From June 1967 to June 1968 I flew 187 combat missions in the F-100 fighter in Vietnam.
I commanded the 90th Tactical Fighter Squadron for eight months …. and that was the peak experience of my life. I’ve likened commanding a fighter squadron in combat to coaching a Super Bowl Team … and playing quarter back at the same time.
Except that you are playing for your life; not a ring and a trophy.
The 90th has a history going back to 1917 in the first World War, and it was my privilege to command it on its fiftieth anniversary. Our combat tours were for a year, and when a pilot had completed his time, we had a going home party for him.
This poem I wrote for Capt. John Schulz’s going home party. When I read it the guys warmed up slowly as I went along, but by the time I was half way through the first episode they were cheering and when I finished they were on their feet and yelling! Shulzie was thrilled to the ears, as he’d been writing poems for other guys and did not expect to have the honor returned.
After leaving the Air Force, John Schulz returned to college and is now about to retire as Dean of the Journalism Department at Boston University.(Footnoted terms translated in notes at end.)
SCHULZIE’S DONE IT AGAIN !
When Dice1 men gathered to say adieu
to yet another who’s year was through,
they’d join together to raise a glass
and drink a toast, to all that passed
between them; and perhaps recall
that one, most fabulous mission of all.
But as the evening drew to a close
a lanky figure that slowly rose
would wave a paper and clearly speak:
“Hey, Mr. Vice2, the floor I seek!”
The conversation would suddenly hush,
those who were standing would sit with a rush,
anticipation would build, and then:
“It’s Schulzie, Schulzie’s done it again!”
Then followed a poem of doggerel rhyme
that kidded him who had run out of time
and sent him merrily on his way
with a poem to help him recall the day.
But now the shoe’s on the other foot.
The time has come for us to put
our poet laureate on the spot
and let him sit in the seat that’s hot!
I well recall the incident that
Dale Rook3 reported in accents flat,
soon after the Dice were given to me,
“He’s taken a hit? Well that makes three
this week and seven this month,” and then:
“It’s Schulzie; Schulzie’s done it again!”
So Schulzie here’s a toast to you!
Though magnet assed, you made it through!
Another occasion comes to mind
when paperwork was to PACAF signed
Though lacking in proper coordination
resulting in Wing level aggravation.
The Wing Commander was heard to exclaim:
“It’s Schulzie, Schulzie’s done it again!”
The last example is classified.
A story intelligence tried to hide
for fear all other pilots would be
filled with professional jealousy !
It seems a Chieu Hoy4 reported in,
his weapons were gone, his body thin.
The last survivor he claimed to be
of two full companies of VC.
They’d struck a hamlet one murky night;
the PF5 compound put up a fight
and held the inner perimeter
until the ALO6 could call for air.
The Duty Officer’s sage advice:
“It’s troops in contact. Scramble the Dice!”
But now the Commies were through the wire
and laying down a withering fire.
Their ultimate triumph lay in sight
when Spooky’s7 flare rolled back the night,
and out of a lowering overcast
two Super Sabres roared with a blast.
Their engines screaming, they clove the air
and filled the Commies with black despair !
The Chieu Hoy’s body still shook with fear
of CBU8 pellets and napalm’s sear.
But as he recalled that awful night
it wasn’t the bombs filled him with fright,
but the icy precision of element lead
as he deftly rode his aluminum steed.
This man the VC had known of yore.
His deadly technique was part of their lore.
They cursed as their dying rattle began
“It’s Schulzie, Schulzie’s done it again!”
(1) A pair of dice showing 7s has been the insignia and the call sign of the 90th Fighter Squadron since its inception in 1917.
(2)From the British “Dining In” custom, the junior officer present.
(3)My Operations Officer, second in command of the squadron.
(4)A Vietcong fighter who surrenders.
(5) Popular Forces;local Vietnamese self defense forces
(6) Air Liason Officer;Vietnamese who has radio contact with defense center
(7) Spooky; a transport aircraft dropped flares to illuminate the fight
(8) Small bomblets, spread from a wing pod, each like a hand grenade
William E. Haynes Lt Col USAF Ret
(then) Commander, 90th Tactical Fighter Squadron
Bien Hoa Air Base, Republic of Vietnam
1967-68
=========================
THE VOYAGES
Time was when men went down to the sea
and sailed to a distant shore;
the life they lived was boundless and free
and “home” was a word, nothing more.
– 0 –
I’ve heard the tales of olden days,
of oakum, tar and sail;
Of iron men and wooden ships,
of “pull the oar” and “bail”,
of men who loved the stars o’er head,
a deck beneath their feet,
of battles fought with wind and wave;
of victory and defeat.
Of toilsome voyages to lands
where fortune waited fair;
of one who found a golden hoard,
another found despair.
And as the years pile one on one,
the tales grow better still;
and at each telling grow, anon,
they surely always will !
– 0 –
And now it’s time, it seems to me
to tell a modern tale;
Of men who live a life that’s free
beyond a sailor’s pale.
Of men who know the wind and wave
and cloud and mountain too,
in ways a sailor, though as brave,
could never learn to do.
Of men “who slip the bonds of Earth”
and tread untrammeled air,
to beard the storm gods in their den
and flout them in their lair.
Of men who span a continent
while sailors span a bay.
Who cleave the sterile stratosphere
far o’er the salt seas’ spray !
Yet still another tale remains,
a story written high
above the outer atmosphere,
above the cloudy sky.
A story traced by comets’ tails
and written on the stars;
Of Uranus and Jupiter,
of Mercury and Mars.
But though the story’s waiting there,
its reading is a quest;
the brave shall find a challenge, and
the intellect a test.
Yet time will pass and men will speak
of space as of the sea;
of voyages to other worlds…
who knows how soon ’twill be?
– 0 –
The space men blast through an empty sea,
the planets their distant shore,
The life they live is boundless and free,
and “Earth” is a word, nothing more.
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