Viet NOT

Deep into the 1960’s there was a little skirmish going on called the Viet Nam Conflict. Now to be a little more correct. It was the United States at war with China. Russia was in there someplace also but I don’t want to be too political about this. The point I wish to make is that the U.S. had a war going on and they needed pilots and all manner of lesser cannon fodder. About this time I was rolling on towards 18 years old and had the words “future army grunt” following me everywhere.

About 1966 I had taken my very first flying lesson at the South Tacoma airpark. The narrow airstrip had a hill at one end of the runway and power lines at the other. This all made for a challenging final approach but it’s all gone now in the name of progress. I didn’t get a license there. Not even a solo license. What I did get was a love of flying. Anytime, anywhere, anything for any reason. If it went up I should be in it and I should do the driving.

Now about this time the U.S. had a little thing called the draft. That is to say that if you were male, 18 and un-married and not in school the army could claim destitution and with little surprise grab you off the street and convert you into a fighting machine. The rich families had their own way to avoid all this for their sons but the results were identical. They followed the time tested adage “Rich People Don’t Fight.”

The age of 18 was bearing down on me. I was not married or would go to college and my family was not rich. So the cannons were singing to me and getting louder. But I had found a crack in the draft rules. It seems I could become a warrant officer without a fancy diploma and fly as a pilot. Not just fly anything but fly 337’s. I don’t know the military number. They are built by Cessna, have twin engines and are FAST! They were being used for “forward fire control” and carried light rockets and machine guns. And I could fly one. All this ground pounding be dammed.

So after a very long and serious talk with my Dad I was ready to enlist at age 17 and go FLYING! It all seemed good right up to the day I was to sign up. My Dad and I walked into the recruiter’s office with a smile. The atmosphere remained happy until the recruiter began to outline my future training. He said I would go to Fort Ord for my basic training. Fine. Then I would go to Texas for flight training. WRONG!

I had done my homework. I knew that there was no 337 training going on in Texas. The recruiter swallowed hard and explained that “fixed wing school was kind of full right now. But I could become a rotor-wing pilot and after serving for a year I could APPLY for a transfer.” He wouldn’t even use the word helicopter.  

As a side note, a good friend of mine was a crew chief in helicopters in Viet Nam and had 5 shot out from under him. The life expend icy of a chopper pilot at the time was about 2 weeks. No Thanks.

As I was removing my notes from the recruiter’s desk and tell him to pound sand he reminded me of my age and that they would get me sooner or later. To which I replied          "HA!"

By the time I turned 18 I was married and had a child on the way. That is: I was 4-F and unless the Chinese gave the Nam boys a nuke and they used it I was not draft able. I have had a good life without being shot at and am only a bit sad that I missed the whole war thing. This all didn’t keep me from flying though I never got my hands on a 337 or got to pull a trigger for a rocket.