Today is one of those days where the memories came flooding in. I got up and dressed in my usual attire — sweater, light jacket and paratrooper boots. That’s when I saw it, a Jump Certificate from Sky Dive Monterey. The name on the certificate was Austin Eric Buck Worthy. I had forgotten that last year he decided to jump out of an airplane and skydive. It’s funny how something slips out and surprises you.
I’m sure that you have had that situation and the amount of surprise is always different. Many years ago my daughter Tara and I did a tandem sky dive together on her 18th birthday. Looks like Reed and Lorraine are the last to try this incredible adventure.
This brings me to the memories and the paratrooper boots. It is true that the U.S. Army furnishes you with a pair of boots when you go into the Army. But they are just common boots like those issued to every soldier that joins. If you are going to be a paratrooper, you always want to buy a pair of Cochrane Jump Boots. It’s not that they protect your feet or legs any more or less than any brand boots, but someone, somewhere, convinced the Army that they should allow Cochrane. This is even if the soldier has to pay for them out of his own pocket.
If memory serves, at the time Cochrane boots cost about $10 more than the ones that the Army supplies. But if you are going to be a paratrooper and you want to be cool, you have to wear Cochrane. There is one more reason that you buy Cochrane boots that would be obvious to a regular soldier. They are easier to polish than an Army-issued boot. The leather is smoother and the sizes are true. I’m not sure if the soldiers of today have to polish their boots. (Wait a minute, who am I kidding? Of course they do.) If that sounds strange to you, I guess I should tell you why.
When I went into the Army all those years ago, a soldier had to buy their own boots. You see, I joined the Army when there were no wars being fought and the Army had a pool of men who, like me, had no other future in those days. This was during a period of time called a “Peacetime Army.” The United States was not involved in any conflict and women were not allowed to fight a war. Of course, that also means that there wouldn’t be very many promotions, at least that’s what I remember.
On my first trip to Vietnam, I was assigned to the firebase that covers the men who are hunting for the Viet Cong. By cover, I mean that the men on patrol had no cover. Cover was any plot of land that we stayed on while we tried to capture or kill the enemy. They call the area where you are staying your home base, and by that I mean that you make sure that you have plenty of ammunition, extra water canteens and occasionally extra batteries for all your radios.
You just walk off the firebase looking for the enemy. The enemy is usually close to the firebase but not visible to the soldiers providing cover for the men who are looking to get in a fight with the enemy. You have fresh uniforms and extra C-rations and occasionally some treat. Usually that meant leaving the firebase as an act of bravery. We had everything we needed to vanquish the enemy. While you are staying on the firebase, you have to keep your head down because Charly is a pretty good shot and if you give him a target he will make you remember what war is all about. It was the idea of complete destruction that leaves the enemy with a really bad headache.
Sometimes they would fly a group of what they used to call “Donut Dollies” out to the firebase. That was because they always had some sort of culinary treat. These were the young ladies that provided some sort of entertainment while they were standing on the top of the firebase with us. I’m not sure how many, and have no proof, but I know that many of the Donut Dollies ended up married to the soldiers and sailors.
After reminiscing about those times, two things happened that weren’t even on my radar. I happened upon some of the older photos that I keep around the house. As I watched My World Famous photo book I found something that I wasn’t even looking for but was very happy to find. The folders full of notes about who was going to the rear and who was going home.
As I turned the last page, I saw the Memorial book that I thought I had lost. It was full of stories of the men I had served with, men who had not returned home. After you spend a year of sleeping on the ground or propped up against a tree, listening for any sound that doesn’t sound like a jungle. When the sounds of insects stop, you know something is not right. We would nudge the boots of a man sleeping close by because he was snoring. Some of these guys were the true heroes that were growing older and leaving to go home. Going home was their reward and they had earned every medal or comment by me or anyone that wanted to tell them how proud they made each of us.
One of the ones being returned home was one of the finest soldiers I have ever met. His name was Col. John F. Skip Sadler. Col. Sadler actually served with and designed the shoulder medal that was presented to him. As a young man who found himself at the headquarters of the 6th Special Forces, Col. Skip taught me how to dress and how to arrange to get what I wanted out of life. We spent many evenings in the Headquarters while I swept the floor and polished my boots. Col. Skip was my hero and I will never forget him. God Bless you Skip Sadler and your family and the families of all who served in the fiasco we call The Vietnamese War.
God Bless.
