The living conditions and support functions at the DaNang base were pretty good considering where they were and the operational situation. We had all the good food we wanted and that included charcoal broiled steak twice a week and at least 2 different meats a day.  There was a lot of juice, pop, and coffee, but no milk.  We were under a double ration allocation for morale purposes and that meant the Mess Sgt. got twice the budget per man as was issued in Okinawa.  We actually looked forward to a good macaroni and cheese or baked beans as a break.

The sanitation the kitchens and around the showers, heads, and barracks were kept up with a staff of hired Vietnamese civilians.

The problem you had as a flight crew was your schedule many times didn't match that of the mess hall.  Flights were manned as the demand presented its self or they were extended beyond the base for all day or more.  The immediate solution was the famous “box lunch” which was acceptable if you didn't let them set around for a long period.  Many of the days in Vietnam were very unforgiving of an “over the hill box lunch”.  It usually didn't take long for the consumed food to go right through you when the hunger of a long day tempted you to dig into the box one last time.  You could develop the same uncomfortable condition by accepting invitations to eat at the outposts.  The homegrown food and meat was the same we carried out to them in our planes.  The Special Forces stomach had become acclimated to this food, but not so for the HMM-364 Marines.  The end result was one of the crew was usually running pretty loose and precarious to a fouled flight suit.  We usually carried a bucket in the belly for these in flight emergencies and it would always create a lot of excitement with the Vietnamese if you happen to be carrying troops when the need struck.  They really had a good time watching this retched condition.

To give relief on the flight line we had a portable toilet borrowed from the contractors.  The problem with the portable was it wasn't serviced with the same attention to detail as the civilians gave at the base and the hot sun made it a miserable place to find relief.  It always seemed to be the last resort decision.  I remember when you sat down you could immediately feel almost invisible vermin crawling all over your lower half. You were now in the alternating cycle of have a slight case of dysentery to be followed soon after with a case of the “crabs”.

The first time I experienced this affliction, I woke up one morning thinking my groin had become alive and upon closer inspection I had the company of uncountable little creatures that no amount of shower time seemed to dislodge.  I sought the advise of my fellow barracks mates.  It didn't take long for one of them to give me a tube of “blue salve” and all chimed in to put it on immediately.  No one wanted these critters spreading through the barracks. There were no instructions on the tube and about half of it has been used.  When I asked the donor how much to use he said, “Why don't you use all of it to be sure you get them”.  I took his advice and really smeared it around my crotch.  I got almost immediate relief from the crawling critters and thought I was right again with the world.

When I woke up the next morning my condition was much different from the previous morning.  The original advice had been correct.  The salve had done the trick and the critters were gone, but it had also taken the skin with it.  I was a fiery red and I was afraid if I walked something might fall off.  I just wanted to stay in the shower and let cool water flow over this region of my body.  It became apparent that clothes and this condition didn't go together and the best article was the flight suit without underwear.  As the day wore on even the flight suit felt like a file being rubbed back and forth over this sensitive area.  I final took my survival knife and open the crotch up on the suit so the most sensitive items could drape over the front of my seat in the cool breeze of flight.  If I thought the Vietnamese troops got excited about the “bucket in flight”, they became ecstatic with this sight.  They started just nudging one another and then pointing toward me.  Pretty soon there was a snicker, then a laugh, and then the whole plane in stitches.  I guess it did look a little strange, but it felt so good.

I had learned my lesson and never returned to that “shit shack”.  I would use my trusted bucket if all else failed.

Submitted by:
    Warren R. Smith, former Cpl. USMC