I

t’s been said that “home is where the heart is.” When I think of the places where I received my basic and advanced infantry training, primary and advanced helicopter training, I think of these places as a “home away from home” and associate mixed feelings of challenge, accomplishment, discipline, and achievement with each. These places were my “home” for a few months each.

Fort Polk, La., had a reputation for being one of the toughest places to complete your basic training. It was the designated base for training potential helicopter pilots. I must admit it included a wake-up call for me. There were bugs, and snakes and critters I had never heard of; humidity and red mud and cockroaches the size of my thumb; and drill sergeants who scared the hell out of me. There were live bullets and gas chambers, and grenades, and marching. There were sights, and sounds, and smells that were all new and foreign to me. At one point I wondered if I would get out of there alive. But I did — a lot stronger, more physically fit and I made some great friends along the way.

In Texas, at Fort Wolters, west of Fort Worth in Mineral Wells, for primary flight instruction, I almost got the “heave ho!” Not for lack of flying ability, for my lack of awareness of attention to military order and discipline. I spent two months marching by myself up and down in front of the barracks on the weekends to equalize the demerits I accumulated during the week for inspection of my area.

My salvation was a former sergeant/ warrant officer candidate, (who I believed ate broken glass for breakfast), saw me going down in flames, and for some reason unknown to me, cared enough to teach me how to “play the military game.” Later we would be in the same company in Vietnam and both flying as team leaders of the first and second gunship platoons in our Assault Helicopter Company. He said he knew he could trust me. We have remained life long friends.

It was a personal story for me of the care that one soldier has for another and the profound effect it has had on my whole life. I grew enormously in the face of these challenges and this adversity in many ways due to his mentorship.

This past summer, (2012), in June my wife, Shannon, and I returned to my third “home away from home” at Fort Rucker, Alabama, for a reunion of the Tigers (transports) and Vikings (gunships) of the 121st Assault Helicopter Company. The occasion was the dedication of a monument to 27 flight crew members from the 121st who made the ultimate sacrifice during the Vietnam War. It had been 44 years since I had seen many of these men. One named

Bart said “I have a picture of you playing the guitar on the flightline in Soc Trang with some orphans at a party held by our company. Would you like to see it?” As I anxiously watched the computer screen I saw myself looking 16 years old (though I was 21) in a striped surfer shirt and realizedhow much I came of age during my Vietnam experience. I realized in that picture that in revisiting this place of my training I had come home.

My mother, an Army nurse in World War II told me that I would have a great adventure in Vietnam. She was right. My father, an Army Lieutenant Colonel in WWII, enjoyed the details of my flying adventures. Each of them secretly worried about me every day. Each of them encouraged and supported me. Each of them welcomed me home upon my return. “Coming Home” this summer completed a cycle for me.

I can be reached via email at green
lake3@comcast.net or info@vrcwi.com or by phone at 206-819-5884 or
360-331-8081.

– Fred McCarthy