Woman Attempts Suicide

Woman attempts suicide

© Copyright James J Alonzo

“Radio to all cars, in three district. We have a jumper on the Klienhans Store Building.”

Hearing the call, while sitting in the security office, we were working together that day, in the summer of 1971. Mike McCarthy a Buffalo, NY police detective who was working part time security at Hengerers, while I worked there as a full time store detective. So both of us were 100 yards away when the radio call came. Mike was a real cop, a cop’s cop that they make movies out of, like "Die Hard", "Lethal Weapon", or "French Connection". He was a no nonsense cop that had more felony arrests than any five officers on any police force. Most of the other officers did not like working with him, because if there was going to be an "Officer Involved Shooting", it was a good chance Mike was in the middle of it.

"Let’s go.” Mike said. We ran out the store and down the street to Klienhans, and saw sitting on the second floor window a woman in her thirties, white, and obese. We ran up to the second floor and walked into the office, where a young secretary had been standing by the window, talking to the jumper.

“Police.” Mike said flashing his badge.

“Officer,” said the secretary, relived to see Mike, “the woman was here, sitting in that chair, said she was ill, could she have some water. So then I went out for a second and when I got back the window was wide open, and I started to shut it, but then I saw her on the ledge.”

Meanwhile more police officers were entering the small office, as Mike informed the secretary in his tactful and compassionate style,

“Beat it!” Which she in turn scurried right out of the office.

“You want me to leave?” I asked.

“No. Jim, you can learn something here.”

 

The Uniformed Captain showed up next,

“Well if it isn’t Michael McCarthy! To what do I owe this honor?”

“Captain Murphy,” acknowledging the arrival of the captain, and then pointing at me,

“He’s with me. I’m first on scene so I will try to talk her off the ledge.”

“Michael, you are a narcotics cop, what possible life experiences or training do have with a woman that wants to kill her self?”

“I’ve been married three times, and divorced three times. You don‘t think I've driven my ex-wives close to suicide?”

“Indeed. You may have a point there.” The Captain said, "besides we don't have a negotiator available anyway."

Then the captain assigned door security to the office. Meanwhile the fire department and a TV News Crew had arrived on the street level, setting up equipment and preparing for the worst. Shortly there after some firefighters arrived and were in the next office down from us.

Their window and ours was located on each side of the Jumper‘s position. Mike lit a cigarette and stuck his head out the window,

“Lady, can you hear me?” Mike asked the Blonde haired young lady who was about 300 pounds, wearing a pink sweat suit, and running shoes.

She was four feet from the window and was perched on the wide ledge,

“Leave me alone, or I’ll jump!”

“Lady, I’m not going to touch you, so don’t worry. Just answer a question for me.”

“OK, what’s the question?”

“What’s your name?”

“Karen Newman.”

Mike said to me in a low voice, “Jim, write all this information down, and note the times.”

“Karen, my name is Mike.” Silence. “Karen what is your address.”


“

171 Locust Street. Why all these questions?”

“I don’t know, Karen, but when they trained me, I’m supposed to get this information. I guess they want to identify you, if you jump.”

“Well I am going to jump. Why don’t you shove those questions up your ass?”

Looking back at me, he tossed his cigarette out the window, and laughed, “This broad is nuts. If she jumps she is going to be disappointed, the worst she’ll do is break her legs and maybe her fat ass.”

“You want me to write that down, the woman is nuts?” I asked laughing.

“No.”

Sticking his head back out the window,

“Karen, how come you want to jump?”

“What do you mean how come? You stupid jerk!”

“Karen, why are you so hostile?”

I was beginning to think this is not going well, because I could see Mike was getting angry, and he had a reputation for a violent temper.

“Karen are you married, any kids?”

“No, I am not married. Are you proposing?”

“Eh, no, Karen, who can we contact if you jump?”

“What are you that fucking stupid? I am going to jump! What’s this shit ’if I jump‘?”

Mike stuck his head back in, lit a cigarette, and said,

“This fucking broad is a pain in the ass.”

Mike sticking his head out the window again, was surprised to have seen that on the other side of Karen, there was now a news camera crew filming the jumper, so retreating back into the window, he said to me,

“Fuck! The news is filming from the next window. This is just what I need.”

Sticking his head out the window,

“Listen lady, why do you want to kill yourself?”

“Because I’m ugly! Because I’m Lonely! Because I’m fat!”

“Karen, your being hard on yourself, you are not that ugly, and lot’s of men like pudgy women.”

My jaw dropped when I heard Mike say that.

“You stupid asshole! You’re a pig! I’m going to jump, so don’t try to stop me!”

As she started to inch forward on the ledge, I could see Mike had had enough because he said,

“Well jump you stupid bitch! The worst you’ll do is hurt yourself. If you want to commit suicide, you selfish bitch, you should jump from the sixth floor!”

“Fuck you!” Then she jumped.

When she hit the ground, it was hard! The fall and impact verified what Mike said, the injuries besides the obvious cuts and bruises, were legs fractures, pelvis fracture and crush vertebrae, and a possible head concussion.

 

The next day there was a head line in the newspaper;

　

“Cop Tells Jumper To Jump”

 

The chief of police was livid, and some thought he was going to have a conniption. Especially when he read a quote from Mike McCarthy when asked by a reporter, “why he thought she jumped from the second floor instead of the sixth.” Mike responded,

　

“That’s the difference between chickens shit and chicken salad.”

　

The Barracks Rat VN

The Barracks Rat VN

(C) James J Alonzo

In Viet Nam at the base camp of 2/17 Calvary 101 rst Airborne Division, the sleeping quarters, or our hooch, for enlisted men in our small base camp had sandbag walls with some wood posts in the walls to help support the tent roof on them. Our hooch walls was long enough for four cots that ran along the wall on one side of the room and four cots on along the other wall with only maybe a space of four foot wide aisle between the cots. 

We were near our squadron headquarters, so we were fortunate to have electricity. The sandbag walls of our place were no more than two sandbags thick and the only opening in the walls was two doors, one at each end of our hooch. 

Since we were in the Delta of the Mekong river, in the tropics, we had rats! We had a big rat we called Victor Charlie (VC for short) that lived in the sandbag walls. And like his name sake he became a real pain in the ass. Every once in awhile Victor Charlie would tunnel inside our room. 

This was our fault, because we left a lot of preferred rat food laying around. Candy, cakes, cookies, food, goodie packages from home with food snacks, etc. If you didn't keep your food stuff in a steel ammo box this rat would chew his way to the food. You always knew he was in your food, because he always left his rat turds behind!

Though all of us tried to kill Victor Charlie, we proved to be inept at it. From throwing knives, unarmed grenades, bayonets or anything we could think of at the time, at Victor Charlie when he did this. One of my squad members Terry Yater, that slept on a corner cot, thinking he had outsmarted the rat, had nailed a wooden box on a post in the wall about 4 foot above his cot. 

He kept some food stuff, and snacks in the box, and on top of the box he kept some spare magazines for his M 16 and a couple of grenades. Terry had happily assured himself that the rat wouldn't get at his stuff.  

There was no stars or moon out that night, and it was pitch black visibility in the hooch when the screaming started, all of us were sound asleep in our small hooch and suddenly being awaken at 2 a.m. It was a blood curdling scream, and as loud as an air raid warning. 

When the first scream erupted. all hell broke loose in our hooch, flashlights being turned on, soldiers dropping them, scrambling around looking for weapons! I immediately sprang out of my cot only to hit head first into the head of the soldier getting out of his cot across the aisle from me. I hit him so hard I knocked him back over his cot and against the wall behind him. My head felt like I had been hit with a baseball bat. 

Meanwhile there were similar actions happening adding to the chaos of the moment. Soldiers that managed to stand were tripping over the others that had been knocked to the floor when they scrambled for their rifles. All during this, someone in our room continued to scream.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of chaos, someone in our room found the light switch for our lone light bulb and turned it on. Terry Yater in the corner with the 105 mm box was still laying on his cot. He was holding his testicles with both hands while he rolled side to side on his cot still uttering sounds that told you he was in great pain. Next to his cot on the floor lay one of his grenades! 

It seems Victor Charlie the Rat had made a new tunnel in our walls during the night that came out into our room level with the top of Terry's wooden box. There, Victor Charlie working his way into box must of decided that the grenades were in his way, tossed out one of the grenades, scoring a direct hit on Terry's testicles sleeping below it. 

One or two of us may have deserved a purple heart that night. Also it was a good thing we were all young men for an older one may have suffered a heart attack from the blood curdling screams Terry had let out. In the few seconds of mayhem in our small room we had put some serious hurt on each other scrambling out of our cots in that completely dark small room.

*For the record, Victor Charlie was alive when I went home to the USA, and I never heard from my squad members that he ever was killed.

Another Snake Story VN

Another Snake Story VN

(C) James J Alonzo

While in Viet Nam, on patrol, our squad entered a small hamlet or village. J J and I spotted two Vietnamese kids about 8 years old, playing with a snake that i recognized as a baby cobra! 

One kid would be squatting in front of the snake to get its attention and the other squatting would grab its tail and flip it toward the other kid. Then they would reverse roles and repeat the process, laughing and giggling at the snakes antics. 

 As I stood watching with J J, he asked me,  

"Damn isn't that a poisonous snake those kids are playing with?" 

"Yep", I answered,  "but don't worry, its a baby one so the bite won't be so bad. They'll kill it when they are tired, and their mama will cook it." 

The Battle Of The Mess Hall

(C)James J Alonzo


Being assigned to a cavalry unit, in our Troop, we had an officer named Lt Colossi who was not a command officer, but I think he was the Army Intelligence Officer! This was stretch because he wasn't the brightest kid on the block. Lt Colossi stood about 5'6", 145 lbs, and was a 90 day wonder; a private that was trained through officer candidate school in 90 days, then given the rank of an officer. It must of pissed off the West Point Officers who studied at the academy for four years to look at this clown standing there tobacco pipe in his mouth, sunglasses, holding his hands on his hip like General McArthur. 

There is a saying that "birds of a feather flock together", and Lt Colossi did hang with the supply officer, a Lt Basile equally a 90 day wonder, and equally not too bright, equally a short 5'6" 145 lbs, Prima Donna. Both these clowns thought they were warriors, and that America sent them to Viet Nam to save the American peasant soldiers. 

When out in the jungle these clowns would make sure they were armed to the teeth carrying practically every weapon they could get away with. But Lt Basile was the one to watch, because he thought he was a quick draw artist with his 1911 Colt automatic pistol! 

One day Lt Colossi was headed for our mess hall which was just behind our barracks and BOQ (batchlor officer quarters) sleeping quarters. Dawn was just breaking and apparently there was no one else in the area. Along the front of the mess hall and along its sides was a loose pea gravel walkway. The mess hall was built on raised cinder blocks because during the rainy season there were the floods. 

Just when Lt Colossi turned the corner of the mess hall to go to the side door, something slithered from underneath the mess hall and all he could think to do was step on its head. 

Realizing he just stepped on a poisonous snake, he tried to kill it by grinding his boot with most of his weight on that snake!  All that happened was the snake curled its body around his leg. Thanks to the loose pea gravel, all he seemed to be doing was making that snake mad as it curled tighter around his leg. He suddenly realized he had a 'tiger by the tail', he had to be careful.  

He looked around in panic, still no one was to be seen and He could not see any cooks or kitchen workers in the mess hall. Out of desperation, Lt Colossi began yelling for help, hopeing someone would hear him! Finally Lt Brasile showed up, coming around the corner, wanting to know what Lt Colossi was yelling about. 

Lt Colossi just pointed to the snake wrapped around his leg and its head under his boot. Lt Brasile's eyes got big, 

" Holy shit!" Lt Brasile shouted, quick drawing his weapon, "hold still and I'll shoot him!" and fired his pistol at the snake and Lt Colossi's foot!!

"What," Lt Colossi shouted as Lt Brasile started firing  about 8 foot from Lt Colossi, 

About four weeks Later, we heard that after Lt Colossi got out of the hospital, he had won the Purple Heart for being wounded white defending the perimeter of our base camp, during the battle of the mess hall. And Lt Brasile was awarded a Bronze Star for saving a fellow 'officer and gentleman' during said same battle, who had been attacked by unknown numbers of Viet Cong during hand to hand combat. 

(during Viet Nam officers since they were considered "Officers and Gentlemen" above reproach, were allowed to write up after action reports put themselves in for certain medals, and with two officers working on concert, they had dressed up their experience at the battle of the mess hall.)

The Day They Lynched Tyrone VN

The Day They Lynched Tyrone VN

(C) James J Alonzo

I was s squad leader in Viet Nam, and I was responsible for my squad members. The first time I saw Tyrone was when I entered our hooch one day, and i knew that i wouldn't like him. He was sitting on a bunk with another soldier named Billy Dunn. Tyrone was nothing to really to look at,,tall, slender, black, flat nose and short real corse black hair. However, Billy and Tyrone seemed fast friends, in fact Billy seemed possessive over his friendship with Tyrone. Little did I know that this relationship would eventually become a big problem.

Our platoon having first arrived in Viet Nam in 1967, lived in what we called our hooch, but in actuality they were wood sided structures with a tent roof. There were four for every platoon, in our base camp area. 

Tyrone moving in our hooch was going to be tough, because no one really like Tyrone. Tyrone had poor hygiene, and would piss in our hooch! He seemed to lazy to go outside. Sometimes for entertainment, he would reach up grab the rafter poles that supported our tent roof and swing from each rafter. Maybe Tyrone thought this was funny but he would pee as he he did his trapeze act! Tyrone did this in our hooch and I heard in other hooches too!

After getting complaints about Tyrone I had to talk to Billy Dunn about this because some of the men wanted to waste Tyrone for these antics.

"Listen Billy," I said, "you got to get Tyrone to stop this nonsense, or he is going to get the s\!#% beat out of him or fragged."

"I am trying sarge, but he doesn't listen!"

"Billy, you get your friend under control, S!#%, even the company dog doesn't like Tyrone, the way the dog is always yapping and barking at Tyrone."   

Tyrone didn't bother the company mascot dog much, but the Dog just wouldn't leave Tyrone alone. One day when Billy and Tyrone were heading to the mess hall, the dog was barking and yapping at Billy's feet  and apparently Tyrone had enough of this and jumped on the dog. 

In a quick move Tyrone had the dog in a head lock and was beating the hell out of the dog, then he would try to ride him like a horse, and then switch back to beating the hell out of dog again. 

A small crowd had gathered to see what was going on, and watch Tyrone. However when Tyrone got in behind the dog, the crowd got angrier, because Tyrone tried to plug Charlie right in the butt! The shouting and angry outbursts from the men forced Tyrone to run off in fear!! 

I just knew this was going to end in a bad way. That very night after i spoke to Billy we were being sent out on a night ambush. As we formed up Billy came to me,

"Hey sarge. Have you seen Tyrone? I can't find him!"

"No, and I hope he never comes back!" I said, I wasn't going to concern myself with Tyrone until I got back.

When we got back that morning it was real quiet, there was a ghostly like mist or fog at our hooch area. Before I had a chance to enter our hooch, I heard Billy Dunn's screaming and crying from inside the hooch! 

When I stepped in the hooch I saw what everyone was looking at, and the reason for Billy's cries and tears. There, hanging by his neck, from the center rafter was Tyrone, the monkey, hands tied behind his back, feet tied, and a note secured to Tyrone's black chest,

"This is what happens to monkeys
 who pisses and shits in our hooch!"

***************** 

A Vietnamese Delicacy VN

A Vietnamese Delicacy VN

(C) James J Alonzo

When I was in Viet Nam, 1967 & 1968, I had the luxury of being able to speak Vietnamese fluently, compliments of the military language school at Monterey California. After I got to Asia, I liked the culture and tended to learn as much as I could. One way is to learn about the types of food that the people eat, like dog, insects, monkey, and snakes, besides the normal staples of pig, rice and numerous other types of vegetation.  

One day my gunner J J Jackson and I took a vehicle and drove to Saigon, off duty assignment-to view the scenery, enjoy a few bars, and find some female company. After parking our vehicle, we started to stroll down TU DO street, where we could find the things we were looking for, passing many bars, restaurants, including small food stands.

"What the Hell is this?", J J said looking at a stand that had assorted snakes, some dead on in jars and some secured but alive! "Jim these !#%*\} people are crazy!"

"Damn J J, that's a delicacy! " I said exited, "Let's try it, that way we can further understand the people and the culture!"

"Jim, you go understand the people and culture, all I want is to get drunk! What's the matter with you white boys? I an't eating anything that has fangs!"

Laughing at J J's discomfort, I walked up to the snake stand. After some hesitation J J followed me. The stand consisted of tables with umbrellas and chairs, next to a make shift grill with racks and a high food preparation tables. 

"Xin chao bao nhieu con ran?" (Hello, how much is the snake?") I asked.

She smiled her toothless smile, 

"Do do ban noi ngon ngu cua toi" (so you speak my language") mama-San said laughing, then continued speaking, 
      
“You have two ways to buy G I, a whole snake for five piastas or half a snake for 250 piastas the old woman says, “For five, I gut a live snake in front of you and pour its blood into a shot glass. Then you eat the heart while its still beating! Its very good for you! Bam le Ba (beer) is 100 piastas." (one dollar to a hundred piastas)

I told J J what she said, but J J wasn't going to have any part of this, 

"Are you f/$&!)%+ nuts!" J J said, more like a declaration of fact, instead of a question.

"Come on J J, it's not just a job, it's an adventure! So try to feel the freedom of adventure,"

I realized that I would not be able to easily convince my friend to indulge in Cobra easily, but I would try to work him. I had tasted grilled garden snake in Hong Kong, and it was delicious. 

"Hey J J," i said trying to convince my friend, "Vietnamese snake meat is world famous!"

"No! So %#\!*off!" J J  spoke defiantly, as he sat down at the table,  “I don’t eat reptiles, or the devil's spawn,” he proclaimed with arms folded, "but I will have some beer."

“It’s delicious, and a great experience!” I chided, as if encouraging him to eat a bug in front of a group of peers on the school playground. “J J don’t be a punk,  it will be really cool to do it together.”

" You are so \#%*!ed up on your definition of “cool.” J J replied, I could hear in his voice he was thinking of doing this.

Mama-san was very patient with us as she went about her work. If she didn't understand what we were talking about, it wouldn't be hard to figure out we were debating about eating her food.

"Come on J J, try this, you will thank me years from now for having done this. You'll be able to tell you grandchildren you ate snake."

"Okay, let me understand this", J J asked, " is the eating crushed up ribs and spine followed by a shot of a snake seeped  in fish oil your kind of cool?"

“Yeah! Are you going to try it?" I asked, "or you going to wimp out?" I was putting my life on the line saying this to J J, since he was a very muscle bound, 6'2", 200 lbs, and I was only 5'10", 160 lbs.

“Well, if you going to eat it," J J replied, "I will. But if I get sick, your a dead man!"

"Yeah, let's do it dude." I said, wondering if I went too far with J J. I translated to mama-San that J J threatened me, and she laughed.

Mama-San, a small tired looking Vietnamese woman in her fifties  reassured us,

“Dont worry G I, the venom is not dangerous if it goes in your stomach, only if it gets in your blood stream.” which I translated into English to J J. 

I’ve never been suicidal in my choice for exotic food, but I’ve eaten a number of odd meats in the states and abroad, rattlesnake in Texas, some kind of snake in Hong Kong, bugs in Thailand, dog in Viet Nam  We came this far, so I wanted to live to tell the tale of eating cobra.

Mama-san may have been old but she had the reflexes of a cat the way she seized and handled that live cobra! Showing us the live Cobra, she let the snake wriggle in her hands. We decided we only wanted half a snake. Without the blood, without the still palpitating heart, without the potential for mass slaughter and without the half alive wriggling body parts!

Lucky for us, she just happened to have half a cobra in a bucket of ice. Where she got the ice was beyond me, and I didn't ask. The meat appeared limp and gray, like mackerel that rots in the sun. It smelled like the swamps, and the shape made clear that it once was a legless, carnivourous serpent.

So we sat there, drinking our Vietnamese beer, while waiting for the food to be prepared and cooked. We flirted with the young beautiful Vietnamese girls that walked by in their native AO DAIs. (ow yei)  We watched and laughed at the jesters of the Vietnamese police officer trying to control the heavy traffic, all in vain, for these cabs, scooters and bikes didn't seem to pay any attention to the police or the traffic signs!

After what seemed like an hour, but only 20 minutes, of mincing, chopping and filleting, punctuated by the occasional shouts, horns blowing, from the street chaos, and our laughter, we heard moma-San ask,

“I’m pulling out the intestines, would you like to taste the nerves now?”

"No that's okay!" J J said, slugging down another beer.  

The  woman brought out two small dishes. They included spring roll, snake cake, and snake patty, and two more beers. 

Cautious, J J and I eyeballed each other to see if either one of us would punk out. Trying each piece with caution, and a huge smile, we listened to moma-San speaking and I would translate for J J.

I asked Mama-San if she had been bitten and she showed me marks on her arm, presumably snake bites. Mama-San explained that growing up around snakes, she has been bitten so many times that the venom is less deadly to her now. But she is still careful because a bite can make her very sick, even if it is not fatal.

We blindly stuffed our mouths. Mama-san kept a close watch to see how much we were enjoying it (or faking it). Mama-san began telling stories, about the snake community before the Vietnam War. As a young girl, she was the fastest to climb trees and catch the snakes so she could earn money for her family. 

Later, she learned to cook snake and serve them in many different dishes and spices., She refused to give the recipe, but talked about how Cobra is a favorite of locals who will eat the snake for virility and energy. 

Cobra meat is said to be an aphrodisiac, and people who eat the meat or drink the whiskey are believed to take on the snake spirit.  Prior to the War, commoners and aristocrats could enjoy the protein of a snake for dinner. Nowadays most snake traditions, especially Cobra eating, is only for the very rich.

Reminiscing on her city, she pointed to the buildings that replaced her jungle trees, illustrious of the dying traditions being replaced by Saigon's growth since the war began.

After about 30 minutes, the snake had been prepared, and was ready to eat. The meal began with Mama-San pouring 2 shots of snake whiskey, one for me and one for J J. Additionally, I asked for a beerto wash down our meal with. I actually thought the snake whiskey was pretty good.

I felt cautious, aware of our power and subjectivity as visiting soldiers. I continued translating, and told J J to smile with every bite, that way we showed respect for the snake eating tradition.

J J didn't look too happy and said,

"If I didn’t know it was Cobra, maybe it would taste good. But I can't stand eating this !*%#}!,  the  gnashing of bones, and the smelly meat makes me sick!"

"Just drink the whiskey and the beer, and eat the snake spring roll." I advised, "It will help you keep it down."

Being stationed at Ft Campbell Kentucky and Ft Benning Georgia and having visited Thailand for 7 days, I have experienced spirits some home made some commercially made from different places. The snake whiskey was much smoother than I expected, but still retained all the kick of moonshine. Not to brag, but I swallowed mine like a champ. J J, who shall not be named, did not even finish his and the little that J J drank, was sipped in tiny amounts.

Still, I  could not get the taste of  spine out of my mouth. In a last ditch effort to enjoy the experience and not offend Mama-san. I stored the snake in my cheeks like a cartoon character. I thought I could pretend it didn’t exist, and spit them out later, but Mama-san caught my game. Mama-san asked laughing, 

"Are you feeling alright, your face was swelling up?"

I stuffed another mouthful in and said “Delicious!” in Vietnamese,  "khaoi tra", smiling with meat clinging to my teeth, my nose running.
 
After we took pictures of each other eating snake, and toasted each other, we walked away from the snake stand, J J kept complaining about nausea and he may shortly evacuate his stomach,

" When I feel better I'm going to kick your butt for talking me into this adventure!" 

I didn't say anything because I concealing two cheekfuls of snake lodged in my cheeks.


*****

“I’m glad I did it, partly because it was worth it, but mostly because I shall never have to do it again”-Mark Twain

 

My Father Died In Viet Nam, He Abandoned Us

My Father Died in Viet Nam, He Abandoned Us

(C) James J Alonzo

I had served in Viet Nam, two years,1967 $ 1968 as a member of 2/17 Calvary, 101rst Airborne Division, known as the "Screaming Eagles."
 
After Viet Nam i got into law enforcement and it became my career of sorts. It was 1988, and there were times that some days were rougher than others, so there was this bar I would go to commonly called a "cop bar" for it was patronized by mostly cops.

There was this one bartender that frequently had the late night shift, so she and I became well acquainted. Often it was just her and I at the bar. One night in particular it was about 1:30 am, and we were just talking while I nursed a potent rum and coke.

The bartender's name was Rose, a blonde, had a slender figure and about twenty years younger than me. She had asked me once if I had served in Viet Nam, so she knew I was a Viet Nam vet.

What I didn't know was that her dad had been killed in the war. For some reason this late night she decided to tell me about it. 

"You know my Dad was killed over there." she said, as a matter of fact, like she was telling me that it just started to snow. Her statement caught me off guard and I paused to look her in her blue eyes.

It was then I realized Rose had something to get off her chest.

"No I didn't know that." I responded firing questions at her like a machine gun,  "I¹m sorry. How did he die, if I may ask? What outfit was he in? Do you know what happened?" 

"Yeah, he was an army helicopter pilot." Rose said, "Mom told me that my father flew a Huey and was on a night rescue mission with another helicopter. They had to rescue some soldiers that had been trapped and surrounded by the enemy. My Dad's chopper was shot down as they came in for the rescue. My mother told me he flew a lot of rescue missions." 

Even though she was staring somewhere beyond me, I could see she wanted to talk more, so I asked, 

"How old were you when he died." I asked

"I was just a baby, when he left us!" she said sharply." he volunteer for a second tour!" 

I could hear some anger in her voice, and that maybe she was still mad at his dad for dying and leaving her. 

In psychiatry we are taught that this a normal reaction, we all tend to have some anger at those that die. We feel deserted, left alone to drift through life without their support. I could see Rose's anger at her father is still causing her to suffer.

"Can I tell you a story," I asked, as I started to repack my pipe, and lite it.   

 "I want you to imagine your nineteen years old", I started, "You are away from home for the first time and like many young men, you¹re in the military and in the middle of a war zone."

I paused as Rose lit a cigarette and sat down on a stool behind the bar. Once settled I continued,

"imagine you're out with a patrol, it hot, the mosquitoes are eating you alive, the sweat is in your eyes, trickling down you spine, it's night time, and it's so dark you can't hardly see your buddy in front of you. Suddenly a much larger force of enemy soldiers has ambushed your patrol."

I stopped to take another sip of my drink,

"In mere seconds, a few of your guys are already down, some wounded (WIA's) a couple killed, (KIA's), and your platoon is fighting for its life! You're scared, crazy scared and you hear the radio operator calling in for help, as red and green tracers are flying back and forth, 

("Red Dog 2 to Red Dog 1! Red Dog 2 taking fire, overwhelming Victor Charlie, we have KIA's and WIA's, need immediate evac! Will pop smoke!") 

"The radio operator is told there is no help available! You realize your platoon is gonna be left out there in the dark to die! You think nobody cares enough about you to save your life. But in truth there is no one willing to make a night evacuation under fire, especially at a hot LZ! (landing zone) Your guts are shriveling into itself in fear. You and your men don't want to die but death is out there in the dark trying to get at you."

Rose clears her throat, and drinks her beer, shaking her head at what she is hearing. At this point she is no longer looking at me or anything in the room. She is seeing what i am seeing, but like me she is living it. Her eyes are glazed with a tear in each eye. 

"So there you are and it can't get any worse." I said, my voice starts cracking, I too am having a hard time controlling my emotions.

"Suddenly the radio crackles and the voice that we hear comes out is like the voice of god himself promising salvation!  "Red Dog 2, this is White Bird 4 & 5,  hang on we¹re coming!"  There are two of us and we can get everybody out! Pop smoke, we will verify."

I had to clear my throat, I was choked up a bit, so I downed the remainder of my drink and continued, 

"We soon heard the chopping of the air from the rotors of the helicopters. It was the pilot of the lead helicopter and he somehow had heard about us and just couldn't leave us out there to die. I don't know who that pilot was, but I'll tell you Rose, whoever that was, that was your old man."

I Then stood up to leave, slowly placing money on the bar, grabbing my jacket.

Rose looked like she'd been clubbed. There were tears streaming down her cheeks and she seemed incapable of movement. After a bit she turns to me and says, 

"I didn't know, I didn't know."

"There was no way you could of known." I said, "I think your dad was a man that placed more importance on the lives of others more than his own"

At the city of Buffalo marina, there is a memorial to the Deceased personel that were from Buffalo of the Viet Nam war and the names are engraved in the granite. Rose told me her dad's name was on the wall and asked that I give him my regards. I did that the next time I was there, and looked his name up.  I was glad he got his relationship with his daughter back. A girl needs her father even if it is just the memory.