The 167th Signal Company Advance Party Trip

Moving Out to Viet-Nam October through December, 1966

Orders for the 167th to move out to Viet Nam arrived around October of 1967 and we began preparing our equipment for shipment to Viet Nam.

Whatever we didn’t need immediately upon our arrival in Nam was placed inside the communications vans and tied down. The side panels and top covers of the generator trailers were stripped off and packed away under specially cut plywood wood sheets that covered the entire generator trailer. When the trucks and trailers were finally packed and ready for shipment, we convoyed the trucks to the port in Charleston, South Carolina. We drove from Augusta to I-26, and once on the interstate, we tried our best to get the trucks over the 56 M.P.H. (their top speed), while waving at every car that passed us, especially if there were young ladies in it. We dropped the trucks off at the dock; received a box lunch and boarded buses that took us back to Fort Gordon.

For the rest of our equipment, several metal shipping containers known as CONEXES were delivered to us for packing everything that we didn’t need into our duffel bags. The rest of our clothes (Class A uniforms, etc.) were turned to the supply room for use elsewhere. Once that was completed, the containers were picked up and shipped off to the West Coast to be placed on another ship going to Nam.

The original orders for the company were to travel to Nam via ship, but sometime in the month of November, someone in the military decided that we were needed urgently in Nam, and so it was decided that the company would fly to Nam rather than go by ship.

Well, now that we are going to fly, we needed our equipment much sooner and so it had to be repacked into lightweight shipping crates for air transport to Nam. Second Lieutenant Michael Medeiros volunteered to lead a group of personnel as an advance party to the West Coast to repack the metal containers into wooden packing crates and escort them to Nam where the advance party would await the arrival of the rest of the company.

The advance party consisted of 2Lt. Michael Medeiros, SGT Vernon Pruitt, SGT Gerhart, 2 other Spec 5’s (whose names I have forgotten) and me, Sanford Gardner.

(Now, before I continue the story I’d like to say something about Mike. I was one of the first to join the company in Fort Gordon and was assigned to the platoon, which was eventually headed by Mike. The platoon sergeant, whose name I have forever erased from my memory, had a great dislike for northerners and was also anti-Semitic. So as promotions were handed out to boost the number of Spec4’s and buck sergeants in the company, I was passed over. I spoke with Mike about this and he told me that the platoon sergeant had told him that I was a poor soldier, didn’t know how to work the communications equipment and in general had no idea of what I was doing. I told Mike that the platoon sergeant lied to him and he should check my 201 files which showed that I graduated in the top 10% of my Signal Corps class, was rated as a sharpshooter and was an excellent all around soldier. Mike came back to me the next day and apologized for not checking up on the platoon sergeant. Unfortunately, the slots were filled for all the promotions and I remained a PFC until I reached Nam, where I received my promotion.

In the interim, Mike was unable to do anything about my promotion in the states and so when the opportunity arose for the advance party trip; Mike proved that he was a fair person and wanted to make amends. He asked me if I would like to join the advance party trip to California (this slot would have normally given to an NCO). I was the only PFC in the advance party.)

And now back to the story.

Now that the advance party personnel had been selected, it was time to fly to the West Coast and since time was of the essence, traveling by military aircraft was out of the question. Orders were cut for the advance party to travel via commercial airline and in our fatigues as we had already turned in our Class ‘A’ uniforms.

We would carry our personal gear in our duffel bags and military equipment in a specially built lockable wooden box. Into the box went a thousand rounds of ammunition, 5 M-14s, assorted miscellaneous articles and the all-important coffee pot. You never know, you’ve got to be prepared for anything. This was not a lightweight box.

The trip started from the Augusta regional airport in December of 1966. We were driven over the airport and checked our duffel bags and the box through to San Francisco and boarded the plane for the flight to Atlanta. When we arrived in Atlanta, we had an hour layover before the flight to San Francisco, so we went in search of some liquid refreshment.

This is where Mike ran into his first problem; the drinking age in Georgia is twenty-one and he hadn’t turned twenty-one yet. The rest of the group was above the minimum drinking age, so we ordered the hard stuff while the consensus of opinion of the group was that Mike should have a glass of Ginger Ale. Mike made some comments about how he was going to make our lives quite miserable, so we grudgingly relented and bought him a drink. From that point on, we refused to acknowledge that he was a member of our group as it is against the law to purchase liquor for a minor.

When our flight was announced, we went to the gate and began boarding when our row numbers were called since we had full fare tickets. As we walked through the ticket collection line, we saluted as we walked past a Marine Corps full colonel, dressed in Class ‘A’s, waiting to fly standby. Suffice to say, he was flabbergasted to see five Army personnel boarding the plane in fatigues while he sat there waiting for an available standby seat.

Once we were in the air, Mike was again faced with the problem of getting a drink. This time one of the sergeants (I don’t remember specifically who it was) said to the flight attendant as he handed her the money for his drink, “Would you give my son over there a drink of his choice. He forgot his wallet so I’ll be picking up his tab for the trip.”

As we exited the plane in San Francisco, the stewardess who had served Mike on the flight handed him a bag filled with little liquor bottles and a small teddy bear that the sergeant had smuggled onto the plane before we boarded. Mike made some rather unkind remarks to the group about the way he, a superior officer, was being treated by his men. We told him what he could do with his superior officer BS, the liquor bottles and the teddy bear and walked over to the baggage claim area to retrieve our luggage.

We waited patiently as the luggage as our duffel bags, intermingled with the luggage of the other 100 or so passengers came up the conveyer belt, but alas there was no wooden box. We waited for 20 minutes until a Delta employee approached us and asked if we were waiting for another item to come up the conveyor belt, to which we replied that we were.

He told us that the box was too heavy for the belt motors to lift, so we’d have to come downstairs to retrieve it. Two of the sergeants went to rent cars while the rest of us picked up the box. That killed almost an hour and a half; the sun having disappeared over the horizon, left us in a city with no idea of where we were or where we were going.

We knew we were supposed to stay in Oakland near the Army terminal, but had no idea of where the hotel was, so we piled into the cars and prayed. It was late, we were tired and we didn’t care where we stayed. We found a hotel, someplace in downtown Oakland, checked in and dragged the box up to one of the rooms we rented (we certainly weren’t going to leave it in the car).

The next morning we got up and got out of there fast. This place wasn’t even close to being a low-end hotel. After driving around for a while, we eventually found the hotel where we supposed to stay, checked in and went over to the Army terminal.

Our first stop was to find our equipment and start repacking it for the flight overseas. We found the containers in a large warehouse, already opened by civilians who were in the process of removing the contents and repacking everything into plywood boxes. Questioning the supervisor about what was going on, he said that the government had already contracted with a civilian company to repack the containers and we could come back in eight days to make sure the containers were empty and boxes were sealed before they were shipped to Travis Air Force Base for the trip to Nam.

Mike and I left the others and headed to the PX when a private walked past us. As I was somewhat taller than Mike, the private assumed that both of use were privates and didn’t salute Mike. Not wanting to miss a chance to exert his authority, Mike spun around, called the private back and instructed him on the proper way to recognize and salute a ‘superior’ officer.

The next eight days were spent visiting tourist sites during the day and attending nighttime attractions in and around San Francisco until the time came for our departure. We revisited the Oakland Army Terminal warehouse a day before we were scheduled to depart to inspect the boxes before they were transported to Travis Air Force Base.

Since we were going to be leaving on two airplanes separated by one day, Mike, one for the Spec 5’s and I drove up to Travis with another sergeant who was going to drop us off and take the car back to Oakland. Before entering the base, the Spec 5 asked to be dropped of at a Taco Bell as this would be the last chance he have to eat so-called Mexican food for a while. Mike and I decided a real restaurant would be more suitable, so we left him there and went to eat elsewhere. We regrouped and entered the base, eventually finding the appropriate office and transportation to the airplane.

We were driven over to a Navy C-130 where we met the flight crew and boarded the plane. Suffice to say, this was not going to be a comfortable flight. Our accommodations consisted of half of the repacked wooden boxes filled with our equipment (weighing some 22,000 pounds), the webbed seats attached to the side of the plane and a boxed lunch consisting of cold sandwiches and drinks. Sleeping accommodations consisted of some blankets thrown over the boxes.

Our first stop was Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. After a decent meal in the mess hall, we took off and flew to our next stop, which was the island of Guam. The captain invited us up to the flight deck to have a look around and watch our approach to the island. We were up around 25,000 feet when the captain pointed down and said that we would be landing on that island. It was hardy visible until we got down to around 12,000 feet. We were slightly delayed in landing as the plane carrying the Bob Hope Christmas Show was just taking off. Once again we trekked over to the mess hall for some food and watched the cleanup crew put the auditorium back in order.

Next stop was Okinawa. We arrived about midnight went directly to the mess hall for something to eat. Figuring that that life in Nam wasn’t going to be anything like it was in the States, we took our last bites of apple pie and a drink of chocolate milk.

The last leg of our three-day journey across the Pacific brought us to Nah Trang, Viet Nam. As the plane approached the coastline of the country, we prepared ourselves for the worst. At the jungle training courses we had, stories were told of soldiers exiting aircraft in the middle of firefights. We were ready for anything; we put our on our helmets, loaded the weapons and were ready to jump off the aircraft and into the nearest foxhole.

After the plane landed and leisurely taxied to it’s parking space, we looked out the window to check if there was an enemy attack. As the rear door of the C-130 opened, we stood in the sunshine watching military personnel ambling along the road to the PX dressed in anything but military uniforms. Welcome to Viet Nam, boys.

I will have to say this about Mike. He was an officer; and he was one of the boys. He treated people fairly, even though we had to live by army rules and regulations; had a great sense of humor and was able to take a ribbing as well as being able to dish it out. I am sure that he will be sorely missed by all.

Sanford Gardner March 19, 2006