My year in Vietnam was from January 1969 to January 1970 -- and the Commanding General during my time there was General Creighton Abrams. Abrams was a rough, tough cigar-smoking type, a tanker in his early career, an Army General in the style of Grant who "ran the war" from 1968 thru 1972, overseeing the politically-mandated reduction in force of our troops there. He had a lot on his mind.
I believe it was in the late Spring of 1969 when I received a phone call from an old stateside buddy, letting me know he was in-country. It turned out that he and I were stationed nearby eachother, Danny at MACV HQ, working in CORDS, headed up by Bill Casey, and me at the 221st's detachment at Tan Son Nhut AB. Danny was responsible for running the audio-visual components of the daily briefings given to General Abrams. Occasionally we'd visit eachother.
One afternoon, when it was my turn to stop by, I violated the first and primary law of the military: don't be first, don't be last, and never volunteer. I volunteered to run down to the PX and pick up drinks for the staff at CORDS. Loaded up with big, uncovered (cup hats hadn't been invented yet) wax paper cups of sticky-sweet fruit drinks, I headed out of the PX and moved sharply down the hall to the staircase that would take me back up to CORDS.
Suddenly a door in the hallway swung open and I found myself approaching at some speed (a soldier NEVER walks slowly in a military hallway) the CG of the whole deal, General Abrams. His hands were in his pockets, his eyes were looking down, deep in thought, he had a cigar in his mouth and there was no way he saw me about to pour a couple quarts of sugary bug juice all over his four-star self.
The two of us halted toe to toe and I narrowly avoided spilling the drinks on the CG. Abrams slowly looked up at me and in that instant all I could think was that I was on my way to the worst part of the war. My life was over; 84D20 MOS or not, I was going to finish my tour in Vietnam out as an eleven bang, an infantryman, and that included skills for which I had never had any training, beyond the most basic.
Around his cigar, Abrams just grunted, "You need to be more careful, soldier." It never occurred to me to say back that it was he who wasn't looking where he was going. Then HE walked around ME and, narrowly avoiding voiding my bladder right then and there, I took the drinks to Danny and the crew at CORDS. I don't remember ever visiting that PX, or that hallway, again.
Some years later, in the mid-1980's, as the morning guy at WIL, I was asked to MC the annual Veterans' Day Parade in downtown St. Louis. This involved describing each of the parade units that passed by to the distinguished and honored ladies and gentlemen who sat on the reviewing stand.
I was encouraged to include occasional "ad-lib" comments, as they were petinent. That advice was probably a mistake.
In my third and last year of this work, the Grand Master of the parade was former Vietnam CG and Army Chief of Staff William Westmoreland. General Westmoreland was sitting immediately to my right, no more than five feet away. He was long since retired but still dressed in his fully-decorated greens. I was enormously intimidated by his presence, and I don't intimidate easily.
Add to that that most of the military on the reviewing stand were flag officers, two stars and above, and I was suddenly remembering how I almost spilled those drinks on General Abrams back in 1969.
I eventually warmed up to the crowd I was supposed to entertain and got on with the bon mots.
Then the K9 Corps from Fort Leonard Wood showed up. Magnificent animals, German Shephards and Rottweillers, shoulders high and snouts to the sun, knowing how good they are, obediently on their leads held by highly trained US soldiers with whom the dogs had bonded and to whom, and only whom, they answered.
I saw the K9 approach from the left. They moved proudly down the street in front of the War Memorial. And just as they centered themselves on the reviewing stand, over the booming PA system, I said...
"Sit!"
And every last one of those wonderfully trained and highly obedient dogs did. They sat, just as I told 'em. God bless dogs, huh? Their handlers stopped up short, thoroughly confused by their animals' behavior; they had been concentrated on walking the dogs and hadn't heard the PA system. These guys were just expecting a parade, not a professional smartass.
And General Westmoreland almost fell out of his chair laughing. He actually thanked me for the stunt after and shook my hand,
I've always believed it made up for almost spilling the drinks on General Abrams. Almost. I always believed that Westy's ideas trumped Abrams'.
Comment here.
