“U.S. B52 bombers raided a big Communist military buildup in the fifth consecutive day of strikes by the eight-engine Stratofortresses on both sides of the demilitarized zone.”
—Atlanta Constitution, August 19, 1967
August 21–22, 1967
The bus ride from Oakland Army Depot to the Norton Air Force Base departure field was long and lonely, until we arrived at the gate. There the bus was greeted by a group of protesting hippies and flower children opposing the war. Decked out in sack dresses, ponytails, and beads, and carrying posters and flowers, they were the peaceful personification of news clips I had often scoffed at. Now faced with their presence, I wondered what they were thinking about the men in khaki uniforms. I already knew what they thought about our country’s involvement in the war. We passed without incident: we outnumbered the hippies, and the air police were nearby.
The convoy of buses parked, and we unloaded through the diesel fumes of their idling engines to then hang around the terminal. “Terminal” seemed to me a very appropriate word. For an hour and a half rosters were checked and people counted. I took my time boarding, since officers were instructed to board last, and found myself in a first-row seat on the aisle, across from the galley. We were on a Braniff Airways Military Airlift Command flight, a no-frills commercial flight chartered by the military to ferry troops overseas.
The flight from California to Hawaii was long but uneventful; everyone was settling in for the longer trip from Hawaii to Clark Air Force Base in the Philippine. When we deplaned in Hawaii, we were instructed to leave on the plane anything we had carried aboard, since we would be reboarding by row number and returning to the same seats. I headed with others to the bar to have a refreshing 10 a.m. beer.
Once the new aircrew was ready we were called to reboard. By this time I was over the jitters, but I must have resembled a lost puppy. I reclaimed my prized first-row aisle seat. The flight attendants, who had been busy with preflight checks during takeoff, sat in the folding jumpseats directly in front of the first row. I made eye contact with an attractive young woman with short brown hair who was seated directly across from me. Fortunately, this encounter progressed much better than the one on the flight from Jacksonville to Atlanta, when my voice had frozen in my throat.
I could not take my eyes off her during takeoff—except when she said, “You’ll have a nice view of Diamond Head from the window right after takeoff.” I wondered if she could be trying to make me stop staring at her.
I glanced out the porthole. “You make this trip often?”
“Too often, I think. All of us are volunteers. No one is assigned to a Vietnam flight that doesn’t want to go.”
“This is my first trip,” I said, aware that the army captain sitting next to me in the middle seat was wearing two rows of medals from a previous combat tour, and the lieutenant colonel by the window wore a virtual salad of color on his chest from this and other wars. The lieutenant colonel was designated flight commander, which meant that he was responsible for the discipline of the troops on board. It dawned on me that the officers were seated in the first few rows in the front of the airplane, while the enlisted men were occupying most of the other seats. I didn’t have any medals except for the badges from army training. I felt naked and as green as I actually was; I hoped the cute flight attendant wouldn’t notice.
When the seatbelt sign was turned off, the stewardesses excused themselves to serve drinks, nonalcoholic only, and prepare an in-flight meal. The nice woman I had been talking to quickly offered the officers a drink first, directly from the galley. I wasn’t sure if it was because we were officers or sitting in front, but I sensed something more than just that. When she handed me a glass of Coke our hands brushed, and my heart leaped to my throat. I had felt a stirring the moment we sat facing one another; her touch ignited a spark inside me.
My stewardess served from the galley. I watched her every move as unobtrusively as possible, trying to be nonchalant but not succeeding. She was either interested or aware of my interest, because our eyes met often, but it was difficult to talk while she worked. I stood beside the galley door, ostensibly to stretch my legs, and we were able to talk at eye level while she worked.
Finally the food and drinks were finished and cleared away. Someone announced that the movie would be Don’t Drink the Water, and the lights were turned down.
My stewardess came over to the front row of officers.
“There are a few empty seats if anyone wants to move back and watch the movie. You won’t be able to see the screen from up here.” Two of the girls pulled the jumpseat down to sit across from us again.
“Or we could talk and play cards,” my girl suggested.
The lieutenant colonel stood. “I think I’ll walk around and visit the troops, then find an empty seat and get some sleep.”
I stayed firmly planted where I was. “Cards are fine by me.”
“My name’s Jill,” announced the other stewardess.
“And I’m Peggy,” followed my girl, strumming my heartstrings with the sound of her name.
The captain and I respectively introduced ourselves as Tom and Richard—Dick to my friends.
Peggy and Jill broke out two new decks of cards and shuffled them on the serving trays in front of the seats. I had played hearts before, but never with two decks. I was assured that this made it more interesting, but I was already completely interested. It had everything to do with playing hearts, but not cards.
By the time the second movie started playing cards had grown old. Peggy put the serving trays away and brought back pillows and blankets. Tom moved over into the empty seat next to the window and settled back for some rest.
Peggy sat down, again facing me, and we talked for a few minutes. Jill excused herself without explanation for parts unknown.
After a few minutes, Peggy asked, “Do you mind if I sit in that empty middle seat? These pull-down seats aren’t very comfortable.”
With the jump seat down, we could stretch our legs out, ensuring that no one sat there. The seats went back, and with pillows and short blankets we were quite cozy.
“What do you think about the war?” Peggy asked.
“I don’t know about the politics, but if our country is involved, then I think it’s my duty to go. Besides, this is the biggest thing in the world, and I wouldn’t miss it.” I looked into her warm, brown eyes for my answer. “What do you think?”
Peggy held my gaze. “I support our troops—that’s why I volunteer for these flights—but I always wonder about all the protests and demonstrations. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but I don’t focus on that. They have the right to protest. You make these flights often. What do other soldiers think about it?”
“I think they feel like you do—a little confused about why we’re there, but determined to go because we are. Of course, some are against it, and others are just nervous.” Peggy placed her hand lightly on my arm. “How about you? Are you okay?”
My God, could she read my mind? “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m a little jittery,” I confessed. “This is all new to me, but I’m confident in myself and my training. I’ll be all right… .I think.”
Her fingers interlaced with mine under the blanket. “We aren’t supposed to do this. Do you mind?”
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” We both drifted for a while. I felt warm and secure for the first time in days.
The second movie ended too soon. People stirred in the cabin again. The lieutenant colonel returned to his seat, Tom moved back to the center, and Peggy folded blankets and fluffed pillows like a normal stewardess. Only I could see she was an angel looking after me.
“I’ll talk to you later.” She returned to the galley to prepare breakfast.
I felt empty. Releasing her hand had broken something inside me; I was vulnerable again. I pretended to sleep, but I peeked through heavy lids to catch glimpses of this beautiful person who had somehow touched me deeply in only a few minutes. I saw her glancing back while she went about her business. I knew she was grateful to have something to do with her hands. Mine felt like they were strapped to an electric chair for the final countdown.
We exchanged a few words here and there during breakfast, and it was hard not to yell, “Stop this plane! Peggy and I want to get off and go to Canada.”
When our landing was announced at Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines, Peggy and Jill returned to their jumpseats. The sky was black outside the porthole window.
“Will you continue on with us to Vietnam?” I asked Peggy, hopefully.
She shook her head slowly. “No, they require a fresh crew for the final part of the flight to pick up soldiers leaving Vietnam and bring them back to Clark. They are only on the ground in Vietnam a short time, but it’s too many hours for one crew. You’ll be on the ground at Clark for a couple of hours while the new crew prepares the aircraft and refuels for the trip to Saigon and back.”
“What will you do?”
“We’ll ride a bus to a hotel for crew rest. I’ll take the flight to Vietnam tomorrow. That one is always hardest because… I’ll need to get some rest.”
“Could we talk once we get on the ground at Clark?”
Again she shook her head. “I wish we could, but that’s strictly forbidden. I don’t think I could do it anyway.”
“Why not? I want to talk to you. That’s all.”
“It’s very hard to say goodbye… over and over. It’s just too hard.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she pulled out a tissue, ignored the seatbelt sign, and rushed directly to the rest room.
I felt Jill staring at me, and the silence from Tom and the lieutenant colonel was chilling. I knew they were listening, but I didn’t care.
At the last possible moment Peggy returned to her seat. I knew it was only because it was required for landing. She was not one to break regulations, not usually. Now she was implacable and we didn’t speak or look directly at one another. I diverted my attention to the airfield as we taxied across Clark. The rows of B-52 Stratofortress bombers, their long wingtips almost touching the ground, were breathtaking and brought me abruptly back to reality. We were two people going about our duty because it was the right thing to do, but wanting very much to do otherwise. Once committed, there was no turning back. Military Airlift Command, Braniff Airlines, and the entire U.S. Army represented by the lieutenant colonel two seats away absolutely ensured that there would be no backsliding.
The airplane stopped rolling, and I thought my heart had stopped at the same time. Peggy opened the passenger exit door and directed the ground crew rolling the ramp ladder into place. From my seat I was positioned to be the first person off the plane. I wanted to be last.
I found myself standing on top of the ramp with her. She simply said, “Take care of yourself.”
I couldn’t speak at all. My voice was frozen again. I knew I would be unable to say what I wanted to, anyway. So I took her in my arms and kissed her on her lips. It lasted only a few seconds, but I felt her arms encircle me. I broke our embrace and turned away while I still could.
My knees wobbled as I climbed down the ramp and crossed the tarmac to the terminal. The oppressive humidity of the Philippine night air enveloped me like a wet blanket, even worse after the altitude and dry air of the airplane. My khaki uniform shirt clung to my back again, and I was grateful, as I wiped the sweat from my face, that I could collect tears from my cheeks without anyone noticing. I repeated the move several times while slowly crossing the steaming tarmac. As we entered the terminal, I remember someone asking as he stared into my bloodshot eyes. “Hard flight?”
I couldn’t sit down in the waiting area. I paced about and wandered into the latrine to regain my composure. I washed my face and hands with cold water before going back to the bright lights of the passenger area to pace some more.
I was jarred back to the real world when Tom touched my arm. “They’re calling your name, Lieutenant!”
I stared at him, not understanding, until I heard over the intercom: “Lieutenant Taylor, you have a call on the house phone. Lieutenant Taylor, please pick up the house phone at the information desk.”
My hand shook. Something must have happened at home, and I would have to return to Jacksonville for a family emergency. I didn’t want to imagine anything happening to one of my parents, especially after the difficult departure from Jacksonville. I lifted the phone.
“Are you okay?” said the voice on the other end.
I was confused for a few seconds. Then I muttered, “Where are you?”
“I’m in the crew lounge,” Peggy said, “but I wanted to talk to you again.”
“Come down here. This is crazy. I want to see you. I need to see you.” I scanned the upper windows frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of her.
“I can’t do it. I want to—but I’d lose my job.” Her voice broke a little, stabbing in my chest. “I don’t think I could handle it again.”
“Let’s get out of here. Let’s meet outside, please.” I could see no one in the windows above, so I concentrated on the voice on the phone.
“Dick, I really do want to but I can’t. And you don’t need this either. Not now—maybe someday.”
“That’s impossible! I don’t even know your last name, or your address or phone number.”
“Drake. My name is Peggy Drake.”
“How will I find you, Peggy?”
“You’ll have to contact me through Braniff. I don’t know where I’ll be, or if I’ll be married, or what. You may not want to, or… .”
“I want to write you,” I pleaded.
“No. I can’t do it. I can’t get attached. I’m not strong enough. Something might happen, and I can’t go on this way. You can’t expect me to. It’s not fair!”
“Peggy, do you feel the way I do? If you do, we have to meet again.”
“Dick, call me after the war. Call Braniff. I’ll tell them it’s okay to give my number to you… if it still is. But not now! It has to be later.”
“Peggy, don’t leave it like this. Please, give me something more.” I knew I was losing her.
“They’re calling me to go. I have to catch the bus,” she said between sobs.
“Peggy, I love you. I want to see you again.”
“Bye, Dick. Please take care of yourself, and come back in one piece.” The phone went dead.
“Peggy, Peggy … shit.” She was gone.
My heart was broken. No, it was removed. I was a dead man walking. I no longer cared about the war, the army, the goddamned politicians, or the Vietnamese. Maybe she was right. She was telling me that she could not develop a close attachment with a young man on his way to war. Many of us went home on cargo planes instead of passenger flights.
If this was only the journey to war, how would I ever survive the war? Peggy was right. How would either of us be able to take it? It was too much to ask. Thank God, it was time to reboard the plane to finish the long trip.
Let’s get it over with.