I’m writing this now before the few memory banks I have left slowly turn the ones I have into zeros. You see, at my advanced age the delete button seems to be the only one that works automatically. So, before it does it’s magic another time, let me begin.
History will record an event from back in the last century when an Air Group of Marines w/aircraft set sail from the land of CONUS. They would journey across the big pond off the left coast to a land called TBD. Flight crews that knew how to read 1:25000 were unable to find this TBD land. Some even wondered how the name TBD would follow the Halls of Montezuma or Shores of Tripoli in the hymn. However, the ship did make a 6 hour stop in Hawaii where it was determined this was not the a forementioned land. Then when sails were next raised odds were given as to how close to the edge of the earth we would sail.
After being underway for days on end, as well as nights also, with nothing around us but water, land was finally sighted. Again, this was not the land of TBD for they spoke Tagalog there in Subic Bay. Regardless, we were allowed off the ship to visit the Christian Science Reading Room and the local museums until night fell. This is where the ocean cruise becomes something other than the normal cruise. For some strange reason all officers were afforded the opportunity to contribute the grand sum of $25 American money. I’m pretty sure it was a contribution since there wasn’t a choir singing or anyone passing around those tithing trays. I mean, I had been told this cruise was free and the chow, such as it was, was free also. Well, free after they took my quarters allowance away.
However, very late at night some very large tarp covered crates were loaded on board along with a compliment of guards. Large crates? Armed guards? Can anyone spell nuclear? Then, after all was loaded and the sails were unfurled, off we went to TBD. As it turns out boys and girls, TBD was actually spelled KY HA, Republic of Vietnam. I mean I knew that.
So, after men and aircraft were off loaded, then came the crates of what turned out to be 5,000 cases of San Miguel beer. And not that 3.2 stuff either. Real beer. You see, that’s what our $25 bought. And every day each Marine could purchase two bottles of beer for twenty-five cents each. Nobody cared if it was warm beer. It was BEER. A few days later someone negotiated with the medical personnel of B Med to allow some of the beer to be stored in the morgue. Now, we had cold beer. Although, I’ve often wondered why we didn’t kick in a few more coins for cases of Jack Daniels. I know. Quit while I was ahead.
And this was the beginning of MAG-36’s adventures in the land of TBD in August of 1965.
