Fly the Friendly Skies of Cambodia and Vietnam

By John B. Morgan

John B. Morgan received orders to report for duty in Okinawa, Japan, in March 1975. The orders were a surprise, but as a Marine officer and pilot, he went wherever he was ordered.

Before he left, he kissed his two sleeping girls goodbye, trying to etch an image of both of them in his brain. He knew anything could happen.

Very few people at the airport were in the military, and it was a time when serving your country was not viewed in a positive light. It wasn’t uncommon for a member of the military wearing a uniform in public to be called a baby killer or a murderer.

Morgan recalls his time on a Navy ship in the South China Sea, waiting for orders to evacuate Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and Saigon, Vietnam. He also shares his adventures on other Navy ships, Marine helicopters, on military bases, and interesting places throughout the world.

Although the author concedes that many men and women experienced more trauma, he provides a unique perspective as a young Marine Corps pilot who flew in the last two operational missions of the Vietnam War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716672019

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MORGAN

Copyright © 2020 John B. Morgan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any

means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission

of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews.

Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-7166-7203-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7166-7201-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020915300

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Interior Image Credit: Pictures taken by John Morgan

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 08/27/2020

Introduction

I n 1975, I was sent overseas as a young pilot in the United States Marine Corps. The Vietnam War appeared to be over, but it wasn’t. A peace agreement had been signed in January 1973, and later that year, Congress passed several pieces of legislation to block any military operations in Indochina. According to the news media, the majority of the American public didn’t support this war, and in 1974, news stories indicated that most of our military had been ordered to leave Vietnam.

The Vietnam War had been on the evening news almost every night for the previous ten years. College students protested, many citizens protested, and religious leaders protested our involvement in this war. Being in the military was very unpopular. A large number of men served in the military because they had been drafted, a system that was started because the military couldn’t recruit enough new men to meet their operational needs. Thousands of men resisted the draft and refused to serve in the military, and some left our country to avoid being drafted. When the United States ended the war in Vietnam, most Americans were glad that it was over, but there was still bitterness about our involvement because thousands of men had died in this war.

This book is about what happened to this young pilot (me) and my family during the last days of the Vietnam War and about the events that happened before and after the evacuations. Many, many men and women experienced a lot more trauma than I did. This is just one story about the final days of the Vietnam War.

1

Unexpected Departure

I t is usually cold in March, and this day was no exception. My orders directed me to depart from Chicago O’Hare Airport. I was a 1 st Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps, and I was wearing my dress-green uniform. My father drove me to the airport, and my wife accompanied me. All of my clothing—my uniforms, flight helmet, and personal items I would need for the next thirteen months—were packed in a duffle bag, a large flight bag, and my briefcase. It was about a two-hour drive to the airport from my parents’ home. The streets were lined with dirty snow and ice, and the temperature was in the twenties. My wife and I held hands during the drive to the airport. She seemed sad but was as ready as she could be for the unknown events in our future. My wife and our girls would initially stay with my parents after I left. I said goodbye to my father, and we shook hands. I kissed my wife goodbye and walked into the airport by myself. The day I departed was my wife’s birthday.

Beth and I had married in college. We met at Iowa State University, dated for a year, went to parties, met each other’s families, and fell in love. During the middle of the fall quarter of my junior year, we had a small marriage ceremony at her church with family and close friends. We graduated in November 1971, and I received my commission in the USMC. We discussed my choices, and I chose to go immediately to flight school in Pensacola, Florida. Initially, I had qualified to be a naval flight officer, providing airborne weapons and sensor systems control, but I passed the flight eye exams in Pensacola, so I qualified to be a naval aviator. I went to flight school to be a pilot. I earned my wings in February 1973; moved to Santa Ana, California; and was assigned to a training squadron to learn how to fly a CH-53 helicopter.

After completing the initial training, I was assigned to HMH-363, an operational squadron for CH-53 pilots. I proceeded to qualify as a copilot and then as a helicopter aircraft commander. I went to the Navy Military Justice School in San Diego and learned about the military justice system. Afterward, I was assigned the auxiliary duty as our squadron’s legal officer. In January 1975, I got orders to report for duty in Okinawa, Japan, in March. These orders were a surprise, but as a marine officer and pilot, I went wherever I was ordered.

I had never intended to make the military a career. After flight school, I was required to serve three and a half years as my service obligation. I intended to serve my country and then pursue my own career path. Most officers in my squadrons had the same mindset—to serve the time required and then get out of the Marines.

Very few people at the airport were in the military. At this time in our country, being in the military wasn’t viewed positively. It wasn’t uncommon for a member of the military wearing a uniform in public to be called a baby killer or a murderer. I wasn’t harassed that morning, and no one spit at me as I walked through the airport. So all things considered, I thought I was having a pretty good morning.

Prior to leaving my parents’ home, I kissed my mother goodbye. I also kissed my two little girls goodbye. They were still asleep. When I looked at their beautiful faces—for as long as I could—I hoped to etch an image of both of them in my brain. Jodi was almost two years old, and Amy was almost seven months old. I had my children’s and my wife’s pictures with me. I had always wanted to be a father and husband, so those few photos and last moments of remembrance would be all of my family that I could take with me.

I thought again about my orders assigning me to overseas duty. These orders hadn’t been expected. I had talked to my group headquarters before Christmas, and they had projected I would probably spend the next eighteen months with my current squadron at Marine Corps Air Station, Helicopter, in Santa Ana, California. They were wrong. So in January, I learned I would be going overseas on an unaccompanied tour of duty. I was assigned to MCAS Futema, in Okinawa.

At this time we lived in base housing near El Toro at the Marine Corps Air Station. In late February, all of our furniture and belongings were packed up and moved to a storage facility. We drove back to Iowa and then to my parents’ home in Illinois. Along the way we visited several family members, including my grandfather, Barton, in Arizona; my father in-law, who was in the hospital; and my mother in-law in Mt. Vernon.

We also stopped at an antique store, where I purchased an old, wooden ice chest. I worked on the ice chest for two weeks in my parents’ unheated garage and was able to repair and refinish it before I departed. The chest was used to hold Jodi’s and Amy’s clothes in the back bedroom at my parents’ home.

The flight to Okinawa, Japan, had an intermediate stop in Tokyo, Japan. The total travel time would be about eighteen hours. The passengers were all military, and we were all in uniform. I asked for a seat in the nonsmoking section. At that time, only one row separated smoking from nonsmoking, so I could still smell and see the cigarette smoke. The flight was primarily full of young, enlisted military personnel. It appeared that few of the travelers knew one another, so we were essentially a collection of unknown men being flown to new assignments. There was no happiness expressed on anyone’s face. The flight would be a quiet one for me. I hoped to sleep as much as possible.

Only a handful of officers were on board the plane. No one asserted any control based on rank, but every officer was treated with respect. It was a commercial flight, so even though all of us were in the military, we had a civilian flight crew and pilots. I ate a few meals, used the restroom several times, and tried to read and sleep as much as I could. After about eight hours of flying, my mind went numb. I felt trapped in time. Nothing was moving. I seemed to be stuck on a flight that would never end. On occasion, I thought about the past and my little girls, but as I traveled through the sky on this never-ending flight, it seemed like I had already been away from them for several months. The distance between my family and me was constantly growing.

I thought about my father and mother. My dad had been a career army officer. He retired as a colonel after serving in World War II and in Vietnam. He was a veterinarian with a master’s degree in public health, which he earned at the University of Michigan. Dad went to Vietnam in the middle of my senior year of high school. When he got home, it appeared he wouldn’t be promoted to the rank of general, so he retired from the Army. Dad accepted a position as the assistant dean for the College of Veterinary Medicine at the University of Illinois. He was now the public health administrator for DeKalb County in Illinois.

Mom was also in the military during World War II as a nurse. Dad was a veterinarian in the 8th mountain division. They met at Camp Hale, Colorado, prior to being ordered overseas. Dad was sent to North Africa, and Mom was sent to the South Pacific. Growing up in a military family, my siblings and I were referred to as military brats. I was the second-oldest son. My siblings are Jim, Nancy, Dan, Retha, and Mary. We were very close but very different. My two youngest sisters were in middle school when I went overseas.

I thought about my brother, Jim, who served for one