Author’s Note: We are trying to wrap up the travel book. Work on that thing has spanned nearly a half century, and several of the participants have assumed room temperature. The news this week was capped with the sad news of the passing of famed calypso crooner Jimmy Buffett. We all shared him in unequal measures to whatever degree we enjoyed tequila and fruit juice and soft breezes way down south.

The death that startled us was that of Bill Richardson. He had been many things during his time on the stage. Congressman, of course. Then Secretary of Energy. Ambassador to the United Nations. Finally, two terms as the Governor of the great state of New Mexico.

Bill was 75 when he departed. That is only a few years in the two directions from where we are now. The Average Life Expectancy used to be 77 or 78 for American males. It has been sinking by the month what with all pandemic stuff going on of late. We are pleased some of the Salts have made it a little further than Bill, while others are still looking north to where Bill got at his end.

That is what made this outing a little special, since it describes a moment in time in a land far away. It could be termed as a note- what we used to call things called “letters.“ It was composed in the Republic of Korea in 1980. That is, if you use your fingers to mark the passing of decades like we do, 4 fingers flashing as ten-year segments followed by 3 fingers outstretched. It signifies the transition from one thing- one means of counting- to another.

We had arrived in Korea courtesy of military service. In 1978 we had graduated from the Armed Forces Air Intelligence School and asked for the strangest orders available. We had intended to do something adventurous before getting out and going on about some sort of career. We asked for a set of two-year assignment orders that happened to be available for a Fighter Squadron permanently (or close to it!) assigned to USS Midway (CV-41). Due to the hardship involved in distance and operational commitment, the orders were for two years rather than the normal three for initial assignment. ‘

That included some incredible adventures in the Philippines, Australia, Africa and steaming in agitated circles in the waters off Iran. Plus living in Japan. To kill some of the time when not launching aircraft or worrying about Soviet submarines, we wrote a strange story that appeared in the Midway Multiplex, the ship’s newspaper. It was called “The Adventures of Nick Danger.”

If you are of a certain age you may recall the character as belonging to a surreal comedy group known as The Firesign Theater. If we had known more about copyright law things might have turned out differently. The character we used was the intellectual property of someone else, and so we were compelled to make up our own.

The Travel Book is a product of that enterprise, one intended to tell the story of how things actually work in our government. But it takes a second to learn that stuff. What follows is the first letter home from the Snake Ranch. The period being described could be said to be the end of the Beginning in several regards.

We left Midway in an F-4J jet that belonged to the squadron, the one named VF-151. It used the port catapult on Midway’s broad black deck. It involved a couple weeks back in the States for R & R, or what was known as “Rest and Recreation.” Then a few days in San Francisco on the way back out west. It was an amazing pace to be then, and I discovered I enjoyed bouncing around the world split in influence with Communist Russia which we had sworn to destroy.

You can see that experience generated a series of stories about the world and how it worked, which included Bill Richardson among other people and places, since taking Bill to visit them became one of the jobs that passed the next quarter of a century. It included marriage and children, adventure and the sort of misery that goes with the enforced boredom of Waiting for Airplanes to go Somewhere Else.

Back then, the assignment in Korea was intended to fulfill the year of obligated service left remaining in our obligation to the nation. Which is to say, the short hardship tour on Midway resulted in another even shorter hardship assignment in Korea working for the United States Forces- Korea. There happened to be something going on there at the time. Former General Chung Tu Hwan decided to become President by force of arms, which combined with the bristling weapons of the people north of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ).

What we did not know what that the experiences were strange enough that they needed to be told. Due to copyright issues, Nick Danger still hangs out there in the thousand copies our pal Roger Hull got published in- Korea! Along the way, another manuscript done by an officer who had been Shanghai’ed to serve as the last Executive Officer of the last Imperial Japanese Battleship, IJN Nagato. The mission was to steam the ship down to bikini Atoll and detonate an atomic bomb in close proximity to the ship.

Part of it was to demonstrate that Navies (and Armies) were no longer required in Atomic Times in which only the United States had the devices. Only an Air Force was required. Accordingly, everything that was written happened also to be classified. That took years to resolve, but I promised I would help get the story told as soon as it was legal. It had to wait until the Clinton Administration.

The Travel Book is at the point where detailed editing is required to do chapters and page count. In our experience, that is a lot like waiting for airplanes that extended maintenance issues, so we took advantage of the diversion to see if we could pull together the scattered and sundry recollections of the first time we lived through a military coup.

Well, “second time” if you include 1968’s riots in Detroit. That one didn’t work, though it was colorful. The one in Korea did, and was even stranger.

That account is being pulled together now. So, two more projects are underway and Bill Richardson figures prominently in the next one, titled “A Little Traveling Music.” The best looking character is a woman named Mimi Myant-Hu, and you will have a chance to meet her shortly.

After that? “The Snake Ranch Papers.” That is what we called the little homes in which we were billeted. Snake Ranches. Here is how that started, a little more than 43 years ago when all of us were still alive:

!!!!!!!!!!

The Snake Ranch Papers

A 14-month One Year Tour Korea, 1980

THE SNAKE RANCH

EAST IS RED AVE SEOUL

01 AUG 1980

Dear Folks,

Well, here I am again, slipped inside an Innocuous little white envelope. It is a magnificent sunny day outside. The winds from the Mongolian highlands are dominating the weather and have temporarily driven the moist and humid rains further down south. It is dry and

cool and altogether beautiful here in the Republic of Korea.

So here I am in the backroom at the plush Bachelor Officers Quarters, taking my big Morning Off to catch up on correspondence before going down to the Bunker to work on some extracurricular projects. I think I would rather be at the pool in back of your house in Michigan!

It was a rare treat to talk (or shout, rather!) at Mother on the phone the other day. It was a difficult feat. The process is somewhat convoluted, so let me outline how this miracle of modern microwave communication was achieved. Picture, if you will, your khaki-clad ichl-ban son behind the Sports Desk In the maximum-security Bunker. His hand snakes out to the green console. boldly grabbing the receiver with a sausage-like index finger boldly punching on the button that says “JOSS” or in full, the “Joint Overseas Service System” or something.

He waits, surrounded by top-secret messages and the ticking of the ZULU clock. Finally, a Korean voice deigns to answer: “AUTOVON Opelator. Numba’ Twelve! CONUS (Continental United States).”

“JOSS this is the Command Bunker, and I would like a routine line to…”

“Solly. Busy now, you try later.”

“Foiled! Back to work. Screening the message traffic, answering phone calls (“Hello. Is this the hall phone at the BOQ?”), constantly safeguarding the security of the Peninsula against the security of sneak attack. An hour later, he tries again.

Response? “Solly, busy now you try ‘rater.”

No less than five such attempts pass. Rage mounting at the thoughtless boors who are tying up the lines with official business, he makes a bold move and Goes Priority. “This is the Command Bunker. I would like a Priority Line to the States.”

“Solly, busy now you try later.” Curses! Everyone else In Korea must be in the darkened off-duty offices attempting to talk to distant lovers, Assignment Officers (“You gotta get me outta herel”), and families. Two more attempts and suddenly the operator responds with the magic phrase: “What number you want?”

He smooths the wrinkled paper that has a seven-digit number scrawled across it. It represents the only military line in all of Western Michigan.

He recites the numbers slowly, and the operator punches them into the system. Because they all originate from the Bunker, he doesn’t need a Control Number specifically authorized by the Command. After all, this might actually be Official Business. It Is a Priority Call.

(He had briefly considered Flash Override Precedence but discarded the Idea with some regret. Fort Leavenworth Military Custody Facility is so humid this time of the year!)

The controls abruptly lock into sequence, and suddenly the electoral Impulses leap from the AUTOVON CENTER to the ancient land lines that run part way down another peninsula’s proud flank from the one in which he sits. Only another ten months in Seoul and they will set him free. The promise is Hawaii for a few years to decompress. A place called the “Fleet Ocean Surveillance Information Facility. Or, in our clipped abbreviated jargon, the FOSIC-PACIFIC.”

As it turns out the kids would be born out there. But some of the adventure was just unfolding. It was 1980, after all, and anything was possible.

Copyright 2023 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com