Fire on Hill 972
Some memories never fade, only get lost in the well of time.
A father's story while watching forest Gump 6/11/22
I stopped by my dad’s place to say hi. He was watching TV.
He’d been doing that a lot the last few months—a big shift for a man who spent his life doing something.
Anything, really. Making things.
Metal things. Wood things. Rebuilding car engines, rebuilding whole cars, building fences, even building buildings. The list goes on and on.
At seventy-five he’d had neck surgery for spinal stenosis—when the spinal column ossifies and starts pressing against the spinal nerve. Too much pressure causes pain; too much pain and you risk paralysis.
Right after the surgery, he told me he was having vivid dreams of panthers attacking him from behind, biting his neck. “Worst pain I ever felt,” he said.
It made me think of that old joke—God invented the pain of childbirth so a woman would know what it’s like for a man to catch a cold.
Ha.
He said if he could do it over, he wouldn’t. He’d rather roll the paralysis dice.
When I walked in, Forrest Gump was on. As we talked, the scene came up where Forrest is slogging through the jungle in chest-deep water, saying:
“One day it started raining, and it didn’t quit for four months. We been through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin’ rain... and big ol’ fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath. Shoot, it even rained at night.”
We sat in silence watching it play out.
While Tom Hanks talked about the rain from below, Dad started telling me about the time he burned down the mess hall.
“It never rained much when I was in Vietnam,” he said. “Not like they show in Forrest Gump. I mean, it was green—but not that green. It did rain, though. I bogged down a five-ton truck in the mud once. It could turn into a mess pretty quick.
“We’d taken this hill—Hill 972—so we could launch artillery from our six guns. Had ’em set up on the flat top. We were using the anti-rock platforms I designed, and they worked great. Kept the cannons from rocking back and digging big holes. I should’ve patented those when I got back; I’d be a millionaire. Not that there’s much call for that sort of thing stateside. Still, it saved us a lot of digging when we finally pulled out.
“A little further down the hill we set up base—just carved it right out of the jungle. Lived in the middle of nowhere. A little pop-up town.
“We were watching a movie one night when somebody shouted that the mess hall was on fire. Fires are all-hands affairs—you grab whatever’s got water in it and you’re a firefighter.
“Setting up camp was always hectic. The sooner we were dug in, the sooner we could keep our heads down and get on with living in Vietnam.
“Which is why some genius filled up the water cans with gasoline.
“The fire was going pretty good when the call went out. We scrambled everywhere looking for water. Like I said—it was green, but not wet like they show in Gump. Finally someone found a stash of what we all thought was water. We grabbed every single one of those jerry cans and started dumping.
“WHOOSH!
“Gasoline doesn’t burn—the vapors do. Explosively.
“The flames shot up into the night sky. And somewhere in that sudden glow was the dummy who’d put fuel in the cans meant for water.
“Needless to say, the mess was a goner. Those tents weren’t much, but they were the difference between civilization and not.
“Even now, fifty years later, I can still see those flames like it was yesterday.”
#story # journal #poetry #wyst #poetry #100daystooffset #writing #story #osxs #travel
Discuss...
#memoir #vietnam #fathers #storytelling #memory
WolfCast Home Page – Listen, follow, subscribe
Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
— Go back home and read MORE by Wolf Inwool
— Visit the archive
I welcome feedback at my inbox
