right up to the dock, and the first “boat” we saw was this venerable WWII LST relic:

Still operational, this was our “motive power”

Lashed to each side of this thing were two much older relics of days gone by: ancient steamers!

It took much of the day, but in time all this got set to right and we were under way!

Wadi Halfa, here we come!

The trip is three days and two nights. There was nothing to do; much of the time one could not even see the shoreline. No progress occurred at night: the assemblage was at anchor and lashed to buoys. We had remembered to bring our yellow-books, and a good thing it was: yellow-fever inoculations were being given to everyone, all through the same needle! Fortunately, the “doctor” administering these accepted our yellow-book entries and let us pass. In the fullness of time, we arrived in Wadi Halfa. Our train was waiting:

Looks modern enough in this view

The train was hauled by a diesel engine, and there was an ancient dining-car in the consist, and at the tail end—thank goodness—a box-car loaded with fish, rapidly rotting in the heat. Once under way (after the usual interminable wait) I spotted this kilometer-post, No. 2 of  some 137 (if I recall correctly) before any sort of settlement was encountered.

Bleakness, sand, and scrub was all that one could see

Eventually, we began to find little towns where the train would often stop briefly. But somewhere near Berber, in the middle of the night, we became aware we were no longer in motion. We found all the passengers sleeping under the stars on the platform, the train motionless, everything dead calm. Eventually we were able to learn there was track-work ahead, and we had to wait for its completion. In the late afternoon, after more interminable waiting, the engineer gave a toot and started up the train. What a mad scramble there was for the passengers to get aboard! In the wee hours of the next morning, we rolled into Khartoum. A taxi driver took us to the Hilton, which was fully booked; he then took us to the Grand Hotel:

On the banks of the White Nile, the Grand Hotel

This had been a British hotel, but more recently it had been lovingly refurbished by a French Consortium. The accommodations were modern and air-conditioned, the restaurant was quite good and elegant, and best of all, one could sit on the verandah, sip a lime-and-soda and watch the White Nile, just across the road:

Just above the confluence with the Blue Nile

Down-town Khartoum was a leisurely 20-minute walk from the hotel, and a bus stopped at the hotel for those wishing to visit Omdurman:

The Mahdi’s Tomb in Omdurman

Of course we visited General Gordon’s home (preserved) and various other notable places, but the temperature was fierce, on the order of 110º at the height of the day. Lance spent a good deal of his time in his room, but I managed to wander around and find a few souvenirs to bring home. After a week or so, we returned to Cairo on an airplane which covered the distance in a couple of hours that had taken us several weeks to cover in the other direction!

I’ve always been glad I made this trek, because Sudan seems to have gone steadily down hill ever since. Lance and I just happened to fall into the short window of opportunity when visas were available. The ancient dining-car on the train was a real hoot, and the bowab must have been with it from the beginning!

I doubt they still use these colorful bills!

Ten Sudanese Pounds

Five Sudanese Pounds

One Sudanese Pound

Fifty Sudanese Piastres

Twenty-five Sudanese Piastres

Back in Cairo, I brought to an end the study of Cairo’s sewage that I’d been in charge of for several months:

Bench-scale treatment plant for Cairo’s wastewater

I had several assistants on this endeavor, who mainly went out each day and collected fresh examples for us to run:

My staff on the wastewater study

There were a few remaining sight-seeing trips:

I don’t remember the occasion, but I was there!

Here’s a picture of some of our drivers: the one at left was especially good-looking, I thought, but the one on the right was actually cuter.

Waiting for food after a long day’s drive

Once the shit-disturber had been shut down and the report written, it was time to head home. Next page: Manila

NEXT

Bangkok, Thailand October 4 1968

Dear all~

I shall again begin this letter today—& heaven knows when—or where—I shall finish & mail it. Received Dad’s letter of 15 Sept/10 Oct this afternoon—the first word I’ve had from home in nearly 2 months. When I first thought PA&E was going to surplus me, I ordered mail forwarded from SF to Robb; in the ensuing weeks of confusion I never changed that, so mail dried up even before I left Saigon. Probably will get things from Glendale tomorrow.

I wrote a letter to Todd & mailed it today. I was a bit caustic, I fear, regarding Bangkok, since my camera and watch (no money) had just been stolen the day before. So far I have retrieved neither and have little hope for it. But even before that happened I was disappointed by Bangkok and its people. The contrast between Cambodia and Thailand is phenomenal; where the Khmers are so wonderfully friendly, spontaneously warm and helpful, the Thais are sullen and cold, not particularly accommodating, and greedy—a bit more-so I think even than the Vietnamese. Prices on nearly everything are frightfully high, and gouging is as frequently encountered as in France—if not more often. If Bangkok today represents the result of close cooperation with (actually, inundation by) America, then I have to agree more strongly than ever with Senator Fullbright—and I have to agree completely with Prince Sihanouk, who wants more than anything else to keep Cambodia Khmer.

BACKSTORY: Bear in mind that I was in Bangkok in 1968. It was, then, on the infamous “R&R” circuit for american soldiers fighting in Vietnam. The Thais built an industry around the R&R concept, designed to part soldiers from as much money as possible and from whatever shred of virginity a few of them might have had left after “20-p alley” encounters in VN. Consequently, since I was the right age, it was assumed I was a soldier on R&R, even though I was riding a motorcycle and entirely on my own. This led to many disappointing encounters, chief of which was the night I treated two youngsters to a “night on the town”. It was, of course, a “set-up”, and the truth is, I was “rolled”. The further truth is it was my own fault, as I had consumed more Singha (delicious Thai beer!) than I should have done. I remained mindful enough to put my wallet, passport and so forth out of reach, but left my trusted pocket-watch in my pants and my camera in plain sight. After we three had had rather desultory sex, we fell asleep—at least, I did. I was awakened some time later when the sound of my room’s door being closed sank through the fog, and I awoke to find the boys gone. Along with my watch and my camera. Shit!

I got the Honda back from the shop yesterday. It has been running well, but the work I had done in Saigon was pretty hap-hazard, what with no parts available for the larger models. (And, that was done 3000 km ago. The bike has over 12000 km on it—it was used when I bought it.) Here, at the Honda branch-factory, everything was at hand. Surprisingly, new cylinders, pistons, rings, bearings & valves, and assorted other small items came to only $57—and it runs like new; in fact, I shall have to break it in all over again. But, as you point out, Singapore is quite a ways from here—about 2500 miles as nearly as I can gather.

I surely shan’t stay in BK ’till the 15th, though, and may depart in the next couple of days, probably missing a little mail thereby. My actual plans are characteristically vague. I shall not replace camera or watch until I reach Penang (a free port); my only retribution against the Thais for the most inhospitable way I’ve been treated here will be to take no photos in their land—and I shall warn everyone I meet who is heading this way to be very careful. I would like to find a small resort with reasonable off-season rates somewhere in Malaysia where I can get the sun I missed in Sihanoukville, but have no particular spot in mind. If I could find a suitable place, I might stay several weeks there. And when I once reach Singapore, the question arises as to where to go from there? Todd once discussed the idea of meeting me in Australia early in the year—but I probably won’t have enuf money left by the time I get to S’pore to do that. Instead I shall probably hop a freighter bound more-or-less for Glendale by Christmas.  This is subject to change—don’t count on it until I get a little closer.

BACKSTORY: When I entered Thailand, I’d received only a ten-day visitor’s visa. It became apparent I would over-stay that without an extension. A chap I had met who was helpful in some ways assured me he could arrange for the extension—for a price. Instead, one morning I consulted my map, found out where Immigration Department was, found out which bus-line would get me there, and set out. The building was old (it has recently been replaced), and I could not read any signs, but by dint of approaching people politely, I was eventually guided to a chap whose desk was in the hallway! He extended the visa as requested, without charge, and sent me on my way. The extension thus cost the few baht on the bus, and the chap who had wanted to get the extension for me was royally pissed when he learned I’d done it myself.

Entry visa, Bottom; Extension Top.

I’ve been delightfully ignoring world news on this tour. I gather Nixon is out-foxing Humphrey for votes—which is not surprising. In a restaurant the other day I picked up a copy of the Bangkok World & read that Long Binh had been hit by 40 VC rockets—must have been spectacular, but “damage was described as light”. If I vote absentee, it will have to be at one of the embassies en-route, and I shall try to manage it.

While I think you are essentially right that Humphrey’s record has been essentially liberal through the years, the effectiveness of his support leaves a lot to be desired as far as I am concerned. The vastness of the task of overhauling so many of america’s policies—so badly needed—exceeds both his capabilities and those of Mr. Nixon (even both together, I think!) There are many people in this part of the world who regret that neither candidate is really committed to the sort of changes that are desired. Many people I’ve talked with are really mystified by America’s policy towards mainland China. Our ostrich-like behavior is widely ridiculed, and the usually-given excuse that “China’s government is not a democratically elected one” is laughed at (as well it might be) because in the context of our recognition of such countries as Russia, Spain, and many others (South Africa, even!) the excuse is simply not germane at all.

I wish you could have seen the current issue of “Kambuja” (Cambodia), the official Cambodian news-magazine. It is, of course, 100% propaganda, except for the last 20 pages of political cartoons reproduced from all over the world. In the context, those dealing with assassination & lack of gun control in the US, and with the abortive Resurrection City incidents in Washington, are particularly devastating. The world is a whole lot smaller place than most americans seem to think, and our little foibles can no more be swept under the rug than can anyone else’s. Many people in this part of the world are far-better read on the US than most people in the US are about this part of the world—and with few exceptions I find people quite impatient with us for not getting on more quickly with the tasks of putting our house in order at home. I wish (and many people have expressed the same sad hope) that either of the current Presidential candidates were more firmly committed to doing just this.

I went to see the first movies I’ve seen on nearly a year last night. “2001″, in Cinerama, in a fine theater here. I thought the price—$1.00—quite reasonable, and found the reason—¾ hr of filmed commercials—after I got inside!! The story-line of the movie I found a bit obscure, as did others, but the photo & model effects are breath-taking and made the movie entirely worth seeing. “Man For All Seasons” is also here & I may take it in, too since the price is reasonable (one can get a seat for 50cts).

Bangkok has the same “over-employment” problem I observed in Denmark. There are always more people than necessary to do a job. The busses have a driver and 2 (sometimes 3) collectors. Delivery-vans never have less than 3 people aboard. Even small restaurants have a half-dozen waiters, and larger places veritable hoards of waiters, assistants, bus-boys, and so forth. The restaurant in the Thai Hotel next door must have a payroll (with cooks, musicians, bar-tenders, waiters, cashiers &c &c) of close to a hundred per shift—and it could not serve any more people than that at one time; the Thai Hotel is not really a tourist hotel on the “circuit”. BK has also developed the american-ism of youth-worship far beyond the extreme to which we have carried it. Whether this is wholly imported or to some extent an expression of some Thai cultural traits I can’t discern. And a new deal (with Krupp, Germany) has just been signed for diesel locomotives to replace the wonderful wood-burners still operating on the Royal Siam RR—alas!

At this point of my letters, probably through remorse that I was not still there, I returned to my wonderful visit to Cambodia, and especially the temple complex. Remember, I am writing in 1968: I’m sure it has radically changed!

You—all of you—must put Angkor on your itineraries for future travels—hopefully soon, before Cambodia is destroyed by “development”. I can heartily assure you that the lack of diplomatic relations with the US will not hinder a trip to Cambodia in any way. There are flights from BK and Phnom-Penh direct to Siem Reap, and there are several excellent hotels. The Auberges Royal des Temples is directly across the moat and road from Angkor Wat, & not ten minutes from the airport. The Grand Hotel is nearer the town & a little cheaper, perhaps, though no less touristy. The Hotel de la Paix where I stayed is just on the fringe of town, & while not luxurious, is clean, comfortable, has good food, and is cheap! Personally, I enjoyed the 6 km ride from town out to Angkor Wat (& the rest of the park); what with trees & such, one arrives at the south portal of A-W very unexpectedly—just all of a sudden, there it is! Arriving from the airport it is visible for the whole distance, & somehow not so impressive, though one does come in at the main (west) gate. The very best time of year, I’m told, is January, when the jungle is still moist but rains are finished. Later as the weather warms up it gets dusty & some sort of pollen apparently settles on everything, making it quite dirty. The view from the Phnom Bakheng is splendid (as it was intended to be!) & worth the climb up, though if desired you can rent elephants to make the ascent. And if it should rain when you are there, go directly to Ta Prohm (do not pass GO!) and experience the incredible eeriness of a jungle-surrounded temple in the midst of a deluge. It is an experience you will never forget, & worth a thousand words. Drive all around the West Baray, also; stop frequently for views from the banks. This is an artificial lake over a thousand years old, created in part to supply the moat for Angkor Wat and mostly for irrigation. It is still in use, though about half of it has been reclaimed by the jungle. The perimeter is 35k m [60 mi], hence in a sense it is one of the largest undertakings of the old Khmer empire. The East Baray, a similar artifice, is only slightly smaller. There are immeasurable fine walking tours to take, to say nothing of climbing about in the temples themselves. And some interesting trips to slightly out-of-the-way temples, too; be sure to see Banteay Srei (a marvelous, though minor temple) and Banteay Samre, notable for its state of preservation (as is Banteay Kdei). Do not spend less than a week in this place—you’ll always regret it if you do, & be sure to wander about the town of Siem Reap (it’s small—you can cover all its major streets in an hour), which is a very typical Khmer town & very little affected by tourism.

Here’s a picture of Phnom Bakheng as it was in 2006:

As the letter continued, I found time for a dig at my step-mother:

Tommie: I find printing hopelessly slow. Sorry you have some trouble deciphering my letters, but at least you have something to decipher. I don’t recall having the opportunity of deciphering your own expert hand much since I left the US.

I did go to see “Man For All Seasons” last night, and found it well worth the praise & awards it received. One (or at least I) comes away from it wondering just how much social progress the world has really achieved since those days—the trappings are different, but human-nature is piteously slow to change.

6 October 1968

I wandered through the Erewan Hotel the other day. Had to do it. Of course, I wore shorts for the occasion! It was built about the same time Todd was here. One wonders whether or not that crazy music-review might not have been fact: the chamber-music room of the Erewan now sports a quite new Yamaha grand. The hotel is dated, but spacious—and expensive.

Through a curious set of circumstances, I have recovered the pawn-ticket for my camera, so on the way out tomorrow (today being Sunday) I will pick it up—’twill cost me 70 baht ($3.50). The watch fell into the hands of a thoroughly detestable expatriate american Negro “fence” by the name of Tony Rocca. I’m sure I could buy it back, but I shan’t do so. With american examples like this character around, Thai attitudes are perhaps a bit more understandable—though no less reprehensible.

At all events, I leave Bangkok tomorrow—hopefully forever—thereby perhaps missing a letter form Todd, but it will probably be returned. Since this letter has already developed into 7 pages, I shall mail it tomorrow as I pass the RR Station.

Love to all, of course,
Bruce

BACKSTORY: I was surprised to find the two thieves where I had met them initially—Lumpini Park—and found them seemingly contrite. They admitted stealing the camera and using up the film taking photos of themselves; the film was being developed. They also agreed to take me to the man who had purchased the watch from them. I was able to find a policeman willing to accompany us. But Tony Rocco was a smooth operator, and what with the language barrier, the policemen was no help: what he wanted was a pay-off, and what Rocco wanted was for me to buy back my own watch! By this time I was disgusted with all the players, and unwilling to part with any more money, so I dropped the matter. But the boys had given me the pawn-ticket for the camera, so I was able to retrieve it. Lumpini Park was—and I believe remains—the place for “trade” in Bangkok, much of it rough.

By the way: before leaving BK, I went for one last ride on the old streetcars: I waited in vain, and read in the paper that night that the day before had been their last. There was quite a ceremony, all of which I missed. Damn! Anyone who doubts Bangkok once had streetcars can learn more here.

Bangrak Museum: Street-Car

Coming up: I head south, and find wonderful steam locomotives!

NEXT

DIARY ENTRY, 12 SEPT THURSDAY: Rain all day—dammit—and no indication it will stop. Walked around the town—such as it is—and otherwise sat out the rain. Did get a good raincoat and some boards to support my sagging bag. With the rain, my wet clothes are very slow to dry out. If there is rain tomorrow I shall abandon Sihanoukville for Kirirom, or possibly even P.Penh again if Kirirom is also raining.

The satchel which sat cross-wise on the luggage-rack of the bike had a card-board bottom: when it got wet, it began to sag and ooze over each side of the rack. I scrounged up a board at a construction-site, lashed it across the rack for the bag to sit on. Also in S-ville I figured out the necessity of wrapping dry clothes in plastic so as to keep them dry, since the satchel’s zipper leaked water. Like the natives, I wore a plastic rain-coat backwards when driving in rain. This resulted in a lake in my lap, and of course did nothing to keep the legs of my pants dry, but in general the raincoat helped keep much of me relatively dry, so that when the weather improved and I took the coat off, I did not have to fight evaporation (which quickly cools one off when riding a motorcycle).

Friday, 13th Sept 68

As mentioned previously, I left S-ville early yesterday morning. It was, of course, raining, and for about the first hour of the trip it rained very hard—even harder than when I had traversed the same route 2 days earlier. But when I reached the junction with National Route 3 and turned inland, the rain eased up and finally stopped. The road [took me to] the famous Route #4—Khmer-American Friendship Highway. Built along about 1958 [actually, 1959]. Happily, it  has held up well & is a good high-speed road. There was no traffic to speak of. By the time I reached the junction to Kirirom, I was very nearly dry and had actually had some sunshine.

Your taxes and mine: the Khmer-American Friendship Highway, 1959 (222 km).

But turning off to Kirirom of course put me up into the mountains again, and Kirirom was both rainy and cold—the coldest I’ve been since I left the states. So I looked Kirirom over, viewed the Chalet d’Etat (Entré Interdite) ate an early lunch at the Restaurant du Lac, then moved on. Kirirom is a lovely spot, though, being developed as a big camping and resort area. Given good weather it would be a superb place to spend a couple of weeks camping and hiking.

[More about Kirirom here.]

All that’s left now of the Chalet d’Etat!

Downhill, more rain, but that stopped soon after I resumed Hiway 4, and I got to Kampong Speu about 2. Kg. Speu is just a little off the highway, and apparently most tourists don’t stop there. I got a nice welcome from the usual swarm of kids. My Honda attracts almost as much attention as I do! So, after Soup Chinois & friendly “talks” with the people, I pressed on, staying just behind a storm that passed over P.Penh, and arriving there about 3 PM. Checked into the Mondial again, got some laundry together for them to do up, then napped for an hour. About 6 I went to the Petit Restaurant Champey Siemreap, 1126 Mao Tse Toung Street (!!) for a splendid evening of excellent Cambodian food and warm companionship with the “Director” (of the restaurant), his family, and all the friends he could con into joining us. “Home” to bed about 11:30–and a well deserved long sleep.

DIARY ENTRY, SATURDAY, 14TH: About 2 took off to Tahkmau, then to Chambak, then by the little-used dirt road across to Route 3. I thought I was going to Kg. Speu, but it turned out to take too long, so returned to  PP.

Many roads in Cambodia then looked like this: easily passable in dry weather, treacherous in wet!

BACKSTORY: I had made a date with Thack Ny for that evening: he went with me to the Petit Restaurant and was able to translate for me much of what went on there. For the most part it was innocent banter, but I was startled when the conversation turned to Samdech Sihanouk, nominally the King of Cambodia at the time. There was a State publication (probably called “Cambodia Today”, though I do not recall the exact title), published monthly in several languages and covering various events in the country. The issue current at the time had a “spread” on Sihanouk’s son, who was a ballet-dancer. He had his own ballet teacher, imported from Poland, and was featured in some of Sd. Sihanouk’s locally-made movies. It seemed pretty clear the youngster was gay, and over some good-natured laughter, it was remarked that if anything happened to Sihanouk, they would have “a queen for king”! That son is now Cambodian Head of State, Norodom Sihamoni.

I slept in this AM, and in the afternoon, after more camaraderie at the restaurant mentioned earlier, took a lazy trip in the nearby country-side, including 10 km of a marvelous little dirt road wending its way through the country-side. Along here I really caused a sensation, and it was hard to resist not taking endless photos and spending much time at PR work. But the day wore on, so I returned to P.Penh about 5:30, on the heels once again of the daily afternoon cloud-burst which I missed entirely by taking the trip.

The Honda is performing splendidly. It is a marvelous contraption, taking all the variations in roads & weather in great stride. I’ve already put over 600 miles on it—and it looks as though I will do about double the mileage I’d planned originally before I get to BK. But I shall probably not soon have another opportunity, so I want to see as much as I can.

Tomorrow I’m taking in Prey Veng & Kampong Cham, which will entail crossing the Mekong River (by ferry) twice. Monday, up to Pursat & back, on the south side of the Tonle Sap. Then Tuesday off to Kampong Thom, the next day to Siem Reap. One day, I will go from SR to Pursat, hence completing the circle of the great Tonle Sap.

The sunburn I got in Kep, since it was not followed up by more sun, is peeling off right on schedule. But from here on I should get sun everyday. Alas, I doubt I shall ever reach the beautiful Khmer hue, but I should at least get a better tan than I’ve had before.

Petrol, incidentally, is expensive—over $1.00/gallon in most places. But with the Honda, the cost per mile is still very low. I use about 6 L (ca. 1-1/2 gal) between S-ville and P.Penh, with side trip up to Kirirom. It works out to less than 2c per mile!

Luv to all~

Bruce

Palais Royal and Dancers Pavilion, Phnom Penh

I rode the entire 5000+ km without a helmet. I had a pair of wrap-around dark glasses to protect my eyes, and a more-or-less water-proof cap to add when driving in rain. The end of my nose tended to burn and scab over; from time to time I would peel off the scab, and the process would repeat. I got any number of new noses on the trip! During warm days, dragon-flies tended to hover over the roadway, enjoying the heat rising from the pavement. If I saw one coming towards me, it would get into my slip-stream and go around. But once in a while one would fly in at exactly the right angle to miss the slip-stream and splat! At 45 mph, a dragon-fly is pretty formidable!

More letters and pictures coming: stay tuned!

NEXT

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.

NEXT