Dispatches

Michael Herr, who authored Dispatches, is mentioned in The Cat from Huế which I reviewed in this blog a few weeks ago.  Herr was a journalist who volunteered to go to Vietnam to cover the war.  He effectively volunteered every time he got in a helicopter and was taken to a landing zone, as he could have turned around and walked away.  To repeatedly put your life under threat when you don’t have to is a very strange thing to do.  The ‘grunts’ knew this, and frequently asked Herr what he was doing in Vietnam.  It was a question he found difficult to answer.

Herr writes in a unique style about the Vietnam War.  It’s almost gonzo journalism, like that of Hunter S. Thompson.  You can read many of the sentences once and they seem to make sense, but if you read them again, the flow of words is harder to comprehend.  But parts are similar to how some in the military spoke in Vietnam, at that time.  This is how he makes things authentic, and is part of the appeal of the book.

Herr, like John Laurence (author of The Cat from Huế) knew Sean Flynn, the son of Errol Flynn, who was a photojournalist in Vietnam.  I believe that Herr, like Flynn, was one of the better correspondents.  There were plenty of others who barely left the briefing rooms, or who simply repeated verbatim the military briefings in their reports.  Herr, Burrows, Laurence, Keith Kay, Greenway and a few others ‘walked the walk’ (to quote that chap in Full Metal Jacket) and tried to report accurately what they saw.  Sometimes they were hated by the grunts, and they all heard from officers words to the effect of ‘My Marines are winning this war, and you people are losing it for us in your papers’ (the war became very unpopular at home in the US).  The correspondents saw that it was a pointless war, where the victims were too often civilians with no particular affiliation to either South Vietnam or North Vietnam, so how do you accurately report on that situation?  What will the colleagues of a dead Marine in a body bag think of the photographer who takes a photo of the bag?

The western music played by correspondents and grunts was very distinct, and included songs by Creedence, Hendrix, Wilson Pickett, the Doors and the Grateful Dead.

All concerned had a macabre sense of what was going on in Vietnam, and this comes across well in Herr’s book.

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Kayaking Ellenabeich to Clachan Seil

Here’s a short video of our recent kayak trip around the north of Seil Island, on the west coast of Scotland.  The weather was calm, but it was quite a cloudy day.

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Large chunks of the story of Crosby Stills Nash & Young are already well-known, but this doesn’t detract from Peter Doggett’s biography of the band.  Some parts of the history of the band have been retold so many times that the facts have become blurred.  Who first named Buffalo Springfield, for example?  Doggett gives the various claimants space, and then moves on.

What is undoubtedly true is that there was an immense amount of talent up in the canyons (Laurel, Topanga, etc) above LA in the late 60s and throughout the 70s, with many musicians and artists who went on to become household names living in the area and bouncing ideas off each other.  It was up there that CSN first sang together and discovered their magic harmonies.  Their egos were massive.  They thought they were changing the world.  CSN&Y were fairly typical, in this respect.  They consumed massive amounts of drugs, and things didn’t turn sour until cocaine became the recreational drug of choice.

I’m not a particularly big fan of CSN&Y’s music, but I love reading about this period in rock music history, and have written about it before.  CSN&Y were one of the first ‘supergroups’ made up of notable individuals from other groups.  They argued a lot, they fell out a lot, and they made some pretty good music on the way.

Slow Road to Brownsville

In Slow Road to Brownsville: A Journey Through the Heart of the Old West, David Reynolds drives the length of Highway 83 from where it starts at Swan River in Canada, to Brownsville on the US border with Mexico.  Reynolds in British, though his grandfather lived for a while near Swan River, and this gives him an outsider’s perspective on things American.  For example, he asks a friend of his about someone who happens to come up in conversation called Schoenrath.  “In England, we cannot help speculating on the origin of a name.  But to Stuart [the American he was talking to about Schoenrath] German names, Ukranian, Swedish, Irish, Russian, and any European names, are all the same: labels, not guides to race or nationality, nor, I am sure, to class.”

Reynolds drives Highway 83 because he wants to travel the US backroads rather than the Interstates.  It takes him only until page 49 to mention William Least Heat-Moon, who wrote Blue Highways, a book I very much enjoyed reading many moons ago.  It strikes me that Reynolds is a fairly gentle person, and this is a gentle book, with few major revelations, but this does not mean that Reynolds is not an excellent writer, or that the book is boring – it isn’t, at all.  Reynolds meets numerous locals during his travels, relates their opinions and stories, and then moves on, describing the landscapes as he passes through the mid-West.  Somehow, due to his skills as a writer, it all ends up being quite compelling.

He’s aware of the local history, especially of the Indians (a term he uses, as do the locals he meets including the Indians, rather than Native Americans or First Nations people) and cowboys, and he’s quite fascinated by them.

I particularly like his chapter titles, which have obviously been chosen with care, such as “Where the Dead Guys Aren’t” (about the Boot Hill museum where the bodies have been moved to a new location); “Two Panhandles and the Cherokee” and “Truman Capote and the Clutters”.

Reynolds spends a day with a fascinating lady, Carol, on a ranch near Menard, and discovers more about the history of that area.  Another time, he finds out why the white Americans seem to accept Indian, but not black people (they don’t see the smaller number of Indians as threats). He finds out that Highway 83 along which people moved alcohol during Prohibition is now a drug route from Mexico to the north.

Slow Road to Brownsville is a well-written road trip book, a genre I always enjoy, and I enjoyed this book as well.

Cycling with Unslim Mac

I think it’s a bit politically incorrect to call my friend Fat Mac ‘Fat Mac’ anymore, so I’ll refer to him as Unslim Mac from now on.

We arranged to go for a bike ride today.  As soon as I caught sight of him I could tell that Unslim Mac had been letting himself go again.  He used to be physically and literally fighting fit, but nowadays it’s difficult to tell the difference between him and a lump of lard.

Unslim Mac, today

I knew it wasn’t exactly going to be a joyful bike ride when I asked him what he’d been doing recently, and his answer was, “Mostly going to funerals, Rodz.”

Changing the subject didn’t do much good.  Asking, “So, how are you, Mac?” was a big mistake, and led to a detailed listing of his current ailments, which, if I remember correctly, included, but were not limited to:

Body pustulations.

Brain fog.

A strange ‘spongyitis’ swelling on the ball of his foot resulting from attempting 100,000 prostrations at the behest of his rinpoche guru.

Leprosy around the mouth.

Crutch rot/Jock itch.

The last two are obviously caused by his near-exclusive diet of beer and bread, both of which contain yeast.

After a short bike ride, he was completely out of breath, and I was glad that I’d brought my phone in case I had to call 911.  We stopped, and whilst he was recovering I tried to arrange a meetup with him and some of his champagne socialist friends – the ones who bang on about how disgusting it is that there are food banks, and how they’ve given up, in order to save the planet, eating pâté de foie gras if it comes in a plastic tub – but it appears that it will be some time before we can arrange a date, as they are all currently on an extended luxury cruise around Tahiti.

Late news: Mac called off today’s bike ride, and I’ve made up all of the above, but we’re now supposed to be cycling tomorrow, and I’m sure that what I’ve written will be pretty accurate.

Dien Bien Phu

Dien Bien Phu was an important battle, in 1954, during the Indochina War (1946-1954) between the French colonial army and the Việt Minh, a Communist people’s army dedicated to the liberation of Vietnam.  After a 57-day siege, Dien Bien Phu fell to the Việt Minh.  The defenders (the French forces) lost a third of their 15,000 force, and many more died in captivity.  It effectively ended France’s empire in the East.

Howard Simpson points out that American advisers and observers who were involved in the Dien Bien Phu siege learned little from their experience, and this did not bode well for when the US became more directly involved in Vietnam.  As with Americans later on in the Vietnam War, by 1954 the French had started to question why their soldiers were fighting in Vietnam.  North African and West African troops in the French army also questioned why they were fighting for a colonial power.  On the other hand, the Việt Minh had the support of many of their people and also backing from Chinese communists.

Howard Simpson’s book, Dien Bien Phu: The Epic Battle America Forgot, deals with military operations and the personalities involved.  For him, the lessons that the US did not learn from the defeat of the French are mostly military ones, i.e. do not underestimate nonconventional units or a guerilla enemy; do not become overdependent on air support; do not underestimate the hostile jungle environment; and the effectiveness of a military force is directly linked to government support and backing of the people of the nation involved.  I would like to know more about the opposing forces of the Việt Minh and their motivation.  For example, how could they keep up morale when so many were killed and when such immense effort was needed to effect attacks on the colonial forces?  I had not known that a fair proportion of the local ethnic groups helped the French.  T’ai people acted as guides and the T’ai Tribal Federation remained loyal to France.  Why was this?  The Meo, Man, Yao and Lolo were also generally hostile to the Việt Minh. Why was this, and could more have been made of anti-Việt Minh sentiment?

Simpson writes of the culinary requirements of the French forces: lamb for the North African riflemen, yams for troops from West Africa, pork and noodles for the Vietnamese of the National Army, and blood sausage for the Legionnaires.

The French were hoping that the Việt Minh would attack their forces at Dien Bien Phu, be defeated by superior French fire power, and this would rally support from the French public.  General Giap, the Việt Minh commander, decided not to attack in January but instead waited for more ammunition and firepower.

The attack began on March 13th, and very gradually several of the French fortified positions were overcome.  Việt Minh artillery made the landing of French aircraft impossible, as several planes were destroyed, losses on both sides were very heavy and there was considerable close-quarter fighting.  It all went horribly wrong for the French.

My pre-owned copy of Dien Bien Phu: The Epic Battle America Forgot, came with several inserts, including a copy of an article mentioning the battle in the Sunday Việt Nam News, December 15, 2002, and an obituary for Howard Simpson.  My copy was once owned by someone called Lawrence Jones (according to a sticker inside the front cover) from San Francisco.  Inserted in the book was a copy of his Funeral Mass in 2016.  From the picture on its front page, it looks as if he was in the military.

The Cat from Huế

The Cat from Huế, by John Laurence, is a big book – in fact, it is 850 pages long.  However, it received glowing reviews, and that was enough motivation for me to get interested.  The introduction, covering seven days from February 19th, 1968 to February 26th, 1968 and featuring the Battle of Huế and the early troubles of the cat in the book’s title, is also long.  It’s not until page 90 that John Laurence writes “So here is my story. Come, if you will.”  By then I was glued, so I came along.

John Laurence was a reporter who covered numerous conflicts, including the Vietnam War, the topic of this book.  Wars are terrifying and Laurence was often afraid.  Vietnam suffered from various conflicts for hundreds of years – just look at this list and you can see that the Vietnam War was one of many, many conflicts.

As well as being terrible things, wars can result in innovations.  Imagine the creation of a 15,000 member force in the 1960s, the US 1st Cavalry, and the decision to move entirely by air using 450 helicopters.  This was an entirely new military concept for the mobility of troops and looked likely to succeed.  In addition, the Americans had plans to spearhead a social and economic revolution in the rural areas of Vietnam, aiming at redistributing land, improving living conditions in the countryside, the introduction of generous new programs to help communities develop and put an end to corruption.

What could possibly go wrong?

It is easy to see how the first wave of Americans arriving in Vietnam would have felt very positive about their involvement in Vietnam.  First, they needed to get rid of the threat posed by the Viet Cong.  With thousands of U.S. military personnel arriving every day in 1965, supported by the latest combat hardware and an impressive airforce, the expectation was that victory would not take long.  Even the pessimists said that it should be over in a year.  By a near-unanimous majority of the US Congress, the administration had been given a blank cheque to preserve South Vietnam as a non-Communist state and thereby demonstrate that the Communist world, especially China and the Soviet Union, would be defeated in their attempts at subversion and armed aggression.

As a professional journalist, Laurence wanted to be honest in his reporting, and be a bridge between the American troops and the American public.  He certainly was not a propagandist, but like virtually everyone else in the West in 1965, he regarded the cause as honourable, and expected a US victory in short time.

He followed troops into battle, put himself in extreme danger, got shot at, and gradually saw why the VC were so difficult to defeat – mainly because the VC often avoided pitched battles and faded into the bush only to return to villages once the Americans and South Vietnamese forces pulled out.  Laurence loses friends in battles.

After the death of a journalist colleague, Laurence goes back to the US for a while, but eventually is drawn once again to Vietnam where he experiences a terrifying battle at Con Thien.  He gradually sees the pointlessness of the whole war, and that the Americans who came to liberate the people end up killing more and more of them, and getting killed themselves.  Later on again, he is on the ground during the Cambodia Campaign.

As for what happens to the cat, I won’t spoil it.  You’ll have to read the book yourself.

One of the characters mentioned in the book is Sean Flynn, a journalist and the son of Errol Flynn.  Sean was a friend of John Laurence.  Sean, along with Dana Stone, another friend of Laurence, went missing in Cambodia (as did several other journalists).  A few years ago, and again more recently, somebody reckoned they’d found their bones.