It's Not Vietnam

This is a story about facing one's fears, and how sometimes what we fear the most can be the most rewarding experience in life.

 

IT’S NOT VIETNAM

 

by John Abernathy

 

            Times can be both good and bad at once.  In the early 1970’s, America was witness to a cultural revolution the likes of which had not happened since the 1700’s.  Peace and love were the focus of a new ideal that crept into the living rooms of almost every household.  Outside the living room and halfway around the world, America was engaged in a war between North and South Vietnam.  The bloody horror, aggravated by modern technology, only worked to enhance the gruesome detail of man’s inhumanity against man.

            Like so many other innocent and peace-loving ordinary people of the time, Randy Blankenship saw a great foreboding before him.  He was a senior in high school, had just turned 18 years old, and graduation was in less than two months.  Randy knew that once he graduated, with no means to go to college, he would be drafted into the Army.  He loved peace, and killing people for a living was not in his nature.

            Knowing that he had to do something, Randy began to explore other military options and discovered that the Coast Guard did not send people to fight in Vietnam.  What a wonderful opportunity to “not get drafted,” “not flee to Canada to avoid the draft,” and “not to have to kill people for a living.”  Thus began Randy’s life of making decisions based on what he didn’t want.

            Sitting in the living room with his parents on a pleasant April evening, the sun already having faded and a warm breeze blowing through the open window, Randy suddenly blurted out in the middle of the Lawrence Welk Show, “I’ve decided to join the Coast Guard!”  Randy’s mother, a pleasantly plump middle-aged woman, turned sadly to look at her son and without a word, got up and left the living room and went to the kitchen.  Randy’s father, a stern, hard-working man, sat staring at his son.  After a moment of inner contemplation he said to Randy, “Son, I understand what you’ve got to do.  And don’t worry; I’ll talk to your mother.”

            Four months later, Randy was undergoing the most grueling time of his life.  His limits were reached, and more demands were being thrust upon him.  He was unaware of what he could withstand physically and mentally, and this new “training” was testing him.  Running 10 miles with a 100 pound backpack in heat that reached 110 degrees soon became easy.  Diving into a deep pool of water from 300 feet was scary when the instructor told him to exhale just before he hit the water or his lungs would explode.  Entering into a burning building and working your way to the back door, without any life-support equipment, brought Randy close to the brink of death.  And, he did all of this because he didn’t want to be dishonorably discharged or to be sent to Vietnam.  He had to succeed, so he dug his heels in tight and withstood all they had to throw at him.

There were also mental and aptitude tests being administered to him.  After a week into those tests, the base commander began to become interested in Randy.  His scores showed Randy to be highly intelligent, despite his lackadaisical high school performance.  Randy’s aptitude tests showed that he could perform almost any job they put him into.  Decisions were being made about Randy’s future that he had no clue about, since none of the test results were being shared with him. 

            Randy graduated from basic training and was sent to New York for further training.  He had never left his home town of Pleasanton, California before joining the Coast Guard, and now found himself on the other side of the continent.  The experience was both overwhelming and exciting to him.  He could not wait to visit all of the places he had seen on television and had dreamed about through his childhood.  But this was only to be a short stay of six weeks, with a heavy calendar of learning to do.  He managed to see the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was grand in size and its impact on him was overwhelming, as well as the Empire State Building.  Like so many others, he had to lean over the edge and spit just to see what would happen.  But like everyone else in Randy’s classes, he knew that if he didn’t do well at this school, they would kick him out and he would probably end up having to go into the Army and to Vietnam.  Randy didn’t want to go to Vietnam, so he decided to do well in his classes.

            Randy graduated at the top of his class in New York, and found himself on a commercial jet which was now taking him to Honolulu, Hawaii, where he had been assigned to the office of the Fourteenth District Coast Guard Commander.  Randy thought to himself, “Man, this is like half-way between home and Vietnam.  I thought I was going in the right direction going to New York, but man, I don’t like this.”  It really didn’t matter what Randy wanted though, because his destiny was in the hands of the Coast Guard.  He knew he didn’t want to go to Vietnam, so he decided, “Well, at least Honolulu’s a tropical and romantic place, and it’s not Vietnam.” 

            Randy’s official job in Hawaii was to help defend merchant marine seamen on various charges under international maritime law.  It sounded important, but the job only took about one week per year.  His “real” job was working with the District Commander, Admiral Byrd, in the strategic planning and war response room.  It was Randy’s job to make sure that all intelligence information was timely gathered and disseminated to the right people at the right times, so that the Coast Guard was always ready and able, together with the Navy and Air Force, to respond to threats against the United States.  The job itself wasn’t that hard for Randy because he was a smart guy and could figure things out, but the job was also a little too close to being involved in war and with killing people.  But since Randy didn’t actually have to kill people, he decided the job was okay and he’d stick with it.  “And besides,” Randy told himself, “It’s not Vietnam!”

            Randy and Admiral Byrd had, during the course of their two years working together, developed a close and personal friendship with each other.  They were both from Pleasanton, and they often got together outside of work on weekends for relaxing barbeques, with Randy serving the drinks and the Admiral cooking the barbeque.  Mahi-mahi, poi, and barbequed pig were their favorites, but sometimes they’d be missing the mainland, and they would have hamburgers and hotdogs.  The continental United States seemed so far away to both of them, and this land so amazingly foreign, that the longing for home oftentimes became too much to bear.  The Admiral had many excuses to go back to the mainland for meetings, but those were rare for Randy.  His job was right here in Honolulu.  But that was okay with Randy because at least, “It’s not Vietnam.”

            During the first week of April in 1975, the Admiral disappeared without any kind of warning to Randy.  This wasn’t like the Admiral to take off without a word, so Randy asked around at the Admiral’s office to see if anybody knew where he was.  His personal assistant said, “He got called out to a meeting in San Francisco late last night.”  That’s all she knew.  That’s all she ever knows.

            Randy thought this was pretty weird.  The Admiral always knows well beforehand when these meetings are going to happen, and always asks me what I want him to bring back from the mainland.  “No word ahead of time – that’s really eerie,” Randy thought to himself.  He picked up the personal assistant’s telephone and called the war room.  When the monotone voice at the other end answered, Randy said “Blankenship, Code Beta 1011.  What is the current location of Admiral James Byrd, Fourteenth District Commander?”  There was a silence at the other end of the line, followed by three distinctive clicks.  He knew this was identity verification protocol.  Suddenly, the same monotone voice came back to say, “Washington, D.C.”  Randy immediately thanked the monotone voice and hung up.  He turned and immediately left the personal assistant’s office, troubled by the news he had just heard.

            He went straight to the war room and began to look at the war status board.  He spoke with two or three of the technicians who he regularly talked with, and the feeling that was washing over him was not good.  There was something big happening and he hadn’t been brought into the loop on this one.  Now, that’s really weird.  He didn’t like the picture he was forming in his mind as a sense of impending dread fell over him. 

But once again, Randy could hear himself muttering under his breath, “At least it’s not Vietnam.”

            Randy tried to go about his daily activities as though nothing were happening.  He met with the staff for briefings at 10:00 AM.  He had lunch, but outside of his usual routine, he ate alone.  The Admiral was “somewhere” where not even his personal assistant knew.  He filed his CG 1211 forms everyday at exactly 4:00 PM.  And he went home, to a place now devoid of the familiar security he always felt there.  He sat quietly in his chair thinking to himself, “This has got to be bad, but nothing could be worse than Vietnam, so it can’t be that bad.” 

            Three days into Randy’s new-found “mourning,” for what he could not put his finger on, the Admiral suddenly burst into Randy’s office.  “Mr. Blankenship, please follow me.”  The Admiral turned and abruptly walked out of his office.  Randy was both happy and apprehensive.  He was extremely glad to see his friend back, and he was in good health.  He was troubled by his formal use of “Mr. Blankenship,” which just added to this general uneasiness that he had been feeling for several days now. 

            Following the Admiral, almost at a jogging pace down the light green corridor, they passed several offices where workers were busy going about their daily activities as though nothing more than the ordinary was happening.  That was a great relief to Randy, and he started to relax a little bit by seeing that nobody else seemed to be very upset about anything.  A little bit of a smile started coming back on Randy’s face, and he started relaxing and thinking to himself, “At least I don’t have to kill people for a living!”

            As they approached the War Room, Randy paid attention to the two guards standing outside of the door.  This wasn’t normal.  Inside, everyone rose as the Admiral entered.  The Admiral told everyone to be seated, and he took his place at the head of the table.  Randy followed and sat next to the Admiral as the Admiral began to speak.

            “I have just returned from Washington, D.C. from a briefing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  It has just been determined by the Commander in Chief that the United States Armed Forces will begin pulling out of Vietnam, effective immediately.  The Fourteenth Coast Guard District has been assigned the task of coordinating efforts between the Navy and the Air Force to evacuate all U.S. military and civilian personnel out of Vietnam, and to relinquish our Embassy in Saigon.

            Everyone in the room, except the Admiral, was in shock.  There was a dead silence that fell over the room and a feeling as if your dog had just been run over by a car.  Undaunted, the Admiral continued, “Castleberry and Hodges, you are temporarily assigned as my liaisons to the 15th Airlift Wing at Hickam Air Force Base.  Stewart and Ligget, I want you two to head over to the Naval Air Station, Pearl Harbor, to act as my liaisons there.  On ground here at Fourteenth District, I will be working with Abernathy and Fisher.  And, I am sending Blankenship and Dickerson to coordinate the evacuation efforts at the Embassy in Saigon.  All communications shall come directly to me.  These orders are effective immediately.  That is all.”

            A sudden sinking feeling washed over Randy.  He knew what this assignment meant, to himself, to the Admiral, and to the war effort.  He sat quietly, waiting for everyone to leave.  Finally, it was just he and the admiral, sitting at this huge conference table which had been the platform for many prior discussions between the two of them.  “Admiral, let me say first that I am glad you’re back.  I was a little concerned when you had left without any notice.”  The Admiral, touched by his friend, gave Randy a big smile, and a feeling passed between them that only the telepathy of two closest friends could muster.  “But Admiral,” Randy went on to say, “I am really troubled.  Why did you pick me to go over to Vietnam?”  The Admiral looked very kindly at his friend and said, “Because, Randy, I know I can trust you to get these people out safely.”

            Randy had mixed feelings about this.  He was happy because the Admiral had such respect for him and for his abilities.  But at the same time, his real concern was over getting shot at or worse yet killed in Vietnam.  “Admiral, I’m going to be up front with you.  I joined the Coast Guard just so I wouldn’t have to go to Vietnam.  I was worried when I first got here that I was already halfway to Vietnam, but I got all kinds of assurances that we just never went over there.  Now you’re telling me that I’m going to Vietnam.  Do I have any choice in this matter?”

            The Admiral looked at Randy for a long moment and said, “Life is always full of choices.  Just remember though, that the choices you make today are going to affect you for the rest of your life.”  At that the Admiral got up and left the room, leaving Randy alone in the great expanse of the War Room.  Randy sat there, thinking about what he and the Admiral had just talked over.  He had joined the Coast Guard because he didn’t want to avoid the draft by taking off to Canada.  He didn’t want to get drafted into the Army, and have to go over to Vietnam to kill people for a living.  “Well,” he thought to himself, “I probably won’t have to even pick up a gun while I’m over there.  I’m just going over there for a short time to help coordinate the evacuation of the Embassy, so it’s not like I’ll be one of the combat troops, out there shooting people.”

            Three days later, Randy was standing on the roof adjacent to the U.S. Embassy.  To his left, there was the constant whoop-whoop-whoop of helicopter blades swishing overhead, as the never-ending line of evacuees stood in line to escape this hell hole.  People down below were shooting up toward the roof top.  Old men, pregnant women, small children – all sharing a need to kill as many of these evacuees as possible.  The evacuees stood in their line, like ducks at the Shooting Gallery at the county fair, all waiting to escape to a place where there were no more bullets.

            Randy was sweating profusely.  He couldn’t tell if it was because of the wet, humid air, the fear coursing through his entire body, or the fact that he had now been helping these evacuees non-stop for 48 solid hours.  He was exhausted.  He wanted a shower, and some food that did not resemble a candy bar.  What he really wanted was a drink, but that wasn’t going to happen for awhile.

            The U.S. Ambassador, who must have thought that he was the captain of a ship, refused to leave until the last of the evacuees had reached safety.  Randy thought to himself, “What’s this guy want to do, go down with the ship?”  He chuckled at this thought, and put the next 12 people onto the helicopter that had just arrived.  He figured that he was getting a helicopter in and out in just three minutes, and so he was at his usual peak of efficiency. 

            Finally, after three days of loading people onto helicopters, the last of the evacuees had boarded their flights to safety and left.  And with this, the U.S. Ambassador finally made an appearance out of the confines of his bomb-sheltered office to the roof.  The helicopter which was reserved from him had just arrived, and was ready to load this would-be Captain aboard her.

            Randy held the Ambassador’s elbow to give him the little shove that the Ambassador would need to get from the step into the passenger compartment.  He had done this about a million times over the past few days, and one more shove at this point wasn’t going to make any difference.  Randy’s shoulders ached, and his muscles were close to exhaustion.  He felt like he couldn’t push one more person into a helicopter, but like it was when he was in basic training, his limits stretched just a little bit further for this last push.

            While standing between the Ambassador and the edge of the roof, getting ready to push him into the helicopter – this one last push – Randy felt the muscle in his right leg give out.  “Oh come on,” Randy screamed to himself, “Just this one last person and I’m done and out of here.”  He collected himself for a moment, and pushed the Ambassador into the helicopter.  After doing this, he pulled himself up more than jumped up into the helicopter, because the muscles in his right leg had just given up on him.

            Once onboard the helicopter, the Ambassador hugged Randy with a tight embrace for what seemed too long.  Randy looked at the Ambassador questioningly, and he said “Thank you, you saved my life.”  Puzzled at this Randy tiredly said, “What do you mean?”  The Ambassador pointed to Randy’s right leg, which was bleeding profusely.  “If it wasn’t for you,” the Ambassador told Randy, “I’d be a dead man right now.  I owe you my life.”

            Randy got busy with some gauze and his belt, wrapping both around his bleeding leg.  He had the thought, “Shucks, partner, ‘twern’t nothin’,” but he kept those thoughts quietly to himself with only the slightest hint of a grin.  What Randy did say to the Ambassador was, “Just a day’s work in the United States Coast Guard, Mr. Ambassador.”  At this, the Ambassador chuckled and said, “I want your name.  You will get the Purple Heart for this!”

            Randy looked at the Ambassador sternly, thinking about what the Admiral had said just before he left Honolulu.  The Admiral had told him, “Life is always full of choices.  Just remember though, that the choices you make today are going to affect you for the rest of your life.”

            “Blankenship, sir, my name is Randy Blankenship.”  And at that moment he realized that his fear of Vietnam had gone.  Vietnam was a place where he could save people, not kill them.