Shortly after arriving in Song Be, in 1965, one of the first Vietnamese Team Members I was introduced to was a young man named George. Although I'm sure that he had both first and last Vietnamese names, he was always referred to as just George, as if no other name was necessary. If anyone mentioned the name George, everyone immediately knew exactly who was being referred to. He was a rather fascinating character, although rather slight in build, as most Vietnamese are, he carried himself with a certain air of authority that made him seem larger than he really was. His command of the English language, although he had obviously learnt it from watching too many B-Grade movies, was extraordinary. Because of this George made a very good interpreter. In addition to Vietnamese and English, George was proficient in several Montagnard dialects as well. To top that off, to the amazement of every one that met him, George spoke with an accent that was right out of the Bronx.

As with many Asians, it was hard to tell just how old George was. He could have been 18-19 or just as easily could have been in his late twenties, I don't know why but it never occurred to me to ask how old he was. Whatever his age, a hard life was evident in the scars on his face and arms. I suspected that he had probably grown up on the streets of Saigon or Cholon. He was wise beyond his apparent age. He was like a man caught between two worlds, that of the Americans that he so admired, and that of his homeland that he despaired for. For some reason, he seemed to gravitate towards me as friend between two places. Being an Airman, with the Army all about me, he probably thought that I was in something of a similar situation. George wanted, more than anything in the world, to get to America where he could make a decent life for himself and his girlfriend. I think that he was wondering if perhaps the U.S. Air Force would be a good place to realize his ambitions. In the meantime, he was determined to be the best soldier and interpreter that he could be. His courage and loyalty were beyond question, he would readily volunteer for the most hazardous of missions without being asked.

As the living conditions in this remote camp were not ideal, and the work load was heavy, it was the Team C.O.s policy that everyone should get a 2-3 day break at least once every six to eight weeks. This was not always possible, but he tried his best to see that everyone got some sort of break. After working 12-16 hours a day, 7 days a week, those breaks helped preserve our sanity. Finally, I think it was at about the 9 week point; I had the opportunity for a couple of days in Saigon. My ALO had arranged to get another radio man sent up for a couple of days so I could take some time off. The night before I was hoping to leave, George asked me if I could take an envelope, with some money in it, to his girlfriend in Cholon. He said he couldn't mail it as it would never get to her. I told him I could do that for him and then he gave me a few dollars and asks me to buy a gift for her. I didn't particularly want to do this as by the time I went to Bien Hoa to pick up my belongings, that I hadn't been able to take up with me when I first went to Song Be, caught a bus to Saigon and found some place to stay for a couple of nights - the first day would be gone. But I knew that George hadn't had a chance to go home for a lot longer than 9 weeks, and he worked just as hard as the rest of us. Things went a little more smoothly than planned and I decided to go to the Main PX in Cholon and pick something up for George's girlfriend and hopefully get it delivered before curfew. I didn't even take time to check my weapons and field gear in at the armory.

On the way to the PX in a pedicab, I was trying to decide what I could buy for the girl that would be both appropriate and useful - right, when have I ever been able to figure out what to give a woman. I decide that I'd get her a bottle of perfume and a can of coffee, figuring that if she didn't like them she could always sell them on the blackmarket. With everything going so well, I guess I got a little carried away with the mission. I bought her a huge bottle of Chanel No.5, got it gift wrapped, and a 2 pound can of coffee. I tried to catch another pedicab, but couldn't find one willing to take me to the address on the envelope - too far they said. Finally, I got a motorized pedicab on the condition that it's a round trip ride (he didn't want to go all the way there and have to come back empty). This too far business had me a little concerned but I knew George wouldn't send me someplace that was in question. It was quite a bit further out in Cholon, so far that there weren't even any White Mice around anymore. The pedicab driver took me to a neat little string of shops and coffee houses just off a large Boulevard. As I enter the coffee house, I'm feeling like a square peg in a round hole. It's a very neat and clean little place with several cute little waitresses all dressed up in their Ao Dais and looking very fresh and clean. Here I am, filthy dirty, loaded down with weapons and shopping bags, and probably smelling like last nights garbage. Can't say I blame them but they look none too pleased that I'm there. None of them seems to speak a word of English. I drag Georges' envelope out of a pocket, by now it's pretty dirty and crumpled around the edges, and show them the name and address I'm looking for. They respond at once and are suddenly much friendlier. One of them goes in the back somewhere and comes back with a cute little girl maybe 19 or 20 years old. I get the idea that this is George's girlfriend and give her the envelope, she asks me sit down, I think, and she along with all the other girls' crowd around her. One of them asks me if I want something to drink (I believe) and I just say Ba Mui Ba and they get the idea.

Georges's girl opens the envelope and extracts maybe 200-300 Piastres, I suppose that was the best George could do, and starts to read the letter aloud to the other girls. Let me tell you, George was no slouch with the romantic stuff either, he had them all slobbering. I haven't got a clue what he said, but I was going to have to ask him when I got back. Now that everyone is in good cheer, I bring out the present and hand it to her, she opens it and, oh no, more tears. Now we've got a whole lot of chatter going on, I get the impression they have never seen such a large bottle of very exclusive perfume before. Then I give her the can of coffee, no tears this time but lots more chatter. The girls are now comfortable with me and it feels quite good sitting there with a bunch of pretty girls that smell fresh and clean. After a while, I get the idea that Georges girl wants me to go somewhere with her - I think I'm picking up something about a Momma San or Poppa San.

We go hop in the pedicab and she gives him a few directions, a couple of blocks away we stop in front of what looks to be a very poor apartment building. We go up a couple of flights of narrow winding stairs and enter a tiny little apartment. There's an elderly man, woman and a little baby, maybe six months old, sitting on the floor of the little living room. The place is old and badly in need of repairs but it looks and smells clean. The girl picks up the baby and bounces it around for a few minutes, cute little kid, and then puts him in a bassinet in the corner. She gives the coffee to the old folks and they thank me profusely. I'm feeling a bit out of place again with all the gear hanging off me, and a weapon in my hand. The girl motions for me to come through a curtained section further towards the back/front? of the apartment. I follow her in and she draws the curtains closed, and starts taking off her clothing. This turn of events completely stuns me for a moment, then, I start to get angry and tell her No in no uncertain terms. I realize that she thinks she needs to do this to show her appreciation and maybe even that I expect it. I check my anger, and hand her blouse back to her and just say George. This doesn't help at all as George is probably not what she knows him as. Anyway, I think somehow that she understands what I'm trying to say and she has a look of both embarrassment and defiance about her. There's nothing I can do about that. As I turn to leave, the old man and woman give me sort of an odd look too but thank me again for the coffee, I think. Boy was I glad to get out of there; I have to admit that I could have been tempted under different circumstances.

As I'm riding back towards Saigon I'm thinking to myself. I wonder why George never told me about the baby, if he even knows about the baby, if it's even George's baby? Finally, what do I say to George? I decide that I won't even mention the baby unless he brings it up, if he doesn't know now, there's nothing to be gained by my telling him about it and a lot to lose if I do tell him and it isn't his. The next day a letter for George arrived at my hotel, I was tempted to have someone read it to me in case something was said about what occurred at the apartment but since I had done nothing wrong I felt everything would be alright.

The next day George came looking for me as soon as I arrived back in camp. I told him I'd seen his girlfriend, that she was a very lovely girl, and that I had given her perfume and the coffee. He seemed pleased with that and I gave him her letter. He went and sat on a bunker and read the letter then came back and thanked me for what I'd done for him. What a relief.

Two or three weeks later George was killed when setting a Claymore for perimeter security during an ambush operation in the Rieng Rieng rubber plantation. Another one of those days that came all too often.