“Senator Richard B. Russell called for a change in U.S. military strategy that would remove restrictions on bombing North Vietnam cities and urged a naval blockade of that country’s ports.”
—Atlanta Constitution, March 13, 1968
March 1968
By the end of March I was nearly on the ropes—a prizefighter, punch drunk and not knowing it, wanting to keep fighting on. Death and destruction were not part of my consciousness, but the war ate at my guts like the foreign organisms inside. I was ready to forget R&R and simply fight on to the end, but Bobby recognized the signs and practically shoved me out the door. I had no idea where I would go and really didn’t care. Bobby ordered me to see the personnel officer at the Seminary.
“Find out what’s available and sign up for something. I don’t care where you go, but you’re going somewhere.”
There was an opening for Hong Kong, so I took it.
I didn’t know anything about Hong Kong but I caught a helicopter flight into Saigon, and a lift to the processing center at Camp Alpha. There I met two other officers, Wayne and Bill, who were also going to Hong Kong and had read some travel literature. While we talked my interest increased. They were well informed, so I agreed to hang out with them. I still didn’t really want to be around people but I didn’t know what else to do. I rationalized that I could shake them in Hong Kong once we arrived, if I still wanted to. My sole aspiration was to crash-land in an air-conditioned hotel room for a solid week of nothingness.
The next morning the three of us were bused to the civilian side of the air base, whence commercial flights departed. Wearing cheap civilian clothes from the military exchange, we boarded a Japan Air flight and settled into cushioned seats, perched side by side in a three-seat row. As the flight taxied into line for departure, blessed relief at leaving Vietnam washed over me. Clean sheets, cold beer, hot food, and a flush toilet would be just fine. I wasn’t in search of any excitement; boring would be perfect.
The intercom crackled in the cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to inform you our departure is delayed. The tower is holding commercial flights for military air operations. The delay may be as long as an hour, but if we return to the gate we must reschedule our flight. Consequently we’ll remain here with the engines running to keep the aircraft comfortable. I’ve asked the hostesses to serve refreshments. Thank you for your patience.”
I was seated on the aisle; Wayne was in the middle. I whispered, “I can’t even leave this stinking place.”
Wayne, the optimist, grinned, “At least he opened the bar.”
“Hey, you guys,” Bill whispered from his seat near the window, “check out the cute chick across the aisle.”
Sure enough, we saw a girl with short brown hair. She appeared to be about our age. She sat alone at the window seat on a short row across the aisle and one row up. She was scribbling in a book that appeared to be a diary. She looked American, but how could we tell? We stared unabashedly.
“I wonder if she’s stopping in Hong Kong?” Wayne thought aloud.
“Would you like something to drink?” a Japanese stewardess in a kimono asked in perfect English as she parked the drink trolley in the aisle.
“I’ll have a beer,” I replied.
“Whisky and soda,” said Wayne.
“White wine,” decided Bill.
As the hostess prepared the drinks, rusty gears in our minds were grinding.
“Why don’t you buy her a drink?” Bill whispered to me.
“Maybe she doesn’t speak English.” I groped for an excuse to avoid further human contact. I was not inclined to start another relationship on an airplane. I remembered my unfinished business with Peggy.
“I dare you!” challenged Wayne.
I could never turn down a dare. As the hostess handed me a beer and a glass, I summoned up my frayed nerve but settled for safety behind the stewardess.
“Would you offer that lady a drink, on us?” I requested as I handed her additional dollars.
She smiled faintly, bowed, pushed the cart a few feet, and leaned over to whisper to the girl. The girl closed her book on her tray and turned slowly to look in our direction. Her big brown doe eyes congealed my blood to chocolate milk.
“Thank you.” She mouthed the words in our direction but delivered the message straight to our hearts.
We contemplated the next move as we sipped our drinks. Before we discussed what to do next, the plane rolled forward, relieving some of the tension. Soon we were in the air, leaving Vietnam behind and bearing for Hong Kong and unforeseen adventures.
She resumed writing as the airplane gained altitude, but when the seat belt sign bleeped off, she stowed her book in a backpack and slid into the empty aisle seat, nearer us. My excitement level rose.
“Are you soldiers?” she asked. I felt exposed as a jerk just hanging around with two other guys.
We introduced ourselves and explained that we were destined for R&R in Hong Kong for a week. Bonnie (for that was her name) told us she worked in a hospital in San Francisco and had saved her money for several years to finance her travels around the world, staying in youth hostels to stretch her limited funds. Her independence, courage, and initiative impressed me. She assured us that she would stay in Hong Kong for two or three days, and then go on to Tokyo.
“Youth hostels?” asked Bill. “Cheap, but not much fun. We’re at the President. Why don’t you stay there?”
“I can’t afford it.”
“You could stay with me,” ventured Wayne.
“I don’t think so! But thanks for the offer,” she smiled, closing the subject.
“What if we chipped in to help pay for your room?” I ventured into territory that I should have avoided.
“No… I wouldn’t feel right about that,” Bonnie countered.
“Or two of us could double up, and you could have one of the rooms to yourself,” I raised the ante. Once in the game I was determined to win.
“Please, buckle your seat belts,” boomed a voice over the intercom. “We’ll make a steep decent for landing in Hong Kong,”
“I’ll think about it,” she offered. “Let’s talk after we land.” The break allowed us to contemplate our changed situation.
We had each arrived at the same place in time with different goals. I wanted to be alone to recuperate and certainly didn’t want any entangling relationships. Bonnie wanted to see as much of Hong Kong as possible on a limited budget. Wayne and Bill were looking for fun—and to them a bigger group meant more fun. They wanted relationships of all kinds. If the four of us stuck together, we would have to work out our differences, but I wasn’t so sure I was willing, or able, to accommodate the others.
After scrambling to deplane the four of us lined up to pass through customs together. As we inched ahead, two Chinese policemen appeared out of nowhere. One requested in perfect English, politely but firmly, that the three men step out of line and follow him. We protested mildly but refrained from escalating the situation into an international incident. The policemen led us to separate interrogation rooms, leaving Bonnie alone. As we walked away, she called after us that she would wait after clearing customs.
It was evident the police suspected one or all of us of possession or smuggling drugs. We were questioned for half an hour and then led into separate rooms for a strip search, including the emptying and inventorying of our baggage. When every piece of clothing and baggage had been examined carefully, we were intrusively examined by medical-types wearing white coats and rubber gloves.
I was furious, humiliated, and disgusted by the entire episode. We had been viewed as white U.S. soldiers from Vietnam and singled out for the indignity. Never mind that we were officers. I decided to hate Hong Kong, but I was not sure whether to blame the Chinese or the British. My blessed relief had been stolen.