I was in Phoenix for a couple of days last week for an ASTM meeting and had an opportunity to have dinner and visit with my cousin, Joe Butt and an old friend I originally met in Vietnam, Bill Dorn. I see both of them once every five to ten years, but never before together.

Below left, Bill Dorn and Joe Butt. Below right, Bill Dorn and Tom Butt.

My cousin Joe was in Vietnam roughly the same time as I.  Joe was first a platoon leader (MOS 1542 ) with the 9th Infantry Division  in the Mekong Delta south of Saigon. After six months in the field, he was transferred to the 12th Combat Aviation Group, where he became executive officer of the headquarters/headquarters company at Long Binh (actually “Plantation”), about five miles down the road from where I lived and worked. On August 14, 1969, I wrote my parents:

I don’t know whether you heard or not – but Joe Butt got transferred up here when his 9th Division unit went home. He’s now the XO at the 12th Aviation Group here on Long Binh and has been properly initiated into the better things of Vietnam life which are available in Saigon and not in the Delta mud – what a change for an infantry platoon leader used to living with his feet underwater.

Bill Dorn was a graduate of Texas A&M who became an  Air Force pilot, eventually flying C-123’s out of Phan Rang. He was the roommate of my close friend, George Coppage, whom I grew up with in Arkansas. Bill stayed over with me a couple of times when he had layovers at Tan San Nhut or Bien Hoa Air Base, and we spent at least one night exploring night life in the back alleys of Saigon.

It was coincidental that our mutual friend, George Coppage, was just this month (April, 2012) paroled from prison in Arkansas and moved into a halfway house in Little Rock to hopefully get on with the rest of his life. (See I'm Not Sure What This Has To Do With Richmond, But There is a Lesson in Here Somewhere, April 11, 2008.) I wish him the best.

After Vietnam, George, Bill and I went on to become roommates for a year or so in Mill Valley in 1970-71, while Bill and George were finishing up their Air Force duty, and I was working on the rest of my life. By that time, I was out of the service, but they were still on the Air Force’s 5-year plan, flying C-141s out of Travis Air Base on supply missions to Vietnam. Eventually, George moved back to Fayetteville, AR, and Bill moved back to Phoenix.

When you get three old guys together, war stories typically ensue.

Bill kind of reminds me of Yossarian in Catch-22. Bill recalled that on his way to Vietnam, he stopped over at Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines where all the pilots were required to take a week long escape and evasion and jungle survival course before gong in-country. Bill is kind of a slow moving, tall and lanky guy and not one to get out front, so when he reported for jungle school, he was among the last to come into the assembly room and took a seat in the back. As the pilots lined up to check in, Bill was in the end of the line and found that by the time he got to the sign-up place, the course was full, and he was told to come back next week.

After a week of partying with stewardesses in the officers club, Bill reported again and this time made it a point to sit in the back of the room. Once again, the course filled up before he was able to sign up, and Bill was passed over. Back to the party.

By that time, he had the scam down. But after three weeks of delays and hard partying, his commander sent word that Dorn better finish jungle school and get to Phan Rang, or else.

Finally, Bill reported in to Phan Rang, as luck would have it, just before the Tet holiday in 1969. His first night was marked by a Viet Cong attack on the base that breached the wire and was repulsed only with a significant effort. When the rockets started coming in, he strapped on his only weapon, his pilot’s issue .38 and ran for the bunker barefoot in his skivvies. A great start.

Although I had not known Bill previously, George Coppage told him to look me up when he overnighted at Bien Hoa Air Base. On August 24, 1969, I wrote:

Coppage’s roommate was down for the weekend – we spent all afternoon at the Saigon Zoo ogling at girls. The zoo is a really well kept and interesting place and is kind of a weekend social center when the weather is nice. It reminds me a lot of Golden Gate Park in San Francisco – but it’s hard to find any hippies.

I never did fly with Bill, but I spent a day with George Coppage in his C-123 on what was kind of a milk run around the country, but the spiraling in and out of jungle airstrips I found a little terrifying.

Below, C123s at Bien Hoa Air Base in 1969.


On August 14, 1969, I wrote:

Other than what’s happened this week, there is little to relate. I’ve been too busy to get out anywhere – and only Saigon once or twice a week. I took my first day off in two months when I went to see Coppage. The war is real quiet here except for a few minor incidents. There have been some big indications lately of the projected pull-out continuing. We were ordered to cease all base construction projects less than 90% complete. The lumber supply has been almost depleted and apparently there is no more coming in-country. What is left is all going to combat and operational support (bunkers, minimum requirements, revetments, etc.).

George Coppage was down yesterday and today, and I tried to give him a Cook’s tour of Saigon in one night. He’s only got about 1 ½ months to go with three trips to Taiwan lined up to make it even shorter. Last Sunday, I flew up to Phan Rang with him – and drove the plane some. The air base here is really plush compared with anything in the United States and makes the army facilities look like a slum in comparison.

Below, George Coppage and Bill Dorn on a trip to Spain 1n 1970.

One of Joe Butt’s jobs as executive officer of the 12th Aviation Combat Brigade was procurement. The Army has its own complex barter system where amenities are exchanged unofficialy. Every unit has an unfilled need and something to trade for it. Logistical units have beer, steaks and shrimp. The engineers (my outfit) have construction materials and air conditioners. My most valuable trade good was crushed rock. We operated the only quarries and rock crushing plants in southern Vietnam. As aviation transportation support, Joe’s unit was loaded with souvenir ordnance captured from Vietcong caches, and his specialty was trading captured weapons for steaks, beer, or whatever else they needed. Apparently, there were lots of REMFs who wanted a captured AK-47. I have no idea what they did with them.

Despite flying daily missions in and out of jungle airstrips, Bill swore that his most frightening experience ever was navigating the back alleys of Saigon with me. He lived in a BOQ at Phan Rang that looked like a fraternity house, and he mainly saw Vietnam from thousands of feet up. Even ground fire didn’t bother him because it was so impersonal. When he was in Saigon, however, he was convinced there were Viet Cong everywhere, and perhaps there were. He reminded me that somehow we had requisitioned a jeep and driver the night we spent in Saigon. It was probably the one in the motor pool that was “off the books.” It had been stolen from some other outfit and repainted with phony 159th Group identification. The enlisted men used to take it to town because they didn’t have to sign it out. Eventually, it was blown up by a small bomb in front of Ben Thanh Central Market. Fortunately, no one was injured. I remember seeing the hole still in the street a couple of days later.

Finally, Bill recalled the day his crew exceeded their maximum flying hours and were ordered to lay over on Vung Tau for the night instead of returning to Phan Rang. The entire crew got drunk and rowdy and were jailed by the MPs. Finally the wing commander tracked them down and sprung them just in time to take off for their next mission.

On July 9, 1969, I wrote:

I took George over to Bien Hoa Air Base to catch a flight back to Phan Rang, and we ran into Murray Green, who used to room with Randy Snapp at Yellowstone, who is now a pilot. Also ran into Mike Thomas, an old Sigma Nu from Hot Springs, who is with the 11th Armored Cav over by Cambodia.

I had known Murray Green at Yellowstone Park in 1965 when I was working for the National Park Service as a Student Trainee Architect. Murray was a seasonal Park Ranger. At the end of the summer, we left together driving home in Murray’s car – Murray, me and a girl whose name I cannot remember. Murray was from Mississippi. He had recently purchased a .22 pistol, and we somehow began stopping frequently in the Wyoming wilderness for “quick draw’ contests. I think we were trying to impress the girl. At any rate, Murray was a little too quick on the draw and shot himself through the leg. We treated him with whiskey (administered both orally and topically) until we could get to the first town in Wyoming big enough to have a hospital, where they extracted the bullet and patched him up. Murray  was a C130 pilot for the “Ranch Hands,” who were spraying Agent Orange over Vietnam.

Less than a month later, Mike Thomas was killed in combat. Information from the Vietnam Memorial states: “Michael Herman Thomas, 1LT, Army, Hot Springs, AR, 6/21/1946 - 9/14/1969,He served as a 1542 in the Army.  In 2 years of service, he attained the rank of 1LT/O2. On September 14, 1969, at the age of 23, MICHAEL HERMAN THOMAS perished in the service of our country in South Vietnam, Phuoc Long.” See http://www.richardhudsononline.com/FLA/remembranceMike.swf for a detailed account.

Below is a photo of Murray, me and Murray’s co-pilot posing with some girls in Saigon.

One interesting thing about Vietnam is that it may have been our last “everyman’s” war. Today, all soldiers are volunteers, and probably better for it. Back then, it seems like everyone I knew who had not gotten married or otherwise escaped the draft was somewhere in Vietnam at the same time, and it is astounding how many of them I regularly crossed paths with at some point. Most made it back, but some didn’t. Many were damaged in ways that affected their lives forever.