(Part of Chapter Five, in "Where the Birds Don't Sing"

Tommy the Coke Man

We all had jungle camouflage fatigues--- along with boots that were specially made for this kind of terrain and weather. We got old newspapers from back in the states [but as I said they were way out dated by the time we got them] along with the 'Stars and the Strips' [the military version of a large newspaper that was sent out to all military unites wherever US Armed Forces were]; from all sides of the world Vietnam was much in the news; yet after being in this country a while I realized people back home were given only light sketches of reality of the soldier in Vietnam [such as would be the bombing of the tri-ammo dumps here in Cam Ranh Bay].

Tommy, a Specialist Five, like a Sergeant, worked for the mess hall. Like me, he often just wore t-shirts, and was in the base camp most of the time. He was a large man, we both tall and wide. Not as strong looking as the Crusher in the company [a person I'd get in a fight with], but none-the-less, no one to want to mess with if you didn't have to. About 230-lbs, 5'll. In any case, he used to sell pop [soda] to us" ?GI's [soldiers] at the 611th Ordnance Company. He was one of the few who had a refrigerator [although I acquire one about four months prior to my leaving, and often the electricity would go out leaving the pop warm anyways, not sure if it was worth it.] In any event, he used to sell the pop for .25 cents to anyone in the company wanting it, and sometimes gave credit. He told me once he made $900 in a month. Told me to hush that up, "People get envious you know Chick, be quiet about it..."? Well he got that right, people do, especially when they are in need of dope [and to me I had put all drugs, other than alcohol related substances, into one category, being dope] and we had our share of folks with that issue.

He didn't wear a hat for the most part [as I most of the time did], no hat in this region, in this region of the world that is, could be fatal. Yet, and I say yet, lightly--if I was to call him odd, meaning, a bit eccentric in my world, then I'd just as well have to call myself odd, for I was on such a cutting edge if there is one. I suppose [if someone was to give me a nick name it might have been 'Trigger-happy'] my trigger-happy hand, was considered in such a class, everyone told me about my oddity, I was too paranoid.