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