Sojourner, Marine Vietnam vet, Author, & Traveler… Who keeps reading Maps Along The Way
This is the name of a new publishing company. With the second edition of Just Dust coming out in a few weeks, plus the first edition of a second book (to be titled Inconspicuous) also in a few weeks, this becomes a good medium to publish and distribute these books.
Let’s watch where this particular chosen journey takes us from here.
BE SURE TO VISIT BOOTH #242
This coming Saturday afternoon, March 14th, do plan on spending the afternoon at the Festival of Books on the University of Arizona campus. And, while you’re there, come visit me at Booth #242. I’ll have a few of copies of “Just Dust” there, and will be engaging anyone who stops by and might like talking about the marines or about Vietnam in the 1960s.
Not only is the Festival of Books one of the largest attended book events in the United States, it one of the best ways to spend a day just browsing around a few ton of books, meeting authors, and having a good time with friends. There are probably so many stories to tell about this event, someone ought to write a book about it. Maybe they have!
So, consider checking it all out on their TFOB website for more information.
There will literally be tens of thousands there. I’m told they all like books too!
Anyway, I’m planning to help man the #242 booth on Saturday afternoon from 1 to 5:30; so, if you’re in the area, please stop by and say hello!
Library staff called to let me know that my upcoming light-hearted getting-to-Vietnam presentation will be held in the Large Meeting Room. It appears there has been quite a bit of interest; and, this room will have more seating.
Don’t forget, it’s Saturday, February 21st, 1:30 pm at the Nanini Public Library on North Shannon.
In Vietnam we marines got used to odd sounds, clamors and clatters, screeching noises, thunder, blasting metallic crunches, ground-rumbling earthquake-type poundings, rifle pings and pops, the perpetual commotion of choppers’ whop-whops and jets’ discharges, rata-tat-tats, and who knows what else? It was always around us, always there.
Even so, in Khe Sanh, such din became commonplace. It was always there, but kinda like a radio’s volume knob being adjusted way up or down by acts we usually couldn’t actually see. It made a guy jumpy because we couldn’t always know what it meant. Nevertheless, in another way, it was unconsciously comforting because routinely we knew these were our weapons, our planes, our helicopters, our own actions. In the book Just Dust (for more information about this book, go to Amazon.com), I talk about how repetitious certain sounds became …so repetitious that we quickly learned how to sleep amid this racket. Sleep, after all, was so very precious. Such jarring shakes and spiky bangs actually could lull one to ponder the strangest wafting dreams, escorting us to whiz away into slumberland without fear or distress.
In the book, Just Dust, however, I recount an event far less ordinary. After all, sometimes sounds do change.
Incoming mortars, for example, had their own unique jet engine-esque hissing roar trailed by explosions and whooshing debris colliding with nearby objects or even unsuspecting marines just lying in their bunks. As these pounding smashes grew louder, we recognized these mortars were being “walked in” toward us. We had to act right then and there, and we did. Then on other occasions, the rapid pings and pops of gunfire zinged or buzzed past us …we all knew what was happening; and, our alertness switch toggled “on.” We ducked. We hit the dirt. We splashed.
But there’s a segue I talk about in Just Dust where all of these familiar but antagonistic sounds played a different role. A significant part of this particular story had less to do with mere preparation or endurance as it did with outright survival …not just avoidance of death, mind you, but how the act of being spared played out with many other events that followed (the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder need to be considered in situations depicted in this event).
Silence was the shapeless trigger that night, and a shadowy tattoo-like companion for me thereafter.
Do you remember Simon & Garfunkel’s song, The Sounds of Silence? Hello, darkness, my old friend…
SATURDAY, February 21, 2015 – At the Nanini Library – 1:30 to 3:00 pm
7300 N Shannon Road, Tucson, AZ (Library phone 520-594-5365)
A special speaking event has been planned on the subject of “Hacking Military Secrets During the Vietnam Era.” This light-hearted presentation about Wes Choc when he was crossing the Pacific in 1966 explains how he used a paper sextant to prove three ships’ courses of travel. With a “map-head predilection” it led him down an unusual path—one that predicted the until-then undisclosed destination of this trio of westbound ships in 1966 (USS Vancouver, USS Thomaston and USS Iwo Jima) that was depicted in greater detail within his book Just Dust, published last year. Wes is able to demonstrate how he did it along with a couple of other Vietnam era stories that will be both intriguing as well as entertaining to anyone who’s been there …or knows someone who was.
There will be plenty of time for questions an answers.
Getting to Vietnam is more than just having a military attitude or even a Marine Corps predisposition.
In the military, y’know, a lot of things just don’t fit.
In the Marine Corps, a lot of fit guys just make do.
Then there are those who neither get fit, or can’t fit.
Yeah, there is M, L, and XL. In the end, there’s a few claiming S or XXL. For a million guys, this takes care of 99.9% of all the t-shirts the Marine Corps ever needed. Then there are shoes. The Corps provides all the sizes from 7 to 15, most often either D or E widths. Those possibilities care for 99.9% of all toe to heel requirements whether during peacetime or during Vietnam war times. But, let me tell you, being one of those 00.1% “others” was no fun, especially during those Vietnam years. I write about this in my book, Just Dust. It’s about how when I joined the Marine Corps, I got off on the wrong foot.
I do have kinda strange feet. I can walk, run, and swim just fine; so there’s no impediment. Except when I go to buy shoes; stores seldom ever carry my size. Though not conspicuous, it’s an attribute I can’t change. Size 14s are not profoundly odd, mind you. I was no athlete to say the least, but lots of athletes I’m told have longer-than-average feet. It’s just that mine were a 14-A (that’s pretty darned narrow!) at age 21. In boot camp, that peculiarity was indeed odd …acceptable enough to take the oath of allegiance of course, but almost inexplicable on my particular uniformed journey during the three years that followed. Now it wasn’t impossible, obviously; it was just plain odd and difficult to accommodate. As I got deep into writing Just Dust, recollecting how shoe size became an iconic barrier to cross at so many junctions, I was repeatedly reminded about something no one could’ve predicted.
Nuisances: Lying on military cots at my 6’4” length, my ankles always rested on that crossbar at the bottom of the bunk …my Achilles tendon would hurt the next morning. Wearing a too-wide shoe, your foot slides sideways creating imbalance or slippage. Having to wear the right size shoe to do training, I was instructed to just stuff a sock in those wide sneakers I flip-flopped around in. Then there were all the duck jokes. Getting the right sneakers was not impossible, it just took time to actually get them.
Growing up without a lot of stairs, an unanticipated consequence of long feet was missing steps climbing up or down narrower-than-usual-steps on the USS Vancouver crossing the Pacific, sister ship to the USS Iwo Jima (LPH-2). The ball of my foot frequently missed the normal place where most feet connect with the step itself. I tripped on board ship or getting into or out of choppers and mike-boats.
Once I finally did get boots, it was amazing to realize I was issued boots made for World War II marines, and pulled out of some storage locker just for me. It was a different kind of leather (the touch was rough and grainy and they smelled different), harder to polish, and cast a reflective green luster in the sun. I had to explain repeatedly why this duck’s boots were so different.
The real challenges came when I was being issued my boots, shoes, and sneakers in the first place. This peculiarity turned out to be consequential quite a few times, and I mention several events in Just Dust that will surprise many who would have never considered this an issue at all.
I was fortunate to be selected for participation in a “for Veterans’ Day” program (it was prepared in October and subsequently edited for radio). My host was a professional interviewer, Mary Ann Lisney, who regularly prepares feature programs for Canadian radio.
This one was aired on a British Columbia (Canada) radio station, November 11th. The show was celebrating both American and Canadian military (including Red Cross) who served or supported operations in Vietnam 45-50 years ago. Penetrating questions were tendered to each guest speaker, like myself, and every single story evolved into numerous poignant memories and recollections …less about bursting bombs and firing M-16s, more about introspections and lingering remembrances. I was able to lift two particularly moving events that I wrote about in my book, “Just Dust” published this last summer (for specific book information, go to Amazon.com).
Before and after each interview, a number of popular 1960s era songs were played …numerous lyric-appropriate songs from Simon & Garfunkel’s “A Bridge Over Troubled Waters” to Nat King Cole’s “Stardust” and about a half dozen sing-along favorites in between.
All in all, it was an apt tribute to veterans in general, of course; but, it was indeed and honor and privilege to participate in such an event.
I was happy to learn how Bridge TEFL (see: http://www.bridgetefl.com/notes-from-the-field-tefl-through-the-eyes-of-a-late-bloomer/) found the story about my sojourn to Ecuador a few years back. The Bridge TEFL folks gave an overview of this story and linked it directly to the whole posting here on this site. If you haven’t read it, look it over (it’s a fast read); it’s one of those roads less traveled stories you might like. It’s more than just a classroom in Quito or Guayaquil, the sojourn took me to the Galapagos as well. Check out the photos, too.
For the full story, look under “Nonfiction” for the story “Teaching English in Ecuador.”
Bridge TEFL is a unique school where students learn the fundamentals of teaching English to those who wish to learn it. Look over their entire site at bridgetefl.com for lots more information.
Following what turned out to be a no-empty-seat “Men’s Breakfast” October 7th at Fairwinds in Oro Valley, Arizona, was Wes Choc’s presentation on how he “hacked a military secret” while aboard ship heading from San Diego to Vietnam. This was a hands-on reproduction of folding papers again and again to create a paper sextant while explaining things like what the summer solstice and Tropic of Cancer mean to geographers. This tablet-paper sextant was then placed in various positions on a map of the Pacific to illustrate how he came to the conclusion that these ships were NOT heading directly to Vietnam. Using only three sheets of paper and a ruler, he showed how he became challenged by his own company captain to then determine the actual course–and finally the ultimate destination which he was able to do. The story will have poignancy for anyone in the Marine Corps.
The “paper sextant” story is one of the chapters of Wes Choc’s book “Just Dust.” Wes pointed out to his audience how this inconsequential act aboard ship turned into other subsequent stories–stories that would surprise most folks, unique stories that have unanticipated outcomes, and consequence.
The 35 minute presentation turned into an hour and a half once all the numerous questions from this military-oriented audience were addressed.
Pacific Intentions
Do you go fore? Or, do you go aft?
Can one can surmise much by watching people, or watching what people look at? Whether at a shopping center, a bar …or aboard ship like I was …watching their eyes caught my attention. I write about an event in my book, Just Dust, that occurred as we were swishing out of port from San Diego aboard the USS Vancouver, sister ship to the USS Iwo Jima (LPH-2), in 1966 on our way to Vietnam.
By now, the sun was an orange half-sphere.
So many unknowns. Were these high-eyebrowed guys upfront motivated by thresholds to be crossed, first time anticipations yet to come? Were pursed-lipped guys at aft reminiscing of home and family, of people and things left behind? A hefty breeze from the north lifted my cap off my head as the somberness of departure overcame my own mood. Once I retrieved my hat, I walked to the handrail amidships where I, now completely alone, could contemplate both east and west simultaneously. Either one way or the other, in less than a minute everyone else had now ambled away. I was the very last one left to decide. Guys don’t talk about these things much; yet, I watched their eyes. I write about this in my book Just Dust. So many of these contemplations are buried inside, and not easy to retrieve.
Somberness wasn’t the right word, though. This event was an unguarded gesture of dignity. It was like we were watching while being watched. After all, we were trained. We were fit. We were ready. Uniforms were clean, shoes shined. Our blood ran fast even at rest. Was it respect for undisclosed fears? Was it a come-and-get-it fist-thumping inside our chests? Or, was it a form of resignation? Most of us had not proven prowess or adulthood outside those San Diego or Tijuana bars; even then, those were the kind of victories we’d already learned in high school. This was different.
Our choices had become consequential. Whether we were prepared or not, we were en route to that vast unknown called Vietnam that we had read about in the newspapers …that place where Walter Cronkite reported the explosions and deaths d’ jour on the 10 o’clock news. We were actually en route to that very same place. Yeah, we knew where we were going, but now the act had actually begun …the journey, commenced. Who might not come back?
But emotions are disguised by most young men; it’s after all, unmanly. We were proud, we were able, we were willing. But there was no one to comfort my own pensiveness at this moment.
I raised my eyebrows, squinted, then walked to the bow.