THAT
WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW:
Pineapple
was a friend of mine in the Nam. He and I had shared a few bad times in
the bush.
We became close friends while we were there. When we were back in the
main camp he had an in
with the Splibs. Therefore, we used to party with them in the bunker. As
we descended down in,
the smell of grass and hash was thick in the air. It was dimly lit and
in the background, the
music of Motown was playing. A brother was dancing around while
listening to “My Girl”. Later
came James Brown with his: “It's a Mans world”. And we continued to
get stoned.
Reality
was lost and fantasy kicked in and we found freedom in the haze of
drugs. There was no
racial barrier in this place. We all shared the same horror. And now we
all shared the same time
and space. I was dubbed as a “Soul Chuck”. This was a good thing, as
I was the only white guy in
the bunker. I grew up with the Motown sound and loved the music. Hell, I
didn't know the singers
were black 'til then! Talk about your secluded country boy. Time was
lost to us in the bunker,
and we listened to the soulful sounds as we passed the bottle around.
Tears were flowing at
times, but not because of the war. It was mostly because we were missing
home. “Sugar Pie,
Honey Bun” was playing and we would get to singing along. It was a
sweet release from the shit
that was going on around us.
It
would be days sometimes before we came out. But when we came out it was
business as usual.
There was an unwritten code while we were in the bunker even the
officers respected it. We had a
butter bar LT, drop in from time to time. He would take a few tokes and
be on his way. Mostly,
the visit was to tell us to get our shit together cause we were moving
out the next day. We would crash and burn and then reality would set
back in. Motown would have to be silent. Dancing would cease. No more
rock and soul, Time to lock and load.
Not
to much was said during the sweep. We just did our job and kept to
ourselves. We looked out
for each other the best we could. I can remember hearing the shot. The
impact sounded like a
dull
thud. Looking back, I saw the brother just in back of me fall. He never
heard the shot that
hit him. We paused, and I wondered: Why him and not me? So close, how
was it that the sniper
chose him? What is the reason and will I be the next? This was not the
first time I had seen
this and it wasn't the last. It was almost as though the sniper knew he
was fucking my mind up,
as well as some of the others.
I
can't explain how I got through 13 months of my tour of duty without a
scratch. At least
physically, mentally was a horse of a different color. Mentally I was
ruined, I remained ruined
'til
I met my wife to be. Thank God for Nancy!! But before I met her, I had
the bunker, I had
the drugs and the Brothers, Motown, the whiskey, the haze, and the
fantasy that everything would
be alright. I was a “Soul Chuck”, Invincible, Invisible and bullet
proof.
I
bumped into Pineapple at a camp Pendleton NCO club one night in 1968. I
had Nancy on my arm. Pineapple and I silently stared at each other and
nodded. We passed by each other never saying a word. Another code, a
silent bond never to be talked about.
That
was then... And this is now.
Go
in peace my brother.
What
we have shared cannot be shared.
What
we have seen must not be
revealed.
What
we have done must remain buried.
We
have survived.
We will live to tell about it.
But
on another day.
Perhaps to our
grandchildren.
Perhaps
not...
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