Unexpected Encounters: A GI’s Surprise in Vietnam
What was the probability that, more than 8,000 miles from home, I would run into even one GI from Tonawanda? And when I did, it couldn’t have been more surprising. Read what happened.
By Paul A. Scipione
During the absolute peak of 543,000 American GIs in Vietnam in the summer of 1969, I found myself on a midnight flight from McGuire AFB, New Jersey to Bien Hoa AFB, 25 miles north of Saigon. There, 200 other “cherries” and I were packed into several buses (with wire mesh over the windows, for protection from grenades lobbed by our South Vietnamese “allies”) and driven 10 clicks over to the infamous 90th Repo Depot on Long Binh Post. The next day I was one of 15 GIs trucked back to Camp Ray, a dusty base on the Army side of the two giant 10,000 ft. runways at the big airbase. As was the custom in the 101st Airborne Division, cherries were given five days of in-country training (SERTS – Screaming Eagle Replacement Training School) to try to increase the odds that we would survive our year in Vietnam.
On the third day of training, we were taken out to several gun ranges, just behind the protective berm that surrounded the huge American airfield and base, to record fire the M-16 automatic rifle and M-60 machine gun. We had just finished sandwiches, apples, and orange-flavored bug juice for lunch and were sitting around, bullshitting about the training and speculating on where we would be assigned within the 101st . There were about a dozen of us and we exchanged information about our two hometowns back in ‘The World.’ A rough-looking guy surprised me by saying that his hometown was Tonawanda, New York. Tonawanda was less than 20 miles from my hometown of Lewiston, and my dad, Al Scipione was a guidance counselor and history teacher at Tonawanda High School.
“Did you go to Tonawanda High School?” I asked my fellow cherry (his name was something like Ken Williams). He answered, “yes.”
“Did you take the World History course at Tonawanda High School?”
“Yes, I did. Why?”
“Was your teacher Mr. Scipione?”
“Yes, he was. How could you know that?”
“Because Al Scipione is my father.”
PFC Williams suddenly stood up and walked across our circle of trainees and cold-cocked me right on the chin, knocking me flat on my back. Wow, that sucker punch hurt like hell! Several other guys jumped on Williams and held him in case I wanted to strike a retaliatory punch, but I waved them off.
“That son-of-a-bitch father of yours flunked me,” Williams hollered, “so I had to repeat it in summer school!”
After dinner chow that evening, I went back to my sleeping hooch and wrote a short letter to my parents. “Dear Dad, thanks a lot for flunking that stupid SOB! Too bad he didn’t shatter my jaw bad enough so I could get a medical discharge!”
For years I considered sending in this cautionary tale to the “Humor in Uniform” feature in the Readers’ Digest, but never got around to it. I checked the Official Directory of Americans killed in Vietnam, but didn’t find a “Ken Williams” from Tonawanda, New York. During the rest of SERTS training at Camp Ray, I covered up the “Scipione” nametag on my jungle fatigues. But what was the probability that, more than 8,000 miles from home, I would run into even one GI from Tonawanda?
About the Author
Dr. Scipione, a retired market research executive and college professor, is the author of ten books and several dozen feature articles and short stories. His latest book, A Nation of Numbers was published in 2015. He now writes from his home on Canandaigua Lake in New York’s Finger Lakes. His author website can be found at: http://www.nationofnumbers.com.
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