My War - Installment 49

Ken, my black friend had decided to have his foot amputated, had given up on wearing the six inch thick sole on his built up shoe. I felt he had made the right decision. I believe I would have come to the same conclusion.

A lot of the men that had been on wards 3A and B, when I had arrived at Valley Forge, had left the hospital to either return to duty, or had taken medical discharges, at the doctor's recommendations. Typical military, you get to know some men, learn to appreciate them and the next thing you know they are gone.

LIGHT DUTY

Rick, one of the orthopedic surgeons, knowing my interest in medicine asked me if I would like to help out in the cast room, on my ward, on a part time basis. I was very interested. I thought I would learn some useful skills. The pain in my ankle, the severe pain from the operation, was pretty well gone, so I jumped at the chance for the light duty work of the cast room, on an as needed basis.

I was called to the cast room one day to assist a couple of the doctors in putting a halo on a man. The halo which I am referring to is a large flat ring of metal approximately twelve-to-fifteen inches in diameter, depending on the size of the patient’s head. It has a number of threaded holes at evenly spaced intervals in the outer surface. At the rear portion of the halo there are two receptacles for accepting three eight inch stainless rods, there are also lock nuts on these receptacles. The halo is used on patients with broken necks to hold their heads, and therefore their necks, in position. The plan of action was to put a halo on this man that would enable him to move about freely, rather than being confined to a bed.

We removed his old cast, which resembled a sleeveless snow parka complete with hood; it went from his waist, all the way up the neck and partially over the head. The cast was carefully removed while the patient remained in a lying position on his back. I was given the job of holding his head motionless, acting as a human clamp so to speak, while the doctors worked. The man was naked on the cast table; he was moved carefully onto his side so that his back could be washed. I continued to gently, and nervously hold his head. I could just picture myself dropping this guy's head and severing the spinal cord.

"You know young man you have quite a few "Will-Knots" here," said one of the doctors.

"Will Knots? What's dat?"

"You mean, what are they? They are little balls of shit hanging onto the hair around your ass hole, due to your not being able to reach and wipe yourself properly. It is not uncommon in the least. Why are they called "Will-Knots, you ask? Because, they are dried onto the hair and just will not come off; that is unless they are cut off."

Everyone in the room began to laugh, the patient included. It was tricky trying to keep his head and neck in position during that one. Heads are surprisingly heavy objects and they become incredibly heavy when they have no internal support. They become even heavier after holding one for a stretch of time. My thumbs were beginning to hurt and it reminded me of a guy I had seen at the snack bar that had his great toe grafted on in place of his missing thumb.

The doctors fashioned a plaster vest on the ex-grunt and then picked up the halo. Bolts were placed into some of the threaded holes of the halo; the bolts were stainless steel and had needle-like tapering points. These points would be screwed in to the guy's skull. The rods would go into the brackets on the back of the halo and were bent to align the head and neck to allow some traction-like force to be applied to the neck. The rods, after being bent to shape, would then be plastered onto the back of the vest and we would be done. I was glad to get it over with. My arms ached from supporting his head. While I was holding his head I had the feeling that his head was attached to his body by a large limp, rubber tube, it was kind of scary. They must have given him some type of muscle relaxer or something to keep his neck muscles so limp.

I was getting about very nicely with my walking cast other than my knees hurting. The left hip bothered me some too. It had to be the extra weight of the cast a believed. My back was doing OK as long as I did not have to bend over very much.

BT had gotten his leg and crutches and was making progress daily in beginning to walk. He spent some time each day at PT working at it. He had forearm crutches, one to the left, had been modified so that he could lay his prosthetic arm in an aluminum trough and strap it down with Velcro fastenings. It was an ingenious arrangement. It was exciting to see him making progress. I was proud of him.

We had made friends with most of the staff and had enjoyable evenings at the club watching the others dancing to the music of the Mama's and Papa's, the Beatles and others. I had never been much of a dancer so I was not very enthused when one of the RC girls asked me to try my hand or rather my feet at it. Being the good sport that I was, I tried anyway. I hoped she had on steel toed shoes, she would have needed them if I had accidently stepped on her toes with my cast.

OUT AND AROUND

The shorter my time got for being in the cast the more excited I became. I was making all sorts of plans for things to do. I had taken money from the bank and put it down on a new Jeepster convertible and used it to go home occasionally to visit.

In Paxtang my friend's girlfriend finally set me up with a blind date. On the night of the double date he picked me up in his car, a two door Rambler, and we went for the girls. I knew his girl friend, I didn't know my date at all. She had gone to a different High School.

We drove to his girlfriend, Sue’s house; she was waiting by the front door. The three of us then drove to pick up Jessica. I was introduced to her. She and I climbed into the back seat of the two door blue Rambler. Jessica, from what I had been told, was on the rebound. She had just broken up with a long time boyfriend. It had been the boyfriend that had done the "breaking it off" and she was nervous at going out with someone else.

For some reason, I thought she would probably come on strong trying to overcome her feelings of rejection. She was not a bad looking girl by a long shot, long hair teased up a bit on top, light brown in color. She was small of build, fairly great petite figure-she looked wonderful, although no raving beauty, but she was very attractive. In my present condition of depravity from female company, I thought I could handle it.

The plan for the evening was to go to Papa Dino's Pizza Parlor and then to a drive-in movie theater. Ah, was I right about the girl? As soon as we drove off she grabbed my hand and held on to it tenderly, as if she had not held a hand in years. We had a good dinner, a couple of large pepperoni pizzas; Papa Dino's had the best pizza in the entire Harrisburg area. We left the pizza parlor and started cruising to the drive-in.

Doug and I remained quiet as the girls animatedly talked their girl talk. Sue would occasionally throw her arm over the back of the front seat and look at Jessica while chatting. Doug lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply before blowing a blue-gray stream of smoke out of the window. I sat still, half listening to the girls and watching their facial expressions, and bodily movements, including the way their breasts strained against the thin material of their blouses.

We were about halfway to the theater when Doug threw his cigarette butt out of the open window. I was day dreaming as usual. Jessica was seated behind Doug and therefore I was behind Sue. Sue swung her arm over the back of the seat again to face Jessica and continue the conversation..

"Ohhh, my goodness your hair is on fire. Jessica your hairs on fire!!"

Doug's cigarette butt had gone out the window an the had been blown back in the rear window and landed on top of Jessica's head. I reached over and picked the butt from out of her hair, it had fallen down into the fluffed up, teased up hair. Fortunately it had done no real damage. The smoke that had been rising from her head was mostly from the wind fanned butt. I was glad that no damage had been done, it had not even fazed her; she was a real trooper. I flicked the butt out of the window and then consoled Jessica, to her delight and mine. The movies were lousy, the evening was very nice.

Spring was coming to a close and the heat of summer was already upon the hospital. With the hot weather came a military readiness exercise. The purpose of the readiness drill was to see if the hospital could handle an emergency where there were large numbers of simulated causalities dumped into the system within a short period of time.

Most of the enlisted, ambulatory, patients were to be used as incoming patients. I was quite pleased that the officers were not obliged to be included in the hospital's war games.

During the exercises, a good natured EM had been chosen, along with others, to play persons en route to the booby ward. This one fellow thought it would be fun to act the part of a lunatic, since that was what he had been chosen to be. He had taken off at a dead run, yelling and acting loony. He made it to the, chain link, fenced perimeter of the hospital grounds, grabbed hold of the fence's wire mesh and started shaking the fence like a monkey, caged at the zoo.

MPs whom I had little respect for to start with...if there was an MP on fire on the ground, I wouldn't pee on him to put him out...were patrolling the grounds. The MPs, as one might suspect, had at least one man that was not aware of the exercises that were taking place. He must have been living in a vacuum or in a drunken stupor not to have known. This particular MP saw the man, in hospital blues, shaking the fence back and forth screaming. He must have had a short circuit in the head. He yelled halt at the man on the fence and then he drew his weapon and shot the GI in the back. When I heard about it I was not surprised. The MP ended up in the loony bin, the GI was taken in for emergency surgery.

Eight weeks had passed since I had surgery; I was definitely ready when the doctors informed me that the plaster could come off in a few days. I was ready to travel so I had started thinking about getting some other vehicle. The Jeepster that I had bought had been in the shop most of the time since I had gotten it and I was becoming fed up with it.

The cast came off and I got a chance to see the doctors’ handiwork on my left ankle. It was not just the ankle as I had thought. There was a scar that began halfway down the outside of my left foot and meandered up around the ankle and about ten inches or so up my leg. I could feel, with my fingers, where they had drilled a hole in the neck of the fibula (the bump on the outside of the ankle) it was a bit strange to think about. I got my built up shoe and short leg brace, along with orders to begin physical therapy again. My knees were still bothering me so the doctors included some exercises which they believed might help them.

On 3 June 1967 I was told to go to a meeting room on the second floor of one of the hospital buildings. Jim, BT and the other guys went along. We heard that there was going to be an awards ceremony. I was kind of taken aback. I had forgotten that I had been put up for some awards. Colonel Serfas, the hospital commander, did the presentation of the awards and read the written citations before the assembled group of patients, staff, and some local news people.

I felt like an ass when I was called up to the front of the room, I was dressed in wrinkled hospital blues with my cane and brace, my hair needed trimmed, I just did not feel that there was much dignity in the proceedings when the only person wearing a uniform was the Colonel. I had envisioned receiving my award while in dress greens or dress blue uniform. Oh, well. The Colonel began to read the Citation. "Warrant Officer Rollason:

HEADQUARTERS
1ST CAVALRY DIVISION (AIRMOBILE)
APO San Francisco 96490

GENERAL ORDERS 3 June 1967
NUMBER 2922



AWARD OF THE AIR MEDAL FOR HEROISM



1. TC 320. The following AWARD is announced.



ROLLASON, SAMUEL H.W3154252 WARRANT OFFICER W-1 United States Army
Troop A, 1st Squadron, 9th Cavalry.

Awarded: Air Medal (Eighth Oak Leaf Cluster) with "V" Device
Date action: 1 Novermber 1966
Theater: Republic of Vietnam
Reason: For heroism while participating in aerial flight. Warrant Officer Rollason distinguished himself by heroism in action on 1 Novermber 1966, while serving as co-pilot of a UH-1D lift helicopter during a combat assault operation near Bong Son, Republic of Vietnam. Warrant Officer Rollason was at his position on the lift aircraft perimeter on a landing zone when a nearby infantry unit made contact with the enemy. Without regard for his own safety, Warrant Officer Rollason began placing suppressive fire from his vantage point. Observing two wounded soldiers being assisted to the rear, Warrant Officer Rollason covered their movement across an open field with accurate fire. When the wounded reached the aircraft, Warrant Officer Rollason supervised the loading and administering of first aid, although receiving heavy fire. He then took off under a hail of enemy fire and delivered the casualties to the nearest field hospital. After the successful evacuation, Warrant Officer Rollason Returned to the battle area twice with infantry reinforcements. In both instances, Warrant Officer Rollason made extremely difficult approaches into confined areas with a heavily loaded aircraft while receiving a heavy volume of hostile fire. His outstanding display of courage and determination under fire is in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service, and reflects great credit upon himself, his unit, and the United States Army.

Authority: By direction of the President, under the provisions of Executive Order 9158, 11 May 1942, as amended by Executive Order 9242-A, 11 September 1942.

FOR THE COMMANDER:

OFFICIAL: GEORGE W. CASEY
Colonel, GS
Chief of Staff


DANIEL B. PLYLER
LTC, AGC
Adjutant General


Congratulations Mr. Rollason," he finished as he pinned the medal on the chest pocket of the hospital blues, then he shook my hand, as a warm smile spread across his face.

I sat contained in my own little world during the remainder of the presentations, clapping when appropriate, just looking at the medal and remembering Vietnam and my friends and classmates that were still there; longing to be with them, longing to return to flying, wishing I could talk to just some of them.

The citation was not completely true, I didn't know who had written it up, and they were writing it up either from second-hand information or from their or another’s perspective. I guessed that it was close enough. There wasn't anything that I could do about it anyways. I had carried one of the men out and my crew chief the other. That part kind of pissed me off that they said it was done by someone else, but...I did have a real feeling of goose-bumpily pride, triumph, recognition, just like when I would hear a military band, or the Star Spangled Banner playing, or see Old Glory being saluted. I also felt EMBARRASSMENT. I had just been doing my job.

"Hey, so you really were there in Vietnam after all. I thought you were just pulling some sort of scam on us all."

"OK you fart heads, don't spoil my moment."

The lazy days of summer were upon us. The traffic of patients in and out of the hospital had not subsided any. In my six plus months in the hospital I had seen many come and go.

The fourth of July was approaching and when I thought about it, the parades, honor guards, military marching music, it made a chill run up and down my spine, I believed it always would. There was a fourth of July picnic that a number of us from the ward were going to. It was in a near by town's municipal park and it was being sponsored by the town's VFW Post. At least there was a minute segment of the United States population that was willing to recognize some of us on that day, amid the protests, which cluttered newscasts.

We boarded a bus near our ward. We were really a rag-tag looking group as we variously limped, hobbled, rolled, shuffled and so forth, out to our wheels. It took some little time for us all to get out and on to the bus and on our way. The bus driver was a jovial black man, a Spec Five, rather rotund.

When we finally arrived at the park, it was not close to what they had led us to believe, the pavilion that was there had been decorated with red, white and blue banners, streamers of red, white and blue crepe paper were draped everywhere. There were flags of all sizes; from small paper flags on tooth pick sized flag poles to large flags on the numerous flag poles in the park. It made me proud; for the second time that day, goose bumps ran up and down my spine and a tear welled up in the corner of my eye.

The VFW Auxiliary had planned well. There were tables that were chocked full of food and other goodies. The women waited on the men that were too incapacitated to go for their own food. BT, Jim and I were amazed at the quantity of food and the love that these people had put into the preparations, and were showing to us.

After the meal there were games, like bingo, complete with prizes. Beer, more snacks and more food were brought out. There were door prizes given away, numbers were drawn that coincided with tickets that had been given to all of the patients when they had arrived. Most of the prizes were substantial gifts; gifts worth receiving, not just, a cheap, something to give away to make somebody feel good.

Music filled the pavilion, they were mostly popular tunes interspersed with nationalistic melodies like America the Beautiful, and various service songs like The Caissons Go Rolling Along, stuff that really got the old blood pumping and goose bumps jumping.

Women kept bringing food and drink around to our tables in an unending procession, all afternoon. We had a most enjoyable time, even though it did get to be a bit tedious, wearing and boring after a time, a person can only eat and drink so much.

As the day drifted into late afternoon we were told to head back to the bus to make our journey back to Valley Forge General Hospital. We climbed back in the bus and tried to reclaim our seats. Most of the men were a few sheets to the wind by that time of day. I was in a seat beside BT. Jim was across the isle next to a window. A black fellow was sitting beside him holding onto a shoe shine box that he had won, a very nice but strange prize, he was obviously very drunk and was being totally obnoxious, due to the booze, I thought. As the bus pulled away from the park the black guy leaned over and rested his head on Jim's shoulder. The next thing we knew he was sound asleep. Jim said nothing for some time, or said nothing until the weight of the guy became uncomfortable. When he moved, to assume a better position, the black man swore at him and made some crude comments about Jim hating blacks.

"Heeeeh, ya whit ma'fuka. Why ya ma'fuk'in honkys all ya wana ma'fuk wit us, huh?. Lousee, whit ma'fuk, lit me slep, huh!, ma'fu..."

As he continued to curse Jim, he leaned back over and fell asleep on Jim's shoulder again. Jim sat patiently on the seat and allowed the GI to sleep for about fifteen minutes. The guy started to squirm and snuggle up to Jim in his sleep. Jim had enough. He pushed the guy away and told him to wake up and stop sleeping on his shoulder. The black fellow suddenly jumped up, and while cursing punched Jim in the face.