Black & White Pencil Sketch of Me Sparks Memories
Above my desk is a black and white sketch of me in pencil, drawn in Saigon in May or June, 1970. I wear my bush hat, my uniform, my combat infantry badge, my rank E-4, and my active unit’s badge on my left shoulder, the unit I was currently in, the 11rh Armored Cavalry Regiment, after the First Infantry Division had been “withdrawn” according to President Nixon’s withdrawal plan. Since I’d had five more months to serve in Vietnam, I’d been re-assigned to the 11th Cav, while friends from my First Infantry platoon like Tom Merriman, an only son, had been reassigned to other infantry units and been killed in Nixon’s invasion into Cambodia in May, 1970.
In the drawing I wear a bush hat, but that’s not the one I wore in the field, since its brim is too short. Why does the brim make a difference? It makes a difference because you don’t want to get wet. A wider brim keeps the rain off your face. Why does that matter? How can you return fire and even fire your rifle accurately when rainwater is in your eyes? We never knew when the Viet Cong (VC) might hit.
When on patrol, I always wore my helmet, which though heavier, its steel offered protection to your head. In fact, it saved my life when the man in front of me stepped on a booby-trapped mortar round. Had I been wearing my bush hat, its exploding shrapnel would have taken off the top of my head.
My bush hat, I kept folded up and stored in my outer thigh pocket, with my poncho liner in the outer thigh pocket on my left side. Otherwise, I wore my lighter bush hat, but one never knew when the VC might hit.
In the field, no one cared about sideburns, moustaches, or beards, so I wore sideburns, as seen in the sketch, and sometimes a moustache. One day I remember going to our brigade headquarters for some reason, and a REMF (Rear Echelon Mother F—r) colonel called to me and chastised me for being “out of uniform.” I stood there, perhaps “at ease,” and heard his diatribe, my eyes fixed on him in his crisp, clean uniform. He didn’t like what I represented, and I certainly did not like him. After he’d encountered my silent stoicism and stormed off, I went on with what I was doing. He had not been in the field. I was. It was I who was engaged in combat, not he. This was not Stateside. Whether he knew it or not, it was apparent to me, and I suspected it was to him. And that’s why I let it roll off me. There’s only so far anyone can take a person who’s been in combat. Wisely, he’d not crossed that line.
When we were choppered out of the jungle and returned to our base camp, we had time off, which we used for drying out, showering with sun-heated water from barrels, getting clean uniforms (as I’ve described), cleaning our weapons, telling stories (since most of us, White and Black, were from the South), getting mail, and sleeping. In two or three days, we were going back “out” again. We had received news from home and the States, plus letters, all of which we valued. One of my friends from Kentucky kept a picture of his naked girlfriend. He made it home to her. I kept my letters in my wooden trunk in our base camp, while special ones from my Peace Corps girlfriend Amy Wilds, I carried in the weather-proof top of rucksack, so I could re-read them while out on operations. They reminded me of what I had been before Vietnam and what I innocently hoped I would be upon return.
What were our reactions to the pro-war and anti-war movements back home? You’ve heard it said that the soldiers in Vietnam in 1969-70 were looking for support back home. My view was that most of the G.I.’s who were gung-ho were in the rear. We in the infantry in 1969-70 fought for our friends and to get home alive, not for an abstract cause like freedom or democracy. I’d been in the Peace Corps and been drafted from it, and some of my Stateside friends like Susan Brenner were anti-war activists. I too had marched against the war.
One day in the field when getting re-supplied by chopper, I was ordered to get on board, for I was to report to our brigade headquarters, Di An. There, in my jungle uniform, unshaven, not having showered in days, I was ordered to go to a certain building and to await my interviewers. I had seen enough combat and been told that I was up for a job in a base camp, safe from death. I must say: I was excited. Since death awaited you at any time in the field, I was looking forward to the interview and didn’t know what to expect. I tried to keep my hope in check.
To my surprise, two officers from Army Intelligence arrived in their well-pressed, green uniforms. Even their pants were pressed, having sharp, pointed creases on their calves and thighs. Guys in the field noticed things like that. With their pants properly bloused, they sported polished boots, in stark contrast to my worn-out boots, the leather separated from the sole along the sides, boots which had taken me through rice paddies, swamps, and jungle.
We made pleasantries since regardless of my attire and rank, I was a gentleman, and then they turned to the subject at hand and asked if I was trying to bring down the morale of my platoon. I was surprised. That struck a nerve. Once I had decided to be on a team, there was no way I was going to degrade its morale. I was a leader. I’d been a quarterback. I was going to give it my all – whether in high school sports, in academics, or in love – that was me. I could have slammed both of them against the wall but kept myself in check. After fielding several questions, which I don’t remember, I asked them whether they thought this war was easy and winnable. If so, then “come out with me on the chopper into the jungle,” own up to “what you are thinking,” and try to kill some “gooks.”
Silence. They looked at each other and at me. On my feet, I stared at them. Even though they were officers and I a draftee, they backed down. End of interview.
I walked out and got on the next re-supply chopper to my platoon in the jungle. Upon my arrival, we got into a brief firefight. In response to their questions of what had happened, some of the guys in my platoon told me that some Intelligence guys had come to our base camp and had asked them quietly about whether I was talking against the war and was trying to persuade them to turn against it. They said No, but that in my conversations with them, they’d been amazed by my knowledge of the war, going back to the French and World Wars I and II. Duty had called them to Vietnam, and they’d answered; there was something different about me. The interviewers told them not to tell anyone about the interview, especially me, or what they had asked. This was all “standard procedure” for the safe, rear job I might get.
This was all a lie. I was not up for a safe job. The Intelligence guys were simply following orders. Whether this was written in a report, I do not know, but I do remember staring down those Intelligence guys in their crisp, clean uniforms.
More than 50 years later, the drawing sparks such memories.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
George W. McDaniel, PhD, is the President of McDaniel Consulting, LLC, a strategy firm that helps organizations use history to build bridges within itself and to its broader constituents. For 25 years, he served as the Executive Director of Drayton Hall, a historic site in Charleston, SC. A native of Atlanta, he earned a BA from Sewanee, a MAT (history) from Brown University, and PhD (history) from Duke. Interspersed through those years were travels to many places — Europe, Africa, Vietnam — where he saw peace and war and learned by experience about cultural differences and commonalities. For 40 years, he built a career working in education and history museums, beginning with the Smithsonian Institution, and earning awards at the local, state, and national levels.
“Building Bridges through History”
The company’s tagline is grounded in McDaniel’s personal beliefs and his professional experience. Services address site management, preservation, education, board development, fundraising, community outreach, and more.
Rather than using history to divide us, McDaniel helps organizations use history, especially local history, to enhance cross-cultural understanding and to support local museums, preservation, and education.
Turning Beliefs into Actions
Dr. McDaniel led volunteer efforts with Emanuel AME Church and historical organizations in Charleston to use historic preservation to enhance racial reconciliation and healing.
A frequent writer, speaker, and facilitator, reach him at gmcdaniel4444@gmail.com or through his website www.mcdanielconsulting.net.
Images courtesy of the author unless otherwise noted.
McDaniel Consulting LLC is a strategy firm that helps organizations use history to build bridges within itself and its broader constituents. 