CHANCE MEETING WITH A F4 FIGHTER PILOT

A chance meeting along the banks of the Willamette River in downtown Portland was the best break I’ve had in a while.

I met a man named Jim after I asked about his dog.

Dogs are a good icebreaker, and we shared a common breed, a doodle dog.

One thing led to another, and I learned he was a fighter pilot in Vietnam.

What did he learn about PFC me?

I’d been an Army medic on a two year enlistment in the mid-70s, he was a career Air Force man who evolved from flying an F4 to flying an F16.

He presented a lens into the Vietnam Era.

After graduating from Oregon State in the mid-60s with a low draft number he made plans instead of waiting for the invitation mailed to young men back then.

Instead of learning the ground war plan, he learned the air war plan.

I was enchanted as we continued the conversation.

We moved from one topic to the next like a couple of guys on a bench at the park.

Jim was a resource of how men look back on their wartime role over the decades.

How A Chance Meeting Happens

I had an appointment in the neighborhood with the orthopedic doctor who fixed my gimpy hip.

He gave me the green light of a successful outcome after viewing new X-rays.

I don’t know about everyone else, but this image is part creep-out, and part mobility blessing.

I thanked him for the nice scar. Dr. Huff called it a bikini scar. My description was a Speedo scar.

In addition, I also recommended he advise his patients to buy good shoes for their new hip. I like giving good doctor’s feedback they don’t ask for.

I also said weed edibles were a good substitute for opioids since he asked if I was still taking pain meds.

While I waited for my wife to finish up with her doctor, I took a walk instead of sitting in a waiting room because ‘why not?’ My hip agreed.

Jim was walking his dog when I interrupted. Since I’ve been off coffee the last two months, and had my first cup that morning, I was interrupting everyone. In a polite and respectful way.

We went on a roll.

Flying An F4 Through The Mist

Jim flew commercial airliners after retiring from the Air Force. Could there be a better pilot than one who knew his way around the F4 and later the F16?

“After eleven years in I could have gotten out, but the Air Force dangled the F16 in front of me, so I stayed.”

I was in the presence of a man who understood challenges and how to meet them. You don’t get that if you don’t leave the house.

In my world, learning things never stops; I had a feeling his was similar.

“If you had to do it all over again, would you?” I asked.

“There are a couple of things I wouldn’t want to do again.”

He flew F4 support missions out of Thailand for the planes dispersing Agent Orange.

“We could go full oxygen, but still feel the stuff coming in.”

I asked about the Blue Water Navy and Agent Orange.

“They had desalination plants for drinking water. Agent Orange migrated from the surface and permeated the water table and went out to sea. Those guys were drinking Agent Orange.”

Who else drank Agent Orange water in Vietnam? The Vietnamese in the areas sprayed sounds right. Their chance meeting with the herbicide is as tragic as any.

Vietnam Explained By Vietnam Vet

Toward the end of our talk Jim mentioned a link sent to him on an article written by former Secretary of the Navy James Webb who was awarded the Navy Cross, Silver Star, and Bronze Star medals for heroism as a Marine in Vietnam.

Here are excerpts, but read the whole thing for impact.

The rapidly disappearing cohort of Americans that endured the Great Depression and then fought World War II is receiving quite a send-off from the leading lights of the so-called 60s generation.  

An irony is at work here.  Lest we forget, the World War II generation now being lionized also brought us the Vietnam War, a conflict which today’s most conspicuous voices by and large opposed, and in which few of them served. 

Nine million men served in the military during the Vietnam War, three million of whom went to the Vietnam Theater.  Contrary to popular mythology, two-thirds of these were volunteers, and 73 percent of those who died were volunteers. 

When I remember those days and the very young men who spent them with me, I am continually amazed, for these were mostly recent civilians, barely out of high school, called up from the cities and the farms to do their year in hell and then return.

If this is the only time I have contact with Jim, our chance meeting was a milestone. But I’m a blogger, a writer, and I told him about this blog. He found me and left a comment with the link.

Thank you, Jim, for making time.