Has it really been that long!

     For me, it is hard to believe that 51 years ago, I was in Vietnam.

     But on this particular day, I was actually late in returning to good old Camp Eagle. 

     A rather humorous story is about to follow. A chain of events that saved my life, too.

     The day was filled with awe and wonder. 

     I was down in Osaka, Japan where Expo 70 was being held. A Worlds Expo that I didn't want to miss. And it didn't disappoint. All sorts of really cool outdoor designs and lots of awe inspiring architectural designs provided a kid with the desire to become an architect with enough visually stimulating material to last a lifetime.

    While most of the guys went on R&R to enjoy the gracious and soft charms of feminine ways, I was more interested in the hard lines, sleek designs and business facades which bedecked the landscape. A world within a world which seemed completely unaware of my world I would be returning to - or at least trying to return to on these very day.

    But not without finding out that the 5th Dimension would be at the Worlds Fair in September and I would have a place to stay thanks to the warm and friendly workers I met at the Canadian Exhibit. The one thing that I actually do remember about the first trip to this this place - hopefully make you laugh - is the loud high pitched Japanese voice offering free samples of Kentucky Fried Chicken. 

    "KEN TUKY FRIEEED CHICK EN". With a heavy Japanese accent it was, indeed, funny. I have to admit that it made a lot of the Japanese folk laugh and brought a smile to my face.

    But I had to leave and I needed to be back up in Tokyo and over to Camp Zama before 5am on May 1st. It was almost 7 pm on April 30 by the time I caught the bullet train back up to Tokyo. I had no idea that the trains stop running between 12 and 1 in the morning.

    I also had no idea I had purchased a one way ticket. So, about half way up the conductor of the train came along and I handed him my ticket. 

   "This ticket is no good." he said in perfect formal English. It took me around 5 minutes to convince the conductor that I thought it was a round trip ticket and that I was totally broke and a GI who came here from Vietnam.

    He, shook his head but apparently feeling sorry for me, he walked away, saying nothing else to me until we reached Tokyo and at the last stop.

    "You must get out here. We go no further."

    Okay, so where is here? I got off the train and as the train rolled away into the distance of the cold of morning charcoal.  It was an unwelcome world Japanese, signs and posters. Certainly nothing I could use to figure out where I was and how I was planning on getting to Camp Zama before 5.

    Then I saw it.  A simple English sign. LOST? Pickup the phone.

    Apparently a lot of GIs are left off here? But could I trust it? 

    What do I have to loose?

    Turns out the number was the Navy Military Police and they told me to hold tight. Within a half hour, they picked me up and took me to their MP station. They had already called the Army Military Police, and in less an hour and 15 minutes, they came in were told the story and the 27 year old E-6 said, "relax, we will get you there before 5am." 

    It was 3:30.  Even if they knew where they were going, based on how far Camp Zama was from the Navy MP, they would, indeed be cutting it close.

    Well, they got lost.

    Around 6 AM we finally got to Camp Zama. The two Military Police came in with me and told the E4 at the front desk that it wasn't my fault that I wasn't back on time because they got lost. That brought a slight smile and look that could be read as "now I have heard them all!"

   He then told me that a flight headed for Saigon will be leaving tomorrow. I would have to catch a hop from Saigon to Da Nang.  He pointed to my duffel bag, told me where to shower and sleep and report back to him at 5am tomorrow. I shook the hands of the MPs, took a shower and woke up 3pm.

     That gave me a chance to do 9 holes on the gold course and watch a USO show at the NCO Club. After that and after returning to the barracks, I notice some new additions to the barracks and convinced one to wake me up before 4:30 am.

    I think wheels were up by 7 am and we arrived around 1pm. I heard there was a flight to Da Nang leaving shortly and by 3:30 pm, I was in Da Nang. 

    I heard another C-130 was about to leave. A plum crazy thing happened. Call it fate, call it a 6th sense or even better, call it going AWOL, I decided to stay in Da Nang that evening. 

    Not kidding. I stayed up all night watching an F-4 taking off at night with its after burners looking like very large size butane lighters, grabbed some coffee at the 24 hour Air Force Mess Hall and talked for hours fighting the need for sleep.

    I had no idea that the unit I was part of - B Battery, 4/77th AKA the El Toros - was being devastated by enemy fire and had I done my usual thing, I would have probably been the only one that would have gotten killed that night. I would have been either back in the hanger or up on the flight line.

        

 

  

   

 

     

     

Once In Nam, Always in Nam is here!!!

 

 

Once in Nam, Always In Nam

Spoiler alert. It does have typos.

ROLL ON BROTHER, ROLL ON

The air is cold, but the sky is hot with the hammer of rotor blades. Pilot in the front says, Give em all you got, boys

We dive to towards the ground and sink our lead into the Hot LZ We're spitting support and giving it out best shot.

Wild eyed men sitting around us wonder if we've gone mad. And I'm thinking, Welcome to Nan.

Popping ammo boxes left and right, we're yelling to them get out and stay low. Plenty of brush out there. And if they heard us, they'll live the drop off.

Our tracers paint a line to the edge of the perimeter and then left and right.

We lift away amidst the rain of enemy fire and watch the Cobras come down from the sky in a furious roar follow those tracers and wax the area with strafing and 2.75 inch rocket pounding so viciously well that at 500 foot long, 2 foot wide newly formed creek bed.

We're clear of the enemy fire. But then look at each other confused, "Okay, sir, what are we doing?"
"Playing medevac, one of ours took a round in the leg. He'll bleed out before a real one gets here."
Ground chatter gets crazy. Seems like when heaven opens its doors, bravery doesn't have to knock.
F-4s were our angles this day as they filled that creek bed with napalm. We could feel the heat from left and right. Hear Charlie Cong's screams into vaporization.

Karama is a bitch.

The extraction took 10 seconds. Lying him down and raising his leg, my belt just above the wound helped to slow the bleeding. But his heart pounding too hard. Field expediency took care of that.
The pilots looked back and laughed. "Well that's one way to get it done."
"Figured I didn't have to ask permission, sir"

"For what, we didn't see anything."

The pilots switched radio channels. Just off the coast of Phu Bai was a white ship with a red cross on it.

"Sanctuary, this is hotel one nine six seven. We have an wounded soldier with a whole through his main artery in his leg. We're running low on fuel."

Do you know that ship turned and gave us a straight in approach to the back of the ship. And in less than five minutes we landed, the gurney was pulled over and the wounded unconscious solder on the gurney and we were gone.

Few months later, I'm polishing up the Plexiglass on my bird and I see his reflection, I turned around.
"Can I help you, Sir?"

"You've got a hell of a left hook, Sergent."

I chucked nervously, "That's what they tell me, Sir"

I hit a Captain? Damn, I should have hit him harder.

"They tell me that punch saved my life. They also told me that your belt also helped to stop the bleeding. So I'm writing you up. Not for assaulting an officer, but for an act of bravery."
"Sir, I was just trying to help another American solder from being sent home in a body bag."
"I understand, but the way I see it, if I don't write you up, you'll never remember my name and I want you to remember my name."

I said, "yes, sir".

We saluted each other. As he walked away, "Sir, how did you find me?"

"It was on your belt. A name I will never forget."

Thirty years later, I'm flipping through my Facebook page and there he was. A West Point retired Four Star and he's speaking to a West Point graduating class. I click on the link.

He starts with, "You may, as I have had to do, put men into harms way. Honor these men with as much respect and dignity as you expect them to respect the orders you give.

"And there may be times in your career when you find yourself totally depending upon them who hold the balance of life or death in their hands. Karama is unyielding.

"When we went into the field in Vietnam, we officers knew our rank was what the North Vietnamese were trained to look for so it came off during insertions.

"I took a round out there. Went clean through my leg but nicked an artery. Two brave pilots, a door gunner and a crew chief by the name of Sergeant Billy Martin decided that I was going to bleed out."
About that time, in the kitchen the plate drops by my wife who thought I was full of it when I'd tell her about the story.

"Under the protection of F-4s hitting the edges of the enemy perimeter with napalm, they come in, pick me up. The crew chief pulled out a rolled up belt he had in one of the pouches he was carrying and put it above the wound. He made sure I was flat on my back and raised my leg.

"He checked my pulse, smiled down at me and with a mean left hook, he knocked out. Plum out of my misery. Hell, I didn't remember a thing past that until after surgery. That was the meanest left hook that ever took."

After the laughter. The General continued.

"Well, thanks to his belt, I knew where to find him. At first, I think he thought I was going to throw the book at him. Write him up for hitting an officer. But I was there to think him for saving my life. Told him I was going to write him up for an act of heroism.

"I never did. I don't think that was what he wanted. In fact, I don't think any of the enlisted soldiers really want to have to explain to others the things that they did that measure up to an act of bravery.
"What I believe young solders want it to go home in one piece both mentally and physically. And in Vietnam, I think we were too brazen to think of our young enlisted soldiers as anything but a human machine being told what to do and how to do it.

"So, today, I'm ending this with a warning. You hold the rank of an officer and and in battle, you hold your life in the hands of our enlisted soldiers. Why should they honor you with respect if you don't honor them with yours? Theses are men and not machines.

"As for me, I am forever in debt to the man who saved my life by knocking me out with meanest left hook that ever took.

"Thank you for your time, may god be with you all."

Wife whispers, "That was really you." with a new found air of respect.

And all I could think about is his eyes staring through the camera at me while saluting the class and what I wanted to say back to him in person, "roll on brother, roll on."

AH-1G Cobra Rebuild: The Middle

Some things have got to pass.  Like gas. Sometimes, when you think one's coming and you don't just get it over with all at once, it comes out sounding like a fog horn and clears out the hanger.


Luckily for me, I just did mine outside of ear shot while smoking my pipe. Wild Cherry smoke perfumes over it pretty well.



But I wasn't outside the hooch that night just because the guys didn't want to smell my exhaust system but because the men were having a full fledged Dear John pity party complete with a stand around the center of the room confined fire as the popped tops on their favorite cold brew and burnt their cum coated letters and pictures of the girls who played them for fools.


After all, Christmas was fading towards the New Years and whatever these men sent to the gals for Christmas was becoming obvious that the letters were part of a national scam to get GIs to shell out money for their poor little family who desperately needs their little boy with an assortment of ailments not humanly possible.


Then it happened. At first, I thought I was hearing things. A single M16s firing on semi-automatic was firing at something outside of our perimeter. Next came the flairs and more M16s started making noise. Off in the distance you could hear the whine of the Cobra turbines and the blades picking up speed.


While the sirens share a reality I was already aware of, a sobering silence replaced the pity party and the sounds of putting on flak jackets, combat helmets and and slamming clips of 16 rounds into their M16.


Then some serious 40mm tracer rounds were being fired back into Camp Eagle and they were red, white and blue. The Cobras started shutting down and the night got quiet again. The all clear sirens sounded and the men went back to burning their bitches.


I didn't even bother with breakfast. Dogs with hangovers wasn't worth messing with.  They sure as shoot you and ask questions later. I grabbed a bartered for smokes John Wayne bar and headed for a hanger.


I was beginning to understand why what I was doing down at the hanger was far more important than playing social games with men from the south and more importantly, a Georgia Red Neck. Not saying I'm prejudice. But they had their ways of letting you know they were.


Why am I in Vietnam with the hostiles all around us and we, as Americans could stand each other?

When they signed you up, they never said it was going to be easy. I got that. But when the hostiles were Americans, it made you wonder what war was really being fought here the Vietnam or the Civil War?


I jumped the mud filled drainage ditch and head for my salvation: An AH-1G Cobra now torn down to just the body. No tail boom, no engine, no transmission. It was time to put her back together again from the ground up.


By the time Sergeant Solomon came to me, the new skids were under the Cobra an bolted on. Before I could start that, Sergeant Solomon has something to say.


"You need to go over to S1. A Captain Franklin needs to talk to you ASAP."


Well, that sounded pretty serious, so I stopped everything, cleaned up my hands and headed over to S1 and had no idea what or why he'd want to talk to me.


Walking up the stairs, opening the door to the office I was greeted by a familiar face. So this is where that PFC at the mess hall works.


"Ah, PFC Edwards, one moment and I'll tell Captain Franklin that you're here."


He got up, knocked on the officer's office door and was told to send me in.


I walked into his office, proceeded to salute him and stood at attention.


"At ease, PFC Edwards. Do you know what a Congressional is?"


"No sir I don't."


"Well, it boils down to the fact that any civilian -- in this case, your father -- can contact a public official from his state and voice a complaint that, in your particular case, you were being treated unfairly."


"Sir, I'm at a loss for words."


"Apparently your father wasn't.  Says here that he, as an x US Army Recruiter himself, he knows the Army spent a good chunk of money training you on being a helicopter repairman, becoming a Cobra mechanic and wanted to know why you weren't working in your field of expertise. Citing washing vehicles, burning human waste and other unrelated activities as being demoralizing for a relative of John Clark."


"Sir, excuse my ignorance, but who the heck is John Clark?"


"Didn't they teach you about the Louis and Clark Expedition?"


"I pretty much slept through High School with two jobs and a flying club to run, sir."


"Explains why your GT score is only 105.


"There was also something else. He said he was there when the recruiter said you were signing up for 3 years, is that true?"


"Yes Sir."


"And you thought you were signing up for fixed wing training."


"Yes Sir."


"Do you really want to be in the Army, PFC Edwards?"


You know, if this question was asked of me three weeks prior before I had seen those 37 Cobras flying over, I would have said no. But with all that has happened since then and where I was at with the rebuilding of a Cobra,  you'd have to hand cuff me to the bird heading stateside.


"No, sir."


"Then as I see it, you have 30 days to find a Cobra unit that will accept you as a Cobra mechanic or you're heading home. Dismissed."


I did a salute, and walked out.


Notes to self.


Just because your mother hates your father doesn't mean the two if them aren't talking.


Don't give mom anymore ammo, she already packs enough heat of her own.


What goes around, comes around.


Time to get the cobra done.


"Sergeant Solomon wants to see you in his office."


"Didn't know we had a celebrity among us."


"You don't and why do I get this sneaky suspicion that you know my father."


"We were the ones responsible in Korea for flying all the USO shows around Korea. I meant him when he was working with them and taking pictures of Debbie Reynolds in pig tails."


"I am nothing like my father."


"No," he agreed, "You are not."


"Then let me get this Cobra done."


"Who said I wasn't?  What I am going to tell you is I know for a fact that B Battery, 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery is losing 80% of is enlisted and that's where you should be able to transfer over to it. When you're waiting for the tail boom hangers to come in, go over there and tell them that Sergeant Solomon thinks you would be a good fit.


"In the mean time, rebuilt the Cobra."


I smiled at that and walked out of his office.


I tore this bird from the top down. Its time to rebuild it for the bottom up.


Where's those safety wire pliers?

AH-1G Cobra Rebuild: The End

I'm not sure what was more fun. Taking it apart or putting it back together.


I do know one thing, the more challenging phase of this was, indeed, putting it back together.


Since Sergeant Solomon gave me two days off, I put the second in over at B Battery, 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery.


Seemed like everything over there spoke to me as being home.


It felt like the place had a mission to do and a keen sense of purpose. Where pure testosterone was standard operating procedure. Where a ball busting mix Warrant and Artillery Officers pushed their Cobras to the limits and back.  And where the maintenance hanger was a buzz with all kinds of maintenance personnel putting back together what they broke.


There was a tall lanky Lieutenant in maintenance operations whom which I saluted and asked who would I have to talk to so I could transfer over to this unit.


He pointed to a Captain and said that would be Caption Kramp. I went up to him, saluted him and told him I wanted to transfer over to his unit. He looked at me with one of his usual are you crazy looks and said, "So who sent you over here?"


I told him Master Sergeant Solomon over at A Company, 5th Transportation. "He told me to tell you to call him if you have any questions."


"He did, did he?"


"Yes sir."


"What's your MOS?"


"67Y20, Sir"


Have you ever had one of those moments when you said something and everyone around you got deathly quiet? This was one of those moments.


"Your not the one rebuilding that Cobra all alone, are you?"


"I have had help, Sir. But yes."


"Welcome to the El Toros." I saluted, turned and walked away. I felt like a hundred eyes were watching me. What the hell was going on?


The next morning, I cornered Sergeant Solomon.


"You need to see this, please," I said with a sense of urgency. "Do you see anything wrong with these blades?"


He studied them for a moment. "No."


"If I were to take a string and go from blade tip to blade tip, you would probably see it. They aren't in line. In fact, using an eye ball estimate, there's somewhere between 4 and 6 degrees forward. And this is what most like cause the accident."


"You can see this?"


"I took 5 years worth of mechanical drawing in High School, I'm a stickler for accuracy."


"Okay, take it down to prop and rotter and let them balance it. We have to put it back on anyway. Let them tell us just how far out of alignment it was."


Came back as being 4.5 degrees off alignment. One of those more shiny moments.


A week later, I was told my move was approved and a week after that, I was packing my duffle bag with my belongings. The same day the Huey team took to the task of checking all of what I did on the Cobra now standing proud and complete.


"PFC Edwards, Sergeant Solomon wants to see you before you go."


"I'm on my way."


I put my duffle bag down and walked across the street to the hanger where Sergeant Solomon was waiting for me.


"I want you to take a look. A real hard, long look."


There was a Huey mechanic about to put the flag up so the rotor blades would hit the mooring tips against the duct tape with red and blue markings. That's how we balanced rotor blades.


"The normal estimated time to go from where that Cobra entered our hanger to this moment in time is 320 man hours."


"So, I was right on time?"


"For 6 men doing the main frame work."


"Oh."


"Edwards, I don't want you going anywhere."


"You are serious, aren't you?"


"As a heart attack. You know when you first arrived, I labeled you as a dud. I was seriously wrong. And I don't admit that often. I'll let you work on anything you want to work on."


"What about that congressional?


"We can work around it, please stay."


I thought about it for a moment. "Sergeant Solomon, you gave me a chance to prove myself and I appreciate that, but my heart if telling me a change with a fresh start is something I need to do."


"Well, if you ever change your mind, you know who to come to."


I smiled, shook his hand and said, "Thank you, Sergeant Solomon for everything."


That would be the last time I would ever see him again.


It was the longest, loneliest 15 minute walk of my life going to the Headquarters building of the 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery.


But you know what the biggest complement was? I saw that AH-1G Cobra come in for refueling. I watched it fly smoothly over my head, transition and move with precision sideways and then just as clean, touch the ground smooth as glass.


It gave me goose bumps. And I almost dropped my bag in amazement.


It was then that I vowed, no matter what happens over the course of then next 6 months. No one could take away what i know I did and saw what I just saw.


It was time to write a new chapter.

Some Cobra Pilots were USA certified gung ho crazy.

I have come to the conclusion that there were three kinds of Cobra Pilots in Vietnam. Those who wanted to come home in one piece, those who wanted to curl up in a corner and wanted to be left alone, and those who were just plain out and out freaking A grade gung ho crazy.

These guys were so gung ho, they made John Wayne look like a poster child for the lame duck society.

These guys invented, patented and perpetuated road rage.

Get Lt.Jeffery Johns -- a relatively mild mannered -- supercharged with a fire mission and you better not slow him down. Yes, this is the same guy I went down to Da Nang with while headed to R&R together and that started a bond.

Yes, he chewed my ass off when I tell him to get out of the Cobra after he witnessed a midair collision over Firebase Nancy on a practice red alert and continues to do so going to and from the field medical tent.

And yes, we became the best of friends after that.

But when he was in one of those moments, I really didn't care for the Mr.Hyde version.


Three days before going home, we watch him check out some armament personnel because they were stopping him from getting into the chopper and flying off -- once again -- without a front seat. LT

Craig Gies and I were watching the drama unfold..


So he takes off. Returning minutes later with that same pod dangling for dear life on the back hook and securing apparatus. 18 rockets staring -- would the vector increase lift and spin? -- at the ground, protesting one pilots' inability to wait until the pod was correctly aligned.

I'm laughing. Craig Gies has a smirk on his face.

The thought of karma was making my ability to not stop laughing almost impossible to contain.

Trying to be a bit more composed, he walks by me, puts his hand on my shoulder.
"They're trying to kill me."

Any thoughts of composure left Vietnam.

The Night MASH GOT A TRASHED RATING

There was a Chinook Company --- I think it was B Company, 159th Aviation Battalion but I'm not sure -- directly across the street from Headquarters, 4/77th -- I got assigned to it as the Battalion Stringer in the middle of July.

Sometime in August or September -- I lost my mind by then -- we wanted to watch MASH.

I mean  WE ALL REALLY WANTED TO WATCH MASH.

So, there were in front of the silver screen, the projector almost as loud as the speakers. The smell of excitement in the air. Eyes focused on the screen.

On a planet known as Chinook field far, far away, the single whine of the small hydraulic turbine comes on line.

Eyes glued to the silver screen. Temperatures rising.

The twin engines come alive.

Hooping and hollering begins.

The blades increase in speed.

Naked, Naked ladies.

You hear the blades take to the task of lifting the Chinook into the air.

Then silence.

More naked, naked ladies.

KA WHAM!!

Listen, if was just a 122, we would have been really pissed and probably continued watching!
But NO metal was flying everywhere! whizzing by, hitting metal all around us. OH, my gawd, this is it!

Some new way Charlie was coming at us with a new type of weapon none of us was yet familiar with and WE were in the middle of it and had no idea whee it came from.

125 men went from sex starved to craw daddy mode in an instant. The projector took a direct hit. Not clear if that was friend or foe.

It took what felt like ten minutes for all the metal to stop banging against things and three hours for us to wait for an all clear and realize it wasn't coming.

We all went to bed wondering what the heck happened.

Question, what does a Chinook look like landing upside down on top of where the rotor blades used to be?

Like a totally busted Chinook that landed upside down where the rotor blades used to be.
Sigh.

We never did finish MASH. So, I guess the knock, knock Chinook jokes was a satisfactory compensation.

Journalist -- A change in plans

What's it like to do what I did in the Army today?

One fact that was clear to me -- and to this day, is still a big issue -- is the total disrespect for journalism in general and journalist as a breed of blood sucking ticks hell bent on getting the story no matter the price or effect that has on the organization, the individual's career or both.

I hate them too. Believe me, I do. The Paparazzi, the Tabloids, the fake news vendor. Money for nothing and the groping for free.

But they aren't alone.  There's the bitch class, the bastard class, the boy scout class, the girl scout class, the social class, the anti social class and a guy in the middle wondering "what about me?"

So, let's give him a class: The dick head class and for the ladies that feel left out, the bimbo class.

Feel better?


I don't. Truth is, you've been as we -- us programmers who love to observe the chaos about us -- like to say,  you've been tagged and bagged.

When there's nothing else left to explore in the world of real journalism, you slide back into the world of sensationalism and fake news.

Why?

Because it takes less journalist and produces higher returns on investment of the ones you have. And what does this produce?

A really bad hair day for the 200,000,000 million who work for a living while the 2,000,000 inherit the earth.

My wife wanted to know why I have gotten so cynical and sarcastic over the years. 

I want to tell her that I learned from the best. And while you might think I was redirecting her observation back on her -- which is only three quarters true --  the true reason for my attitude is my own guilty mind knowing I was sleeping at the switch when I should have been doing more for the people I love the most: America.

Believe it or not, I don't love trips down memory lane. They get romanticized, muddied by blurry time tracks and basically, aren't real anymore. These "glory day" moments are nothing more than a coping mechanism for the lack of or, for that matter, no closure on an event that went unrecognized.

Living in a dream world is the best way to describe it and the worst way to die. A pretty good summary of a journalist whose days are numbered. I'd rather wake up kicking and screaming  for a cause that effects us all than wake up to the smell of coffee, romancing the past and do nothing about the zombie nation we have become.  

Journalism is the medium through which that can happen. Real journalist, real social issues, real stories.

Real journalist, now that takes is a very rare individual with the guts and to do the impossible. An on the job trained genius and a person whose own personal interests and life take second seat to getting that picture, that story that lives forever. Even it cost the person his or her life.

In my books, that's what real journalism is about. Regrettably, it only takes one blood sucking journalist vying for the Pulitzer to spoil the image that so many of us worked hard to build.

Then there's the countless times when the other side of the equation who don't know you but are called on to help you size your importance based on rank.

Anyway, that's not why I wrote this article on my 4/77th blog.

Now, before you blow this off as another one of my famous rants, consider this before you do. Careers can't be built on lies. In order to have a career, it must be based on truths and obtainable goals with positive human experience accomplishments and a well defined list of qualifications needing to be obtained before going to the next objective.

If these things are not highlighted as the tasks in a job description -- what we call a statement of work (SOW) -- it is not a job but a wish list.

Your or a loved one thinks this job description than you think reading the back of your cereal box enhances the nutritional value of its contents:

Public Affairs Journalist 46Q

The Army public affairs specialist participates in and assists with the supervision and administration of Army public affairs programs primarily through news releases, newspaper articles, Web-based material and photographs for use in military and civilian news media.

Job Duties

Research, prepare and disseminate news releases, articles, web-based material and photographs on Army personnel and activities

Gather information for military news programs and publications within your unit and around the Army

Develop ideas for news articles

Arrange and conduct interviews

Write news releases, feature articles and editorials

Conduct media training

Are you laughing? You should be! If you aren't, either you haven't been in the Army or your memories have been wiped of the reality of how the system works.

Just in case you forgot: E1 to E5 = "DON'T THINK, DO AS I SAY".

Truth is:

AS AN ENLISTED PERSON, YOU CAN NOT PREFORM ANY OF THESE DUTIES WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF YOUR BOSS

If that boss hates public affairs or doesn't want to support you, you are screwed.

It should have read:  After your normal Soldiering duties:  Polishing boots, spit shining bras, formations, preparing for inspections, the usual hey yous senior NCOs put you through, and the rest of the stuff involved with being a soldier in today's Army, you might get the chance to do a few moments per day on your actual job.

By the time you get to E-5, you might find yourself at a desk performing the job mentioned above.   


By the way, did you notice the Redundancy Department Redundancies?

A Bit of Back Fill: Going back to the future

Between 1970 and 1979, I enjoyed the job as a stringer for the various organizations I was assigned to not just because I was good with a camera but because the Commanding Officers of the units wanted publicity and made it almost impossible for me to fail.

But I did every once and a while fail. I'm human and subject to having human ego overrides. And I can think of one shinny moment when I wished they had invented super glue and I had it to seal my lips.

There are two people who got the blame for destroying some rotor blades with ball pen hammers -- the real person to blame was MG Sidney B Berry -- and out of respect and because I knew both a friends I'm not going to mention their names. I worked for both. 

We were in a military taxi headed to another Division Support Command (DISCOM) with one of them in the back seat with our DISCOM Command Sergeant Major. For five minutes this Colonel complained about being passed over once again for his first star.

I had just gotten a personal letter of appreciation from the Commanding Officer of the 101st Airborne Division that the Colonel I am riding with had handed me. Tired of the back seat bemoaning, I said,     
"Well if certain Colonels that I know didn't destroy 450,000 dollars worth of helicopter rotor blades with ball pen, they probably wouldn't be getting passed up."

Gawd, I can't believe I said that as I tried to melt back into the seat looking at the Command Sergeant Major turning purple and blue in a fit of rage, the driver, a civilian trying hard not to laugh.

It was a horrible thing to say! 

But the Colonel knew I was right and our friendship told him I didn't mean anything by it. So the incident passed without further ramifications.  

But sometimes, quick whit statements win the day.  Like the time at the Army Aviation of America Association convention in Arlington, VA when I was the official photographer. When General George S. Blanchard told General Bernard Rogers to get out of his way because he wanted me to take a picture of himself with an X POW. 

Rogers turned and looked at me, "I don't know, Sergeant Edwards, "Should I get out of his way?"

My response, "Which one of you has more time in grade, time in service? Pull rank."

They both laughed and Rogers got out of the way. And I just realized something, I had to be a good 15 feet away from Rogers, how could he have read my name tag while turning towards me when he asked the question.

Weird.    

Anyway, I wasn't just a writer and a photographer, I was a photo-journalist. 

What does that mean? 

It means I could take pictures, write the story and combine the two as a photo-feature, use just the images without the feature or write the feature without images.

Furthermore, I had the freedom to pick and choose what I wanted to cover and when.Yes, I had to respond to event driven tasks such as promotions, training and unit social functions.

But for the most, the stories and articles came from me and no one else.

Public Affairs was the superior race of individuals who dealt with division level articles, assignments and the like. A lot of their assignments were given to them. More like reporters, they went out with a photographer and did their jobs per their job description.

I, on the other hand, was not doing my job per my job description and I paid for it by never being considered for promotion for almost 7 years.

So, needless to say, I am glad the Army decided to adjust tasks so that the emphasis is now focused on the units rather than at the division level.

Job Description: Comparing Now and Then

Research, prepare and disseminate news releases, articles, web-based material and photographs on Army personnel and activities

This is why this should be at the very least a Warrant Officer position. There is no way in Hades you are going to know enough about organization of the units in the military, the unit you will be assigned to and the supportive units your unit uses without some kind of intensive training on what one is dealing with, what kind of research is needed to create a professional level news releases, articles and a sensitivity.

This is a management skill which requires sensitivity to security issues, commanding officer goals and objectives, a sense for what is newsworthy, submission timing and the ability to transform boring into interesting, attention grabbing content.

Some of this is solely based on the talents of the individual performing the job.

Gather information for military news programs and publications within your unit and around the Army

I can relate to this by saying a single sentence can speak volumes about whether or not your using is a stand alone organization or one that plays well with others.

This is where you tread softly but carry a big stick.

Develop ideas for news articles

Classical Department of the Redundancy Department and part of the first job description.

This should also include: And work with the unit historian to determine if the idea has a historical track and/or should be included in the units' history.

Arrange and conduct interviews

It is the organization of questions that you will want to ask that determines the success or failure of the interview process. I did mine with a tape recorder. The biggest no no is to paraphrase without permission. So, if you aren't good at remembering or writing down exact quotes, use a tape recorder.

Write news releases, feature articles and editorials

Again, classical Department of the Redundancy Department. This was part of the first description.

History of news releases: canned and template based the Hometown News Release an example.

Feature articles?

For whom is the big question and, second is, in what format?

Close to 100 of mine were in the day in the life of format.

As for editorials, in the Army that sounds more like an oxymoron.

Conduct media training

The rank of Warrant Officer would certainly help to assure conformity with requirements.

Depending on the size of your unit, you could have from 5 to 20 soldiers assigned to you to pull their weight on the standard military news releases, provide you with story ideas and help you to work interactively with awards and decorations notifications.

WHAT I DID WITHOUT THE JOB TITLE

Interactively work with Battery or Troop level personnel tasked to assure news releases were created and prepared on a timely fashion.

Write articles and take images of awards, promotions, human interest, exceptional individuals training exercises and change of command events.

Produce an unit level newsletter.

The newsletter was created using a typewriter to cut through a wax coated paper. This stencil would then be spun around on a drum, be given an even coating of ink and then pressed against the paper and the ink would transfer to the page making a carbon copy of what was typed.

My articles were published in Army, Army Aviation Digest, Army Aviation Magazine, Army Times, Clarksville Leaf Chronicle, EurArmy Magazine, Front Line, Fort Campbell Courier, Hopkinsville New Era, Lake Charles American Press, Pillars And Posts, Rendezvous With Destiny, and Stars And Stripes.

I have worked with Hillary Brown of CBS News and David Allan Burnett while on assignment for Time Magazine.I had black and white images that David took in color that were published in Time Magazine.

My Hometown News Releases exceeded over 3000.

Want to know what really made my day?

Before writing this, it didn't dawn on me just how much Craig Geis' decision to have me become the stringer for the 4/77th had played out throughout my military career.

During REFORGER 78 I became the official US Army photographer for Task Force 229th Combat Aviation Battalion. The official one got his leg crushed between a tractor and a trailer.

As documented in Army Aviation Magazine, General John N. Brandenburg said he had to rely on the images taken during that exercise to create his briefing conducted at the Army Aviation Convention.

He sent me a personal letter of appreciation for that.

But more importantly, the 229th Combat Aviation Battalion was, it was the 4/77th Field Artillery. 

They had just changed colors. 

 

I came into the world of journalism as the 4/77th stringer and I ended my journalism career with the 4/77th as the person who saved the Commanding Officer of the 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault),  MG John N. Brandenburg's butt.

That's a a crazy kind of scary cool memory. 

A true Rendezvous With Destiny.

Sadly, for me, this is my last article on the 4/77th.  

Happy Thanksgiving and have a wonderful new year!

   

   

   

1973 to 1975 -- Air Mobile to Air Assault Part 3

This is in memory of two people whom which played a role in helping me to realize my full potential as a photo-journalist.

Emily Bell Sanders, wife of Col Burnett R. Sander II passed away on November 11th, 2011 and Burnett R. Sanders II who passed away on December 9, 2016.

Both were very exceptional people and both deserve much more than I can write here.  


Since it's been 42 years ago, I can't be positive on the exact dates these events happened. I'm sure that someone who skims through the micro film of the Fort Campbell Courier for 1974 and 1975 that person could reset the chronicle logical order of the events.

So, instead of embarrassing myself with totally wrong timelines, I'm going to write what I know happened and what I was involved with.

No matter, let's fill in some blank space.

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN AIR MOBILE AND AIR ASSAULT


What was the difference between Air Mobile and Air Assault? I couldn't actually find a definitive answer on line so here's mine. Air Mobile was the concept that you could move troops from point A to point B using helicopters. The concept limited scope to ground troop movement for a specific purpose and all related support was either already there or was within a short distance from the ground troops being moved. Much of the transportation for operations other than ground troop movement was conducted by ground vehicles.


Air Assault on the other hand meant the entire division could be moved from point A to Point B without having to rely on ground transportation to move the logistical and related support personnel into their designated areas.

In-other-words, we brought our transportation with us.

Problem is, you have to have soldiers trained with the right skills and mental capabilities to deal with a division that has the ability to move around at any moment.  As Retired General Roper put it, "There is no room in a 100 mile per hour division for a 10 mile per hour mind." 

So whether or not you are involved with or assigned to the 101st Airborne Division Air Assault you needed additional training .  And that training comes in the form of the Air Assault School.


That training included learning how to sling load vehicles and supplies, rappelling from 125 feet in the air day or at night walking up a monkey ladder day or night, jumping onto what was known as the spider net.

In my day, to qualify you had to walk around Clarksville Base with a back sack and a rubber M-14 and do it within 2 hours and 30 minutes.  I did mine in 2 hours and 10 minutes with a wet bulb factor of 5 weighing 209.

Today, the school works a bit differently. There is a obstacle course at the beginning and the forced march is at the end.

You may want to read this.

We also learned how to do the Aussie rappel. Those were some awesome times and awesome memories.

WHEN I SAY "OUT FRONT", I MEAN BUSINESS

   

The primary mission of the 2/17th Cavalry in 1974 was to be the eyes and ears of the Division.
In-other-words, 


The 2/17th Cavalry consisted of 5 Troops. A, B and C Troop were a mixture of OH-58s, AH-1G Cobras and a platoon of infantry known as the Blue Platoon.  Each Troop had color bands around the end of the tail booms just past the stabilizer. Red for A Troop, white for B Troop and blue for C Troop. 

D Troop was a composite of infantry and mule and jeep mounted 106 recoil less rifles. While I found them to be interesting as a mix or field expediency and intriguing imagination.

The mules would go from 106 recoil less rifles to TOW missile firing platforms.



Because the 2/17th was such a unique Squadron, it also had its unique perks.  Such as being the Division Color Guard and providing its fair share of helicopters for the Air Assault In Action demonstrations.

While I didn't take the image above or the image of the Cobra in Vietnam, I did take plenty of both over the years.

MARCH 1974 -- From small beginnings, the journey can end in greatness...or certain death. In a virtual reality game, you can always start over. In the real world, you're just dead.  It was time to tip the scale towards greatness.

"Sergeant Edwards," said a CW4 who was nick named "Wizard" and I shared a building with, just getting of the phone with our boss.

"Yes, sir."

"The colonel wants you to go with him over to the Air Assault School and take pictures. Also told me to tell you to have plenty of film."

"Do I dare ask why?"

"Know who Bo Callaway is?"

"No, sir,"

"Well, he's the Secretary of  the Army. He's going to be in the bleachers."

Great, so all I have to do is take some pictures of the Secretary of the Army and...wait a minute.

"What time are we going, sir?"

"The demo is at 10am, the Colonel will pick you up here at 9am."

Good, I thought, he is interested in his men after all. We're going to start building a true public affairs system.

So, as promised, the Colonel picked me up and we headed over to the staging area. I proceeded to shot 36 images on our men and their helicopters. My light meter was doing some strange things. Telling me the helicopter's exposure was F5.6 with a shutter speed of 250. Pointing it at the sky, even with an overcast, it was running F11 with a shutter speed of 250. With an ASA rating of 125.

In the case of black and white film there is a tolerance of 3 stops up and three stops down. I would soon learn a trick about taking great action shots of helicopters, Over expose the film, using Microdol-X, 3:1 and at 72 degrees, stop the development process at 9 minutes instead of 11.

Then use a number 3 or 4 paper to rebuild the contrast.


Shooting slide film, its 1.5 stops up and 1.5 stops down. With an ASA rating of 60.

These things you learn over time. That is, if you want to master photography...in my day.

Also, in case anyone really wants to know. Exposing for the helicopter works great except, there was a slight problem. The background behind the helicopters flying by was just about the same color and intensity as the helicopters themselves.

Months later, I solved this by using an 80 to 210mm zoom lens, edited tightly on the helicopter as it flew by and used Tri-x 400 film.

Making 8 x 10 prints with tight cropping and reducing development time produced a much flatter image with the shutter speed where I needed it to be so I could hand hold the zoom lens without blurring the image.

After taking pictures of the VIPs and the Air Assault demonstration, I asked LTC Sanders if there was anything else he would be needing me to do the rest of the day.  He said no so I headed for the photo-lab.

I took my contacts over to Shepard at the Fort Campbell Public Affairs Office.

He looked them over with a loop and asked, "Where did you get these?"

"What do you mean where did I get these? I just took them."

"Print up 13, 20, 27 and 36. 2 and 10 on the second sheet. I'll circle them."

I always drew blanks trying to figure out what goes on in the heads of editors. Why my images caused excitement in them. So, I ran over to the photo-lab, printed the images in 8x10 size and came back over to the Public Affairs Office.

It was right at 5pm and I just happened to step back inside the building at the moment when the cannon went off.

The place was as quite as a church. "Anyone here?"

"I am," said a voice in the far left corner of the building. I walked towards the voice. Looked at a rather tall man with a husky voice, read his nameplate and realized this was LTC John A.G. Klose.

"Sorry to bother you sir." I began.

"No problem, I needed to finish up this response to Old Abe question. Okay, done.  How can I help you?", his smile while sincere and assuring also painted a picture of  "Warning,  Will Robinson, Warning!"

"Shepard asked me to print these up from my contacts."

He looked at the images, looked up at me and then looked back at the images. Bet you know what's coming.

"Where did you get these?"

"I just took them, Sir."

"Sergeant Edwards, please have a seat."

"Do you know how many photographers we have on post?"

"No, sir."

"Twenty.  A whole twenty professional photographers. None have been able to take pictures of helicopters. Not like these."

And I thought, well, if you rely on a light meter, that's probably what's going to happen. 

"And you come along, literally, out of no where, with helicopter images taken exactly the way I need them.

"Whose your boss?"

"LTC Sanders, sir. I'm their Squadron Stringer."

"Welcome to Public Affairs. Mind if I call you Dick?"

"No, sir not at all."

"Dick, do you write as well as you take pictures?"

"A bit weak in that area so some mentoring would help. Sir."

"So I take it you've been published?"

"Yes sir, in Vietnam 69-70. I was the stringer for the 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery from July to October. Published in Army Times, Rendezvous With Destiny and Stars And Stripes.

"But most of my work was images and cut lines."

"I can see why  Any photographic training?"

"None sir. I'm still learning on the job. But I did read a book once. Does that count?"

His smile went serious. "You're pulling my leg, right?"

"No sir."

"My gawd.

"Listen to me -- and if you've read my Old Abe column you know I don't pamper whiners and praise men and women for their accomplishments. The point I'm trying to make here is, I'm a straight shooter.

"How many images do you think the average professional takes to get one right?

"Don't know, sir"

"Three. So, out of 36, there might be 12 and that is if the subject is not moving.

"Out of the 72, you've got 60 unique images I could use.  And you didn't know what I was looking for. That is equal to using up 5 36 exposure  rolls of film."



He handed me a key, "Go upstairs, On the right is a door.  There is a refrigerator with film in it. Grab yourself 20 rolls. What type of camera do you have?"

"Argus C-5. sir"

"A view finder camera! You took these with a vintage viewfinder camera?"

"Would you like to see it?" I asked as I pulled it out and showed it to him.

"See if you can find a ASHI Pentax and lens up there, too."

When I got back from upstairs and handed him the keys:


"Alright, you don't talk to anyone here but me and my civilian counterpart. I'll give Shepard your work. I can't give you credit for every picture you take. Or all the photo-features you create.


"If I do, I'll have those GS 13s who run the AV section down my throat.


"Bring the news releases and that newsletter your unit produces to me as well.



 
"Dick, some of your Squadron is about to go to over to Indian Mound.

"I'm going to talk to your boss.  Let him know of your value to me. And I'll have SP5 Charles Drake do the journalist piece and then, when the two of you can get together, he can help you with cut lines, reverse pyramid writing and photo-features."

"Thank you, sir."
 
I think I floated home.What the hell just happened?

While this may sound far fetched, LTC John A.G.Klose did something similar two years later in Germany on REFORGER 76. Lightning does strike twice.

Col Sanders called me into his office the next day.

I stood at attention and saluted him.  He said, "At ease." Pointed to a chair and said, "Sit down."

"You apparently made a big splash with the division public affairs."

"He was impressed with my photography work."

"Do you want to go work for him?"

"Hell, no, sir. Permission to speak freely, sir?" 

"Ganted."

"I am totally, 100% dedicated to you and the Squadron. You and the unit are priority #1. You took a chance on me pulling me out of a 67Y20 critical shortage MOS to do this job and by god, I'm going to do it to the best of my ability."

"Also, just because he thinks I'm a damn good photographer doesn't mean I want to be his damn good photographer. I'm more than that.

"Why don't we put 5 cork boards up, one for each troop along the hallways leading to the Mess Hall label each with the troop names and add In Action and change out the images once a month?

"Now that is a great idea. What about?"

"Yes, we can put one up for the Officer's wives club, too, sir."

He smiled.

"Let's do it."  

 Someone behind me cleared his throat.

"Of course with the XOs permission as well, " I said, looking at Col Sanders with a big fat smile on my face."

"Is that all, sir?

"Get ready to do Indian Mound tomorrow."

So, we went out to Indian Mound. Like me, you're probably wondering what could possibly be out there that would be news worthy.

Well, as it turns out, Indian Mound was a short field dirt runway where C-130s could land and take off. It was a very damp morning and I was glad I had put Tri-X film in the camera. Again, riding in the front seat of an open jeep, Colonel Sanders and I arrived on station around 8 cold 30 in the morning.

Because the C-130s were working with a very short takeoff distance, their paddle wheel like blades were causing some very cool looking white rings to appear like smoke. I had no idea that one image would get published in the Clarksville Leaf Chronicle, Hopkinsville New Ear, the Courier Post and be on the front page of Army Times when I took it.

I just knew it was a cool shot.

By May, I had my first two page spread -- known as a double truck.  A little bit of my writing creeped in and a whole lot of images.

Our Squadron Command Sergeant Major accused me of carrying a lethal weapon -- namely my camera as one of the images published showed a crew chief refueling an UH-1H without his safety visor down.


MY ENCOUNTERS WITH THE GENERAL OFFICER KIND

There are two General Officers who seemed to like me as much as I liked them. General John N. Brandenburg and General Sidney B. Berry.

For the next 4 years, General Brandenburg and I would -- how should I put -- interact in ways you probably won't believe.

I took a picture of General Berry once in Vietnam.  Although I had no idea who he was until Life Magazine did an article on him.


The very first encounter with him was humorous.

A helicopter landed near our Tactical Operations Center (TOC).

We had a lot of them land there but this one had a red plate on the side with two gold stars on it. I expected the crew chief to hop out, slide the door back and let the General out.


Instead, the pilot door to my side of the helicopter opened up and General Berry got out with his flying helmet on.

The ground was wet from a quick shower that came and went.  The trail down to where he would have to walk was a bit steep and angular. So as the General tried switching helmets he almost slipped and fell. He saw me holding my camera up and realized I had taken a picture. I went to full attention and saluted him.

General Berry smiled, put his hand on my should and said while laughing, "I see you caught me almost falling on my ass." I smiled.


A few moments later, I took a very serious image of General Berry and, perhaps, one of the most powerful images of my life. I photographed three men in that picture. All three were Commanding Officers of the 101st Airborne Division.

General John M. Brandenburg and LTC Teddy Allen were the two others.

Months later when General Berry was about to leave, he passed me in the hallway while I was once again taking pictures and said, "This is the most picturest taking Battalion I've ever seen.

Then laughed, put his hand on my should once again and said, "How are you doing Sergeant Edwards?"

I smiled back, "Just fine sir." 

101ST IS 30 YEARS OLD

Another triple newspaper event happened when the division celebrated its 30 year old anniversary.

By then, Public Affairs had more images of helicopters in action than they could publish. So images like pictures of our color guard and from the Air Assault In Action demonstration and pictures of the Air Assault School were put together as a collection of images and were published in Clarksville Leaf Chronicle, Hopkinsville New Ear, the Courier Post.



COMBAT DUTY TIME AT FORT CAMPBELL, FORT POLK, LA, FORT BLISS, TX, AND FORT MCCOY, WI.

When we went to Fort McCoy, I was there to take pictures and to do a day in the life of  type article on our Blue Platoon when it launched an nighttime attack on the National Guard.

I also brought with me a  screen and a move projector and showed movies.

You are going to notice that I bring a screen and a projector a lot to the field. I can blame that one on my father who used to run movie theaters in the New Jersey area, they called him Uncle Eddie.

I remember both the West Point Army and Annapolis Navel Officers coming into the theater before heading over to the Army/Navy Game in Philly.


Anyway, it seemed to me to be the right thing to do.

So was wanting to document the Blue Platoon's story up close and personal. So I volunteered to go with them.

Moving along slowly and quietly, we finally found them and hid behind the treeline 50 feet away from their outer perimeter guards. 

Once we established the best position to breach their security without being seen, we slipped in.

It seemed to us they weren't taking their jobs very seriously. They were playing loud music and you could smell the beer and loud laughter. They were in party mode and we were about to crash it with some music of our own Calvary Style with a sobering rendition of M-80 cocktails thrown into tents
and a ton of blanks popping off.


"Welcome to the party boys.  It is called the real Army."

We came, we conquered and we were out of there and headed for the Rendezvous point.

"What the hell was that last big pop, sir?"

"Not telling," he said in a smirky smile the cloudless moon displayed along with the eyes like a Cheshire cat: the camouflaged face hiding all the rest.   

No choppers.

For a moment, we began fearing for our lives.

Luckily for us, the choppers did arrive before we were found by a bunch case of the red ass National Guardsman.   

When we went to Fort Bliss, TX, I went in a C-130 running on 3 engines for the most of the air time. Due to pressurization issues the C-5A to longer to arrive and to Colonel Sanders' and Major McDermot' surprise, I was there to take images of them once the nose was up and rampway was down.


One the coolest things in the world is to listen to a C-5A taxi and start to take off. Sounds like a very loud vacuum cleaner. Or at least it did until the door blew off and the air got pin drop quiet once again.

I took the first flight back to Fort Campbell and the pictures I took were published that Friday.

When we went to Fort Polk, La, I went with LTC Sanders and, again,  I brought a screen and a move projector and showed movies.

We weren't just about Cobras and recon. We also had an ground Troop. D Troop used 106 recoil less rifles. Photographing them in action was awesome.


LET'S SEE WHAT A KEEP LOOKS LIKE DROPPED AT 500 FEET, NAP OF THE EARTH AND SOME FRONT SEAT COBRA TIME

I remember, once, taking a picture of a jeep dropped at 500 feet from under a chopper.  Wasn't pretty.
It looked in all of the world like someone had taken have the jeep and put it into as trash compactor.
Someone should have finished the job, take it home with them and then sold it for 1.5 million as art decor.


Chief Warrant Officer William "Bill" Burton was a very interesting character. Once, he saw me left behind and alone in an open field. He came in to get me home.

Another time he took me flying with him while he honed his skills flying NAP of the earth. Basically doing 60 knots, 5 feet off the deck. There were a couple of occasion where we became leaf cutters as the blades sliced through the tips of some trees looking for a free haircut.

Bill also let me fly the OH-58 and gave me some pointers on hovering and finding a line of horizon to fly straight and level.

This was about to come in handy.

Flying in the front seat of a Cobra is a really cool.  I've done this twice. Once with LT Craig Geis and once at SERTS training at Camp Evans when I needed some images of our rockets being fired down range.

So I got in the front seat and started taking images. Two other Cobras joined us and I used up all of my film on in the air action shots.

"Sergeant Edwards. Have you flown before?"

"Sir. if you are asking if I've actually flown a Cobra myself, no sir. But I have soloed in a fixed wing and have over 40 hours of official and unofficial stick time.

"Okay, its yours. Watch your altimeter and air speed. When they turn, you turn."

So, when the lead Cobra turned, I did what I did in a fixed wing and, knowing the sensitivity of the controls in the front seat, my twist of the cyclic to the right was about an 8th of an inch.

"Sergeant Edwards, this is not a fixed wing, " the back seat began his lecture. "A little less then next time."

"Yes, sir, sorry sir."

We did some more flying around, landed over at Clarksville Base to get refueled. He jumped out, refueled the Cobra and got back in.

"Okay, its yours."

Let me get this straight, you want me to get this 2.1+ million dollar helicopter off the refueling pad and not kill us in the process.

Thank you Bill Burton!

A bit of left pedal, pull up on the collective while doing very small figure 8s on the cyclic.Piece of cake. What, wait, oh no, we're going to high.  About 30 feet too high. Smooth as glass, I might add. But not 3 feet.


I often regret not having more film in my camera. Imagine looking down at Cobra pilots who are looking up at us wonder what the hell we were up to.

Or them taking a image of me in pure terror mode!

"I've got it. Not bad, by the way."

That would be the last time for the rest of my time in the service that I would get a chance to be in the front seat of a AH-1G.

Still, WOW!
 
We didn't just photograph exercises.


KIDS OUR US

Once again, I found myself being flown around in an OH-58 with Warrant Officer Bill Burton -- this time observing the wrath of a twister's aftermath north of Hopkinsville and heading back home,  Mister "Bill" had to land due to needing to go to the bathroom.

He choose a grade school.

When I saw all the kids faces and I thought, it would be really cool if we brought the children all of the various helicopters we used and showed them each one up close and personal. 

I convinced Colonel Sanders and with permission from everyone involved, we brought our choppers up to the school. I took pictures and wrote the article.


HOW OLD IS THAT YOUNG MAN?

When the women of he officers wives club went to a retirement home up in Hopkinsville, I took pictures and wrote a story about it.  I remember an older gentleman kept on insisting we see a young man at the retirement home. When I asked him what the age was of this young man, he said 53.
As I write this, I'm 15 years older than that "young man"

YOU WANT TO DO WHAT?    

There were times when we just had fun laughing at ourselves.  Maj McDermot comes to mind.  I accidentally took a picture of him holding the purses of then BG Jack V. Mackmull wife's gloves and purse.


LTC Sander's wife Emily Bell whom I knew as yes ma am, thought that to be totally hilarious considering McDermot was well known for not liking to do such things.

Now, admittedly, I may have had a bit of my own payback in mind for this West Point Officer in agreeing with yes ma am on this one. As he made an embarrassing moment for me more embarrassing.

As that story went, I was supposed to take images of a Captain getting promoted to Major at 4pm and our Communications Officer decided to continue to lecture me well into that moment.

By the time I got to where the promotion was being held, the new Major had his gold oak leafs on his label and the officer doing the promotion performed his salute and turned around and faced me.

It was General Brandenburg.

"Sergeant Edwards"

"Yes sir"

"You are late"

"Sorry sir"

"What do you want me to do?" 

This is a 6.3 one Star who ribbed me about whether or not I had film in my camera. Who told me he wanted five images for his grandmother. Who was the most interesting ROTC graduate General I had ever met in my life.

"Can we do it again?"

"Certainly!"

You know when you can feel the presence of danger without knowing why? I was feeling the pitch forks being packed in numbers of unfathomable quantity being packed into a canon being fired at point blank range at my butt by Maj McDermot.

When he was mad, you could hear his billowing voice from New York to California. You never wanted to hear it again. When done with the botched promotion and with the General on his jet to India so he didn't have to hear it, out of his mouth came the roar

"EDWARDS, report to my office."

So, I did.

"If I wasn't feeling so bad I would chew you up and down on both sides. Be gone."

So it was only fitting the night of the Hail and Farewell party for Colonel Sanders at the Officer's Club that we give Major McDermot a moment of payback.

When the time came, I was out in the hallway asking one of the staff for a coke. There was some laughter.

"EDWARDS"

"I'm not here,sir."

More laughter.

About to finish off the cold drink. I turned around and there's Major McDermot.

"I need the camera."

"No problem, sir, " I said as I handed it to him.

He started shaking his head. "I mean you have to report to General Brandenburg. He want's me to take a picture of you and him together."

Now that really is payback. I tried not to laugh hysterically.

"Do you even know how to report to a General?"

Sure, I do this kind of think on a religious basis.

"No sir."

So he told me. And I did exactly what McDermont told me to do. General Brandenburg said, "As many times as you have taken a picture of me, I think it is time for us to have one together."

It was, indeed an exciting moment for me.

Then there was the walk out incident. Almost out of nowhere another tall formidable looking officer in civilian clothes said, "Excuse me Sergent, do you know where the stag bar is. I had just passed the sign, second floor.

"Sir, my apologies for my ignorance as I don't generally visit the Officer's Club, I very politely pointed to the sign, "I believe it is upstairs, sir."

The gentleman realized I had flavored my response with a ton of deep respect for his stature despite the fact that he was in civilian clothes, let me know just how smart we both were and smiled with an appreciative smile.

"Thank you, Sergeant"

"You are sincerely welcome, sir."

The next day at our change of command ceremony, we eyed each other, smiled and I walked up to him. I went to salute, he shook my hand. His name?

Charles W. ("Bill") Dyke retired from the U.S. Army as a Lieutenant General on September 1, 1988. After that, he would become the Founder International Technology & Trade Associates, Inc. and Chairman Emeritus.

And who took over the 2/17th Air Cavalry?

Some cranky old guy of 42 by the name of LTC Gary E. Luck who would rather play golf than return my calls.

Oh, wait, I meant cranky retried 4 star General Gary E. Luck.

Perhaps, his stature is why.

THE 101st AVIATION GROUP

Ounce per ounce, at the time the 101st Aviation Group officers in charge was more like a general officers club. Why I even knew them was because my wife worked for them and they knew me from all the work I did with the Fort Campbell Courier.

The names below either knew me by first name or knew of my photographic reputation or worked for the 101st Aviation Group. They also became Commanding Officers of the 101st Airborne Division:

MG John N. Brandenburg March-78 – June-80

MG Jack V. Mackmull June-80 – August-81

MG Charles W. Bagnal August-81 – August-83

MG Teddy G. Allen May-87 – August-89

These men were responsible for preparing the 101st Airborne Division Air Assault for REFORGER 76.

Except for John N. Brandenburg, the rest were either Lieutenant Colonels or Colonels when I knew them.

I was and still am very proud to have know or have worked with all of them

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A FUTURE 4 STAR GENERAL 

I'm over on the tarmac over at Fort Campbell Army Airfield.

A C-5A had just landed and I was there to take images of it. I did my usual 360 around the aircraft. Once I was done and had all the images I wanted.

But I had to wait on LTC Gary E. Luck to get a ride back to the 2/17th Cavalry -- it was five miles on the other side of range road.  I could have caught another military cab or walked along Range Road and left him there.

But what I was seeing was to comical to not want to stay and watch -- incomplete disbelief. It was the most comical thing I had seen in years.

Apparently, the rest of the 101st Aviation Group thought to do the same thing.


Here's my boss inspecting the C-5A like he had never seen one before.

You know, come to think of it, he probably hadn't.

He was all over it.

In the wheel well, looking at tires, walking through the C-5A, going up to the top portion of it and peering out from up top where the chief flight technician would peer out of as the plane taxied along.

About that time,  I think it was  Colonel Charles W. Bagnal, but it didn't matter, because all of them that knew me were future General Officers, walked up behind me.

"Sergeant Edwards, isn't that your boss," he asked in a voice of  "What the hell is he doing".

Shaking my head, "Can I plead on the 5th, sir?

We both got a good chuckle out of that one.

ONWARD AND UPWARD

For years now, I've been wanting to prove the fact that the below images were taken by me.

Below is a link to my published in Army Aviation Digest in December 1976:


  http://www.rucker.army.mil/avjournal/1970/1976/AVN_DIG_1976_12.pdf


Thanks to Army Aviation Magazine, I can prove it.

 

 
As for me at this juncture, aside from having a picture taken with General Brandenburg, I was awarded an Army Accommodation medal and a Commanders Certificate.

I never did get an Air Medal although I had plenty of flight time under my belt.

But my best rewards: The fond memories of working with the best men and women who helped me breathe life and stories into my world with the 101st Airborne Division Air Assault.

RIP Emily Bell Sanders, Col Burnett R. Sander II and Col John A.G. Klose. May your memories live on both here and for the rest of my time. We certainly, were "Out Front".