August, 1966

The tour in Vietnam began with mixed omens.

First was the bad omen.

There was an airline strike going on when it was time for me to leave home, where I’d been on leave for a few weeks prior to the move between Carswell and Vietnam.

So, despite being a member of a railroad family and having spent my fair share of enjoying free train rides between New Orleans and Lafayette, I was now facing a train ride of a totally different character – cross country, not an empty seat, and in an era when my father swore the railroads, at least the one he worked for, were trying everything they could to dump passenger service because it wasn’t nearly as profitable as hauling freight.

The government would of course never allow that to happen, but if the railroads could make passenger travel as unpleasant an experience as possible, there would be fewer passengers, resulting in less investment in passenger trains and more open rail for freight. Dad had told me many instances of passenger trains being delayed for hours on a side track as freight trains were given priority one after the other, causing very late arrivals for the unfortunate passengers on board.

The train was crowded, packed, actually, with a large number of military members headed to California as I was, for duty in Vietnam. Some had connected there in New Orleans from points east and some from points north, but we were all headed due west. And at our age, full of youthful optimism and a sense of immortality, I don’t think anyone seriously considered that the trip might be on a one way ticket.

As I said goodbye to my family I was both nervous and excited. This was certainly going to be a different journey, and in 1966 there wasn’t really a lot of “corporate knowledge” to query about what Vietnam duty was like.

I don’t remember there being a dining car on the train, but if there were one I wouldn’t be eating in there anyway because of the expense. Instead, I dined on food my mother had prepared for me to take along, but that didn’t last long. Those who had connected in New Orleans from earlier locations were out of whatever they had brought with them, so my larder was quickly reduced to a one meal thing. At that point I was in the same situation as everyone else, reliant on the porter who came through the car periodically selling overpriced sandwiches and snacks. It didn’t take long to figure out that despite the high prices, he was selling out as quickly as he could fill his supply, so a few guys went to another car that was closer to the source. Apparently that didn’t go over too well with the earlier cars’ occupants, so everyone was requested to remain in the car from which they came. The conductors along the way probably consumed large quantities of antacids on their portions of the journey.

Hour after hour, moving at moderate speed, slowing, sitting and watching freight cars whizzing by in the opposite direction, then slowly moving on again, everyone hungry, bored, and hot, it was a trip from (to?) hell. It didn’t’ make any difference if a stop was to be for 5 minutes or 30 – as soon as the pedestal was placed on the ground there was a stream of young men getting off and heading out in search of food or drink, or just fresh air. I’m quite sure, just knowing the odds, that some didn’t make it back in time for the departing train.

After about a month we arrived in Los Angeles.

Well, it seemed like a month.

At Los Angeles it became easy to identify those who were headed to Vietnam. We all headed to the same track and the same train that would take us northbound to San Francisco. I slept almost all the way.

Arriving in San Francisco we boarded busses that took us to Travis Air Force Base, where we would eventually board our flights overseas.

Travis was an absolute zoo, but a zoo that had a good omen in store. Maybe travel conditions might improve a little, if I could just find that lieutenant.