Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Mission to Paris

Joe Carey took some edgy photos in his time. He was then a combat photographer with the 25th Infantry at Cu Chi when the Vietnam War was at full bore. His assignment was to supply the divisional weekly paper, Tropic Lightning News, as well as the monthly magazine with pictures, suitable pictures, for the troops. To get his shots, Joe would accompany combat patrols to the Ho Bo Woods, the Iron Triangle, and the old Michelin Plantation, putting himself in harm’s way. He got some terrific close-up photos of the war, but they weren’t all ‘suitable’. The general would’ve blown his top if he’d seen the interrogation by torture shot in his publications. Joe stashed those photos away, his private portfolio of the war.

Joe got through his 12-month tour and came back to the States in April ‘68. He hooked up again with Jeff Sharlet in Chicago where Joe’s wife Suzan was teaching. The two ex-Vietnam GIs had previously met at Indiana University before Joe was drafted. Jeff had done his war earlier and was finishing up his degree work before moving on to grad school at University of Chicago. A year later, he decided grad school could wait, there was a senseless war raging that had to be opposed.

By the end of ’67, Jeff was ready to launch the first GI-led antiwar paper for GIs, at least the many he was aware of who had growing doubts about the wisdom of the US mission in Vietnam. The first issue of Vietnam GI (VGI) bore the date January 1968. It would soon find an enthusiastic readership among GIs in Nam and those in stateside camps, men who survived their tours there or were waiting to deploy.

Jeff realized he needed photos of the war, not just to break up the text, but to put a face on the conflict. Fortuitously, Joe Carey came along and got back in touch. Co-opted into the editorial collective, Joe provided VGI with many of his ‘unsuitable’ photos from the field, including one of a so-called Viet Cong (VC) suspect – more likely just a poor peasant caught in the middle between the American steamroller and the guerrillas formally known as the People’s Liberation Army. The man was pinned to the ground, an officer questioning him with a knife in hand:


Photo credit:  Joseph Carey

Joe also passed on to Jeff one of the most shocking photos of the war, an atrocity photographed by a combat GI who bore witness and wordlessly handed his roll of film to Joe when he arrived on the scene. Jeff realized the photo was a dynamite visual against the war, young American soldiers posing like great white hunters on safari with their grisly trophies. He offered it to the national media, but none of them would touch it since editors knew how vindictive the Johnson White House Press could be to journalists who seriously embarrassed the administration. A European news service eventually put it out on the wire, and the photo also reportedly appeared in a major Soviet newspaper.

Meanwhile, with no takers stateside, Jeff ran the photo in the May issue of VGI along with his own caption. About that time, the Army’s Military Intelligence unit out of Fort Sheridan IL had gotten wind the photo was going to appear, and agents came to Chicago looking for the negative; but Jeff had taken the precaution of hiding it off-premises before he ran the photo. Eventually the picture was reprinted in the civilian underground press, including the Berkeley Barb and the San Francisco Express Times, and the Army could no longer ignore the extremely adverse publicity it was generating.

They went in search of the offending GIs in the shot; they were located and court-martialed at Fort Sill OK, one of the more out of the way US military bases, the idea being to keep the proceedings low profile. Although it was not his photo, Joe Carey’s connection was detected, and he was summoned to testify at the trial (Nb. Although a GI finished his tour and returned to civilian life, there remained a period of inactive reserve during which he was subject to being called back – so Joe was still on the books).

In the end, the outcome of the court-martial was no more than a slap on the wrist, very characteristic of military justice in the middle of a war. The ringleader, a staff sergeant, was reduced in rank one grade while the younger privates were deemed to be following a superior’s orders and let off. For such comic opera justice, Joe had driven all the way from San Francisco to dusty Lawton OK.


From Vietnam GI, May '68

Enter Dave Dellinger at this point in the tale. A long time pacifist, by ’68 he was the titular head of the ‘Mobe’, short for the broad movement against the war, and editor-in-chief of Liberation, a small but powerful magazine committed to the antiwar cause. Dellinger was well connected; he knew all the major activists in the States and in Europe. SDS, Students for a Democratic Society, had migrated to Europe with a few chapters in cities with concentrations of American civilians. There were also myriad indigenous European anti-Vietnam War groups, especially in France, The Netherlands, West Germany, and Sweden. In addition, there were sizeable communities of US military deserters being harbored in Stockholm, Copenhagen, and Paris. In brief, the war was a very big issue abroad as well as on the homefront.

One particular European group is of interest here – Paris American Committee to Stop War (PACS), made up of expatriate Americans including Alexander Calder, the sculptor; Susan George, a political activist who had opposed France’s war in Algeria; Ian Morris, a novelist; and Mary Jo van Ingen, later to become a professor of English, among others. PACS had been organized in ’66 and had ties with other groups on the Continent opposed to the war. Maria Jolas, long the grande dame of the American expat community in Paris and a person of consequence in the literary world at large, served as executive secretary of PACS. Except for World War II, Madame Jolas, a tall, striking woman then in her mid-‘70s, had made her life in Paris since the ‘20s when she and her husband Eugene, who had died in 1952, became an important part of  the modernist movement in literature and the arts in general.

In the late ‘20s, Maria, an heiress from a very old American family, and Eugene created the journal transition as a vehicle for literary modernism. They published most of the distinguished or soon to be distinguished writers of the day including T.S. Eliot, Andre Gide, Ezra Pound, Kay Boyle, the young Hemingway, and not least, James Joyce, who was then in self-imposed exile in Paris. The influential journal continued until just before the outbreak of the war when it completed publication of Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake, published serially over the years in its pages. The Jolas’s had become the author’s close personal friends and devoted literary supporters up to his death in early ’41. They then looked after his family and his literary estate. By the late ‘60s, Maria Jolas was one of the last survivors of Joyce’s Paris circle.

Maria Jolas was a networker par excellence. Earlier in life she and Eugene successfully networked among the literati of Europe and America for the cause of modernism; in the Vietnam War era she was in touch with like-minded antiwar leaders throughout Europe and in the States. She threw her formidable organizing ability into protest against the war. Meanwhile, the American war in Vietnam had taken a turn for the worse in early ’68, and those opposed to it took heart.


Maria Jolas, Paris, late '60s
Photo credit:  Gisele Freund

The Tet Offensive, which opened suddenly with a stunning attack on the US Embassy compound in Saigon, was winding down after several months of intense fighting along the length of the country. By late spring ’68, the offensive had turned into a military defeat for the insurgents although it simultaneously became a political-psychological victory of considerable consequence for them. The enemy had dramatically shown that heretofore secure major cities were vulnerable to large-scale attack. In the wake of Tet, General Westmoreland was out, and President Johnson soon withdrew from the ’68 presidential race.

Any notion that there was a light at the end of the tunnel was extinguished; instead, the more realistic prospect of a long, grinding unwinnable war slogging on was featured on television screens and in major print media; and, for GIs in the war and in the pipeline, it was the big story in the relatively new GI antiwar press led by Jeff Sharlet’s Vietnam GI, Andy Stapp’s The Bond, and The Ally, ably edited by Clark Smith. Opposition to the war in the ranks was rising.

Earlier in late ’66, for Maria Jolas the war had suddenly become much more than a distant conflict. An Army truck driver, the first GI deserter to seek help from supporters of North Vietnam in France, was told of her work and, figuratively speaking, landed rather abruptly on her doorstep seeking assistance. Maria was initially taken aback. For one thing, PACS existed at the tolerance of the French government, which had as leverage the granting of residence permits to foreigners for only short, renewable periods. Generally, it was the policy of the government to turn over wayward GIs who fell into French hands to the US military authorities in West Germany.

On the other hand, nothing in Maria’s background or life experience had prepared her for Gregory Graham, a private first class (Pfc) from Waco TX, fleeing from his unit in Germany to avoid deployment to Vietnam. He was a redneck youth raised in an orphanage who had enlisted to get out of Texas; his explanation for deserting was something of a shock. Graham told Maria, “Ah doann mind barbecued bonzes, but ah hate fried drivers, that ain’t my scene. I split.”

Translated from Texas vernacular, he said he didn’t object to Buddhist monks in Vietnam dousing themselves with petrol and burning themselves alive as an antiwar protest, but he disliked the prospect of being personally fried – when a gasoline tanker, such as he would drive in Nam, went over a mine – and living in agony for three days before dying.*

An Austrian living in Paris, Max Watts, came to the rescue and helped Maria deal with her unexpected guest. Graham was hidden from the French and American authorities in a French psychiatric hospital on the Loire River where he was alternatively classified as a patient or a gardener depending on who was asking. Word got out among antiwar groups near US bases in West Germany as well as in Amsterdam and Antwerp where GIs deserting their units often first headed, that help was available in Paris.

In ’67 several more GIs found their way to Maria, who, with the assistance of Max and his comrade, Mary Jo (aka June) van Ingen, placed them beyond the reach of the French cops. This experience gave rise to RITA, Resistance Inside the Army, a formidable network for helping US deserters as an action against the war.**

By ’68 Maria Jolas was a seasoned anti-Vietnam War activist, a familiar figure at Left Bank antiwar rallies. That spring a French group, the English name of which was the National Committee of Vietnam (NCV), allied with PACS, planned an antiwar event in Paris, a rally in an appropriate venue with speakers. Aware that the GI antiwar movement writ large was growing, Maria contacted her American comrade Dave Dellinger seeking an ex-Vietnam GI to speak at the event.  Dellinger turned to brother Jeff, who by spring ’68 was editing VGI, already widely read below the radar by troops in Nam and stateside camps.

Jeff, however, was up to his neck in work on the paper – touring base camps for interviews with returned combat veterans, visiting GI coffee houses, and, not least, raising funds among East and West Coast liberals to pay the printing and mailing bills to keep VGI afloat. Instead, he recommended Joe Carey for the Paris mission, especially since Joe had most recently seen the war up close through the lens of his camera. Furthermore, Joe had brought home pictorial evidence of what was really going on over there. Jolas liked the idea. So did her French colleagues.

Jeff supplied funds to have a selection of Joe’s combat photo outtakes enlarged and mounted, Dellinger provided the plane ticket, and Joe Carey was off to Paris. He was met at the airport by Dr M. F. Kahn of the Faculty of Medicine in Paris, a member of the sponsoring French antiwar group, who took him to his apartment where Tom Hayden of the SDS leadership waited to brief him.



  David Dellinger            Joseph Carey

By pre-arrangement, Joe was put up with a French journalist, and his Parisian hosts included Maria Jolas and Laurent Schwartz. During his stay in Paris, Maria entertained him several times at her apartment in Montparnasse, which had been the artistic center of Paris at the time Maria and Eugene launched transition, in the 6th arrondissement not far from Saint- Germain-des-Prés, which became the center of the existentialist movement following WWII. It was a comfortable place with many framed photos of Maria’s family and friends***, and, of course, much evidence in bookcases of her long involvement in the literature of the first half of the century.

Joe had been aware of Maria’s relationship to Joyce. An English lit major, he had read about her in the definitive Joyce biography, but had no idea she was an activist as well. A gracious hostess, he remembered Maria showing him her signed first editions of Joyce. On his last Sunday in Paris, she also invited the American writer Mary McCarthy over, they drank iced tea, and Maria told stories of her time with the Joyce family.

Laurent Schwartz served as Joe’s guide in Paris. Schwartz, one of the great mathematicians of the 20th c, had won a Fields Medal, the equivalent of the Nobel Prize; he was also a well-known French political activist who had opposed France’s wars in Vietnam, and Algeria and was now bringing his activist skills to bear against the American war in Vietnam. The previous year he had sat as a member of the Bertrand Russell War Crimes Tribunal at its sessions in Stockholm and Copenhagen.  Schwartz, along with Jean-Paul Sartre, had founded NCV, which was sponsoring a follow-up war crimes tribunal at which Joe Carey would make his presentation the evening of his arrival.



Laurent Schwartz

Joe had raced to Paris to be there in time for the event on an early July evening and was quite tired from the journey. He was able to grab a few hours of sleep at Dr Kahn’s before being whisked off to the venue for the Paris tribunal, a small art theater. His 30-odd Vietnam photos, including the headless atrocity shot, in 8x10’s and 11x14’s, were set up on the stage. The proceedings were in French, so Maria Jolas sat alongside him and translated his presentation. At the end of the evening, the French organizers asked if he would extend his stay since other antiwar events were coming up, and they hoped he’d be willing to participate. Additional funds were found to cover expenses, and Joe was of course delighted to spend several weeks in Paris.

As an ex-Vietnam GI who seen action and had had a special angle of vision on the war, Joe was in much demand in Paris left circles. On another occasion he was scheduled to appear at the Quaker Center with the playwright Arthur Miller and Wilfred Burchett, a well-known Australian journalist of the left. Joe also gave newspaper interviews, was feted at parties, and wined and dined by high ranking representatives of North Vietnam and the National Liberation Front, the political arm of the insurgency in South Vietnam. Paris was still in turmoil from the May student uprising on the Left Bank, and, with the Bastille Day celebration approaching, another round of student unrest was in the offing.

On that day, July 14th, Joe, as an experienced photographer, went out onto the streets of the Latin Quarter to shoot some film of the students battling the cops. However, he soon realized that from the police point of view, the line between observer and participant was non-existent; his film was exposed, his Nikon smashed, and he narrowly escaped arrest. He later heard that French students who’d been nabbed had been made to run a gauntlet of cops swinging rubber truncheons. In spite of the high drama of his Paris days, looking back on his sojourn decades later, Joe’s fondest memories remained those afternoons and dinners chez Madame Jolas.

After his successful mission to Paris, Joe Carey returned to the States, eventually becoming a chef, nationally known as Chef Joseph; a restaurateur; an author; and founder of the Memphis Culinary Academy.**** As for the notorious atrocity photo he had passed on to Jeff for Vietnam GI – since the end of the Vietnam War many years ago it has hung in the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon.


In the War Remnants Museum




*Max Watts, “American RITA GIs in the Paris of May of 1968,” Le blog de Mai (May 1, 2008)
**http://againstthearmy.blogspot.com/, June van Ingen’s writings on RITA and its times
***Thanks to George Carrano, an American antiwar activist who visited the Jolas apartment in early ’68 and remembered the many interesting photos on walls and surfaces.
****http://www.theroguechef.net/trc/



Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Celebration of Defeat?

When did the Vietnam War start? Of course we mean the ‘American war’ in Vietnam. Everyone knows when the French Vietnam War began – in 1945 when the forces of defeated France returned to Indochina, denied the Vietnamese independence, and attempted to resume control of their colonies.  The date of America’s ill-fated involvement in that faraway land, however, is more ambiguous.

Dating America’s major wars has rarely been difficult or controversial. Absent or present a constitutional declaration of war, the trigger events have been beyond dispute – the Battle of Lexington and Concord triggered the Revolutionary War; Fort Sumter, the Civil War; and Pearl Harbor, America’s World War II; while North Korea’s crossing the 38th parallel brought the US into the Korean War.

Why should we care what year our Vietnam began? Mercifully, it’s long over. For those who caught the Vietnam Memorial ceremony in Washington this past Memorial Day, the issue must have been somewhat puzzling. President Obama chose the occasion to solemnly declare the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War. At the same time, he announced the launch of an official Vietnam War Commemoration that is to last 13 years, until 2025. Where did all this come from? Well, the Congress, presumably in a bipartisan spirit, mandated the Secretary of Defense to plan a commemoration back in 2006, and the Pentagon brought forth a preliminary plan in ’10. Why then wait two years for the launch, what’s the significance of 2012?

The President chose to couple the opening of the commemoration with a significant anniversary, the 50th of the war, but counting back from this year would mean the Vietnam War started in 1962. A strange choice, as we shall see. First of all, US involvement in the fate of Vietnam goes back much further, moving forward in time in what might be called mini and maxi escalatory steps. It began in 1950 when President Truman sent military aid to the French struggling against the Viet Minh, a national communist insurgency in Indochina, and established the MAAG-I (Military Advisory Assistance Group-Indochina).


If one had been on the other side fighting the French colonialists for Vietnamese independence, US aid would most likely have been felt to be an unfriendly act. Of course, Truman was acting in the context of the then-intense early Cold War, assisting a US ally, France, against an adversary being armed by our enemy, the Soviet Union. Still, imagine if the French had chosen to lend military support to the Redcoats trying to suppress the American colonial rebellion instead of coming to our assistance in our long revolutionary war to gain independence. We would have surely regarded that as a hostile act, an act of war.

Ike, President Eisenhower, continued our involvement in Vietnam even after the Viet Minh decisively defeated the French in ’54, and the great powers at Geneva split the newly independent country into two parts divided roughly at the 17th parallel. North Vietnam was supported by the USSR, while South Vietnam became a client state of the US. Under the Geneva Agreements, Ike sent several hundred US military advisors to help the South build an army. When the guerrilla insurgency from the North began against the regime in the South in the late ‘50s, US advisers accompanied South Vietnamese units in the field in what was in effect a Vietnamese civil war.

Advisors were armed although under orders not to participate in combat, but it was dangerous duty, and the first US advisors were killed in hostile action with insurgents in 1959. By the end of his second term in ‘60, Ike found ways around the Geneva limits, and the US had nearly 900 military personnel on the ground in the Republic of Vietnam, as the South was formally known.

A decade of US arms and men in the middle of a small war in a distant country – could that be regarded as the genesis of America’s Vietnam War? To be fair to the President, he did say in his Memorial Day address that we must measure our initial involvement by a ‘major operation’. So let’s for the moment hold in abeyance Washington’s choice of 1962 and consider alternate years that could have been construed as the beginning of the Vietnam War.

Even if we consider individual years of the first half of the ‘60s, we’re still looking at a war we slid into. Or to use the more apt metaphor, we gradually slipped into a quagmire. Nevertheless, let’s consider other candidates from which to start the count toward a 50th anniversary, working backward. Why not the year 1965 when the first Marine combat units went ashore at Danang and ‘Rolling Thunder’, the systematic bombing campaign of the North, commenced. In the popular mind that has long been considered our biggest escalatory step, the first introduction of US combat troops and the commencement of what became known as Lyndon Johnson’s war.


1965Marines hitting the beach in South Vietnam

We know from the leaked Pentagon Papers that the Johnson Administration had previously undertaken secret contingency planning for full-scale US involvement in the ongoing civil war in Vietnam. As the planning documents revealed, what would be needed was a trigger event, a pretext to justify the escalation, especially since President Johnson (LBJ) had won election in ’64 on a policy of dovish restraint. In February ’65, the enemy obliged by attacking the US barracks at Pleiku and a nearby helicopter base, killing nine Americans and seriously wounding 76.

National Security Adviser McGeorge Bundy happened to be in-country and rushed to the scene. Seeing the carnage, he telephoned the White House recommending Pleiku as the pretext. Operation ‘Flaming Dart’ was quickly set in motion with 49 fighter-bombers launched from two aircraft carriers in the South China Sea hitting military targets in North Vietnam. Billed as retaliation, the operation was in fact a rehearsal for Rolling Thunder the following month.  1965 certainly made a good war-start year as the United States carried out extensive large scale offensive operations for the first time.

Another possibility for Pentagon planners preoccupied with an anniversary date would have been 1964, a year of major covert and overt operations against the North. That was the year my brother Jeff Sharlet was sent back into Vietnam from his base in the Philippines. Assigned to Phu Bai, the Army Security Agency’s (ASA) most forward base just below the 17th parallel, Jeff and fellow Vietnamese linguists were involved throughout the spring in the highly classified OPLAN 34A. The US was secretly training South Vietnamese commandos for infiltration across the border, with ASA guys keeping in touch with them by radio. The fact that the op was obviously penetrated and most of the infiltrators quickly captured or killed didn’t make it any less war-like. To Jeff, it certainly felt like he was in a war.

But 1964’s main claim as the start of the war was the Gulf of Tonkin incident in August, a live-fire, very public event as it turned out. A US destroyer also operating under OPLAN 34A, sailing in international waters off the coast of North Vietnam, was attacked by enemy PT boats. The attackers were driven off, but LBJ, under the misapprehension that a second attack had followed against another destroyer, ordered an air strike. Planes from the carriers Ticonderoga and Constellation attacked coastal vessels and struck shore facilities in the North.


1964 - Carrier operations, South China Sea

Even though the strike was advertised as a one-off affair, how many fighter-bomber sorties does it take to constitute a major op? Far more significant, however, was Congress’s war-fevered near-unanimous passage of the vaguely worded Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, a document that LBJ and then President Nixon used as cover to conduct the war for the next eight years.

Another candidate-year for those more cynically inclined would have been 1963, the year President Diem of South Vietnam was overthrown and assassinated. The coup plotters were South Vietnamese generals, but they had asked for and been given a ‘green light’ by Washington since Diem was considered a corrupt and ineffective war leader. A CIA man known personally to the plotters served as the generals’ liaison to the US Embassy, while Jeff and a small ASA team had been quietly brought into the country to play a clandestine support role.

Being complicit in taking out the head of state of a sovereign country certainly constituted a very hostile act, perhaps an act of war. Would backing a coup by military forces be considered a ‘major operation’? Either way as post-coup South Vietnam soon descended into political infighting among the generals, thus adversely affecting the war effort, the United States, in a manner of speaking, acquired ‘ownership’ of the war in that fateful year of 1963.

Finally, for those looking at the broad sweep of history, an argument could be made that our war in faraway Vietnam began with President John F Kennedy (JFK) during his first year in office, 1961. The Cold War with the Soviet Union was raging, and in his memorable Inaugural Address JFK had thrown down the gauntlet to our powerful adversary on the other side of the world. But then JFK was saddled a few months later with the Bay of Pigs fiasco on the shores of revolutionary Cuba, a military and political disaster for the young president.

That wasn’t the end of his freshman year difficulties. In June, JFK met Khrushchev and afterward candidly told a journalist he had been bested in debate with the tough, experienced Soviet leader. The Soviets had taken the measure of the new President and judged him weak. That same summer they set in motion a major crisis over West Berlin, culminating in the erection of the Berlin Wall, a humiliating setback for JFK and the West.

The battered young President, looking for a way to recover his prestige, paid a visit that fall to the Special Forces training camp at Fort Bragg. Conferring his presidential blessing upon the group, which specialized in irregular warfare, counterinsurgency in the parlance of the day, JFK granted them the right to officially wear their distinctive headgear, a green beret. In the Green Berets, he foresaw a force to contest Khrushchev’s backing of so-called ‘Wars of National Liberation’ in Third World countries like Vietnam.


Green Beret M/Sgt Donald Duncan

Acutely aware that he had to take dramatic action to restore his credibility as a leader, JFK looked around the globe for a place he could demonstrate his toughness and concluded “Vietnam looks like the place.”* He significantly stepped up the US presence in South Vietnam. From his predecessor he had inherited a small advisory group that had been providing military advice to the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) in their fight with the elusive North Vietnamese-inspired guerrilla insurgency. The enemy force, called the Liberation Army of Vietnam was soon pejoratively dubbed the Viet Cong or VC, a name that gained in respect as the guerrillas demonstrated their combat skills and courage.

The VC operated by stealth in the mountains and jungles of the interior, striking suddenly and lethally, and just as quickly withdrawing before superior counterforce could be brought to bear. Kennedy decided to meet them on their own terms, and by the end of his first year he had nearly quadrupled the US advisory force in South Vietnam to over 3,000 men, including many Green Beret teams, as well as squadrons of helicopters for tactical mobility and fighter-bombers manned by US pilots. 

Since the Pentagon was casting about for a precise year from which to date the war for a 50th anniversary, why not have called 1961 the beginning of the American war in Vietnam, Kennedy’s war? That would have meant launching the 13-year Vietnam War Commemoration in 2011, but that decision would have ignored the presidential election cycle, not a good idea from the White House point of view. Aside from the axiom that it’s always a good for an incumbent seeking re-election to issue positive announcements in an election year, was there anything else possibly to be gained by instead declaring 2012 the anniversary of US involvement and the beginning of the commemoration?

In the short term, yes, according to a cable news pundit. Apparently, the President did not do well with veterans in the ’08 election, and two states that may be in contention as swing states, Virginia and North Carolina, are both heavy in veterans. Taking a longer view though, might there be a downside to ignoring other very plausible years for the war’s inception and instead positing 1962? Judge for yourself. In his Memorial Day speech at the Wall on Memorial Day, President Obama expressly referred to a major American operation in January ’62. He was alluding to the disastrous Battle of Ap Bac, not far from the capital Saigon, which commenced a few days after New Year’s.

Ap Bac is an odd point of departure for a long term celebration. The outcome was a major victory for the Viet Cong despite being outnumbered 10:1, heavy ARVN casualties, and, although the advisors were only in a combat support role, significant US losses – nearly a dozen Americans killed or wounded, five choppers shot down, and the rest riddled with VC bullets. An omen of what was to come?

Starting the commemoration in 2012 based on a major setback in 1962 and then concluding it in 2025, 13 years later on the 50th anniversary of the 1975 fall of Saigon as the last Americans scrambled to escape, makes for a symmetry of defeat quite appropriate for our ill-fated venture, but an unusual way of honoring veterans of the war.

*D Halberstam, The Best and the Brightest (1972), 77




Wednesday, June 6, 2012

War Music

[From time to time we’ve inserted relevant music clips into blog posts as illustrative of the time or topic, so it occurred to us that a couple of posts on  the music of the Vietnam War as a whole might be of interest. Karen Ferb, my close collaborator on the blog, has written this first of a two-part survey of ‘War Music’ to be followed later with a discussion of the protest music of the Vietnam War my brother, Jeff Sharlet, served in.]

Right up through Vietnam and beyond, war and music have been inseparable. In ancient times Greek soldiers sang to flutes and trumpets as they marched to war; more recently brave Scots followed their bagpipers into battle, while during the Korean War Chinese troops preceded human wave attacks with a chorus of war trumpets. And of course, at least since the Civil War, the military day has closed to the sound of Taps.

With the dawn of radio in the ‘20s, music became accessible to the multitudes. When America went to war in the ‘40s, radio music accompanied the troops. Armed Forces Radio Services (AFRS) and other shortwave broadcasts overseas brought a little bit of home to men fighting in the far corners of the world. In early ‘45, Time ran a piece on “GI Jill,” the armed forces’ response to Tokyo Rose and Axis Sally, whose broadcasts from Tokyo and Berlin aimed to demoralize US troops and make them homesick. GI Jill’s combination of music and breezy chatter was intended to make them feel at home.

GI Jill was Martha Wilkerson, who recorded her show, ‘GI Jive’ for AFRS six days a week in Los Angeles.  The transcripts were flown out to far-flung posts and “tenderly passed from one mosquito network to the next.”  Time proudly boasted that “From Kodiak [AK] to Canberra… [Jill] is a top GI favorite.”


Martha Wilkerson aka GI Jill
One of the most popular WWII songs for both Allied and Axis troops was Lili Marlene, a 1915 war poem set to music in 1938. It was a sweetly nostalgic song, laden with innuendo, that produced a guilty pleasure in many of the Allied troops.  Marlene Dietrich, one of the many stars who entertained US troops, sang it throughout the European and African theaters in her smoky, louche contralto during the war.
In 1944, the Andrews Sisters hit, The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, topped the charts.  Written in ‘41 at the outset of the peacetime draft to expand the military, this iconic tune has remained incredibly popular to the present day, so popular that the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) has ranked it #6 of 365 songs on its ‘Songs of the Century’.
He was a famous trumpet man from old Chicago way
He had a boogie style that no one else could play
He was the top man at his craft
But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft
He's in the army now, a-blowin' reveille
He's the boogie-woogie bugle boy of Company B

 In the same year, Black American Louis Jordan notably scored a crossover hit, GI Jive, in spite of racial segregation which at the time extended even into the military.

♫This is the G.I. Jive
Man alive
It starts with the bugler blowin' reveille over your bed when you arrive
Jack, that's the G.I. Jive

Both the Allies and the Axis used music extensively for propaganda purposes.  In the days before “politically correct,” some of the songs on either side now sound pretty harsh to the modern ear.  Der Fuehrer’s Face; Goodbye Mama, I’m off to Yokohama; Comin’ in on a Wing and a Prayer; and Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition were among American tunes aimed at boosting morale among the troops while bashing the enemy.  The last was written in 1942, the year Jeff, Bob’s brother was born; Bob and his young friends enjoyed belting it out.

♫Down went the gunner, a bullet was his fate
Up jumped the sky pilot, gave the boys a look
And manned the gun himself … shouting
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition and
we’ll all stay free!
 The Germans published lists of banned music and performers, not only Jewish artists’ works, but also works by anyone whose art was at odds with the Nazi party worldview.  However, for propaganda purposes the Nazi   propaganda minister formed a band, ‘Charlie and His Orchestra’, which played “degenerate” swing and jazz on shortwave radio on a regular schedule. These broadcasts were directed specifically at the home fronts in the US and Great Britain. Typically, the songs would begin as written, but a few lines later, the lyrics would change, describing, for example, how poorly the war was going for the Allies, emphasizing their losses, and predicting that they’d soon be defeated.

On the other side, perhaps the Allies’ major musicological coup of the war was to co-opt the first four notes of ‘Ode to Victory’, from the great German composer Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Those four notes corresponded to “V” for Victory in Morse Code and were used over and over again in concerts, films, and other forms of Allied propaganda.

One of the musical oddities of WWII was Dogface Soldier, written in 1942 by non-musician soldiers as a protest against commercial war songs.  A general called it “the best battle song of the war.” Although forgotten by its authors, the song spread by word of mouth, was actually sung in battle, and became part of the soundtrack for the postwar movie about Audie Murphy, the most decorated soldier of the war...  It’s still being sung today by American soldiers in Iraq, Afghanistan, and around the world. Dogface Soldier was even adopted by the 3rd Infantry Division and is still sung at the division’s garrisons at Fort Stewart GA and elsewhere.

In the Korean War, the main musical genre was country, and the lyrics spoke of faith, patriotism, fear, and longing.  A young officer expressed his fears and longing in Rotation Blues circa 1951:
♫I got the Rotation Blues
I'm a lonely soldier sittin' in Korea….
But rotation's comin', so I should have no fear
Following one of the bloodiest battles of the war at Heartbreak Ridge, an exhausted soldier wrote his mother of the horror of it in a song of that title:
♫On Heartbreak Ridge I stand tonight
 Nothing but wounded and dying in sight
Vietnam was the first American war to bring forth a barrage of protest music. In the Korean War, Elton Britt’s The Unknown Soldier presaged the protest songs of the Vietnam War soldier:
♫My grave is a promise you did not keep
 My wreath is a ribbon of pain
 and though I am dead, I shall never sleep
 If I know I have died in vain

The generally upbeat and patriotic songs of World War II, the good war, were replaced with darker, sadder themes during the Korean War, which can be viewed over the course of the Cold War as a transition to the music of the Vietnam War.  The Cold War 50’s, years often viewed through rose-colored glasses as “the good old days,” were actually a time of high anxiety, living as we did under the triple threat of The Bomb, Communist subversion, and crippling polio.  ‘Ban the Bomb’ demonstrations were frequent, and citizens fretted about fallout shelters while the schools drilled kids to ‘duck and cover’ when the sirens sounded.  There were attempts at levity in the face of direst threat.  The Kingston Trio popularized “Merry Minuet,” reminding us that


♫…we can be tranquil and thankful and proud, for man's been endowed with a mushroom-shaped cloud.
And we know for certain that some lovely day,
someone will set the spark off... and we will all be blown away.

It was written in the caustic style of the satirist Tom Lehrer, who would continue in that vein throughout the Vietnam War with titles such as the “pre-nostalgic” So Long, Mom (A Song for World War III).

♫While we're attacking frontally,
Watch brinkally and huntally,
Describing contrapuntally
The cities we have lost.
No need for you to miss a minute
Of the agonizing holocaust.
Beginning in the final year of the Korean War, rock and roll swept the nation with the rise of the likes of  Ray Charles (Mess Around, ‘53), Bill Haley and the Comets (Rock Around the Clock, ‘54), Elvis Presley (That’s All Right, ‘54), Chuck Berry (Maybellene, ‘55), and Bo Diddley (Bo Diddley, ‘55).  
Like all young men turning 18 in the US at the time, Elvis Presley registered for the draft in 1953.  Soon a superstar, he was drafted in ‘58 and sent to Fort Hood TX, later serving with the 3rd Armored Division in West Germany. In spite of the Cold War issues, it was a period of great exuberance and growth in the US.  The baby boomers entering their tween years embraced rock and roll wholeheartedly.  The Cold War was in full swing, but the Army didn’t faze young men since we weren’t in a hot war. 
Elvis Presley (U.S Army)
Elvis in the army

Elvis was discharged in ‘60, and his fans’ anxious wait for new movies and appearances was over. It wasn’t long until the release that same year of the musical film, G.I. Blues, with its popular soundtrack, which included Didja Ever:

Ya get up in the morning and turn the shower on
 You're gettin' pneumonia, the hot, hot water is gone
 Freezin' sneezin'
 You wanna dry your back, a well
 Didja' ever get one of them days
 When there's no towel on the rack

For most GI’s during the Cold War, those were about the worst aspects of Army life.  But quietly, over in Southeast Asia, war was coming.  US military advisors had already been on the ground in South Vietnam for years, and in 1961, President Kennedy gave his blessing to the Green Berets, Special Forces out of Fort Bragg that would specialize in counterinsurgency in Southeast Asia. And in ‘62, the first protest songs, though written much earlier, hit the Billboard Top 100 chart.  They were Pete Seeger’s Where Have All the Flowers Gone and If I Had a Hammer, both top hits for Peter, Paul and Mary.  This was also the year Jeff Sharlet, who had enlisted in the Army, found himself assigned to a Vietnamese language course.

Bob Dylan self-titled album P

Bob Dylan's debut album, March 1962

In the background that same year, Bob Dylan gave the first public performance of Blowin’ in the Wind in New York’s Greenwich Village.   The song spoke of war, peace, and freedom.  The gates of anti-Vietnam War protest would soon open wide.

To be continued at a later date …



Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pfCFU3Mqww


Charlie and His Orchestra:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78NeGAoElWg