Family Ties
Having survived training to become a Fleet Marine Corpsman, I was assigned in 1970 to the medical dispensary of the small helicopter base at Camp Pendleton. There were a handful of UH1E gunships (Hueys) and a few OV-10 Broncos (fixed wing close air support aircraft) whose mission was to help AIT Marines learn to use tactical close air support in combat. Hueys carried small infantry groups into the hinterlands on operations, much like what they would encounter in Vietnam in the “helicopter war.” CH-46 Sea Knights (Phrogs) came south from MCAS El Toro to work with AIT, as well.
I was the only Aviation Medicine Technician at the Camp Pendleton Airfield. Because of my training, I worked most closely with our Flight Surgeon (a recently drafted med school graduate who was not happy to be there!). Together we conducted the annual physicals of the Marine pilots and aircrew personnel at our little airfield. I was also the only corpsman who flew with Hueys on their training missions.
On one occasion I flew with an experienced pilot and the co-pilot he was training to navigate cross country using only instruments. This was an essential skill at night and in the limited visibility of inclement weather. The pilot sat in the left seat and had clear forward and left-side visibility. The co-pilot in the right seat was completely encased in a canvas cover that allowed him to see only his instruments. My job as the air crew corpsman was to maintain constant observation of the air space to the right of the helicopter, reporting any aircraft in my visual field, however far from us and at any altitude. In this way, we could safely make our way across several hundred miles of mostly empty airspace without risking mid-air collision. Using radio frequency input to calculate direction and proximity, the co-pilot flew the aircraft from one signal beacon to the next to achieve our destination. He followed a line of signals that took us from Camp Pendleton to Davis-Monthan Air Force Base just outside Tucson, AZ, with a half-way refueling stop at MCAS Yuma.
Having been logged into one such flight a few days in advance, I contacted my parents to let them know that I would be in Tucson for the weekend. They drove south from Phoenix to pick me up, as I had arranged for a few days’ leave and could take a commercial flight from home back to San Diego. With the training task successfully completed, the pilots did not need me to observe on the return flight, so I was free to make a short visit home.
The Air Force treated my parents like royalty. When Flight Ops at Camp Pendleton logged our flight plan and arrival time, they also let the Air Force know that their flight corpsman’s parents were coming to pick him up and that he had a younger brother in the Air Force. It apparently lit a fire under someone, because Mom & Dad were met at the front gate by a Flag Officers Car, a driver, and a young Lieutenant who escorted them on base. They were hosted for dinner at the Officers Club, then taken out onto the edge of the flight line. Imagine: My proudly patriotic parents were standing no more than 30 yards from where we touched down, with the setting sun dipping into the horizon right behind us.
Technical note: Hueys don’t have wheels, they have runners/skids. They don’t land and then roll to a stop like a conventional airplane or larger helicopters, but hover a few feet off the ground down the length of the runway until they settle onto their exact landing space. I slid open the wide door of the helicopter and stepped out, helmet still on as the screaming turbine engine wound down. We did a quick post-flight check, as always, making sure the bird was buttoned up and bedded down. I saluted the pilots, who were busy gathering up their weekend gear. I grabbed my own satchel and turned to walk toward my folks, helmet now in hand. I was not prepared for what happened next.
Thinking I was a pilot as well, the Air Force driver snapped to attention and saluted as I approached. I wore the same regulation flight suit that all pilots and aircrew members wore, but with distinct collar insignia indicating rank. These were black against a green/brown uniform at dusk. Not familiar with Marine Corps aircraft or insignia, my flight suit and helmet must have seemed somewhat confusing to the young officer, as well, who also came to attention and saluted me. I did not have time to correct the misunderstanding before Mom had made her way to my side and had me in a fierce hug. Dad followed at his own pace, and Mom pulled back so Dad could get in.
Lovingkindness demands that when one person physically holds another as a sign of love, and closeness, and belonging, the stronger person must be certain not to inflict injury or capture on the other. This is true of sweethearts and lovers, of wise parents with children, and of younger people with their elders. My father rarely hugged me as I grew up, but he taught me many important things, almost always with the gentleness that comes from true strength. This time was so different. I welcomed him with a smile, but there were tears rolling down his face.
This was one of only three times I have seen my father cry. When he stepped into my outstretched arms, Dad gave out a deep sigh of relief and fell into what I now know was (at last) the experience of his son’s being able to hold him up, to be strong for him. He didn’t have to protect me anymore. He didn’t have to provide for me anymore, and he didn’t have to be the strongest person in his world anymore. He seemed to sink into my embrace and to let go of the weariness, the years-long effort to be strong for his young.
Dad later penned a very self-revealing letter expressing his pride at seeing me fly in and step out of a helicopter, carry myself with confidence, and bring honor to his life. I was just happy to be flying, especially with the Marines, and looking forward to a few days at home. My parents experienced it all very differently than I did, though.
Sometime later, Dad and I were playing pool at a local bowling alley the week after I returned from combat. He said that seeing me fly in and land in that helicopter was like seeing me step out of a rocket ship in a Buck Rogers serial. He was immensely proud of me, as was Mom, but for different reasons. Imagine what this meant in his world: As a boy, his large family lived in poverty in a dirt floor cabin. He had limited education and worked for hourly wages all his life, though he had always wished he could go to college. Now here was his son, a Fleet Marine Corpsman, and a flight corpsman at that, soaring around in a military flying machine as if it were a Sunday drive. This is the closing line of a letter he sent while I was in Vietnam flying medevacs: “You’re the kind of man I’d like to have as a pal, and someone I’d be proud to ride the range with.” Unexpectedly, I had received my father’s blessing on the flight line.
Thoughts to Wonder About:
During your time of service, what changes were you most aware of in yourself?
How did your friends and family respond to the changes that emerged during your military service? What did they think, or feel, or say about how you had changed?
What two or three things from military service are positive changes in yourself or in your life? What changes or reactions to military service are “struggle points” for you?