John Clay – Gun Crew – Part Three
Leaving Vietnam
I extended my tour in Vietnam by two months so that when I went home I could get an early out from the military. (Soldiers returning from Vietnam were given an “early out” if they had less than five months remaining.)
When I left I brought a mortar fin and two 105 canisters that I had made into vases. There was a place in Phan Thiet where they would put the canisters into a kind of press, and make them into vases. One of them says 1945 on the bottom. We were still shooting ammo left over from WWII and the Korean War. Yeah, they had dates stamped on the bottom.
Back in the rear I got a brand new set of fatigues, a brand new pair of boots and a brand new field jacket. I was all set to go. When they called my name and number I wanted the hell out of there so bad I left all that new stuff on the bunk. Whoosh I was out of there. Guys got killed in the rear area coming out of the PX. That happened. You could die anywhere.
Home
At Ft. Lewis, Washington I processed for two or three days, which involved this re-up talk and that re-up talk, then flew to Los Angeles where my parents picked me up. At home I was so wound up all I could do was talk for about 18 hours. Then one night I was having dinner with my Mom, and the next thing I remember I woke up a day and a half later. I guess I fell asleep with my face in the mashed potatoes and my Dad took me to bed.
I thought I had a suntan, until I had a few warm showers and it all just washed down the drain.
Half of ’69 and almost all of ’70 are blank to me as far as what happened back home. I missed the moon landing and all kinds of stuff.
Poet of B Battery
I started writing poetry about my time in the Army; it helped to sooth my mind. Three years ago I was rummaging through some stuff and found one of my handwritten poems I thought I had thrown away.
It’s called The Fire Mission about a three-hour shoot on August 30, 1970. I remember the date because I kept a calendar where I circled the dates we got mortared and put in notes of other things that happened. In February for example I circled the mortar dates 4, 9, 10, 11, 19, and 26.
My calendar has a note we got 20 kills on that August fire mission. The poem is how I felt at the time about the mission and death.
After shooting a fire mission the troops waited for an enemy body count from the forward observer on the ground or the air observer overhead. John’s poem captures the mixed feelings of boys living every day with death, the enemy’s and maybe their own.
The Fire Mission
Death is far, yet seems so near
The gun is silent the smoke is clear
The rounds are spent our mission done
One by one we leave the gun
We sit and wait, the battle won
The radio is silent, no word has come
In the field the bodies lay
Never to fight another day
We’ve won again, but there is no cheer
Death is far, yet seems so near
A Memory Box
When I flew home from Vietnam I got to the Los Angeles airport before my parents arrived. I went into the restroom and took off my uniform because nobody thought much of it back then. I got into my civvies and put the uniform in my suitcase.
I still have that uniform in the same suitcase I brought it home in with the airline hangtag still on it.
The uniform has a few moth holes in it, but it’s there: the pants, the jacket with my medals pinned on it and the dress cap. I’ll never put anything else in that suitcase. I open it and look at my uniform every once in a while. I am happy I served and I can open up that suitcase like a memory box.
