Dave Rabbit

After going through the checkpoint on the perimeter of the base, we drive about a mile to the shanty town of Dalat. Bars and whorehouses lined the streets and was the primary source of income for the locals there. Although Jim is hesitant at first, I finally convince him that we are fine during the daylight hours up until 16:30 hours (4:30 p.m.) because the town is secure with MP’s, AP’s and QC, which were the Vietnamese Military Police, also called “mice”. Although I had only been in country for less than a month myself, the bar owners and ladies knew me and welcomed us in. There was always loud American rock and roll blasting from the speakers and the beer was always ice cold. A couple of the dancers, whom I had met before, came to our table and joined us. I could tell immediately that Jim was uncomfortable. The Vietnamese women who worked the bars and whorehouses were, shall we say, aggressive in their approach to GI’s. After about 15 minutes Jim asked if I would take him back to base, that he had to report in to his new boss. Of course, I knew that was BS and that he was like a fish out of water in my world.... but I said sure. We downed the last bit of beer, climbed back into the jeep and headed back to Phan Rang. That was the first and last time Jim ever went to Dalat.

A few months pass. Even though Jim and I were different as day and night, there was just something about the guy that I truly respected. We are at the Airman’s Club one night, watching another would be Asian band trying to emulate American rock and roll when fate lends a hand and I first meet Pete Sadler. Pete too, was from Headquarters Squadron. From that point on, we became the “Three Musketeers”. Jim, the “Choirboy”, Pete. the “Frequent Flyer“ and myself, “The Rebel”.

I’ll never forget the day Jim walked into our hooch with the news. Instead of doing the mundane interviews with the troops to perpetuate the lies of us winning the war in Vietnam and sending it back to the mainstream media back home, Jim’s boss, the Major, had told Jim that AFVN, Armed Forces Vietnam Network Saigon, had sent a communiqué down to all of the Air Bases that they wanted to encourage local programming throughout Vietnam. So Phan Rang was going to have it’s own local radio show for 3 hours each night which was going to cover Phan Rang news, base activities and, of course, propaganda. Since it was considered an after hours assignment, Jim was given a free hand to do whatever he wanted and got permission from the Major to ask me to be his studio engineer. I remember asking him what credentials he thought I possessed other than 3 years as a rock singer in my high school band, but he assured me that my knowledge of music would be a tremendous asset to him, even though the programming was not going to be rock and roll.

It is sometime in January 1970 that we get the studio up and running. With a lot of assistance from the Radio Relay guys at the base, the powerful 50 Watt “Radio Phan Rang” was going to be on the air live every night from 2000 Hours (8 p.m.) until 2300 Hours (11 p.m.). As Studio Engineer, the Major gives me a list of programming that he wants for each show and it is my responsibility to go and retrieve the music from the archives.

Once retrieved, Jim and I lay out the nights schedule and then I copy the music in the proper sequence on reel to reel. Any interviews with the Donut Dollies, American Red Cross women, or the Base Commander, etc., are done, recorded and then put on cassette tape for play at the appropriate time. Since the show is live, it is my responsibility to be sure that everything is played on cue at the proper time and the proper levels. The first night was a total disaster. Anything that could go wrong, did. The Major was absolutely furious with me and wanted to fire me on the spot. But Jim stood his ground, told the Major that he had faith in me and assured the Major that it was simply first night jitters. Of course, once the Major left, Jim told me if I screwed up again I was gone because there was no way he could save me a second time. Fortunately for Jim, and myself too, I was a fast learner.

The show became extremely popular. Although the “Fifth Dimension”, “Dionne Warwick”, “Glen Campbell” and similar artists were not what the troops really wanted to hear, they enjoyed the banter that eventually grew between Jim and myself as well as the occasional comedy bit that the Major allowed me to do under his constant censorship. As each show passed, my comfort level, confidence and love of being “On Air” increased also.

It is May 1970. Because I didn’t really want to go back to the states, I had convinced Pete Sadler to get both he and I an assignment to Tan Son Nhut, Saigon, for another tour of duty. I had already served one tour at Cam Ranh Bay from 1968-69 prior to arriving at Phan Rang. Saigon would be my third tour in Vietnam and Pete’s second. Serving multiple tours in Vietnam was a walk in the park as the military put a priority on experienced war zone personnel staying in Vietnam.

If memory serves, Pete left for home for his leave a week before me and the last few days of my Phan Rang days were just Jim and myself. You get real close to fellow soldiers that you serve with. It’s hard to put into words really. There is a common bond, an invisible connection that goes above and beyond those made in the real world back home. Maybe it is because you share a peril of life and death on a daily basis, I don’t know. I think although there are similarities amongst all soldiers, there are numerous unique situations and friendships too.

Even as I approach my 39th Memorial Day in 2009 from that time in Vietnam, I can still remember that one in Phan Rang in 1970. It is as vivid and clear in my mind and memories as if it was yesterday. This day, like all others preceding it, was normal for Jim and I. We had breakfast at the chow hall, he went to his office, I climbed into my jeep and went to mine. We normally met at the chow hall around 7 p.m. for dinner, where we would go over last minute things for the show. As it was going to be my last one before catching a hop the next morning to Cam Ranh Bay for the freedom bird back to Dallas for my 30 day leave, Jim and I wanted this to be a very special show. Even the Major, who was scheduled to leave himself a day or two after me, had become somewhat nostalgic about what we had accomplished in the 5 months of “Radio Phan Rang”. I always got pumped up for a show. My adrenalin would surge and I was bouncing off the walls, ready to get to it.

It seemed like forever before the show started. Three, two, one...... “Good evening Phan Rang, this is Airman Jim Brookshire, along with my studio engineer Sgt. Dave Rabbit, guiding you through another night of Aquarius...”. It was the same opening, other than my rank which had changed in the five months, as the very first time we went on air. Jim proceeds to inform folks, as he had already been doing the previous week, that I was “short”, less than 1 week left in “The Nam”. The Major, who very rarely was in studio, was even there and allowed me to do one of my favorite bits “Charlie’s Request Line” as a thank you for my dedication and hard work on the show. Even though the music sucked, as always, it was a great show. Afterwards, the Major tells me goodbye, then Jim and I head off to the Airman’s Club for some beers and nostalgia one last time.

Jim and I arrive back at the barracks around midnight. It appears to be a calm night with no rocket or mortars from the VC. The year I was there, we had over 160 different nightly attacks. The VC normally tried to hit the flight line, but sometimes they would get lucky and hit an area of personnel. Jim and I both had lost a few friends that year. We decided to drink a couple more beers, listen to music and remember those who would return in a box. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the pent up emotions of what we were going through, but it was an emotional time for both of us. Jim finally said goodnight and climbed up on the top bunk and crashed immediately. Although I was feeling no pain, the adrenalin in me and the excitement and anticipation of going home for 30 days to see my parents and friends made me extremely restless. I had already packed my duffel bag and even though my hop wasn’t until 9 a.m., around 6 a.m. I had another friend of mine pick me up and go down to the flight line with me to wait. Besides, I really didn’t want another goodbye scene with Jim.

About 7 a.m., the base siren goes off indicating that we are under an attack. Even though we had been attacked during the daylight hours before, it is unusual as the majority of attacks are at night. My friend and I joke that they probably hit the garbage dump since they are normally poor shots. Maybe 15 minutes pass and an airman goes racing past us. We ask him what’s going on and he tells us that the barracks area was hit in the attack. I yell at him to be more specific, he says he doesn’t know. I tell my friend that we have plenty of time before my hop so I wanted to go see what had happened. We jump into the jeep and head up the hill towards the barracks area. As we approach closer, there is smoke coming out of the Headquarters’ Squadron area. We both jump out and start running towards the chaos. As we turn the corner I see that one of the two barracks that has been hit is mine. There is a huge gaping hole in the side and as I get closer, see that it is about where Jim’s and my hooch was. The perimeter is blocked off with security police but we manage to get around them and get even closer. The medics are bringing people out on stretchers and I ask one of them if everyone is alright. He tell me that there were three people killed. I said who? He says, he doesn’t know. This is driving me absolutely crazy. Is Jim alright? Was he at breakfast? I didn’t know. We finally make our way around to the opposite entrance to my barracks and go in. As we make our way down the hallway through a light haze of smoke, I can see a couple of medics down where my hooch was. As I approach they put their hands up in a manner to keep me away. I push their hands out of my way and turn the corner. There on the floor of my old hooch is the lifeless body of Jim Brookshire, my roommate and friend. A medic is hovering over him and adjusting him on the stretcher. I remember screaming at seeing him. I remember my friend holding me back until I calmed down. I asked the medic for a moment with Jim. As I knelt down next to him I began to cry. Tears were streaming down my face and I felt like my heart had been pulled out of my chest. I had a sterling silver peace medallion that I wore around my neck. I pulled it over my head and placed it around Jim’s neck. The medics told me they had to go, they picked Jim up and carried him out, with my friend and I following close behind them. As they put Jim and the two others in the ambulance the tears started flowing again. Even as I write this now, it is hard to see the words. It is an image that is permanently burned into my memory and brain and will be that way until I die. As the ambulance pulled away and we stand there still in disbelief, my friend says to me “Damn Dave, it’s a good thing you left early. That could be you.” It was at that precise moment that a cold chill went down my spine as my friend’s words hit me with such a force of reality that it became crystal clear to me..... I should be dead.

In late June 1970, after a 30 day leave back home in Dallas, I arrive at Tan Son Nhut, Saigon. I’m full of anger, emotions and questions about the stupidity of the war and the thousands of senseless deaths. Because I wanted to do something that would give significance and meaning to what Jim Brookshire meant to me personally, Pete Sadler and I hook up, we meet Nguyen and on January 1, 1971, Radio First Termer is born and for 21 nights pound the airwaves of Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos with rock and roll, reality and truth. If I had never met Jim Brookshire, if we had never been roommates, if we had never become friends, if he had never died..... who knows. I do know this, I owe everything to Jim Brookshire.