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Nancy Smoyer  American Red Cross

Donut Dollie  1967-68

3.  I Remember

Individual Photo Albums & Stories

        I remember Vietnam in pieces, in snapshots, soundbites.   Not enough to write a story about or even a paragraph--but enough to fill up a lifetime.

        I remember OJT--my first day on the job at An Khe.  I went into the Red Cross recreation center via the back door into our office.   I cracked the door to the main room and saw a sea of men in green and said, I can't go out there.  Donut 6 just said, come on.  We walked over to a table of guys, she asked if we could sit with them, they said yes.  They all chatted a few minutes together and then she got up and left me on my own.  That was it.  OJT.

        I remember going to see my buddies the chopper mechanics after yet another mortar attack, checking on them because they lived near the airstrip.  I saw the two of them walking toward me, one with a bandage on his forehead and the other who started limping badly, with a big smile on his face, as soon as he saw me.

        I remember sitting in a bunker taping a message home to my parents-in the bunker because it was the only private place, but starting the tape with sounds of outgoing mortars, just for the sake of drama.

        I remember that I always found out what the officers were like by asking their men.  With one platoon I made a joke about how young their lieutenant looked, got sour responses, and realized that these men didn't take to any girl making cracks about their LT.

        I remember hearing about a Donut Dollie who kept her bottom drawer full of flashcards with swear words on them which she would open up and read when she'd been pushed to the limit.  She always ended up laughing.

        I remember the sign in the Freedom Hill recreation Center in Da Nang, the sign with the sayings on it which we changed weekly.  This week it said, "What would men do without women.  Lots of push-ups."

        I remember the burn victim in the NSA hospital--the one the nurse asked me to go talk to--completely bandaged, unable to speak.  I tried talking for a minute or two, gave up in desperation and asked another Donut Dollie to do it for me.

        I remember wishing I could go home and wishing I could stay.  I remember being so sick of GIs I never wanted to see another, and then being the first one to volunteer for an extra run.

        I remember going to an Aussie unit and "swimming" in a child's play pool while drinking a beer.

         I remember sitting around one evening in Tay Ninh while a guy played the guitar and sang each and every song anyone had ever heard of, with all the verses.

        I remember going into a bunker on a firebase where the guys didn't want me, were uncomfortable having me there.  I was never quite sure why--it was something specific, something they'd been saying or doing that didn't want a woman.  I don't know why, but I remember it and it's okay.

        I remember playing liar's dice, hour after hour, in the officer's club at Cu Chi--a way to hang with something to do.

        I remember the guys at the R&R unit (our nickname for Radio Research) getting such a charge out of my frequent visits to their unit because of my obvious interest in one of their guys--a blond boy with a slow southern drawl.

         I remember getting sour looks from the 25th Infantry guys when I pinned a screaming eagle patch on my uniform to welcome a brigade of the 101st to Cu Chi.

        I remember our old Vietnamese mama-san in Da Nang who told me not to leave my money lying around because the other hootch maid would take it.

        I remember the peace of flying in the choppers--being away from everyone with nothing to do except sit there and be a part of the sky.

        I remember hating the war, and knowing that I'd never be that good again.

        I don't remember wondering what it would be like back in the world.  I don't remember wondering what my life would be like afterwards.  I don't remember thinking I'd never be the same, although I must have realized that.

        I remember saying to a Donut Dollie friend halfway through my tour, "This will be the best year of my life."  I was right.