The Story of Duck River

  I arrived in Viet Nam in late October, early November, 1966.  I had received some Vietnamese language training, and was expecting to be assigned duties in the Civic Action program.  That didn't happen right away, and I spent the next several months as a radioman working with direct air support centers at Chu Lai and out in the field at places like Duc Pho and Quang Ngai, and a few more remote locations.  On June 1, 1967, my unit was assigned an area of responsibility for Civic Action efforts, and I was designated the Civic Action NCO.  I soon convinced the Commanding Officer I needed a special pass that authorized me to be in the village at any time for any purpose.  I still have that pass, typewritten on a 3X5 index card.  It was never challenged, and I used it all the time.

  In July, a young 1st Lieutenant joined our unit, fresh from OCS, the Basic Course, and training as a controller on the TPQ-10, a voice vectored, high altitude, more-or-less precision bombing system.  In essence, it married a ballistics computer to a tracking radar, and the officers talked (voice vectored) the pilot through a course (air speed, direction and altitude) and gave them a command when to drop the particular ordinance on their aircraft to hit a particular set of coordinates.  It was pretty accurate, usually within 50 meters or so.  This enthusiastic, exuberant, and patently trainable Lt. was William E. McEwen, II (named after his grandfather) from Duck River, Tennessee.  Inevitably, he was assigned other duties, including to supervise me as Officer in Charge of the Civic Action Program in the village of Sam Hai.

  Lt. McEwen and I  spent some time together, although I trained him to leave me mostly alone.  We stole a lot of concrete together, helped the Vietnamese build aprons on their wells to hopefully improve water quality, and built a clinic for the village nurse, Co The.  We were assisted in our efforts by a young Vietnamese guy, Truong, and a lady in the village who ran a laundry, store, and ping-pong parlor, Co Lieu.

  From time to time, Lt. McEwen (now known as "Bill" because we are older, and he can't court martial me for insubordination) would talk about being raised in Duck River, Tennessee, on the family farm, with a brother who was a bit of a hell raiser.  I promised him I would come visit him after the war.

  In 1972, while driving around the continental U.S. in a 1960 VW bus, I stopped in Duck River at the general store to try and find him.  The locals were suspicious, and asked a lot of questions before they got me a phone number for him.  We talked on the phone, but didn't meet up.  In May, 2011, we made contact by email.  This time, I made contact by email to make sure he was around this week.  He was, so I rode on over.