Welcome to flying stories of my time in Viet Nam



These stories are dedicated to James G. Zeimet who I refer to in a number of them. Jimmy was a good friend and class mate in flight school, a "hootchmate" in Vietnam and he frequently talked about his desire to fly Medivac. After about seven months in Vietnam, he finally got his wish and was transferred to the 283rd "Dustoff" Medivac unit at Camp Holloway, Pleiku. On September 4th, 1968, he lost his life flying the mission he dreamed about while trying to save the life of a fellow soldier. His name appears on panel 45W - Line 37 at the Wall in Washington, DC.

When I got out of the Army in 1972, I had this idea of writing a book about my experiences in Vietnam where I flew helicopters. While a noble goal, I didn't get started on it for about 35 years. As time passes, you tend to push bad experiences into some seldom visited spot in your brain where they don't bother you much. But I still remember Vietnam like it was just yesterday and wish I could plug my mind into a PC and play it! It would be an interesting video. I won't post everything I've written all at once because I intend to scan old slides, (I have hundreds!) to add to the stories which should provide a little interest. So here they are and I hope you enjoy them.

In the stories, I describe any enemy combatant as a “gook”. This term has no racial connotation nor is it a slur. We used it as freely as one would say, “bad guy”. I can relate it to WW2 radio terminology for German enemy as “Krauts" or "Gerry’s”. Nothing personal or racially motivated, just a convenient way of alerting your fellow war-fighters about your foe. I also refer to anyone fighting the war on the ground as “Grunts”. This is a term I use with great respect for those that weren’t privileged to fight “their war” from the comfort of a helicopter or enjoy going back to “base camp” each evening to a cold Budweiser and a relatively clean bed. The Infantrymen I spoke with unanimously opined that we were the ones that were at much greater risk than them and they would much rather spend their “tour” safely on the ground and exchanging bullets with the NVA. I guess it’s all in your perspective.



2/15/08

A Hero is gone.


On December 3rd, 1929 Richard Briggs Haskell was born, eventually graduated from West Point in 1952, met and married my mom and became my step-father. He was a 1st Lieutenant in the U.S. Army when I met him. He served in Viet Nam as an “Advisor” during 1964 in Quang Ni province trying to teach the ARVN’s how to be soldiers. A “B” model he was a passenger on was shot down by the gooks but landed without any damage so I figure some wise and weathered CW-2 or CW-3 saved his life. Whoever that was, I’m forever indebted to you!
Dad left the service in 1972 and settled in California to finish raising the rest of the family, eventually moved to Nevada and from there moved to Perryman, Maryland where he enjoyed his grandchildren, continued to fly as a private pilot, played golf and was a great provider for Mom.
Dad passed away on Tuesday, October 23rd 2007. He was 78.
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2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Never forgotten, but always loved.

November 6, 2007 at 8:25 AM
Brewton Girl said...

So sorry to hear about you dad. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers. He sounds like wonderful person, I'm sure he'll be greatly missed.

November 6, 2007 at 9:52 AM

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