Civilian Combat Artist
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Sometime toward the end of 1966, I was asked if I was willing to participate in the U.S. Army's Civilian Combat Artist Program. It meant traveling to the Republic of Vietnam to secure |
| whatever sketches and photos might be necessary to execute paintings with army content. The army would provide transportation, billeting, and meals, and I would donate any paintings and drawings that resulted from my visit. At the time, I didn't have the responsibility of a family, and, since there is no one more expendable than someone working in advertising, I said sure - what the hell. From then on, things moved with all deliberate speed, and, in February 1967, I went from a bone-chilling New England winter to a |
| hellishly hot Vietnam – all in a matter of hours. The heat and humidity were an unrelenting presence that affected me physically and mentally, and became a factor in my performance. It was stultifying - discomfort in four dimensions. I was in a heat induced stupor most of the time, and fighting lethargy became a conscious and constant effort. In the four weeks I spent in Southeast Asia, I never became acclimated to the conditions. When I landed in Saigon, the military hustled me off to an orientation lecture they were giving for a few newly arrived civilians. One of them was Bernard Fall, the author of Street Without Joy and Hell in a Very Small Place – two of his more famous books about Vietnam. While we were all still in the room, he received an invitation to discuss his views with General |
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Westmoreland. By the time I left Vietnam, he was dead - killed by a landmine, while accompanying a U.S. Marine patrol. I went to Southeast Asia twice. The first time was for the army, and involved a little more than three weeks in Vietnam, with close to a week in Thailand. As a matter of fact, it was in an officer’s club in Bankok that I watched Neil Armstrong step down onto the moon. The only commentator I could understand was Walter Cronkite, and he had Thai subtitles when he spoke. The second trip was in July 1969 for the U.S. Air Force. With the Air Force I was out of |
| earshot of American security only once. I was either on a base or in a plane. It was during my time with the army that I saw Vietnam close up on the ground. The Air Force got very nervous if I left their protection for only a couple hours. They seemed less concerned that I could be on a plane that was shot down, than they were that someone might take a potshot at me off-base somewhere. Frankly I preferred the less paternal attitude of the Army. When I asked about travel restriction in-country, a Public Relations Officer told me, “Look, if you want to hop on a bike and start pedaling up Highway 1; you go right ahead. I wouldn’t advise it, but it’s your ass - your choice. I will guarantee you though, that the Army will ship your body home, if we ever manage to find it.” |