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Olongapo City, Philippine Islands. I remember those words well and many years later I would hear them again, but on a different kind of drug.
Like I mentioned on The Dead Mans Walk page, I did not kill the Philippino huck that had just tried his best to kill me. I also didn't show Edgar (one of Olongapo's most feared Philippino's) where this wounded huck was lying so he could kill him. Did this spare my own life one week later lying in a gutter from a heroin overdose...very possible.
It was either the California Club or The Pearl Club (I don't remember which) , I was sitting on a barstool minding my own business, this young man walks over, grabs the barstool beside mine and we start shooting the shit. He told me he was a "Lurp" (Long Range Recognizance Patrol) on a seven or ten day furlough from Vietnam. He was going back and wasn't too sure he would survive and get back to the states (home) again, right now he just wanted to talk about his home and his family, who he dearly missed. I immediately liked him a lot and he was a real nice guy of about 20 years of age.
"Lurps" are special forces, these guys usually only stick with their own, if one wants to talk to you, you basically shut up and don't ask them any dumb questions, especially war questions. This soldier was alone and only wanted someone to talk with about his home, his family and that was all right with me. Even if it wasn't all right, this young man was putting his life on the line everyday in Vietnam, I was just a teenage jerk getting stoned and raising hell in the Philippine Islands.
Like most Olongapo nightclubs this one was dark lit with lots of guys and gals on the dance floor whooping it up. It all happened very quickly, I saw her coming out of the corner of my eye. A beautiful Philippino girl of about 18 to 20 years of age, she was very angry and screaming, waving her arms and fists and headed right for me and the soldier. What happened next I've lived with all my life. If it's true that we all have skeletons in the closet, this is one of mine.
I looked at the soldier and he changed, this real nice guy I was just talking to was now someone I didn't know. He picked up his San Miquel beer, smashed it on the counter, whipped around on the barstool he was sitting on (he never even got off), with his right hand he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer to him and then his left hand shoved that broken beer bottle right up into her heart.
The speed of which this all happened still boggles my mind today. He struck her main artery and a fountain of blood started shooting all over me, I mean it was like a garden hose. She never made a sound, as I looked into her face I saw all the life going out of her. She was dead before she hit the floor. The club was now in chaos, lights on and the shore patrol (MP's) immediately came in and grabbed the soldier, I saw an absolutely bewildered look on his face, it was like he didn't know what had just happened.
Over the years I have often wondered why didn't I do anything, but it all happened so very fast. I know what I did next and I am ashamed to admit it. To me it was just another night in Olongapo City, I stepped over her body, went into the men's room, washed off all her blood from my arms, face and shirt. Then I went back to the bar and ordered another drink.
The very next night I went back into that club to find out what really happened. One life lost and another one shattered...the reason I was told was a place called Vietnam.
The club was dark, the soldier heard screaming and saw the shadow of someone or something attacking him, he didn't see a beautiful Philippino girl like I saw, he saw the enemy and quickly killed her like he was trained to do. Understand that this training and instinct these professional warriors have is automatic, these guys don't hesitate or think about it. In Vietnam, or any war, to act otherwise will get you killed.
The girls side was simply this, she heard he had butterflied (cheated) on her the previous night with another bargirl and she was steamed. This butterflying is a serious thing to a lot of these girls. I know it's hard for some Americans to understand why bargirls expect loyalty and faithfulness when they themselves prostitute for a living. The only way you can learn this answer or even understand it, is to live with them.
What you are about to read is no big deal to young soldiers who are watching their buddies die and living a hell and nightmare you or I could never imagine. War is hell and what is the life of a "baby chick"....nothing. Besides, if you or I did not serve in Vietnam or any other war, who are we to judge the actions of soldiers who did?
It was a weird ritual, and not a common one. In Olongapo some of our "partying" and hardened soldiers on R&R from Vietnam, would bite off live chickadee heads in front of their buddies and spit them out. Little Philippino boys would sell them for $1.00 US (at the time worth $7.65 Peso's in Philippino money). I had seen this ritual done and remember at the time it didn't mean anything to me either. With my own Philippino buddies, out in the villages away from Olongapo City, we were surviving on dogs, monkey meat and rice (back then the poor village people raised dogs for food).
I am quite sure it was the Zanzibar Club, all these nightclubs tried to grab your attention and this club did it with a good size crocodile in it's natural habitat surrounded by a metal fence. I was always in this particular club, the band here imitated our group Santana (as any veteran will tell you, these Philippino bands are some of the best in the world). There is no way to describe this phenomenon, you have to see them to believe it.
I was standing in front of this club just watching all the people come and go, I saw these four pretty bad looking dudes (Americans) watching the crock and a little boy not more than 10 years old walked up to one of them and sold him his chickadee, I knew what was coming next, or I thought I knew. The four soldiers were loaded and laughing, having a great time and it got a whole lot better when the soldier decided, instead of biting off the chicks head, he would loft it over the fence so him and his buddies could watch the crocodile eat it.
To be honest, I was curious and watching this show myself, then that little boy ruined it. He grabs the fence and starts crying like it was his mother in there with the crock. This little boy's crying was really getting to me. It was a dumb thing to do, but I scaled over the fence, kept my eye on that crocodile, walked over and picked up the chickadee, climbed back over the fence and handed the now happy kid his chickadee and he scrammed.
What happened next I will never forget, I turned around to face these now very angry soldiers (I had just ruined their party). All four of them, and this only lasted about two seconds, just looked at me like little boys themselves, a bit embarrassed by the whole thing. I turned my back to them and walked. The four American's showed class and never laid a hand on me.
I risk my neck to save the life of a chickadee and yet I did nothing to help save the life of a fellow human being, the Philippino girl in The California Club.
In Olongapo City during the 60's and 70's heroin was everywhere, and my drug of choice. Century Bud's (Marijuana) got you high, San Miquel (beer) mellowed you out and "black speed" was the rush (just two of these pills were good for 17 hours and three would kill you). When you combined all four on a daily basis, your mind and body was living in a place God never meant you to be in.
It happened during the late evening in one of Olongapo's hotel rooms. I had just pushed the above ride too far and overdosed on heroin and black speed. There I laid sprawled out on a bed with a Philippino prostitute and cab driver actually arguing over where to dump my lifeless body.
I was barely conscious and listening to the both of them, their voices were "echoes" and I could not speak or move, I was totally helpless to do or say anything. My fate lay in their hands, my life laid in God's. They carried me down the stairs, put me in a Jitney (cab) and dumped my body in a gutter off one of the worst and most dangerous sections of Olongapo City. Miraculously I survived the evening. When I woke up the next morning I had been robbed and badly beaten. I was a bloody mess but, incredibly, still alive.
My time in the Philippine Islands was coming to a close, I had now been over the hill (unauthorized leave from the US Navy) well over 30 days. Like everything I did back then, I pushed everything to the limit but over 30 days is a very serious crime in the US Military. It's called desertion and my only chance to clean the record was to somehow, someway get re-assigned a new duty station in America, and to do it all without getting caught.
This would lead me to Osaka, Japan and then US Naval Station Treasure Island California. I did of course get caught and all this and more will be the subject of my next posting and completion of The Indian Burial Grounds.
