Wayne Chasson - This is Minuteman: Two-Three... Go!: Memoirs of a Helicopter Pilot in Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan

A S MISSION REQUIREMENTS started to wind down while flying in Afghanistan, I was faced with longer flight times between landing zones. To help pass the time I started jotting down notes of my six decades of flying, just a hodgepodge of flashbacks. At the end of the day, back in my hooch , I would try and put the hodgepodge in some kind of order. At first it was just rambling, then as I got farther into it the notes became almost therapeutic. Some memories would come pouring out, some I just held back until I was ready. Soon, I had some two hundred and fifty pages .

I had no illusions of the end result. I wasnt sure if I was writing this for myself or maybe my grandchildren. I never really thought anybody would be interested in what I had to say. As I said, it really started out as a way to eat up time between landing zones or FOBs . If youve gotten this far, maybe the title or pictures got your attention. If so, thank you for getting this far. I hope you can enjoy and feel part of my six decades of aviation. As of today its been fifty years since I stepped off the Boeing 707 in Vietnam. There is more than a little dust on the bottle, not to mention my hair. My memories have aged with time but still the flashbacks remain vivid, even if only for a moment.

Stories are arranged chronologically and grouped by stages of my military and civilian career. Please note that for your information and better enjoyment of the text, in the back of the book there are sections that briefly discuss the Huey as well as a glossary for clarity on what is being said and immersion into the world Ive been a part of and survived .

And if nothing else, in the back of the book, please read The Wall. All gave some, some gave all.

Wayne Chasson

West Palm Beach, Florida

November 2019

M Y MEMORIES MAY have faded with time, but not my recollection of that first day in Vietnam. Throw some diesel fuel on a bucket of human waste and you have a scent that will live in your memory forever. Thats what I remember most about my first daythe smell. That and the air, or the lack of it. Disembarking from the plane, we were greeted by a pungent stench that could only come from a combination of heat, humidity, and burning feces from the outhouses. Right there at the doorway of the Flying Tiger 707, it felt as if all the air was being sucked out of my lungs. My mind leapt to early lessons from flight school: Lift and Bernoullis Principlenature abhors a vacuum; high pressure always overtakes lower pressure. Could there be a lack of oxygen in Vietnam? That was itthe air in my lungs was going to replenish the air in this stinking country.

Making my way down the stairs, I wondered what was next. Can I wait right here for the war to be over, or will someone have a plan for me? A sergeant calling out, Newbies form over here, soon answered that question. Rank made no difference, all newbies were lumped together, which was fine. I didnt want to stand out. Two large duffle bags came off the plane, and there I stood, 9,000 miles from home, a day earlier than when I had left.

I have learned there are four os in life, all fairly self-explanatory: First is Oops. This is the easiest to resolve. Next is Oh noa little harder to overcome, but again no worries. More serious is Oh shit, which isnt the end, but it can be a game-changer. You must be careful: you never ever want Oh shit to become Oh fuck because those are almost impossible to recover from. This definitely felt like an Oh shit moment.

What was I doing here? How did I get here?

L IFE WAS GOOD: I was in love with Aileen, I had my license, and my parents were great. Aileen was the girl I was destined to marry. She had a face that could stop a clock, a dark-haired beauty with Bette Davis eyes that mesmerized you. More importantly, she had a laugh that was infectious. She was never afraid to laugh at herself. My dad worked endless hours as the owner of a small dry-cleaning business but found time when he could to be involved in school and sports. My mom worked but arranged her job to be home as we went off to school and more importantly to be there when we got home. She wanted the best for us even though financially it was difficult. For example, she loved the idea of us playing golf. A full set of golf clubs was out of the question but a seven iron and a putter would do, for starters.

I was a typical high school student with average grades from a school with one of the top reputations in the country. Newton, Massachusetts was everything a boy in his teens could wantor at least this boy. I thought I was destined to have a good life with no worries or cares. Tomorrow would take care of itself. As a seventeen-year-old starting senior year, I didnt pay much attention to the news. It was September 1964. I would just ride the wave with the Beach Boys in the background, waiting for a plan to unfold. Fall rolled into winter, and then suddenly it was spring. Oopswould I get into college?

Things were heating up in Vietnam, but how could something on the other side of the world affect me? I knew that if I didnt go to college I could be eligible for the draft. But I wasnt yet eighteen and didnt have to register for the draft for the time being. I had plenty of time to get ready for college, I thought. But when all the schools I applied to turned me down, I had my first, Oh no.

I threw in with a college pool, and the University of Pittsburgh was willing to take a chance on me. Unfortunately, the university also said I had to go to a summer program in Johnstown as a trial run, to ensure I was college worthy. If I was successful there, I could move on to the main campus in Pittsburgh.

I kissed Aileen goodbye, saying, Wait for me. Ill be thinking of you every day. She assured me she would miss me terribly. Then off I went to Johnstown, PA. Up to this point, I had barely ventured out of Massachusetts, but here I was in the middle of nowhere. The University of Pittsburgh summer program was easy. Most of the initial classes picked up with material from the middle of senior year in high school. I started off with a bang, earning As and Bs in everything. I figured this college thing wasnt going to be that hard, and I could devote my life to girls and goofing off. In fairness to Aileen, whom I would talk to at least once a week, I didnt date any girls, but I was an excellent flirt (one of my few real talents). But the pace at which the professors taught in college was much faster than in high school, and it didnt take long for my As and Bs to drop to Cs and, by the end of the summer, Ds. Another Oops, but with the potential to become another Oh no.

In order to secure the move to the main campus in Pittsburgh, I had to ace the finals. Exams came, and the results were plain: the University of Pittsburgh said it was not the right time for me to continue. My Oh no moment was racing toward becoming an Oh shit.

Fortunately, back home was Newton Junior College, though it was not exactly what I had envisioned. I was no longer a cool kid going to a big-name university. I was, however, back to living the good life. Junior college was full of kids who didnt or couldnt get in to college, either from poor grades or lack of money. I quickly bonded with them, and, of course, there was still Aileen. She was now a senior in high school so we had the rest of our lives together. The fall of 1965 felt like a continuation of high school, except the days of being able to mooch off my parents were definitely over.