Soon after his unit began to see action, Levy started calling the numbers. "Joe is going to get zapped today," he'd say, and he was uncannily accurate. Joe would get zapped.
In August 1965, "Doc" Levy looked me straight in the eye and blandly announced that he would never get home to New York. His number, he said, was coming up.
For five months afterward he lived down his own premonition, though he risked his life daily to reach and treat the wounded on the battlefield.
In January 1966, in the Plain of Reeds near the Oriental River, "Doc" Levy's number finally came up.
* * *
THERE is a restaurant in Cholon called "My Chow."
* * *
WHEN we walked into the U.S. Mission Press Center looking for a sailor friend, we bumped into Air Force Major Lew Raines and inquired of our buddy's whereabouts.
"If you're looking for the Navy," said the major, "why don't you try the ocean?"
We were more than a little miffed at what we thought was curt sarcasm until we remembered that the "Ocean" is a beer joint directly across the street. Our buddy was there.
* * *
WHEN a unit of the 1st Infantry Division came under a night mortar attack at Phuoc Vinh in July 1967, a Chaplain (who must go nameless) clad only in his skivvies, ran into a sandbagged bunker, heaved a big sigh of relief, and blurted out: "Goddamn, that was close."
* * *
WHEN Newark News correspondent Vince Slavin finished a stint at covering the war, he was promised a rousing send-off by some of his many military friends in Saigon.
After checking in at the air terminal (which was badly damaged by a bombing in 1965), Vince and company returned to the parking lot, slid into the back seat of their sedan and proceeded to open a bottle of champagne. The dozing Vietnamese chauffeur didn't appear to notice their return.
When the cork left the bottle with a resounding "pop," Vince hollered "VC" ... and the driver dove through the open window to a neat belly-flop onto the pavement outside.
* * *
LIEUTENANT COMMANDER jim Hill was a Navy flyer aboard the attack carrier U.S.S. Coral Sea out in the Tonkin Gulf. When we spent a couple of days aboard his ship in the fall of 1967 we had many pleasant conversations with him and, as could be expected, much of the talk centered around the war, its consequences and probable solutions.
When he learned that we were permanently based in Vietnam his interest grew and he asked us about the liberty in Saigon. Was there any, was it any good, and were the Vietnamese girls really as pretty as everyone said? We answered in the affirmative to all counts and hastened to add that so long as a guy was careful and took no unnecessary risks he could have a pretty good time. We told him that despite its reputation for being a secure area, what with terrorists and all, Saigon was still a potentially dangerous and highly volatile city.
He became thoughtful for a moment, then said: "Well, a satchel charge tossed into a crowded night club isn't exactly my idea of a big blowout."
* * *
AFIRST SERGEANT friend of ours was making a courier run to Okinawa where, he knew, some of our hold baggage was stored. He asked if he could bring us anything back with him when he returned.
"If you can get into my luggage," I said, "bring my thesaurus."
"If I can't," the topkick said, "I have one you can use."
After he left, Jim Ryan, who was present, looked thoughtful for a moment, then said: "Gee, but it's refreshing to meet a first sergeant who doesn't think a thesaurus is a prehistoric animal."
* * *
IN-COUNTRY travel in Vietnam is always problematical. Most areas outside metropolitan Saigon are accessible only by air or armed convoy, and space by either means is always at a premium. Generally speaking, it's the resourceful guy who makes out.
A newly arrived free-lance correspondent was trying to figure out a way to get to Phu Vinh in the Mekong Delta, and had asked the advice of a wisened old staff sergeant, then on his third voluntary Vietnam tour.
"Well now," drawled the NCO thoughtfully, "I don't rightly know what's the best way to get to Phu Vinh, seeing as how I ain't never been there afore. Howsomever, if I was goin' down there I'd be lookin' for the safest way. I'd go on out to the PX storage area on Plantation Road and bum me a ride down on a beer truck. Them guys may get careless with the chow and the ammo, but they ain't never gonna let no thin' happen to that beer."
* * *
FOR centuries traditional Vietnamese dress has called for the wearing of a non, a cone-shaped hat similar to those worn by Chinese coolies and usually made of straw, reeds, or bamboo. It is light and certainly utilitarian, protecting the wearer's face from the hot tropical sun.
But like all porous materials, the non grows heavy when wet and the monsoons only add to the problem.
Folks in Vietnam today still wear the non and the hats are still made from the same substances, but the problem of water-logging seems to have been solved nicely−with the help of American-made Saran Wrap.
* * *
WHILE Lieutenant Colonel Roy Thompson was head of the Saigon bureau of Pacific Stars & Stripes, he had a running feud going with a certain Marine colonel in I Corps who had barred Stripes reporters from his area and denied them the use of all press facilities under his control.
Colonel Thompson placed an 8" x 10" photograph of the belligerent colonel on the wall of his Saigon office with the legend: "Know Your Enemy!"
* * *
THEY say there's one born every minute and USARV (United States Army Vietnam) American Red Cross Field Director Jerry Preston and his assistant, Ron Colizzo, fit nicely into that category.
On a business trip to Saigon from their headquarters at Long Binh, they spotted an animal in a cage which resembled a miniature jaguar and, upon inquiry, were told it was an ocelot. Further discussion disclosed that ocelots make excellent pets but take a bit of getting used to by owner and animal alike. By this time both men had become fascinated with the prospect of owning the ocelot and negotiations began in earnest. Finally the owner reluctantly agreed to sell his pet for 900 piasters, but only because he "needed the money to feed his large family." He dutifully warmed Jerry and Ron not to handle the animal for a few days until he got used to them, and then to do so only with great caution. They agreed, and hurried back to Long Binh with their new charge, convinced they had scored a major buying coup.
That afternoon a young trooper happened by, looked at the ocelot with curiosity, then opened the cage and began gently to stroke the animal's fur.
"Better not do that, soldier," warned Jerry, "He hasn't been tamed yet and he might turn vicious without warning."
"Oh," said the GI, extracting his hand and carefully closing the cage. Just as he was staring at the splotches of yellow and black paint smeared on the palm of his hand, the "ocelot" went "meow."
* * *
THE participant, place, and even the service will have to go unnamed in this story.
It seems there was an eternal water shortage at a certain command post installation in the field, and many of the troops had gone without showers for some time. After doing a few favors for one of the NCOs there, we were invited to his hootch for a welcome shower.
"How come you have water?" we asked.
"I only run out of water when the general does," he answered. "You might say," he added with a wink, "that we're on the same party line."
* * *
AVETERAN