I have waited 42 years to tell this humiliating tale.
1968. My bud Paul and I were patients at the Navy Hospital in, I'll say, California. Paul had had his thumb blown off. He had “double rounded” a 60 mm mortar. He had accidentally dropped two rounds down the tube. At the time his unit was getting overrun by the NVA and he was in a hurry (Marines still had 60mm mortars). A corpsman wrapped Paul's hand. He picked up his mortar tube and kept firing- all that mattered at that moment was killing the NVA before they killed him and his platoon! Paul survived and was Medevac’d to a stateside Navy hospital in California. The Navy surgeons cleaned up the damaged hand and, casting it shoulder high, attached it to his waist with a rod to keep it stationary. He looked like a traffic cop directing traffic.
I had a full length, soon-to-be-removed cast on my leg. We went on liberty together, calling a cab, which took us about ten minutes to get into-I would get in first putting my leg over the front seat, Paul would spin in to get his arm in. Anyhoo, it was a circus fuckin act! The cab driver was black.
He asked “Where to?”
Paul and I looked at each other, briefly discussing it, and finally came up with the brilliant answer “Take us where there's a lot of pussy!!”
“Ok”, the driver answered, “I know just the place. It's in Berkeley. College girls!”
Arriving at this “Pussy Bar”, I noticed it was near an auto assembly plant (?). Oh well. Indeed the bar was packed with pussy. The bartender gave us a funny look.
“Couple of tap beers”, I said.
The bartender said “You better drink these and leave. This ain't your kinda bar.”
Although we were in “civvies”, it didn't take a genius to figure out we were military. We were hated in those days. Berkeley was the most anti-war town in the country. At least that's what I figured was the reason for the bartending saying that- was I wrong! “Fuck 'em. I'm gonna scope me out some of this fine 'pussay'.” I looked around for Paul. He was talkin' to three nice lookin' “chickies”.
Looking over again, I could hear them arguing. They were telling Paul if he wasn't gone in ten minutes, we was both gonna get our asses kicked. On crutches, I couldn't get over to Paul without leavin' my beer. I noticed this was a large bar. It had three front doors, which were all open to let the crowd in. “Where are they all coming from?” I asked. Assembly plant shift change! I then took notice these were WOMEN in overalls and, as Robin Williams describes, “comfortable shoes”. Uh-oh. I knew we better get while the getting was good! “Hey Paul! I'm gonna get my diddy bag offa the bar. We betterdi-di (Viet slang for 'be quick') while we still can!”
As I reached the bar, a big manly lookin' woman accosted me. “WHAT ARE YOU DOIN IN MY BAR?”
”Same thing as you”, I said.
The next thing I knew I was on my back, getting kicked from all angles. Putting my arms over my head, I came to on the sidewalk. Someone had rolled me over and taken my billfold with $1600, half of which I'd planned to use to pay for the motorcycle I bought in Vietnam. Being foolish I had put it off. A cop ran the guy down who had stole from us. He had also called the Navy Hospital. They sent an ambulance with two Corpsmen and a Marine driver. After loading us on stretchers and putting us in the ambulance, they talked to the cop. thanking him for taking good care of us. The cop gave them the address where I could get my money.
Once the Corpsmen determined neither of us were critical, we were on the way up the hill to the hospital. The Corpsmen had a good laugh on us. “Dumb Fuckin Marines! Thats the biggest lesbian bar on the west coast. You just got your DUMB MARINE asses kicked by a buncha women with short hair! What the fuck were you thinkin'?!!”At the hospital we were both put in isolation for a week. My Dad had flown out from Minneapolis to see me. I had told him I was staying in San Francisco. He would wait for me. After getting my cast cut off, I was discharged. I was ready to go home. Paul and I were both humiliated by the shit we heard from the patient population, BIG TOUGH MARINES!!!
I had planned to stay in Frisco, but after talking it over with my Dad, I went to the Harley Dealership that had my New Harley XLCH 900 cc Sportster. It was considered an Import. Having bought it at the Freedom Hill PX Danang RVN for $800.00, it cost another $800.00 to get it registered, which saved me nothing. I arranged for it to be shipped by rail to Minnesota. I would again meet Paul at the Mpls. VAMC. I would be run down by a drunk in a Plymouth. ANYHOO, that is another story. VA Surgeons moved Paul's index finger over to where his thumb used to be. We would be on the same Orthopedic ward for months. I would fix Paul up with a girl and would see him a few weeks later. “Hey man, you know that girl you fixed me up with- she says she thinks she's a LESBIAN!!!
SO AM I !! I said, SO AM I !! Rat
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