Surviving In Disguise

During my seven years in Vietnam, I traveled many an open, but unsecured road. The highways of the Central Highlands, Highway 1 winding up the coast through rubber plantations and hamlets, and the highways around Saigon. Sometimes I only survived because I was small potatoes and the Viet Cong had a more important plan than shooting, or capturing me on the highway that particular day. However, they did on many occasions capture, or kill American military and civilians along the roads. Once my boss, an ex-Special Forces member, were on a road trip from Nha Trang to Da Lat. Bill Mc Cleary insisted on stopping to have a few beers, with a friend at an out-post along our route to Da Lat. He had me wringing my hands, as we sat and chatted with his friend. I knew we were pushing the envelope and would be caught in on the highway after dark. After dark no one was supposed to be traveling these roads. You were subject to be shot by both friendly forces and the Viet Cong.

As the sun went down, in the darkness, I was high tailing it down a mountain road towards a bridge, about twenty miles from Da Lat. All of a sudden automatic weapons fire opened up on both sides of the road. These were ARVAN's (Vietnamese Army) protecting the bridge. I slammed on the breaks, and our pick-up truck slid sideways down the road, screeching to a stop about a hundred yards from the bridge. A Vietnamese Officer approached our truck, with his weapon trained on us. He came to the drivers side and told me to get out of the truck. He told me that he wanted to show me something and to stay behind him. He pointed out a trip wire connected too a couple of Claymore mines on each side of the road. He had them disconnected and shook his head as I explained our predicament of traveling after dark. He flagged us on wishing us good luck, and I knew it was not over.

Not far out of Da Lat, we ran into a road block maned by National Guard. In their black pajamas they looked like VC to me, except they were carrying carbines and not AK-47's. Their leader approached our vehicle and looked in the window of our truck. He seemed not to look at my face, but starred at my wrist watch and pistol laying on the seat beside me. I'm sure he noticed that Bill McCleary held a Korean War vintage .45 cal. grease gun in his lap. It was known that the ARVN and National Guard had robbed and killed Americans on the highway at night. It may seem silly, but he looked just like the Chinese villain in the film Lord Jim, who tried to murder Peter O'Tool while taking him across the Hong Kong harbor at night. He wore a bandanna, and had glaucoma in one eye, giving him an extra sinister look. To this day I'm sure he wanted to rob us. The American musical group "The Bubble Machine" were shot and killed, not far out of Long Binh one night. One survived, but was wounded and played dead as the Vietnamese Army took their watches and wallets, after killing them.

My survival was not all dumb luck. One day near Nha Trang, I thought "what would make my trips safer on these unsecured roads". It dawned on me that if I looked like a Vietnamese, they would not just shoot me out of hand. On my next trip home, I went to a theatrical costume shop, on Powell street, just above Harpers Books. When the salesperson asked me what I was interested in, I asked if he could make me look like an Asian. He said he could and asked me if I was in a play. I replied that I was working in Vietnam, and wanted to use the disguise on road trips. Wow! he exclaimed, this is the most unusual request I've ever had. He presented me with a transparent mask, and wig to cover the borders of it. I carried it to Vietnam and kept it with me, wearing it on many occasions. From across the street, or in a passing vehicle, you could not tell that I had a mask on. I may be sitting here today because of this disguise, I have attached a picture of myself wearing it. People are funny about things like this story contains, if they have not seen, nor heard of anything like this in movies, or books, they become Doubting Thomas's. Years after I used this disguise, I heard that the CIA use this method for survival. I don't doubt it, simplicity of concept is powerful.

Chapter 4, Easter Tet Offensive

We watched the Easter Offensive from the rooftop of our hotel, and finally hit the sack when it subsided. The next day we went to the officers club for lunch, on the military base at Qui Nhon. We had just ordered two steaks, when I noticed a chopper pilot sitting not far from us. They were easy to spot with their army warrant officer uniforms and shoulder holsters. I got up and went over to his table. After a short introduction, I asked him where he might be flying to, and explained our dilemma of being stuck there. He said that he was flying south to Nha Trang, adding that "if you and your buddy can be on the pad in 5 minutes, I'll give you both a ride there". This was great news and would get us close to our home base at Cam Ranh. His Huey was on a chopper pad sitting right outside of the mess hall door.. We had a Vietnames waitress place our steaks, carrots, and peas in plastic bags and we beat the pilot to the chopper pad.

We stood by as the pilot, his crew chief and door gunner made some pre-flight checks on the Huey. The pilot was a blond surfer type from Los Angeles and couldn't have more than 20 years old. As he walked around the helicopter with his aviator shades, he was the picture of confidence. There was something inexplicable about him, an aura he had that is hard to describe. He was da-man and you could tell he knew it. The next thing he said to Chum and it really surprised me "My door gunner has to fly in the back all the time, and would like to fly up front on this trip. Would one of you like to be door gunner on this trip"? I was kind of taken aback by this question, but Chum piped right up, "I'll fly as door gunner". The door gunner gave him some quick instructions on firing the M-60. The M-60 was an automatic 7.62 machine gun, mounted on a sort of swivel pole, in a back side compartment of the Huey. As we boarded the Huey, the warrant officer pilot, LA surfer, told him"If you see something you don't like, shoot it".He really had us on the excitement program, as we lifted off the chopper pad, I wondered what Chum would shoot.

As we flew over the South China Sea, down the coast line, on a bright sunny day, suddenly the pilot banked dramatically to the right, he had avoided hitting a flock of pelican's. I slid over in my seat with my heart in my throat. The crew chief yelled out" it would have been a real bitch to be killed by pelican's in Vietnam". It was a great piece of flying, and good to hear our pilot laughing as he turned around and looked at me. We hadn't been airborne long when we received a radio diverting us to Tuy Hoa, about 65 miles south of Qui Nhon.

We landed in Tuy Hoa on a helicopter pad and exited the chopper. Our pilot explained that John Paul Vann, had diverted his Huey to make an inspection run. John Paul Vann had flown down from his II Corps. headquarters in Pleiku, to inspect the bridges and other military sites, that had been attacked the day before. Evidently his own chopper was out of service. John Paul Vann was a retired Lieutenant Colonel who was running the war in II Corps, as an employee of the Defense Department. He was the first civilian to ever command US troops in combat. He received the Distinguished Service Cross posthumously, and was also the only civilian so honored. The book "The Bright Shining Lie" is about him. They also made an HBO film about him in 1998. It was an honor that Chum and I met him personally. He wore a white short sleeved shirt and khaki pants, a no-nonsense guy, who seemed driven as he ordered military types about. This was April of 1972, he died in a helicopter crash a couple of months later.

Our pilot told us to cool our heals at the officers club bar, he would be back to continue our trip to Nha Trang. At the end of the bar sat a large Army type field radio. As we sat drinking Heineken's and vodka, the bartender put the radio on the channel of the transmissions from our commandeered helicopter. If any one ever doubted that John Paul Vann was running the war in II Corps, after listening to the radio traffic there was no doubt about it. The one thing that's indelible in my memory, was when I heard him tell a Vietnamese officer, "You tell General - - - -, that if those bridges are not back in by noon tomorrow, I'll have his ass on a carpet in Saigon". The Vietnamese Generals name escapes me now.

Our pilot (think his name was Townsend) returned and told us we would be spending the night in Tuy Hoa. We went to a small VN hotel with a bar. This is where I made a very big blunder. As we sat at a table discussing the days events, I don't know what came across me, but I told Chum I could out drink him. He readily (of course) took my challenge. I woke up with a killer of a hangover and Chum looked just fine. That evening is a complete blank to me. No one could out drink him.

We joined our pilot on the base at Tuy Hoa for breakfast, before our flight to Nha Trang. He had a couple of stories about his inspection with Vann. To me these two incidents contain dramatic examples of happenings in this war, where the hand writing was on the wall, and led to South Vietnam's failure in keeping their sovereignty. He flew Vann to two microwave mountain top communication sites. On one site an American Major was left defending the whole mountain top, by himself when the whole company of ARVN's (Vietnamese Army) ran off, and his Vietnamese officer counterpart cowered in the bunker beside him. He manned the M-60's machine guns and grenade launchers and fought the NVA until they withdrew. Many dead NVA were scattered on the perimeter. At a similar mountain top installation, the ARVN company had ran off, leaving an old Vietnamese papason to defend this site by himself. The papason was a civilian who's job it was too maintain the electric generators there. This old man was not a soldier, but manned the M-60's & grenade launchers. He killed quite a few NVA and held the mountain top by himself. So went the war.

I flew as gunner on the Tuy Hoa to Nha Trang leg of our trip. I could make up something here about us shooting the conical hat off of a VC, but I really didn't want to kill anything, nor did Chum. We boarded a C-130 at the Nha Trang airbase, and flew back to Cam Ranh. I'm attaching a couple of http addresses, that relate to these times.

http://youtu.be/14EHqM7pCto http://youtu.be/F_gJTsRSd38

Hope you save this for his grandchildren, Jack Johnstone

The Magic Coat

                                                                                                                     The Magic Coat

              Storms and rain where hitting the San Francisco coast with what seemed an unending regularity. It was the early months 2010 and this rain, wind, thunder and lightning was being called the Frankenstorm. The odd thing about it was that every once in a while a sunny day would pop up over the horizon and most every week, we would get a sunny day, or two.

Then the rain would return with force, at times in parts of the city, we would even have hail. Like many I watched the weather channel and forecast's on the local news. I assumed that there were meteorological answers to these unusual weather events, like everyone else. This all changed when I met Trey, a bartender at an establishment that will remain unnamed.

               It was early in the day during the Frankenstorm and the sun was breaking through the clouds, as I pulled up in my taxi, to Trey's address, out in the Mission district of San Francisco. He was waiting outside and jumped into my back seat, as we pulled away from the curb, I remarked, isn't this great, the sun's coming out.

Of course, I'm wearing my magic rain coat, he replied. I think we have all experienced bringing our umbrella to work, anticipating the rain. Then it never seems to rain, leave it at home and buckets of rain will fall. Its Murphy's Law. Of course this is just an unfortunate coincidence. As we drove along to his destination he told me, a mysterious and rather odd story about his magic coat. Apparently he had purchased it in a vintage clothing store, out in Haight Ashbury area of San Francisco. At first he didn't notice anything unusual about it, but after a few weeks he noticed an odd thing about this dark blue rain jacket. Whenever he put it on, the sun would come out. When he left it at home, it would rain. He said at first he did not believe it himself, but he had experienced this phenomenon over and over again. He added that when we arrived at the bar he worked at, he would show me something. Could it be that this one individual was effecting the local weather patterns, by the capricious changing of his coat?

             As time spun along, on route to his destination, he talked on, about his magic coat. Apparently word had gotten out about the special properties of this coat and it's powers. Friends and friends of friends were constantly asking him to either wear the coat, or leave it at home, depending on their preference for weather that day. If there was a wedding planed, or some friends were having a picnic, they would would try to make him promise to wear his magic coat that day. If others wanted to cozy up to a book, or have the rain patter on their window, so they could sleep better, they would ask him to leave it at home. His phone was constantly ringing and people were showing up at his door, continually asking for weather favors. He told me that he had actually moved out to the Mission district and changed his phone number, to get away from these people. The straw that broke the camel's back he said, was when a weather woman from a local TV station, chased him down the street, pleading with him to wear his magic coat the following day, since she had predicted sun shine.

            While pulling over to the curb in front of his bar, I asked him, don't people bother you at the bar, while your working? He said "sure they do, but they leave big tips when they want the weather changed". He added that if I wore it, I would make big tips too. He said "look I'm willing to sell this coat to you for $500 dollars" He also said that he was tired of the hassle involved and had made enough money off  of it. I responded that if he would do me a favor and not wear it the following day and it rained, I would probably have enough money to buy it. He smiled and said, remember I told you that I was going to show you something, he stepped out of the cab, unzipped his coat and pulled one arm out of a sleeve. I heard a clap of thunder and as I looked up, a cloud passed over the sun. I was anxious for the rain the next day, in order to purchase his magical coat. It didn't rain and I was disappointed, I really wanted that coat. I still wonder if the current economy had prompted his story and offering it for sale. When I see the sun coming out and then the rain returns, in my minds eye, I can see Trey taking off his magic coat. 

Jack Johnstone

          

            

Fifteen Minutes of Fame

My pilot was

Operation Big Double

I was agent/manager for a band in the Middle East called Fools Goal and occasionally played a little blues harmonica with them. This story/blog was prompted by Richard "Crawdaddy" Dance and I reminiscing about a night when I booked them for two gigs, to be done simultaneously for the US Consulate and the Aramco Oil Company's employee Golf Club. Richard is still active in the music world and is very accomplished musician. You can check out his tunes on myspace.com/mycrawdaddy . The following is a military parody on the night of the Big Double.

Like Rommel when he rode deep into Egypt, with his tanks and armored battalion, we rode deep into Dhahran when the legend of Operation Big Double began. The US Consulate Marine guard and hundreds of Aramcons swinging golf clubs posed a big challenge to a band of brothers called Fools Goal. What does one do when confronted with this onslaught. I'll tell what you do! You call in Captain Tombstone Johnstone, the commando of gigs, the special ops expert and Ninja of deployment.

We were to engage our audience on two fronts, not a good idea tactically speaking , unless you are with a band of men called Fools Goal. My orders were to take command of Fools Goal, as soon as possible, in order to kick our enemy of boredom in the ass on two fronts. The US Consulate and the Aramco Golf Club. The Golf Club presented a special challenge in that we were to engage them on an island, in the middle of a man made lake, on the golf course.

Musical instruments were our weapons of choice. The hopelessness of resisting our rock and roll tactics soon became evident. Here is how Operation Big Double went down.

We had two Disco DJ's dug in at each location. They were deployed in the rear and would cover our lightning maneuvers between each gig. In our first engagement the US Consulate Marines had already been hit hard by our DJ spinning back up tunes by James Brown, the hardest working man in show business.

Our first onslaught lasted 45 minutes. We layed down a barrage of tunes that staggered them. Many of them surrendered, or fell to the rear. Simultaneously the 2nd DJ deployed at the Golf course, began to soften up our target with his tunes. The golfers there were startled to see us charging over rocks that led to the island, in the middle of the lake. I had wheeled our band of brothers from the Consulate to the Golf course in 15 minutes flat. We jacked into our equipment already set up there. We inflicted heavy losses on them and were virtually unopposed.

Spearheading our mission I wheeled Fools Goal back and forth as our attack continued. Our band of brothers were gallant under fire and we didn't sustain one loss. Comic relief came when the Master of Ceremonies at the golf course fell into the lake, while trying to get to our position on the island. How could any one oppose us? We were not even there half the time.

As we bounced along the road between gigs, I realized that my men were exhausted and abandoned my plans for the Big Triple. I got a few looks that told me these type of operations were over. If I would have had my way Fools Goal band members would have all been awarded the Distinguished Musicians Flying Cross. Operation Big Double is still highly disputed by historians, but the success of their daring do is supported by the fact that half the time our audience didn't even know where we were, in this unconventional operation. Exhausted from our onslaught , I can still see us pursuing the audience as they broke and fled for home.We were an invincible band of men called Fools Goal. Our impact on the world is represented by the common phrase we all hear in adventure films and police epics when they say "Lets Rock and Roll" they have inherited our legacy and know the legend of Fools Goal.

I'm old now and nodding by the fire, but to my ear from far away, I can still hear Fools Goal play on the night of the Big Double.

Captain Tombstone Johnstone

Operation Big Double

The following story/blog was prompted by Richard "Crawdaddy"Dance, an accomplished blues and guitar player, reminiscing with me on a night that we booked our band Fools Goal, for two gigs , while working in the Middle East. The logistics were complicated, as these two gigs were done simultaneously with two disco DJ's covering for us, as we moved back and forth between the US Consulate and Aramco Oil Company's island in the middle of a golf course, on a man made lake.
I composed this tongue in cheek paraody as

Clouds On Angel Beach

The following was written with a "Magnapoem". A device produced by "Illuminations". It gives a limited set of words and letters that you attempt to create a poem with. They are all magnetic and one must stick them in sequence on the receptacle sheet. My poem is about the end of time.

CLOUDS ON ANGEL BEACH


Man rides a giant blue ball, of sea land and sky, a yellow magic moon walks above........

Together they run from from a white hot sun star, its awesome power pulling at them... as
Mermaids cry and Dragons fight.........

They crash in a beautiful bright glow of fire light..........

Lost in time , a dark still winter night whispers over cold black wind.........

A smart fly flew home...........


From the midnight ramblings of Tombstone Johnstone