In 1965, after having saved enough to take a vacation working as a merchant seaman for several years, I decided to visit Great Britain and France where I was born. Eventually my savings ran out and I had to find my way back home to the States. As I did not have the money for my return trip, I took a train to Bremerhaven, a seaport on the Elbe River, Germany, where I had been told that the Department of the Navy Military Sea Transportation Service (MSTS) was seeking a deckhand on one of their cargo ships. The sailors who worked on these ships were civilians.
When I debarked in New York City I found it difficult to find adequate work ashore and after two months found myself seeking employment at the MSTS employment office at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. I had lost my union membership with the National Maritime Union, and this was my only choice. Since I had been approved to work for MSTS, I found a berth on the USMS Greenville Victory, which shipped out of Sunny Point, North Carolina.
our cargo included cases of beer and napalm
I had not been directly active against the war in Vietnam, I was not involved in organized political demonstrations, but I felt strongly that we should not have been supporting a dictator just because we were opposed to the Vietnamese Communists. It was therefore ironic that I learned that the ship for which I was hired was headed to Quy Nhon, South Vietnam.
I learned that our cargo included cases of beer and napalm. This voyage was one of the longest I had taken in my years as a merchant seaman. We did make one stop in Manila, Philippines. Our stay was short, and we were soon out to sea again.
Finally after several days we arrived in Quy Nhon. Our ship was anchored in the bay and was not able to be moored at a pier, and all our cargo was unloaded on barges. We were there several days, and all the time we were there, maybe one week, I was able to go ashore twice. My first time setting my feet on Vietnamese soil I noticed a tall American soldier, possibly a Ranger, who carried a sidearm with an ivory handle. He swaggered about his work and made a poor impression on me. As I was walking toward town, I passed a field of men and women who appeared to be practicing Tai Chi, or some similar martial art. In contrast to the American soldier they were very small in stature and appeared very delicate. I thought, so these are the people we are fighting.
I thought, so these are the people we are fighting.
I should mention that two of my cousins who were French Paratroopers had died in the battle of Dien Bien Phu in 1954. The French had been colonialists in Indochina for several decades beginning in the 19th century. I thought then that our military and political adventures in the world would ultimately come to a bad end as it did for the French.
One incident that is indelible in my memory is sitting aft on deck in the evening where we occasionally watched movies projected on a screen. On that particular evening, a war film starring John Wayne was being shown. What struck me as surreal was the actual sound of heavy mortars and simultaneous flashes, which we could see in the distance over the soundtrack of a movie battle.
The dead and wounded in the movie could get up and leave to go home after a day on the movie lot, but not the dead and wounded from this senseless war.
Michel
Harrisburg