Meeting George Gobel


by Larry Kirby


I n the last days of the Tam Ky operation we were on a firebase that overlooked the most beautiful valley in the whole country. A little ville with shiny metal roofs was nestled in an impossibly green hill covered with palms and banana leaves. It was in the center of a rice paddy, surrounded by hills that could have been painted by Gauguin. Blue skies, fluffy white clouds and a rainbow every morning. Like a fairy tale. I would have enjoyed it more if I wasn't throwing up the mystery meat we were served the first day.

There was a medical facility there, crude but they had cots and doctors. I had to be kept near the latrine because every 10 minutes something would leave my body from one end or the other. I had a 102 temp as well. The doctor, after 48 hours of this diagnosed me by saying, "you're sick". His medical school training was not going to waste.

I got shipped by chopper to the hospital at Chu lai. There I was amazed to find myself so deep in REMF land that I could have been back in the states. The hospital was concrete, painted in bright colors with linoleum floors, glass windows and CURTAINS. It was generally a bright and sunny place. The nurses wore white and some of the staff folks wore Class A Khakis. Really. Just like Robin Williams in "Good Morning Vietnam".

This was a fine place to be except that I wasn't getting any better or any further from the facilities that were at least indoors now and flushed. On the third day there, something changed or the what ever was in me went away because I was slept all night.

That morning I was awakened by someone sitting on my bed. An older guy with a familiar face. "I'm George Gobel," he said. "You sitting on my foot" I replied. He laughed and shifted his weight and extended his hand to shake. He was great. Gentle, funny and a real surprise. "You're the first famous person I've ever met," I said. He told me to look him up when I got home and we'd do this right. I don't doubt that he would have. We talked for about five minutes when the MACV remfs in Khaki told him to move on. He smiled and said, "It was nice to meet you Larry. Be safe, and come home well". He said much the same thing to the next guy and the guy after that, taking his time to make sure he knew each of us.

The swirling cadre of REMF handlers with him was something else. A really eager young Lt and a stunning blonde Red Cross Doughnut Dolly couldn't keep their eyes off each other and could care less about the guys in the beds. We were an annoyance, something to be processed, or head counted and checked off. The whole visit to the ward took about thirty minutes and he was out the door. I hope it was to visit the broken bodies in the next building but I didn't know.

The next day, fever gone and with no more unexpected needs to sit on something porcelain, I was told to leave. The 1/501st was no longer in the AO and I would have to make my way back to LZ Sally. I had orders cut by 8:00 AM and was given a clean uniform. It was however not a complete uniform. Missing was the fatigue jacket and a hat of any kind. The boots were used, but fit better than the ones I came in with. Broken in nicely with almost all the black worn off the heels and toes.

I got my orders to the field at Chu Lai, and began running a gauntlet of Senior NCOs who all stopped to give me some shit about not having a uniform. None of them helped in anyway, just read my orders and told me to get on with it. Assholes.

The trip north was on an RD4 the Navy version of the C47. The plate by the door said it had been made in 1943. The crew chief looked like he'd been flying it all of that time. The flight was a mixed load. Civilian and military. Two Vietnamese families were on this flying bus with two crates of chickens and a small pig on a leash. Not the kind of sounds you expect on a military flight. I was in the back with the Chief. As we taxied out he grabbed a roll of stout wire and wrapped it a half a dozen times around the handle to the door and an inside part of the airframe. "Door doesn't work right," he explained. "won't shut". "The plane doesn't fly very level either" he added. It did not. With the nose high it puttered along and somehow made it to the airstrip at Sally. I was the only passenger getting off and I was very glad to do so. The first NCO I saw gave me some shit about my uniform but at least motioned me towards a hooch where he grabbed a green baseball cap and pulled a fatigue jacket out of a nearby laundry pile. He checked it for size and an eagle patch and handed it to me. "Fucking useless assholes," he said.

With a rucksack, helmet and rifle I was on the bird to the field that same day. It was good to be back.

Larry Kirby
RVN Grunt
C/1/501 Rosterfarian