My memories of West Point come in four phases. First, there were the exciting dating days where trips from the University of Kentucky to see Mike were like fairy tale stories. I’d save up all year long to fly to New York and after a bus ride from Grand Central Station my handsome cadet would meet me at Thayer Gate and we’d have a whirlwind weekend of football, dances and, oh yes, Flirtation Walk!
This exciting courtship ended in a wedding in the Cadet Chapel the day after graduation and the next 11 years working together to serve the Army and our country stateside and abroad.
My next memories are of the years Mike was on the English Dept. faculty at West Point and we made more memories with new and old classmates and spouses. It was a wonderful world to raise two children in and for four years I could absorb the history, sacrifice, tradition and camaraderie that only the military can exude.
As we entered the autumn of our lives, we found the bond of the class alums overwhelming as we enjoyed cruises to Alaska and the Baltic Sea and a trip to Ireland. As Mike’s cancer progressed, the “Best Of The Line” gave him encouragement and his last weeks were full of pride for his ’69 brothers and peace that he led a life well done.
I now have my private memories. They are full of gratitude, smiles and pride that I got to share in the brotherhood of West Point’s Class of ’69. I have been blessed beyond belief.
Janie Taylor
The “Wow” Test – 1971
What’s the “Wow Test” and why does it matter to my business? Well, let me tell you a story.
The setting is the Vietnam-jungle; hot, talcum powder dust, dirt, the entire genus of ant – you get the picture. I am an armored cavalry platoon leader1
Providing security operations for Rome Plows (huge bulldozers made in Rome, GA specifically designed to create large swatches of open land in Vietnam jungle/heavy brush. Easier to spot enemy troop movements; less places to hide.) along with the rest of my troop.
Typically, my troop, E Troop, operated by rotating two platoons on the security mission with the Rome Plows while one platoon remained with the troop Headquarters to provide additional security and to perform maintenance on weapons, vehicles and of course the soldiers. This rotation scheme would put each platoon out in the bush for 4-5 days at a time performing day time patrols and night time ambushes. The platoon serving troop Headquarters security would always conduct inspections of vehicles and weapons at the end of the first day back with the troop to be sure they were 100% ready to return to the operational missions.
One morning, a multiple-tour veteran NCO challenged me to personally inspect his track and weapons that afternoon. The gauntlet was being thrown to see how much the new ‘Lt.’ knew. I accepted the dare.
All day the level of activity on his Sheridan tank was frenetic — honor was at stake here.
The hour of decision arrived, and I walked over to his vehicle, accepted his report and salute and climbed onto the vehicle, ready to impress that I knew a thing or two that they had overlooked. I navigated my way to the rear of the vehicle to begin the inspection at the engine compartment. Alas, all of the grill doors and decks that protected the engine were already removed to open the engine for easy access and inspection.
I stopped dead – not quite sure of what I was seeing. The engine before me looked like it belonged on the cover of Hot Rod magazine.
Spotless. Gleaming. Certain components painted blue; others red; exhaust pipe polished – it looked like a stock car engine on proud display by a NASCAR pit crew.
The only word I could say was “WOW!” And I thought: “Do I insult the crew by even checking the oil? Of course, it will be correct”. But I went through the motions and, as predicted, found no faults.
Same for the turret compartment – flawless – spotless -‘eat off the floor’ trite clean. Weapons – same. In my entire Army career in and out of countless tank turrets and other armored vehicles, I never again saw such a display of pride.
Well ‘so what’ you say? Here’s the ‘so what’. The Sheridan class of vehicle I inspected that day had a terrible reputation in Vietnam for unreliable fire control-sensitive to heat, humidity, dirt – that could quit firing after a few rounds. Not a good thing in a firefight. But this NCO’s vehicle never broke down, never quit the fight; typically, he expended all his basic load and then would maneuver to the side of another Sheridan that had malfunctioning systems, offload their main gun ammo onto his vehicle, and continue the fight. This scene repeated over and over.
The moral – individuals with that much pride will never let you down. Some days I cannot remember what I had for breakfast – but I have never forgotten the lesson that young NCO taught me that day 40 years ago.
So back to the original question – how is the ‘Wow’ Test relevant to you and your business? To answer, I simply ask the question: “How do you want to be perceived by your clients?” When your clients look at your product; your company vehicles; your employees dress and manners; your store layout; your back office organization, your presentations, you – everything – are they stopped in their tracks to think or say, “Wow — I’ve never seen anything or anyone that has shown so much pride in their work?” What does the mere appearance of these indicators say about your company and its ability to perform? “Wow!” with gusto is what you want — make that happen and watch your reputation as a company “that can be counted on” grow.
1Author’s footnote: My platoon was one of three platoons that made up E Troop, 2nd Squadron, 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment. My platoon was typical – ten armored vehicles; comprised of three Sheridan light tanks; six armored personnel carriers and one mortar carrier and manned by approximately 40 soldiers. The mortars were typically aggregated at the Troop Headquarters.
E Troop also had a headquarters platoon that comprised maintenance and supply teams, mess operations, and troop command vehicles and personnel. 2nd Squadron had three such troops – E, F and G Troops plus a Field Artillery battery of six 155 self-propelled howitzers (cannons), aviation assets and, of course, various maintenance, admin and supply activities. At this juncture in the war, 2nd Squadron was the only unit remaining of the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment. The others had redeployed home in early 1971.
Invading Laos – 1971, Part 2
FIRST DAY
The next morning, we deployed around the LZ. Our small, “air mobile” earth-moving equipment, ¾ ton dump trucks, jeeps, M450 bulldozers, D5 bulldozer, and scrapers were broken down for sling loading. We were also sharing the assault lift with an infantry battalion of the 5th Infantry Division (Mechanized). The pathfinders (forward troops who controlled our aircraft loading) were all set.
Then, as I guess happens in war, chaos takes over. The sky was cloudy at dawn and the largest group of slicks (Huey helicopters) I had ever seen approached the LZ. They landed but had their numbers in the windows all mixed up. My guys shouted, “what do we do?” and I answered get on one of the birds as they were supposedly all going to the same place. We jumped on with our enormous rucks and weapons and lifted off.
Khe Sanh was actually on a plateau and as we looked at the hundreds of choppers of all kinds in the air, we could see that a low cloud cover had just lifted enough to provide a “tunnel” up the main valley along QL9. Our pilot turned slightly north and landed on a hill top. I asked what was up and he told me he could not risk the congestion and would wait until things cleared a bit. He was right — the air traffic was unreal. We broke out some C-rations and ate lunch at about 0800. We finally got clearance and went to Khe Sanh. I later found out that the XO (Executive Officer) had made it through and had listed our birds as “missing in action” for a while. I thought that news had better not get to Mary Ellen before it was corrected.
We landed on the old matted air-strip and jumped out. One of my NCOs, SSG Vance, was a short stocky guy and fell over on his back. The ruck was so heavy he could not right himself and was flailing around like a turtle. One of his guys was yelling “they got Sarge.” I recognized no rounds were heard and shouted, “He’s OK, help him up!”
We secured our area and met with the XO. The old Marine matted airfield was full of holes and had a destroyed sub-grade material base under matting which was the result of NVA bombardment in 1968. Using it for C130 landings would require taking it up and completely rebuilding it. It would become our air cavalry squadron’s helicopter landing area. The decision was made to build a new strip parallel and just south. We started to try to clear through the elephant grass and along the road using detectors looking for the “booby traps” – none were found. We did see some infantry guys loose legs to the Marine mines – nobody apparently had a map or location (which was doctrine in the Army) and the mines seemed to be all around.
The opening of QL9 was taking more time than planned. So, I was told we would work back toward our other platoons. We gathered our jeep and some ¾ ton dump trucks and assembled a D5 bulldozer. We started down the road from Khe Sanh to QL9. We decided to drop the rucksacks and take ammo, detectors, and weapons only. The sweep along the dirt road was too slow. The shrapnel in the ground from all the previous fighting gave readings every few feet – but contrary to our intelligence briefing we found no booby traps, nor did we encounter any NVA. I decided we had to do a “visual” sweep and get moving. The road was slightly overgrown but could be seen. I mounted the front of the jeep, my legs dangling over the grill, and told my driver, SP4 Martin (a great 19-year-old kid) to move out and stop immediately if I yelled. If I missed something, he would never know it, anyway. We made progress.
Just about dark we hit the intersection of the main road and LTC Rodolph landed in his LOH (Light Observation Helicopter). He told me the other platoons had put in the bridges and had approached the last site (bridge #36) before Khe Sanh some kilometers from my location. I needed to get there that night – in other words perform a night mine sweep and road repair in the dark through what may be an enemy infiltrated area. We would be on our own as there was no infantry support available. He said he would like to be with us on our endeavor but that division “needed him in Quang Tri” that night. He took off as the sun set. My platoon sergeant rendered his LOH a single finger salute as he flew away.
The road was an old French hard surface, probably a mixed bituminous treatment and overgrown, but findable. We set the D5 bulldozer to the front behind a couple of point troops to mark the way. The D5 had a light and we had the jeep and two ¾ ton dump trucks. The mufflers were off the trucks, so they sounded quite noisy. We certainly would sound intimidating as we moved along. At this point we really did not believe the bobby trap threat although our other platoon working farther east had taken a casualty from mines on the road.
We started off to make our link up. It was a sight — all our guys (about 35) chugging along behind the bulldozer and trucks making as much noise as possible. We probably sounded like an armor outfit. We hit some snags when we came to a spot that had been pulverized, probably in 1968, by B52 500lb bombs. The craters were quite large, and we had to snake a route around them.
(I witnessed only one such B52 raid in country. They were called “Arc Lights” and we had to be at least 4 kilometers from the target. You never heard the planes which flew from as far away as Guam, or the falling bombs. The ridge would simply erupt with explosions and you could see the condensing of the air from the shock waves around the explosion. It was said that if the NVA survived many were found dazed and bleeding from the ears.)
We then came to a spot where a number of folks were running around in the dark shouting in Vietnamese. We kept moving forward, they ran, and not a shot was fired! We speculated they were probably NVA support troops as there were not supposed to be any ARVN in the area yet.
Finally, we were moving downhill to the last bridge site. On the hill above, fires were burning from earlier air attacks and we heard what sounded like weapon discharge. We kept moving. I was in contact with John and Steve by radio and they were dug in along the road on the other side of the river. At this point Steve had only a few guys as many had dropped off at the other bridge sites. The old French bridge abutments were way too far apart for our helicopter- delivered bridge frame. We needed to blow some rock with demo charges to create abutments and use the bulldozer to cut a bypass to drop the bridge frame on. Steve and John had the panels to fill it out. We decided that placing charges in the dark and trying to survey the needed work was not a smart thing. My guys were exhausted, and we were concerned that whomever we had “met” along the way or was on the hill above might give us a problem. We made a one rope river crossing ala Ranger School and took refuge behind their positions and got a couple hours rest. We reported our link-up to battalion headquarters.
SECOND DAY
Just before first light, we re-crossed the river, secured our stuff, and planted the charges and cut the bypass. We blew the rock, used the bulldozer to help complete the makeshift abutments, and we called for the bridge. It had to be dropped in by a CH 54 crane.
I sent the bulldozer and the bulk of the platoon back along our route to fix the B52-cratered area so the tracks could pass. The path we used in the dark was quite serpentine.
About this time a slick (Huey helicopter) carrying a one-star general of the 5th Infantry Division (Mechanized) landed on the abutment. He was furious. His column was strung out and stopped all along QL 9 back to Quang Tri he said. When were we 101st Airborne Division idiots going to get the damn bridge completed? At this moment the crane with the bridge, accompanied by two cobra gunships, was orbiting the site awaiting clearance to bring the frame in. I kind of lost it and told him “Sir, as soon as we get that f*%$kin bird out of the way.” He glared, asked my name, and got in his chopper.
The bridge went in and Steve’s and John’s troops began filling the frame. I scrambled to catch up to my guys. We fixed the road at the cratered site as best we could and welcomed the first Mechanized Infantry vehicles as they came up the road. They had signs proclaiming to be the First to Khe Sanh – my guys took issue with the claim.
We returned to Khe Sanh and started the airbase construction phase. It was quite a couple of first days of the operation. Some of us would later get the Bronze Star with a “V” (for valor) as well as a Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry with Silver Star for the events of these days.
Invading Laos – 1971, Part 1
Prelude
In January 1971, the decision was made to further cripple the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) infiltration and supply to South Vietnam; I guess to follow up on the Cambodian success. This time Vietnamization was to be demonstrated. But instead of heading north through the DMZ (Demilitarized Zone), we would head west to Laos and “cut” the Ho Chi Minh trails using ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam). This was called Operation Lam Son 719.
The first part from 29 Jan to early Feb was an American operation called Dewey Canyon II. The second part, Lam Son 719, would involve the ARVN 1st Division and the ARVN 1st Airborne Division, along with US air assets.
In the first phase, the 5th Infantry Division (Mechanized) – familiarly called 5th Mech – and 101st Airborne Division along with about all the air assets that could be mustered would open QL9, an east-west road just south of the DMZ, reoccupy Khe Sanh base (famous for the siege of Marines there in 1968), and support the ARVN incursion into Laos with air support only. The original Operation Dewey Canyon had been a Marine operation in 1969 in the same general area to cut supply lines by Army/Marine forces.
The engineer task force was to air assault into Khe Sanh and several Landing Zones (LZ) along QL9. We were to drop in M4T6 bridge frames (that were normally supported by rubber floats) to replace blown French bridges along the route, clear mines, repair B52 bomb damage, and open the road to the border so the 5th Mech’s M113 Armored Personnel Carriers (APCs) and M551 Sheridan tank-like assault vehicles with their 152mm guns could get the road secured. The NVA had used small Soviet tanks in 1968 and reportedly had them in the area of the trails. After this, we were to open the airfield to allow Air Force C-130 re-supply through the Khe Sanh base. This was the nearest air field to Laos in Vietnam and would more easily provide material to the ARVN troops invading Laos
The Division decided to create a special company of engineers, designated TF 326 under the Battalion Executive Officer’s (XO) command, Major Gene Sneebeck. It would draw one platoon from each of the line companies and add most all the earth-moving equipment we had in Headquarters Company. LTC Rodolph chose the platoons and mine was selected. Others were LT John Sevier’s from A Co, and LT Steve Rhyne’s (a West Point classmate) B Company.
We were given full support on parts and on repairs to our vehicles, filled to our assigned personnel strength (my only time to have a full platoon), given LAW anti-tank launchers, and priority on anything else. By this time, I had several experienced NCOs as squad leaders (SSG Vance and SSG Gallion) and one very experienced platoon sergeant (SFC Tietz). I was even allowed to arbitrarily leave behind any troop I felt might have a drug problem, as we would be operating alone for several weeks and could not afford self-inflicted “casualties.” I left three behind and all were quite upset at not going with their comrades – all three entered voluntary rehab at the Division hospital.
We worked day and night to get things in order and had all in readiness in late January. I was also to have our headquarters airmobile earth-moving scrapers and bulldozers as my platoon was to get the airfield started. When I finished packing my expanded ruck sack (It was the heaviest one I ever carried) complete with LAW (light anti-tank weapon) and claymore mines, I had Sid Cochran (my fellow C company platoon leader) take my picture. Sid probably still has the picture somewhere.
The mission was classified. Our baby was due 14 Feb and I would be away for at least a few weeks with little mail or time to write I had been told. So, I had to write Mary Ellen and tell her I was OK but had something to do that was going to keep me busy and, not to worry, I would not write for a while. That was just what I wanted to tell my lady as she had our son. I figured she would see reports of the invasion and figure it out. It turned out I was able to write after about 5 days.
I convoyed “my force” to near the village of Mai Loc south of Quang Tri to stage for our assault. I remember driving up QL1 through Hue and beyond thinking how cool this was – with the theme music from the movie “Patton” ringing in my ears. (Mary Ellen and I had seen it just before I deployed.)
At the staging area I had to brief my guys on the mission and details. I had been told to expect a possible “hot LZ” (enemy fire). We would be picked up by a huge flight of slicks (unarmed Huey helicopters) in the morning with a specific number in the window of each bird. Each “stick” (load) had a number and everything was carefully designed to cross load leaders and weapons so if one went down the others could carry on. I told my guys to hit the ground running and get to clearing the booby traps and area. Don’t worry, I told them, if someone got hit – expect that. We spent a restless night and heard from the local kids outside our makeshift wire that we were going to Khe Sanh – so much for secrecy. We were the platoon to drop in at Khe Sanh. Sevier’s and Rhyne’s platoons were to assault in along QL9. We would link up later in the day as the bridges were dropped in.
The intelligence at our level was very bad. They warned of booby traps, NVA, and did not mention or give us maps of the hundreds of land mines the Marines had laid at the site in 1968. It would cost us.
My “Combat” Jump – 1972
To this day I cannot remember why or how I got involved in skydiving. I only remember that it happened right after jump school at Fort Benning, Georgia. As a young single Second Lieutenant, I had some time on my hands during the Infantry Basic Course, so skydiving was one of the ways I filled up my Saturdays and Sundays. Since I had just completed jump school, my instructor did not take a lot of time teaching me the finer points of the sport. He briefly explained how to get out on the step of the small plane and then push off and form a spread-eagle position while I waited for the static line to open the parachute. I’m pretty sure I completed my static line jumps and my first five free falls in one weekend … and once I did, I was hooked.
I say he did not take a lot of time to teach me the finer points of sports jumping, but to be fair, I’m not sure that’s totally accurate. I only know that on my third free fall jump I ended up on my back as I was falling to earth, and no amount of kicking and jerking of my arms and legs was any help in getting my body to roll over into the proper face-down position. So, sensing that time was ticking away, I pulled my ripcord and soon enough I was jerked into the appropriate feet-to-earth orientation. I then looked up and discovered that my parachute was simply one big jumbled-up mess otherwise known as a malfunction. And that is when I discovered that the routine boring repetitious training that we had at jump school actually worked. I reached down and put my left hand over my reserve parachute and pulled the cord. I then took the spare chute in my hand fluffed it out until the wind caught it and it billowed up and it was time to start preparing to land. Upon landing my instructor explained that the way to right oneself was to simply arch your back and form a spread-eagle position again … and with that he sent me right back up for my final two free fall jumps.
From there I bought my own sports parachute gear and for the next four years I brought my gear with me wherever I went hoping to find a jump club where I could systematically start filling up my log book with a record of all my various and sundry jumps. While stationed with the Berlin Brigade in Berlin, Germany, I had occasion to jump in a number of different venues. Jumping in West Berlin was never going to happen for obvious reasons, but I did find a German jump club in Braunschweig, West Germany, which was about a two and a half hour drive away. It meant that I had drive through East Germany to get there, and I had to apply for a weekend pass whenever I wanted to go, but as long as I was judicious in how often I asked, my battalion commander was willing to accommodate my new-found passion.
The other person I had to be careful with was my wife, Avril, of course. Looking back on it now, I realize that she was a lot more accommodating of my jumping habits than I realized at the time. Not only did she let me go away on those occasional weekends to Braunschweig, but she also allowed me to crisscross Europe on our vacations looking for jump opportunities. The result was that by the time my Berlin tour was over, I had logged-in jumps not only in Germany, but also in Spa, Belgium, and at a jump club near Salisbury, England, and even at an obscure drop-zone somewhere in Northern France. We had been to England for a couple of weeks, and as we were driving back to Berlin across France we passed by an open field that had a sign that read “Baptime de l’Aire”. Even though I had taken French at West Point I did not immediately recognize the phrase as relating to skydiving; but it did not take me too long to imagine that it might.
So, with Avril’s permission I turned the car around and went back to check it out, and sure enough it was a jump club. The French jumpers were more than happy to let me make a couple of jumps with them that day before we continued on our way.
All of the above explains how I ended up with my jump gear in Vietnam. When it was my turn to go to Vietnam in the Fall of 1971, I was due to fly out of McChord Air Force Base in Washington State. As it turned out, my roommate from our Firstie year was in medical school in Seattle. Also, there was at the time a huge skydiving center in nearby Snohomish, Washington, so I took all my jump gear with me. I stayed with John a few days and did some jumping and Space Needle sightseeing, and then headed off to Vietnam with my jump gear in tow.
I was in Vietnam towards the end of American involvement there, so I ended up with several different assignments. I started out with the 101st Airborne Division up in Phu Bai, and from there I went to Long Binh before finally ending up in Cam Rahn Bay. Wherever I went I had my jump gear in tow, with the one exception being when I was at Firebase Jack – for obvious reasons. I never intended nor expected to get the opportunity to jump, of course, but having brought my gear with me to jump near Seattle, I had to take it with me the rest of the way. Oh, I just remembered, I did not take it with me on R&R in Hawaii, either. I’m pretty sure that was one occasion when Avril would not have been so understanding; and to be honest I really didn’t have jumping on my mind then, in any case.
Fast forward to my last week in Vietnam. I was sitting at a table in the Cam Rahn Bay Officer’s Club with several other guys drinking whatever; and somehow the subject turned to skydiving. As it happened, a number of the other guys either had been or still were skydivers. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who then confessed to the absurdity of the fact that I happened to have my jump gear with me in Vietnam. Imagine the shock when two other guys at the table confessed that they too had their jump gear with them! And as if that wasn’t shock enough, two of the remaining guys were Huey pilots and as a matter-of-fact asked the three of us if we would like to make a jump! What? How could that be possible? They simply said that if we wanting to make a jump, we should meet them at 0700 the next morning at a designated hanger, and they would take us up.
We didn’t need to be told twice. At 0700, there we were right where they told us to be, dressed in our jump gear with our chutes on our back, ready to board their chopper. They told us that they would take us out into the boonies and up to about 12,000 feet and let us jump. They also told us that since there was no telling who or what might be out there we should immediately prepare to be picked up once we landed. The other two jumpers were more experienced than me, so they told me to jump first and then they would follow and hook up with me. It all went like clockwork. When the pilots gave us the go signal, I jumped out and did the best spread-eagle position I knew how; and the other two guys came and hooked up with me. We probably held the three-pointed star for about 20-30 seconds and then pulled our ripcords and landed and scooped up our chutes and waited for the chopper. The pilots came down and whisked us away back to the Cam Rahn airfield thus ending my one and only “combat” parachute jump … far and away the most memorable one in my log book!
