It Ain’t About the Destination Vietnam

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.

As we migrated toward top deck to witness this departure event, we clumped up on the metal “up” steps then quietly exited out. Mixed conversations were replaced by eyes darting left and right once our voices were brushed with open tropical air. Taking it all in, we congregated into smaller and smaller groups until, it seemed, we were standing isolated, alone but in a loose crowd, and not talking at all. The sun was just then kissing the horizon. Half the marines were moving toward the bow starboard consuming unknown lures yet to come with squinting eyes …with the other half at the stern, watching the sun’s reflections bounce off San Diego skyscrapers growing smaller into the eastern dusk.

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.