Friday, October 13, 2006

Dale Dye on the Thunderbird Club

An excerpt from Dale Dye's forthcoming autobiography, courtesy of


We lost a lot of good men during the ten years America prosecuted the war in Vietnam, trying at the last to get unstuck from that Asian tar-baby and having no more luck than Brer Rabbit did. That’s a crying ass shame, but more about that in a page or two. What’s another under-appreciated crying ass shame is our failure to disassemble, crate and ship the infamous Thunderbird Club from its perch on the military crest of Hill 327, just below the Command Post of the fighting 1st Marine Division in Danang, to re-assemble it at some easily-accessible location Stateside. We’d have a damn site fewer cases of PTSD among some of our Vietnam Vets if we’d done that when we un-assed the area back in 1975.

The Thunderbird was an oasis for the cooks, clerks, label-lickers, box-kickers and other rear-echelon Marines who supported the fighting regiments of the Division out in the bush. It was strictly for enlisted men. The officers and senior NCOs had their own sanctorum where – due to their advanced maturity and rank – they were allowed to purchase a snort of hard liquor and get hammered like shit-house rats without fear of frowns from the riff-raff they ruled. For the enlisted swine laboring in the Division rear, it was the Thunderbird and beer only, usually hand-me-down cases of Carling Black Label served lukewarm in rusty cans. That swill was enough to gag a maggot. It was also cheap and served by bandy-legged Vietnamese girls exposing only a few suppurating jungle-sores beneath their mini-skirts. For the REMFs who labored through a mind-numbing tour of duty in the shadow of the flagpole, the Thunderbird was a pit stop between the shop and clean sheets in hard-backed hooches. For those of us who spent most of our time bashing the bush and chasing – or being chased – by the bad guys, the Thunderbird was nirvana. You’ll learn more about this shortly as it figures relatively large in my Vietnam experience but it’s important to give you a feel for the thing.

Understandably, the pogues did not care for bush-beasts dropping by the Thunderbird bristling with weapons, stinking of paddy mud and wearing faded, sweat-stained jungle utilities above boots scuffed white from hard humping. The Invasion of the Bush Beasts was a close encounter with the war they were missing and an unwelcome reminder that they were – like it or not – in the rear with the gear; a mere scale in the tail of the dragon, well behind the teeth of the line outfits. That’s why those of us who served in 1967-68 as Combat Correspondents with the Division and spent the majority of our time out with infantry battalions dearly loved to descend on the Thunderbird – just to remind the pogues that they weren’t shit…and we were.

The ambience was strictly GI with locally-fashioned picnic bench seating and an overall d├ęcor of painted plywood, but the Thunderbird did have a long plank bar where you could belly up and feel like you were pounding brews back in The World somewhere - as long as your supply of Military Payment Certificates (MPC) lasted. With beer at ten cents a can, that was usually about the time you puked or got hauled away by the Division MPs. If you were tapped out and the pogues weren’t feeling overly resentful, you could usually cadge a free round for the price of a good no-shit war story. If you’ve never been involved in insane shit like what went on regularly at the Thunderbird Club, Hill 327, Danang, your canteen cup will always remain half empty. You can’t find those kinds of kicks shooting nine-ball at your local sports pub.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Reviving Gustav Hasford

The Southern literary journal storySouth has a great new piece remembering Gus, written by Jason Sanford.

Full text here

Monday, July 17, 2006

SHORTY: The 2nd Hardcover

I stole this photo from someone's recent ebay auction. I'd seen this edition of THE SHORT-TIMERS only once before: in the Russellville, Alabama public library, where it had been donated by Gus himself. I don't know an exact date on this printing, but I'm guessing it was 1986. Unfortunately, I didn't have the bucks to buy the copy off ebay. If anybody out there has one, let me know.

Franklin County Times, 1969

From the April 17, 1969 edition of the Franklin County Times in Russellville, Alabama:

Photo caption: FORMER COUNTIAN CITED--Maj. Nelson M. Olf, left, presented Jerry G. Hasford, left center, Longview, Wash., and formerly of Russellville, a Navy Achievement Medal with Combat V on March 21. Hasford's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Hasell Hasford, also shown, are formerly of Russellville. The parents witnessed the presentation.

Former City Resident Receives Marine Medal

LONGVIEW, WASHINGTON --- A local Marine, whose parents thought he would be safer in Vietnam because he was a news correspondent, received the Navy Achievement Award with the Combat V at his home Friday.
He is Cpl. Jerry G. Hasford, son of Mr. and Mrs. Hasell Hasford, formerly of Russellville. The elder Hasford is superintendent of packing and shipping at the Reynolds Cable Plant.
Of the 10 men in his correspondents' section, Hasford was one of two who wasn't wounded. He was discharged from the Marines six months ago.
In making the award, Maj. Nelson M. Olf, himself a Vietnam veteran, said Hasford participated in five major combat operations, including the bloody recapture of Hue in February 1968 where he was cited for his courage and composure under fire.
Marine correspondents gather news and take photographs of combat operations and assist civilian correspondents visiting combat units. Hasford was with the 1st Marine Division.
Marine Recruiter Sgt. Ken Stevens said he knows of no other local Marine who has earned the Navy Achievement medal during the past year and a half. "It's a high honor and is investigated thoroughly before being awarded," he said.
Hasford lives with his parents at 2821 Terry Ave., Longview.
Thanks to John Hicks of the Franklin County Times for providing this article.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Memorial Day 2006: "Reviling the Veteran"

As a Memorial Day tribute to Gus and all the other vets no longer with us, I reprint here a selection from his 1987 editorial, "Vietnam Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry."

The phrase "reviling the veteran" was first quoted to me by Stanley Kubrick, the internationally acclaimed filmmaker, during the shooting of FULL METAL JACKET, a film based upon THE SHORT-TIMERS, my novel about Marine grunts fighting the battle for Hue City during the Tet Offensive. "Reviling the veteran" is a serviceable phrase...

The motivations that have made "reviling the veteran" a civilian hobby are complex. My theory is that civilians are jealous of Vietnam veterans because we can skillfully shoot up heroin, barricade the door, and adjust the scope on a sniper's rifle all at the same time--no easy feat, as we all know.

Another civilian alibi for branding us the children of Frankenstein and chasing us through newsprint villages with paper pitchforks with such neurotic intensity, for all these years, is because we are psychovets, trip-wire vets, walking time bombs.

Are we plain fucking crazy? Did we, in some black jungle, lose our grip on the burned edge of reality? Make no mistake, the civilians revel in painting us as crazy, at least in their own movies. Or is it because Vietnam was the education we never got in school? Do they hate us because Vietnam veterans are fierce witnesses to hard facts civilians lack the intestinal fortitude to confront, even second hand? Truth is stranger than fiction, but is has never been as popular. If we can be dismissed as Section Eights, we can be pitied and patronized, a civilian tactic to resist our expert testimony with a willful ignorance as hard as iron.

Do Vietnam veterans feel guilty? Only one individual in ten ever fired a shot in anger. Even Marines in the field rarely knew if they hit anything. Rambo has "59 confirmed kills," first tour, and scores another 90 during the film, for a total of 149, not counting blood trails, civilians, and water buffalo. My own score was perhaps more typical. In Vietnam I fired more rounds than the Stonewall Brigade fired at the Battle of Gettysburg. I was highly motivated, but my body count was a standing joke: I killed as many of them as they did of me. Looking back with flawless hindsight, I hope I hit nothing but trees, and I hope the trees lived. If I did kill a human being in Vietnam, it was a tragic accident or self-defense; I regret it, but I do not apologize.

Civilians, weaned on recreational gore, do not understand that unreconstructed Vietnam veterans are not misfits. We're the first team, the varsity; we may not have been the brightest (the trouble with real life is that it's all first draft), but we were the best. Maybe we didn't have the money to buy our way out, but we had the balls to go to war, just as others had the balls to go to prison or Canada. What hurt us was coming home to confront civilians who were pale shadows of--and poor substitutes for--our loyal brothers in Vietnam. Civilians will never understand that if Vietnam veterans have been tortured, it was not by the Viet Cong but by the wives who still don't know we were there, the parents who demanded that we not express our pain, the sisters who were afraid to let us hold their babies, and the girlfriends who believed that if they made us angry we would kill them, because that's what the Vietnam veterans on television would do in the movies of the week that have been manufactured like cheese to accommodate the most irrational prejudices of a civilian audience...

Fighting history is a ball-breaking hump, and it is not for everyone. But Vietnam veterans who get tired of sipping their beer will be forced to accept the bitter, insufficient truth: We were not G.I. Joes passing out gum to orphans. John Wayne never cried, Audie Murphy never died, and Gomer Pyle never dipped a baby in jellied gasoline. Being young is the art of survival without weapons, but we had weapons, and we used them to burn Vietnam alive. Why did we go to war? They've been trying to figure that out since Hitler was a corporal. We were young, and the young love to travel.

In Vietnam, we sometimes lacked grace under pressure, but we stuck it out, just the same. We died for Nixon's pride. We were an Orwellian army, it's true, but then in Vietnam nice guys didn't finish as all. It was Victor Charlie's land, and we were on it, and he made us get off. Not since my great-grandpappy was in the Georgia Militia have American soldiers been defeated. So the V.F.W. pretends that we're not veterans. And we try to pretend that Vietnam was an exceptionally noisy frat party in the hootch with warm beer, and not a cross between a gang-bang and a Chinese opera. Vietnam means never having to say you're sorry. We don't like to see ourselves as the last of the Keystone Kops. But there is no discharge from that war. We weren't Rambo, betrayed by C.I.A. spooks. It was a fair fight and we lost. That's some cold shit, man, but there it is.

Now pogue historians want to embalm us and put us on exhibit, more gargoyles for the museum, while Rambo fans in the White House, who think they are Wyatt Earp and that Russian is Ike Clanton, yearn to provoke another Vietnam, somewhere, anywhere; same song, second verse. It's amazing how brave some people are willing to be with other people's sons. It's time to stop sipping our beer and get wired and hit back at all these silly people who presume to define us, our actions, and our motives. It's time to throw off the leper's bell of the Vietnam veteran. It's not enough to touch the names on the Black Wall and remember. Our finest tribute to our fallen dead would be to convince their sons that we were not Rambo and neither are they.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Platoon: 20th Anniversary DVD

To celebrate the film's 20th anniversary, there's a new DVD edition of Oliver Stone's PLATOON due out May 30. And it comes complete with an all-new commentary by Daddy D.A. himself. For those who don't know, Capt. Dale Dye is not only the preeminent military technical adviser in Hollywood, he's also a hardcore Gus Hasford devotee, going back to their days together in the 1st Marine Division ISO Snuffies. Considering Capt. Dye's commentary on the previous PLATOON DVD is still one of my all-time favorite commentary tracks, I'm anxious to hear what he has to say for this 20th Anniversary Edition.

On a side note, congrats to Capt. Dye and his new bride, Julia, on their recent nuptials. Here's wishing them both a lifetime of cold LZs.

Copies available at Amazon
Capt. Dye's official website

Monday, May 01, 2006

Full Metal Jacket Diary

Even though it first came out back in October 2005, you still may have missed the boat on this one. FULL METAL JACKET DIARY collects actor Matthew Modine's thoughts, observations and personal photos from his time spent playing Private Joker. Sadly, it doesn't mention much at all about Gus Hasford, but it's still a must for any Full Metal Jacket fan. This first printing is a limited, numbered edition with a special metallic cover.

Copies available at Amazon
Reviews collected at

Semper Gus

It was seven years ago that I first created a website devoted to my late cousin, Gustav Hasford. In that time the site has grown from almost nothing to a huge collection of stories, interviews, photos and even the complete texts of his first two out-of-print novels. I've received emails from his fans all over the world. I've met his friends and fellow Marine combat correspondents. And I've learned a lot more about my cousin than I ever knew when he was alive. Unfortunately, I haven't had as much time lately to devote to the site, due to my own fledging writing career and the recent birth of my son. Yet even though parts of the site could use a real overhaul and update, it's still your one stop shopping source for all things Gus related, and I'll always do what I can to keep it that way. Beyond that, one of my goals in life remains the writing of a full-fledged Gus Hasford biography. Stay tuned on that one.

To kick off this new blog, I'll pass along the most recent fan letter I received, this one courtesy of the newest generation of Gus fan:

Dear Gustav (or whoever this is being sent to),
I have recently seen the movie Full Metal Jacket and i loved it. For school we are supposed to be reading a book and doing talks about it, and I couldn't think of a better book to do it on. Once I found out that Full Metal Jacket was based on The Short Timers, I wanted to instantly acquire the book and read it. Sadly, your book is out of print and I wasn't really into reading about that kind of stuff when I was a small child. I have gone to major extents to find a copy of this book, but sadly, I'm not really allowed to spend over $100 on it through Ebay. If you know of anyone who has a version of this book and will sell it or if there is some place I could find it, it would be a really cool thing of you. I greatly appreciate you even reading this E-mail, it means a lot to me. Thanks a mil,

Dear Mr. Aaron,
First off, thanks for replying. Secondly, I know that you will probably think the fact that I want this book at my age ( 13 btw ), is absurd. Actually, I'm quite mature for my age and enjoy reading books like this. Just to clear up the fact that I'm too young, even though I probably am. As for acquiring the book, I've been checking Ebay daily and there's, sadly, nothing. I hate being a nag but do you know any antique book stores or online sites, I'm in Chicago. Also, do you know why they pulled the plug on this book and stopped producing it? Greatly Appreciated!
Peace, Nick

For the record, I did help the kid find a copy of Shorty. I hope his mother approves.