This Is What Happened When I Boarded A Jet Airliner On December 16, 1968 -- From Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam...

  Have you ever had to wait at an airport because your flight was late, or cancelled? 

Was your wait two hours, three hours or more?

My, or, should I say, our flight was nearly 12 hours late! 

It was frustrating.  Aggravating.  I, and my G.I. buddies, were tired and angry.

But we weren't waiting to fly from, let's say, L.A. to J.F.K. in New York.  No, the flight we were waiting for was supposed to leave from Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam, on the 16th of December 1968, to the West Coast of the U.S. (known as "the world").

My brothers and I had just finished our tour of duty in Vietnam.

My tour lasted for one year.  Some had tours that were shorter in duration, and some were longer (some extended their tours, as I was thinking of doing -- for six months -- but changed my mind after thinking about the deleterious affect it would have on my dear mother). 

It was time to leave Vietnam and return to some semblance of normalcy, at least that's what we were told to do or supposed to do... 

Yeah, right, sure thing, ipso facto (because of the "fact" that we were supposed to return to normal?).  We'll do that pronto, no problem, just like nothing had happened...

Sorry, I digressed just a bit...

Our commercial -- not military -- jet airliner finally arrived at the sprawling air base... 

Getting back to the title of my article... 

This Is What Happened When I Boarded A Jet Airliner On December 16, 1968 -- From Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam...

We climbed the steps to board the jet, lugging some of our belongings... 

As we filed in, it was apparent that the jet was going to be jammed with G.I.s from all branches of the military... 

As it turned out, there wasn't one, single seat left vacant...

There was something I noticed right off the bat: it was eerily quiet...  Who would have thought that soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen would be quiet when they were about to leave Vietnam?

But we were... 

The stewardesses were pleasant and helpful -- and good looking, but there was something else I noticed; there was no "hitting" on those good ladies; we were respectful of their office, chivalrous you could say, as they gently explained it was time to buckle-up -- and no smoking, not just yet, anyway... 

But the atmosphere was a "little" tense, in addition to being quiet...

We G.I.s knew what tense was all about, that is, at least those who experienced being rocketed or mortared or had to beat off a ground attack or have a firefight in the jungle with the VC, now that's tense!

We got strapped in... 

Still quiet; still tense...

Then we could feel the power of the big engines as the pilot hit the "gas"...

The jet lifted off; it seemed like a million years had gone by, but it was only a minute, maybe two...

It was still very quiet...

Those who had a window seat, glanced out to see Vietnam fade in the distance as the airliner steadily climbed in elevation...

But this was also the time of real concern... In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a little praying now and then, hoping that the jet wouldn't be knocked out of the sky by some NVA surface to air missiles...

Then came the news we were waiting to hear: the pilot made the announcement that we were officially out of missile range...

That's when it got crazy loud in there!  Quiet was a distant memory...

We were out of missile range and heading home!! 

The long flight ahead was nothing compared to what we had just left behind and soon we would be embraced by our loved ones back in "the world"... 

This short article was about what happened on December 16, 1968, but I have to report one more thing that I did when our plane landed at SEATAC (Seattle/Tacoma) airfield... 

When the door opened for us to disembark, we were hit with 34-degree temperatures, plus we could see snow in the foothills of the mountains... 

I began to shiver and shake as if I had a high fever, as if I had malaria (in fact, I was given malaria pills to take over a six-week period after I got home; I threw mine in the garbage), as my blood was razor thin after the heat and humidity of Vietnam... To make matters worse, I was wearing my light summer dress uniform, not meant for the winter cold and snow.  But it didn't matter, as I stepped off the last step, I got down on my hands and knees and kissed the ground.  I was back home...

(After I got home -- New Jersey --, I had to fight -- and lost -- many new battles in another "war" that lasted for over ten years, tearing me apart, morally, psychologically, spiritually and physically... A period of my life that will not be discussed here, not now, maybe never...).

Pray for strength and honor!

Viva Cristo Rey!  Bl. Fr. Miguel Pro, Fr. Emil Kapaun and Fr. Vincent Capodanno, pray for us...

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle...

Gene DeLalla