“Left to right, no names: Texas Aggie, Greek from Cyprus, me, Mexican from L.A.,
Black from Detroit standing, Black from Chicago, last a Black from L.A.
“I've spoken with a lot of people of different ethnicities over the years and always told
them that I never had a problem with race or religion. (I still can't tolerate assholes.) I
also told everyone that other folks never seemed "anti-me" either. In Okinawa when I
finally got orders to Vietnam, we had agoing away party. With the racial tensions in '65
we couldn't really get together at the club on base so we took over two rooms in a
Japanese (Okinawan) restautant near MCAF Futenma that was upstairs from our favorite
steam bath. This last pic was taken by Mamma-san just before we all got super wasted.
“Please note the diversity of the attendees.
“The Corps is truly a Band of Brothers if there's no hate in your heart.” --SIED
![When I landed at Da Nang yesterday morning it was in the low 80’s and humid…just like I remembered from my previous tour of duty. At sea level in Southeast Asia you don’t expect anything else but heat and humidity even when it isn’t monsoon season. The only time I’d ever felt a chill in the air in Viet Nam was flying as a gunner on a UH-34 helicopter at 3000 feet.
Now it was about 2:00 AM and I woke up shivering with only a sheet wrapped around me. I turned on the table lamp and blinked my eyes to see clearer. The blurriness was due not to a problem with my eyes but what seemed to be fog was creeping in through the screen on the open window. In fact, water was dripping off the locker, condensation like that on a frozen mug of beer at the beach.
I stepped towards my locker to get the blanket I never thought I’d need. After all, this was Viet Nam and I’d never really needed a blanket before when I was in country. Hell, even in January you could work up a sweat walking to the showers.
I opened my locker, rummaged under my boots, cartridge belt, and magazines and found my blanket. It felt cold and damp, but I presumed it would dry out from body heat long before I caught pneumonia. As I started to close the locker door, I saw a little sign glued just under the vent. I didn’t see it earlier because I had my utility jacket hanging over the door. It told me to keep the locker plugged in and use only 75 or 100 watt bulbs. I had wondered why there was an electrical cord sticking out of my locker and now I knew. The light bulbs generated heat which kept the inside of the locker dry…or drier than the ambient air in the room. It’s the military version of a Hasbro Easy Bake Oven, and as long as you kept enough room between your gear and the light bulbs there was no chance of a fire. I decided to wait until tomorrow to see if it worked.
I went back to bed, turned out the light, and formed a cocoon of cold, damp sheet and blanket around me. For the first time ever I appreciated the nearly 36 hours of travel time I’d spent getting from New York City to Da Nang…I was so bushed I went right to sleep.
My previous tour in Viet Nam found me stationed at the Marble Mountain Air Facility or at a forward aviation staging area at Dong Ha. In those earlier days I was an Avionics Technician assigned to Headquarters and Maintenance Squadron-16 (H&MS-16), but like everyone else pulled my share of security details; perimeter guard, convoy security, and my favorite, helicopter gunner. At Dong Ha we also took turns on aircraft recovery detail.We’d go to an aircraft crash site and try to recover as much of the bird as possible. Time permitting we’d try to evacuate the engine(s), and fuselage. We’d first make sure that all documents, frequency cards, and personal crew data was recovered. If we couldn’t lift aircraft components out or they were too damaged, we’d set explosive and incendiary charges to destroy the aircraft totally when we left. That was even more fun than being a gunner.
In 1966 the Marine Corps began replacing our workhorse UH-34 helicopters with the CH-46. The UH-34 was a proven and nearly indestructible aircraft. It had a reciprocating piston engine that could take a .50 caliber round and still get you home leaving a trail of smoke and oil behind. The CH-46 had twin jet turbine engines that at the beginning of its service
life were considerably less reliable.
In the first two months that CH-46’s were operating out of Marble Mountain Air Field there were three crashes and maintenance problems caused them to be grounded. (Another six were shot down shortly afterwards operating out of the Dong Ha staging area). Sand, dust, and dirt kept being sucked into the engines causing them to seize up; if you were airborne at the time, you crashed. The engines needed to be synchronized to operate efficiently.If they got out of synchronization the vibrations would cause the transmission to separate from the engines and the aircraft would split into pieces. Another problem was in the electronics system. In some cases keying a radio would cause the Power Management System (PMS) to stutter and one or both of the engines would quit. This is a highly undesirable trait when flying. It’s ironic that decades before PMS became a valid medical diagnosis it was already giving guys fits.
After I left Viet Nam in the fall of 1966 I was looking for a way to disassociate myself from helicopters. I didn’t trust the CH-46 and I didn’t want to fly in them. In 1967, while assigned to Headquarters and Maintenance Squadron-26 at New River, NC, I was tasked to accompany a CH-46 squadron to Viegues, Puerto Rico to provide their Intermediate Avionics support. While in Viegues, all the CH-46’s were grounded again because of crashes and I immediately volunteered for retraining as a Tactical Air Operations Center (TAOC) Technician. I had no idea what the school or the specialty was about, but it was a way out and even students in this new military occupational specialty MOS) were eligible for proficiency pay at a higher rate than I was currently authorized. To my amazement, I was accepted.
The TAOC Technicians Course was given at the Marine Corps Communications Electronics School at Marine Corps Base, 29 Palms, CA. I was pleasantly surprised by my desperation choice for re-training. Since the MOS was new, every student in the class was re-training, with no advancement from repairman to technician possible that early in the game. No one would have a leg up in the classroom or in the lab classes on the equipment.
The course lasted a year…we were learning the intricacies of computer operations, computer repair, data displays, operator interfaces, and data link operations on a purpose built computer system. Much of the programming was “hard wired” with electronic switching from one wire bundle to another to change modes of operation. There was no “Geek Squad” to call for help, and no internet to search for those ubiquitous FAQ’s we’re all used to. Even the company technical representatives had no idea how some things worked or what caused certain symptoms when there was a failure.
After graduation from Tech School I spent nearly a year at Marine Corps Air Station, Yuma AZ, getting to know the equipment and learning the nuances of being a Staff Non Commissioned Officer (SNCO). Although I was promoted while in school I was still a student, with no responsibilities other than minding my P’s and Q’s and not failing. Leading as a SNCO technician and as a SNCO Marine required different skills but the same determination. Thankfully failures were few and I was honored with orders to Viet Nam.
On this trip to this land of enchantment, I was assigned to a Marine Air Control Squadron (MACS). No aircraft to work on; just radars, radios, missiles, and computers. The unit was MACS-4, the first automated, computer equipped Air Control Squadron deployed to a combat zone. Personnel were issued orders to MACS-4 based on merit, not merely to staff the table of Organization.
The MACS was positioned on the highest point of the Son Tra peninsular which is north east of Da Nang. Our compound was spread out wherever there was a bit of level land to put a building, emplace a radar set, or situate a generator. It covered about three quarters of a mile east to west, and there were several hundred feet separating our lowest point from the highest. In width we sprawled several hundred feet north and south to the narrowest point of the camp which was only the width of a one lane road with no shoulders.

The squadron was at the end of a long often one lane road that started at the gates to the Air Force compound at the base of the mountain (sea level) and ran across the crest of the ridge that eventually became the high point of the mountain, about 700 meters (2300 feet) up. This entire mass of rock, not just the high point which was part of our site, was referred to as Monkey Mountain.
You can see wisps of the cloud that engulfed us most evenings.
This is what the site looked like engulfed in cloud.
The mission of MACS-4 was to provide for air defense around Da Nang; with a Hawk missile battery providing close-in threat elimination if our air controllers were unable to vector interceptors to take out enemy aircraft at long range. Without giving away any secrets, we had data links to the Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) and the Navy Tactical Data System (NTDS) which enabled our Tactical Air Operations Center (TAOC) to monitor and control air defense well beyond our own radar range. Enough said; think “Star Wars”, think anything, but forget what you just read. Much of what is written about those systems is still so classified; there are notifications on the documents that say “Burn Before Reading.”
We Americans named it Monkey Mountain because of the large colony of macaques or rock apes that inhabited the slopes of the peninsular.There seemed to be two species, one with no tail and one with a short bobtail. During the construction of our squadron’s site, an abandoned and injured juvenile macaque was found. Corpsmen nursed it back to health and “Chipper” became the squadron mascot. She was kept on a tether at sick bay and would greet all who entered with a little bark and hand stretched out like a Kasbah beggar, looking for a treat of nuts or sunflower seeds.Chipper however, was a perfect Marine mascot, she much preferred beer.
At night the guard would often call an alert when the macaques would “probe” our concertina perimeter defenses. In the moonlight and through the clouds that often gathered around the mountain like London Fog, the Rock Apes looked like little people in gray pajamas. Since they often threw rocks at the guards, the possibility of the commotion being a VC grenade attack had to be taken into consideration. Sirens, flares, and search lights were a common occurrence. Why they would throw rocks at the guards or try to get through the concertina wire was a mystery. I suspected that the guards threw soda cans and other garbage off the hill which disturbed the macaques. It’s also possible that our compound was built on a trail that they had used to get from one side of the mountain to the other for generations. Since little is known about Asian macaques, we could have had their queen tied up at sick bay and they were trying to get her back.
The 8 foot by 8 foot room I had woken up shivering in at 2:00 AM was one of the perks of being a SNCO and it was a lot better than sharing a wood frame, hard backed tent with eleven other guys. Compared to my living conditions as a mere Corporal and Sergeant on my previous visit to this Asian wonderland, a damp chilly private room was the height of luxury. The next morning there was pounding on our doors about a quarter to six, which I soon learned was the Monkey Mountain version of reveille. I was reluctant to leave my warm and cozy cocoon, but three things forced me to plant my feet on the floor and get moving. First was fear. I didn’t want to start my first day in my new unit being late. Second was hunger. I could smell the bacon cooking in the mess hall (that was before the politically correct term of “dining facility” was foisted off on the military) which was only a few hundred feet away. Third was physical. I could no longer ignore my bladder.
After resolving my bladder issue, brushing my teeth, and a quick shave, I headed for the mess hall. (I still refuse to use “dining facility”) Even though the mess hall was a few hundred feet away looking straight at it, there was a tough walk of about a quarter mile to get to it. During that walk I learned two things. First it wasn’t fog that had been the problem I encountered earlier that morning; Monkey Mountain was in the clouds. Second, with everything located on different levels, paths wound back and forth to get you up or down hill on a grade that would not require rappelling techniques, or navigating dangerous steep and treacherous wooden stairways.
The mess hall was well worth the climb to reach. About three weeks after I arrived, the stairs from the living area to the Mess Hall were repaired. Even with the stairs in place it was a tough climb - 53 wooden steps that were slicker than snot when wet, and that was every morning and every night when the cloud rolled in, and all day when it rained. Everywhere you went in the compound you encountered slippery wet wooden stairs and decks, and even the asphalt paving was very slippery when the cloud rolled in.
Finally arriving at the mess hall, I filled a plate with food, found a good spot to sit and eat, and to watch the door. I dug in. Those 36 hours of travel that let me sleep through last night’s arctic fog also left me with quite an appetite. When traveling I can’t eat much. I get too nervous to eat a meal without getting sick, so I tend to munch on saltines and nibble beef jerky or Slim Jims instead. Now that I was relatively relaxed my body was ready to make up the four or five thousand calories it had missed.
I was one of the first “customers,” and as I sat there devouring my morning repast I spotted spot some friends I knew when they came in and invited them to join me. It’s always beneficial when reporting aboard for a new tour of duty to have friends already there. You can quickly get the lay of the land; the do’s and don’ts; who to know and who to avoid; what recreation is available; what services are available; and what you have to go off base to get. Learning all of that by trial and error can lead to anguish and angst in equal measure. I’ve always found that the expression, “It’s a small world” is more than applicable to the Marine Corps family. After a few years of service, it’s difficult to go anywhere and not find a friend or two.
Two of the people who joined me at breakfast had been in my tech class at 29 Palms. We trekked up the hill to our equipment site together.They filled me in on our OIC and NCOIC, and briefed me on the SNCO’s and Officers in the Communications, Radar, Communications & Maintenance, and Tactical Data Control Center sections we worked with. When I reported to my new bosses we sat and chewed the fat for awhile, feeling each other out while I waited for a call to report to the Squadron Sergeant Major (SgtMaj) who’d introduce me to the Commanding Officer (CO),.
My NCOIC took me on a tour of our equipment, showing me how it was laid out and where the interfaces with the other equipment were located. We also stopped in at the other sections and introduced me around. Each stop meant another cup of coffee. After we had completed our rounds, my need to reduce bladder pressure was extremely strong. My new boss pointed out where the “rest room” was and admonished me strongly to slam the door a few times before entering and to stomp my feet when I got inside. Puzzled, I asked him why. The short response chilled me just like that fog the night before: “Pit vipers” he said. No one had given me a warning before that…I could just imagine my tour of duty ending earlier that morning when I had relieved my bladder before breakfast. I could have died from a snake bite or died from shame holding and squeezing a snake bitten portion of my anatomy attempting to slow the spread of venom while duck walking to sick bay yelling, “Corpsman, Corpsman!” As you can see it was a treacherous trek down to the “two-holer.”

 For the next few weeks things progressed smoothly. We worked two twelve hour shifts and I was on the day crew. That meant I had a chance to visit our joint SNCO and Officer club for an hour or two and relax. It wasn’t a very large club, but we had a large fireplace that helped drive away the “shivers” and “chillblains” while sipping a drink and telling sea stories. A sea story is quite similar to a fairy tale. The main difference is that a fairy tale begins with, “Once upon a time….” A sea story however, begins with, “This is no shit….” here was a fairly large and well stocked bar, and a small stage area for the infrequent USO show. We also had a small slot machine room with five machines, but they were hardly ever used.
As you can imagine, the club was the gathering place for most social activity. Reading was done in your room, watching TV or a movie was done at the club. Playing cards was done in our rooms if any money was at stake; pinochle, hearts, and rummy were enjoyed at the club by players and kibitzers alike. USO Shows and the occasional USO or Club system sponsored band packed the house. We much preferred the bands since they were usually from the Philippines and always had a gorgeous young lady as part of the group. Even if she wasn’t a stripper (we had those on occasion), she’d usually be dressed in the style of the times – knee high boots and a miniskirt. The boots were made for walking, but the skirt was made for staring!
The area over the stage and to the immediate right and left was our “Trophy Wall.” It was a tradition that when you went on a Rest and Recuperation (R & R) run, you’d bring back a trophy depicting the high point of your vacation. Some brought back pictures or knick knacks but most brought back a skimpy pair of panties. If you met your wife or fiancé on R & R you were exempt from tacking up a pair of panties. The wall was a riot of color and shimmering silk and lace.
Our Squadron Sergeant Major was John McGinnes. He was a short, chubby, crusty, loud spoken, often vulgar Boston Irishman on the down side of fifty. Every day at noon he’d enter the club, pound on the bar, and yell, “Rum for the Sergeant Major!” He’d remain there guarding the entry to the club until one hour after the club’s “official” opening when he’d retire to quarters for the day. He knew exactly who, officer or enlisted, was supposed to be at work and would run you off if you tried to sneak in.
McGinnes was an irascible curmudgeon who tolerated no breach of Marine Corps tradition or ethics. He had about 35 years of service at the time, having served during the Banana Wars in the 1930’s in Nicaragua, all through WW II, and through Korea. He said he got out of the Marine Corps twice but couldn’t stand civilians and had to come back in. We called him “Loveable John” behind his back and not as a derisive appellation. Loveable John was the only R & R returnee to bring back a pair of panties from his wife who he called “Rotten Rube.” They were the largest pair of panties I have ever seen and were prominently displayed over the stage at the center. At first glance it looked like a Chilean Condor was swooping in for a landing.
The best part of the club was the porch/patio area on the side. There were huge windows on either side of the fireplace that formed the back wall of the porch/patio area. From the porch/patio we had an unobstructed view of Da Nang all the way south to Chou Lai. On a clear night, you could see the aircraft taking off from Chou Lai, or at least their lights and afterburners. We had a view of the deep water piers, the Tien Sha base, China Beach, I Corps Headquarters, and Marble Mountain. We could watch the activity at Da Nang air base. We could also see the tracers when there were fire fights anywhere around Da Nang or follow any air strikes in those contested areas.
But the best part of the porch/patio was our Sunday Steak cook outs. Our mess hall staff served a remarkable breakfast every day. Lunch and supper always were adequate, but not exceptional. We very rarely had pot roast but could always count on meatloaf. We very rarely had pork chops, but could always count on hamburgers, big fat juicy ones, but still hamburgers. We rarely had ham or chicken, but always had ground beef as meat balls, meat sauce, as stock in stew, or as Salisbury steaks or fricadillas. We often joked that the Mess Chief had a cookbook titled “1000 ways To Cook Chopped Meat” and he was only half way through. In fact, each week when drawing rations, our Mess Chief would take a lot of the lesser desirable chopped meat to ensure he got a double ration of steaks. That way every person was sure to get a steak on Sunday and there were enough extras to feed our guests if there were any.
We shared Monkey Mountain with the Air Force who had an Air Defense site lower down and who provided the security to get on the road that ran the length of the peninsular. Half way between us and the Air Force was the Armed Forces Viet Nam (AFVN) Radio and Television Service Transmitter site.AFVN was made famous by Adrian Cronauer who was in turn made famous by Robin Williams in the film “Good Morning, America”. There were always a few of these entertainment folks invited to Sunday steak cook outs. There was also a standing invitation to the nurses on the hospital ships USS Repose and USS Sanctuary when they were in port. Hell, there was a standing invitation to nurses in general to join us for a cookout. We always had a few takers. The cookout would start at noon and end at 2000 so everyone could get back home before curfew. As luck would have it, sometimes a nurse or two would miss the bus and would be forced to spend the night. There was never a shortage of berthing space for a stranded nurse.
There were only three “tourist” attractions on Monkey Mountain, other than the rock apes. There was AFVN, MACS-4’s Steak Cookouts, and the jet from the USS Bon Homme Richard that crashed into the side of the mountain in 1967. The pilot apparently misjudged how high the mountain was and flew straight in, dying instantly. There was no transmission of any sort indicating if there was a problem or not, and as far as I can determine the actual cause of the crash remains unknown.

In addition to The SNCO and Officers Club, there was a separate club for the NCO’s (corporals and sergeants) and an Enlisted Club for the privates, privates first class (PFC), and lance corporals. In I Corps, all clubs came under a club system. Food, drink, and supplies were purchased by the club system and each club drew what supplies were needed weekly. Bartenders, waitresses, cooks, cashiers, accountants, and janitorial staff were all Vietnamese nationals hired and vetted by the club system. Each club had a crew assigned.
Club managers were military personnel who were assigned club management occupational specialties and were part of the club system staff. There were also “duty” managers who oversaw operations when the club manager was not available or after his working hours. These “duty” managers were regular military who were “moonlighting” for a salary, usually minimum wage. Regular club managers also were paid a salary, usually minimum wage plus 50%.
Clubs were located at the different bases and served all tenant units, with one exception. Our clubs on Monkey Mountain were exclusively MACS-4’s. Instead of having club managers assigned by the club system, our managers were assigned by the Squadron CO. Once assigned, they worked for the club system but all administrative control remained with the Squadron. It was similar to being on Temporary Additional Orders (TAD) without having orders written. The Enlisted Club was about to make this tour of duty one of the most memorable times of my life.
After nearly two months in country, I was told to report to the CO. I left my work area trying to figure out what I had done wrong and why I was being called on the carpet. Other than staying in the club after closing to finish my drinks one night, I couldn’t think of a thing. I worried about Red Cross notifications. Someone back in the states might be dead or dying. I was nearly a wreck when I got to the SgtMaj’s office. Loveable John, closemouthed as ever, took me to the CO with no explanation. I proceeded to the CO’s desk, centered myself in front of it, came to attention, and said, “Staff Sergeant Siedentopf reporting as ordered, Sir!” He waved his hand casually towards a chair and said, “Have a seat, Sied.”
That was a quick indication of two things; there would be no ensuing Courts Martial and it wasn’t a lead-in to a Red Cross casualty notification. I thought about a line from Macbeth, “Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.” I had worked myself into a froth with all sorts of wild thoughts when whatever was going to come would be benign.
I sat, and the CO asked me if the rumors were true that I had worked at a private club in North Carolina as a manager. Hadn’t I had also worked at bars in Yuma, Arizona, as bartender and manager? I admitted that I had. He then informed me that the current manager of the Enlisted Club was being short toured (sent home early) and that I was going to be the new manager. Since I was relatively new in my TAOC Technician’s MOS, I begged off so I could learn the system. The CO promised that the assignment would be temporary, and as soon as a suitable replacement arrived, I would be relieved. Having little choice, I accepted.
The Enlisted Club was one of many standard prefabricated warehouse buildings, 100’ by 75’, which were built by a Texas contractor all over Viet Nam. This one was modified with regular wall sections in lieu of roller doors, and had standard single and double doorways. The short wall on one end held a bar and a doorway leading to four refrigerated shipping containers. The short wall at the other end supported a small stage and an entrance to my new office. In between these walls resided a motley collection of folding tables and chairs, the sort of tables churches use for pot luck dinners, only these had some unholy looking stains on them.
For diversions there were three wall mounted TV sets all tuned to the same station, AFVN TV, the only station broadcasting in English; and two pool tables, each with a chipped cue ball and an average of 13 object balls per table when the club closed at night. There was a box of spare balls in the office so the racks could be filled each morning before opening. Billiard balls constantly disappeared. After nearly forty years of contemplation about what happened to those billiard balls, I’ve finally come to a conclusion. Since they were never found in the trash or in anyone’s possession during a “shakedown” for contraband, they had to have been disposed of in some other manner. Undoubtedly the troops tossed them off the hill to stir up the rock apes to attack the wire.
Another diversion was an inoperable Foosball table that was probably the most sought after recreation item in the club. The rods and kickers had long since been removed and green felt had been glued to the table top and sides forming a more than adequate “craps” table. Two sheets of plywood had been placed together over a 2’ X 4’ frame that nested tightly onto the top of the table. It had been trimmed into an octagon and covered with green felt also to form a very functional poker table. Since gambling wasn’t legal, the table was used to play engineer dice, or an occasional hand of Crazy Eights or Bid Whist.
Besides the coolers behind the bar (only beer and soft drinks were on the menu), there were three small pizza ovens, just like those in the 7-11 convenience stores of the era. Several racks of potato chips and other similar snacks were on a shelf behind the bar. The last items contributing to the bar décor were a dozen large galvanized garbage cans strategically placed to hold the beer and soda empties. In the morning every can was full with a nearly equal number of empties on the floor that missed the toss and bounced off the walls. This was not a Michelin Guide 5 Star tavern, it was a classic Marine Corps Slop Chute.
Leaving the CO’s office, I went to the Enlisted Club to find the manager Steve; and get briefed, take a tour, and get introduced to my new duties. I had three days before he left for home and part of that time involved Steve checking out. It was just a little after 0800 and I got the grand tour of the club. We sat down in the office to go over the daily and weekly schedule. With that done, we proceeded to go through the paces of a normal day’s routine. Steve had it all hand written down on three pages of yellow legal pad paper, front and back, and there was a lot to do. The work day started at 0800 and ended at about 0200 the next morning. Steve tossed me a small ring of keys and said, “Here’s the keys to your truck, let’s go.” I told him I didn’t have a government driver’s license, but had an international license picked up while on Sea Duty. He told me not to worry; we’d get it taken care of at the Club System offices. Somehow that never happened. We got into the slightly battered Dodge D-200 crew cab pick-up and my new adventure began.
I could hardly believe the schedule:
0830: Leave the compound and drive to the Air Force main gate at the bottom of the mountain. Pick up the club day workers and janitorial crews. Drive back to the compound and drop off workers at clubs.
0900 – 1100: Get club cleaned up, re-stock coolers, re-stock snack racks and pizza cooler. Recount previous day’s receipts and prepare deposit. Make up shopping list for supplies to draw from club system and what was needed to be purchased at Hill 327 PX from petty cash.
1100 – 1130: Lunch!
1130: Stop at other two clubs and pick up managers for run to Club System/PX. If they couldn’t make the run get their deposits/shopping lists and find a “shotgun” passenger for security. Return to compound and distribute purchases. [At this point there should be an hour of free time for a shower]
1600 – 1630: Get club set up for the evening, get duty manager started.
1630: Leave the compound and drive to the Air Force main gate at the bottom of the mountain and pick up the night club workers. Drive back to the compound and drop off night workers.
1700 and 1715: Eat supper.
1730: Pick up day workers and take them to the Air Force front gate at the bottom of the mountain. Return to the compound.
1800 – 2330: Keep the Club from being torn apart; catch up on paper work; give duty manager a break! If things are quiet, take a nap.
2300: Close the club. While duty manager and night workers are shutting everything down, work up the register receipts and lock all in safe.
2330: Pick up the night workers, a shot gun (co-driver and/or guard) or two depending on the security level and leave the compound. Drive the night workers to their homes since it would be after curfew before they arrived and they couldn’t travel on their own. Return to compound.
Add to that, on Thursdays, have a 2 1/2 ton or flat bed semi scheduled for beer, soda, wine, and hard liquor pick-up with a driver and three guards for the truck and a shotgun for the pick-up that led our mini-convoy. Thursday’s also required combining the daily deposit run with the liquor supply convoy.
Being club manager made for 12 – 15 hour days. Once or twice a week I could get the SNCO & Officer Club manager to take the evening run so I could get to sleep by midnight. Once or twice a week I could get the NCO club manager to make the deposit run. That still had me clocking over 60 hours a week. But there was a financial benefit involved in the job. I was paid $1.50 per hour by the club system, a nickel over minimum wage for the first 40 hours, time and a half ($2.25 per hour) for the next 20 hours, and double time ($3.00 per hour) for anything over 60 hours. That put a weekly check in my pocket for $105.00 to $120.00! That was close to $500.00 a month that I had no time to spend. My military pay, with all extras, was tax free and was $795.00 a month. To put that in perspective, a SSgt in 2008, with the same time in service earns $2930.00 a month, not counting combat pay or other extras. While I worked at the club I drew no military pay, letting it ride on the books. In fact, I let my military pay ride until I rotated back to the States. My club earnings ran to a little over $1500.00 before I finally was relieved as club manager. I still had $1300.00 of it to live on until I rotated back to the States. I had ten months military pay to draw when I got back home which meant a brand new Mustang! I put a few thousand in the bank and with the several hundred I had left of my club earnings, I spent three months at Marine Corps Air Facility, Santa Ana , CA absolutely enjoying myself bar hopping from beer joint to beer joint.
Two other noteworthy things occurred while I was with MACS-4, one of which was a typhoon in October. We knew that Da Nang would take a direct hit which meant Monkey Mountain would get hit with full force winds straight off the ocean. We knew that troop safety was a concern and personnel were evacuated to lower ground. All squadron records and all classified documents were also evacuated. But the equipment had to stay behind. The decision was made to leave the equipment in place with power available but not running. The commercial generators that supplied power would be kept on line and a skeleton crew of the contracted Koreans would stay behind. Four Marines were chosen to stay behind to provide security.
I was one of the four SNCO’s that remained behind. We were to provide security only for the Koreans and the operational site: the plateau with our radars, computers, generators and other electronic equipment. If Charlie tried to breach the perimeter and the four of us couldn’t hold or repel them, we were to set off explosives and thermal charges to destroy the equipment.
Between you, me, and the lamp post, there was no way the four of us with .45 caliber pistols, 12 gauge shotguns, M-16 rifles, one M-60 machine gun, and a collection of hand grenades were going to be able to stop any determined penetration. About ten hours before the typhoon hit it was raining hard enough and the wind was gusting strong enough that you couldn’t see crap ten feet away! We got soaked to the skin taking turns patrolling the limited perimeter, but luckily Charlie was probably hunkered down for the storm too.
The next noteworthy event occurred when the squadron had just about repaired all the damage caused by the typhoon. We received word that the squadron would deploy to the States and be deactivated. This was the end of 1970, and the US pull out from Viet Nam was in full swing. We immediately went into stand down and started packing everything up for embark aboard Navy shipping. Getting off the hill by truck would probably have taken weeks since the road to our site could only accommodate only one semi-trailer moving either up or down at a time. There just wasn’t room for two to pass. Six by’s (2 ½ ton trucks) could pass each other in a few places if they timed their runs correctly. Therefore almost everything had to be helicopter lifted to the deep water piers for embark.
Amazingly there was only one load that didn’t make it. Naturally our CO was quite concerned with getting all of our unique equipment back home in one piece. We had electronic shelters worth several millions of dollars, some of which only a handful of copies existed and couldn’t be replaced. Some of these shelters cost more than the fly-away cost of a brand new F-4 Phantom II jet. We decided to set the CO up for a disaster – an accident that he’d think might end his career. We liked the guy, but we were very vicious imps!
We had an old supply shelter that had been designated for scrap which we loaded up with scrap metal to give it weight. We got the pilot of one of the CH-53’s to go along with our plan. He cut the load, which the CO thought was a multi-million dollar shelter, from 3000’ over the ocean just north of China Beach. It was tricky getting the CO to the LZ when our designated load was to take off. He had no idea what was about to happen. We had him believing the load was the main computer shelter of the TAOC System. When the pilot pickled the load, I thought the CO was going to have a heart attack.
That was the start of a minor tradition in the MACS units, the “staged” disaster before, after, or during every deployment. There were four requirements to pull it off. First, no actual damage to equipment or people could occur. A dark, spreading wet stain in the trousers was acceptable. Second, the perpetrators had to be able to remain anonymous. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Third, only an officer or senior enlisted could be the pigeon. Fourth and last, the maximum number of squadron personnel had to be able to bear witness to the disaster and the pigeon’s response.
There were twenty three of us who had nine months or more in country who would accompany the equipment back to the States. We were to off load it to MCAF Santa Ana, CA, and stand by to turn the gear over to the Marine Corps Tactical System Support Activity (MCTSSA) and, subsequently, to the supply system for overhaul. The unit, MACS-4, deactivated. The rest of the troops would either go to Okinawa to join MACS-8, or if they had enough time in country, they would fly back home on the freedom bird.
The evening of the day that the last piece of equipment left, all that remained were two radars, motor transport equipment, the base generators, the buildings, and the clubs. The next morning everything would be turned over to the Viet Namese. The Enlisted Club and the NCO Club were stripped of all beer and soda for a troop “binge” at deep water piers, a goodbye party that left very few sober. Four of us stayed behind again to provide security, and dispose of the hard liquor in the SNCO and Officers Club.
We weren’t told how to dispose of it, and there was a lot of booze…twenty full cases and a few partial cases. Most of the evening went this way: Open a bottle. Make a toast. Take a swig. Make a toast. Take a swig. Throw the bottle at the rock apes. We conscientiously disposed of every bottle of beer and wine in that club and did a fairly good job of knocking off the hard liquor, too. I remember having tears in my eyes throwing bottles of Bonded Beam and Crown Royal down on the rocks. We did such a good job tossing back and tossing off that in the morning we had to trade a jeep to a Viet Namese Army sergeant to get him to drive us down to the deep water piers. If anyone of us would have tried to make the drive we’d have ended up like the jet that had crashed into Monkey Mountain, a tangled mass of metal with all aboard dead.
I can’t say that militarily the tour at Monkey Mountain either boosted my career or hurt it. Promotions that followed were timely, so I suppose the hiatus from being a Staff Sergeant working in my MOS and instead running a club can simply be chalked up to one hell of an experience and a damned good time.](monkeymtn_files/shapeimage_2.png)
