Painting my way to Staff Sergeant

April 24, 2014
ABRN contributor Alfred Thomas tells the story of how his automotive know-how paid off in rank during his time in the military.

The plane ride back to Vietnam for my second tour of duty was strikingly different than my first.

My first trip was in early 1968, and the Tet offensive had involved most of the country in direct combat. Though I knew that I was heading into Saigon, it was no longer a safe rearward area to be in. For the previous six weeks, Saigon, along with nearly every major city in the country, had been involved in the largest military push, it would turn out, of the war. The entire country was a battleground with no truly "rear" area. Everyone on the plane was very apprehensive about what we were about to face — though few of us would admit it. The 17-hour flight was nearly silent.

The Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV) arm patch worn by servicemen in Vietnam who were assigned to the 525th Military Intelligence
Combat Infantry Badge (CIB), given to those who personally fought in active ground combat while assigned as members of either infantry Ranger or Special Forces unit.

The second trip was a bit less anxious for most of us because the fighting had calmed, and flying into Saigon was considered safe. We were not armed and the plane could even taxi to a stop and shut down its engines. My uniform was as new as everyone else’s, yet somehow I was strikingly different. I was a bit older than the gaggle of 18 year olds, and a sergeant (E5). (The average age of the troops in Vietnam was 19, while it was 26 in both WWII and the Civil War; and in the Gulf War, the average age was 28.) But neither my age nor rank was the giveaway. On my left arm, I wore a MACV (Military Advisor Command Vietnam) unit patch, which meant I had served previously with the unit. I also wore a CIB (Combat Infiniti Badge) over my left pocket — an award only given to infantry and Special Forces who had served in direct combat. I was returning to the 525th Military Intelligence Unit, Vietnam. On the long flight over I was asked, "Hey Sarge, what's it really like over there?"

I was a communications specialist and trained to use all U.S. military-issued radios; I had also learned to use Russian and Chinese radios, as well. During my previous deployment, I had gotten a reputation for not only being able to set up and transmit, but also keep them running in “unfavorable” conditions. This helped me rise from Private (E2) to Sergeant (E5) in less than a year. The downside was being sent to many different areas to see if I could get the communications up as quickly as possible. I also became known as a scrounger for the unit. When certain hard-to-find supplies weren't available through normal channels, I was able to find and barter to get what we needed.

When I got to my headquarters in Saigon, I was asked to go to Quang Tri City to see if I could get the unreliable radio working. After being issued special Badge and Credentials (Bs & Cs) and packing two cases — one with tools and the other with personal items — I headed over to Air America for the trip north. Though I was trained to fix radios, I had always been a tinkerer. This time, I was heading to a unit that was "advising local farmers on ways to be more productive with their rice crops".  When my plane landed, I was met by a person driving a Citroen DS.

Home, the tent, and work area. The sandbagged bunker where the communication equipment was hosed and protected.

I was born on a farm just outside Detroit and, as my daughter will tell you, I had the "Curse of Detroit"— as did many young men born in the 50s near the Motor City. If it had a motor and wheels I loved it, beginning when I bought my first car at 14, a 1954 Pontiac Straight-6, for $5. I pulled it out of a neighbor’s pasture after cutting all the shrubs that had encased it for years. My dad laughed when he saw it. "Do you think you can get that [use your imagination here] to run?" It was all the motivation I needed. By the time I was a senior in high school, I had flipped six vehicles and was driving the sweetest and fastest ‘56 Chevy in town. From age 14 to 16, I had become a very good body man and had been hired by a local body shop. By 1965, I had become a professional.

The equipment bunker with the two air-conditioning tubes going in. It kept the equipment cool and operational in the 100+ degree heat.

By the time I arrived at the small compound in a Citroen (a very cool car, by the way), I had become quite good at fixing things. As we came in to the camp, I noticed four Jeeps and two Citroens, all disabled. My Vietnamese driver said no one could get, or keep, them going.

After reporting to the commanding officer, I was deemed the Non-commissioned Officer in Charge (NCOIC) of the four-man team. We needed to keep a vehicle-mounted teletype communications unit running and manned 24/7 so we could send situation reports to Saigon and beyond. All intelligence communications for the northern part of Vietnam came through us, which made this station very important, and the unit had not been reliable — it was notorious for going down, often for hours. To my surprise, I found normal maintenance was not being performed. I cleaned the filters on the generator (since the fuel we got in Vietnam was often contaminated with dirt and water). Then I re-cut and erected the proper antenna, used my multi-meter to find which boards of the spare, but down, radios were bad, and had working ones flown up from Saigon. Soon, the unit was up and running reliably.

One remaining difficulty was that in 100+ degree temperatures, even very good radios just stopped. I began scrounging and found that there was a large supply and DX (Direct Exchange) depot about 10 miles away, where I was able to get a portable air-conditioning unit with its own power supply to cool the rig and office. After that, boy was I popular with the men. It took only about two weeks and things were working 5 by 5 (sending and receiving perfectly). I am still often shocked at how simple some problems are to correct; but I guess if you know where to look, the problem can seem simple.

After two weeks, the station continued to work correctly. I expected to be reassigned to other troubled spots; but the Major wanted to keep me around for a while. “Sgt. Thomas, do you know anything about Jeeps?” he asked.

I turned slowly, and with a slight grin said, “Well, I have been known to tinker.”  

“Then go take a look,” he said. “See what it will take to get at least one of ‘em going. We sure need one!”

Over the next two days, I inspected the Jeeps and came up with a plan to take one of the four and cannibalize it to repair the others. Most of the problems were simple, such as starters, wiring, flat tires, fuel pumps and other fairly minor problems. To say the least, he was pleased. Over the next three weeks, I stole parts from the most decrepit-looking Jeep and used them to fix the three others and make repairs on the Citroen.

A few weeks later, I requested to use of a Jeep to get supplies, but all they were all in use. I approached the Major about the cannibalized jeep and asked if I could to try to get it running. He, like my father, laughed at the possibility of that vehicle ever running again. Then he grinned and said, “If you get it running, it’s yours.”  Again, that was all the motivation I needed.

This project took a bit longer, nearly a month, but after many trips to the supply area, the Jeep was running. One day while at the Direct Exchange center, which was like a big military junkyard, I noticed they had a painting area that was not being used. The Supply Sergeant said they had all the equipment needed to paint, but no one knew how to use it.

One of the vehicles that was put back into service following laying idle for months.

Having painted before, I offered to train someone to use the equipment, in exchange for being able to paint my unit’s Jeeps. The deal was quickly struck, and over the next two weeks, I trained a private how to paint a vehicle and was the only sergeant with his own freshly painted Jeep.

When I returned the Major’s Jeep with a fresh coat of paint, he said it served as a nice birthday present, as he was turning 50 in a week. With the help of the supply sergeant, I was able to throw the Major a great 50th birthday celebration: cold Hamm's Beer (from the Bay area of California, it was his favorite.), T-bone steaks, and potato salad — all three unheard of in Vietnam. However, that's a whole other story.

About a month after the birthday party, the Major called me into his office and said that I had been awarded a Staff Sergeant promotion. I had no idea the Major had put me up for it, and it was more than a bit unusual, since I had not yet been in the army for even three years. Nobody earned Staff Sergeant that fast, but here I was. I guess it shows that knowing how to tinker and paint helps.

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