Who Is Hueytaxi?

[hueytaxi]

Being a baseball photographer, I meet a lot of fans who want access to my pictures. I make them available at no charge or even a sign up page. They look at my card and see the email address and often ask "what is a huey taxi?"

So file this somewhere until you have some time to kill. One late night I contemplated who was I, and why did I choose that name. I had consumed an above normal quantity of beer and got into the rare mood to write. I'm sure I portray some inaccuracies and I left off any reference to specific people, but I will say that first trip into a Free Fire Zone was into the An Lao with Cpt. Steve Macwillie.

Good night my friends,

Roger

"

SO WHO IS HUEYTAXI?

By Roger DeWitt

Chapter One?

 

 

The year was 1965 and I was a poor student at a local Florida community college. I had no goals in life other than partying and scraping out a living. I was living on my own in a camper and working in a citrus plant and a steel fabrication business. I became an object of desire for the draft and the US Army. Every male in my family had a history of honorable service in our military and I pursued my options.

 

I qualified for the Warrant Officer Rotary Wing Aviator Course and departed for basic training in Ft. Polk, La. I arrived in the middle of a cold wet Winter. This was my first experience with integration. I didn’t find a problem. Many of us were headed for flight school.

 

The candidates were sent to the outskirts of Ft. Worth, Tx. at Ft. Wolters to begin our Warrant Officer training and a month later our flight training. While the classes were difficult, the barracks time was under the guidance of the tactical staff and senior candidates dominating your private moments; as if you had any. The flight line eliminated many of our group. Imagine a machine that required your right hand to determine direction, your left hand to control up and down depending on direction and power, your left hand also had to control the engine rpm (like the gas pedal) which varied from input on each control, and then there were two pedals to control the torque of the engine and prevented spinning like a top. Any control movement by one of the components affected all of the others. If you accomplished that, all you had to worry about was flying the helicopter.

 

About 12 flight hours later, most flew a traffic pattern around our base solo and survived the flight and a toss in a cold clay retention pond in a pasture. Navigation, cross country, night flight, and emergency procedures were constant as well as check rides with instructors. We then had a month of instrument flight training in the old choppers you are familiar with from MASH. About 30% of our group had not made the journey. After a short break we were stationed in Dothan, Al. at Ft. Rucker to transition into the Huey which we would fly in combat. After familiarization with countless emergency procedures (the primary one having your IP “instructor pilot” roll your engine throttle to idle requiring you to initiate an emergency landing.) This repetition made reaction automatic and saved countless lives.

 

At the end of flight school, our class was appointed the rank of WO-1 Warrant Officer and awarded our wings. We also received the National Defense Service medal and the Army Good Conduct Medal. We also received our orders for reassignment which, like mine, often changed after arrival “in-country” (Viet Nam). Most earned 30 days at home before departure and I took advantage of that. Arriving home, I attended my best friend’s funeral that I had last seen the year before and was headed for Officers Candidate School. I grew up a lot that day. I visited with family and renewed my friendship with the girl I dated in college. Then it was time to head cross country and on across the Pacific. I arrived in San Francisco a few days early to enjoy the sights. Running into some friends, we over indulged in spirits on the night before our departure.

 

A long flight landed near Saigon, Viet Nam and 3 days passed before reassignment. My initial orders had changed and now I was headed into the Central Highlands to join the 1^st Cavalry Division. A day later I landed in An Khe at a place called the Golf Course. I was issued a .45 and had never fired one so had to qualify. The weapon was worn out and somehow I traded an armorer for a S&W 38 Model 10. After a week I joined my unit in the field at Landing Zone Hammond. We slept under big tents and no beds. You either built a bed out of ammo boxes or stole a stretcher from a hospital. We did have inflatable mattresses and sleeping bags. It got cold in the highlands.

 

The senior pilots were older than most of the newer pilots as they had come over with the first replacements following the Cav deployment. These guy were trained by the pilots you saw depicted in “We Were Soldiers”. They were good and saved me from a lot of later grief. Local flight orientation seemed easy enough and then a few days of moving supplies and people was underwhelming. Then came the first combat assault. As we turned on to final approach, the Aircraft Commander (A/C) had me also have my hands on the controls in case of problems. The artillery prep ended about ½ mile out and the gunships opened up as well as our door gunners. My focus was on the Landing Zone which came up quicker than any landing I had experienced. Troops were on our landing skids and we never touched down. All 6 troops were off by the time we were 3’ off the ground. We heard a clear from the crew and followed flight lead back for another sortie. A few nights later I flew copilot with a Senior pilot on a night resupply. We flew into what was determined to be a War Zone, free fire. We had a unit under attack and low on ammunition. Locating the unit in a valley, we approached following the pathfinders use of red flashlights and mortars firing illuminating rounds behind us. We made two trips into that LZ that night. In debriefing, the gunship pilots covering us were amazed we made it in and out under so much hostile fire. The A/C and I looked at the gun guys and said, we never saw anything. Same scenario months later when I was an A/C and delivered ammo and picked up wounded in the same area. We finished our mission and when I stepped out of my Huey, my left knee collapsed. Again we had received heavy fire going in and out. Under the flashlight, my left leg was soaked in blood. No I wasn’t wounded. As we scrambled to our chopper, I remembered I ran into the side of one of our machine guns our gunner was about to mount on our Huey. I didn’t notice it at the time, but it should have had a couple stitches. I got a couple days off to rest after that.

 

About that time, my unit moved to a more forward base near the ocean. That meant digging and filling sand bags in your non flying time. We would now have missions along the coast as well as into the ridges and valleys. Fire bases projected from the top of key terrain to support the troops in the valleys. These could be tricky to approach as the pilot had to watch the wind patterns to make a safe landing. Often the ideal direction could not be used because of out bound artillery fire. Leaving a loading zone in a valley with a heavy load made a ridge top landing more difficult as the air was less dense for the rotors to operate efficiently. In other words, the load you could hover with at sea level meant you could not hover with that load at 2,200’. Your approach had to be accurate, into the wind and to the ground. The consequences of error littered many a hill side.

 

Most of our missions were in daylight and were divided between resupply and combat assaults. Resupply usually was single ship missions taking food, ammo or troops into forward fire support bases, overnight encampments and sometimes to a point over the jungle. This was rugged country with few roads and trails hidden under old growth forest. Our maps were pretty good and radio communication aided us finding our troops. On these missions, you flew almost daylight to dusk, making a “pit stop” to refuel with the blades at idle.

 

The following day was usually to team up in a flight of 6 or more Hueys to insert troops into a new location. We could carry 6 Skytroopers with their gear if we carried a half load of jet fuel. Often this duty was to standby on one of the forward bases as a group and wait for a mission. These days were especially long spending hours in the sun until needed.

 

We also dispersed our company helicopters at night to prevent complete loss if we were attacked. This was sometimes a perk as we would fly to a nearby larger base. If they had a hospital, we could always bring home some more stretchers for the new guys. Hospitals also often had a decent bar on the compound. You checked your guns and joined in the fun. Locals didn’t know what to make of the loud dirty and drunken chopper crews taking over their bar. At closing time, we would retrieve our arms and head back to one Hueys to climb inside to sleep. If the monsoons had set in, this was a cold damp night.

 

We often flew in conditions not legal back in the US. Bad weather was a deterrent, not a reason to not fly. We sometimes hovered up a valley full of fog to find our guys or took off through a fog bank to get on top and then try to find a hole to descend.

 

Replacements were a monthly arrival as were those going home. This also included our enlisted flight crews. We didn’t fly with the same team every day and you got to know the crew chief by the way he maintained his bird. We didn’t put a lot of formality into our teamwork. As Warrants, were officially ranked above the highest enlisted level and below a 2^nd Lieutenant. Warrants and Lieutenants remained on a first name basis while we normally addressed the Captains with their rank and first name. We lived in tents and had jeep headlights for lighting run off of generators. Out houses and outdoor showers were the norm in base camp. No hot water in the morning so we heated water to shave with in your steel helmet and used a fire tab or a piece of high explosive on fire. I don’t remember how we kept our clothes clean. We washed our helicopters in nearby rivers by landing on the shallow end of a sand bar. We did this out of pride in our equipment, but sometimes it was to wash away the gore left behind from losing some Skytroopers we had returned to a base.

 

Every crewmember experienced being under fire. Both sides used orange tracer ammunition, but some of the Chinese and Russian had green tracers. Once in a while you encountered white tracers being fired at you. For each round you saw fired, there were four more you didn’t see. We had an expression: “it ain’t nuthin”. We flew a lot of combat missions (I flew over 1,000 hours of combat time) but seldom were we hit by fire. But we did get hit on occasion; quite the rush! We didn’t lose a single Huey to ground fire while I served in the unit.

 

I remember Bob Hope coming to the area, but I flew that day. President Lyndon Johnson flew in and we “staged” a 100 ship combat assault in a secure area (still got shot at by someone.) I had 3 months to go before I was due to rotate home and was selected to be a liaison to one of our Infantry Brigades. This meant ground duty coordinating the infantry’s needs with our aviation assets. To get any flight time, I volunteered to fly co-pilot on some of our flare missions at night. This also included some missions as” target ship” where we would fly low and slow with all of our navigation lights on bright to draw ground fire. We would have our normal two gunners on board as well as about four extra men carrying a variety of weapons. Behind us darkened out would be a couple of gunships to engage ground fire. These missions normally drew fire, but we never heard the results or who was down there. As action cooled in our immediate Area of Operations, some of the Brigade, including myself loaded up and headed across the country to the Western highlands to support other US units. An interesting month to finish my first tour finding myself racing up a dirt road in a Jeep by myself to a base that had just had their ammo dump blown up.

 

I partied a bit my last two nights with my squadron and read my orders for reassignment. Predictably it was to report to Ft. Rucker to become an Instructor Pilot like those who had trained me. The cycle repeats. Also on my return I found that much of the Nation was in turmoil about our involvement in Viet Nam. While over there, protesters were given the same respect as commie sympathizers. I had watched the escalation since I enlisted and couldn’t see an end. Politics began to rule operational plans. Still, I grew up believing in my Country and I went to work to train our young fliers to survive their next year.

 

Visiting home I spent time with my relatives and found my girlfriend from my college days. A few months later we were married in her home town at her church. We lived on base for a year and a half while my wife gave birth to our daughter. The Army had a new light observation helicopter out and the first training class was about to begin. I wanted in and the trade off always meant, training enroute to a new assignment. “New” meaning Viet Nam. Again.

 

Transition into this new helicopter named the Kiowa (much like the civilian Jet Ranger so popular with law enforcement and tour companies.) was very easy. It was slightly underpowered and certainly could not compare to the LOH it was to replace. Handling the basics, we began training to become instructor pilots. Three of us were selected for advanced training to evaluate other instructor pilots.

 

After 30 days to find housing for my family back in her home town, I again headed West to the East. I knew there would be a school located in Viet Nam to train pilots as the aircraft arrived. I was assigned to a small aviation section of a large artillery Field Force. I wasn’t current in the helicopters on hand and flew a lot of copilot time waiting for the Kiowas. I spent a few days flying with our Section commander in his Beaver (a single engine high wing plane that could carry about 8 passengers). As in combat assaults, both pilots had their hands on the controls during take offs and landings. I often flew straight and level with no previous experience other than watching his actions. One afternoon, the first Kiowa arrived at the school about 50 miles away and the Section Co and I flew his plane over so I could take an incountry evaluation ride. He was busy on the radio talking privately as I entered the traffic pattern after contacting the tower. As I turned on long final, it was time to add some flaps. I clicked the intercom to remind the CO to get on the controls and he waved me off. I dialed in the flap setting and reduced the throttle to maintain my descent. Raising my nose, we only bounced a little at touchdown. Then the ride began. I had survived my first landing but could not control the torque of the massive radial engine out front and we zig zagged down the runway as I fought for control. The CO angrily took control and after we parked read me the riot act for my poor technique. After the redness began to subside, I shocked him by letting him know I had never landed a plane before. We never got along after that. I was assigned to fly the Deputy Commander of the Field Force Artillery, a Bird Colonel and a job no one wanted. As the Kiowas arrived, I also transitioned the other pilots into them. My roommate was assigned to fly our Artillery Group Commander, so we saw a lot of each other as their roles somewhat overlapped and they actually traded positions at one time. The CO continued to give me a hard time with 7 days a week flying. He failed every checkride I gave him in the Kiowa while he was CO of our outfit.

 

Flying the Colonels, my room mate and I were allowed a lot more information than the average pilots. We were often involved in planning missions. We also learned that politics were a dominant force to deal with. We faced a formidable enemy with limited resources and we allowed them protected territories to escalate their actions. The farmers didn’t care who ran their country as long as they were allowed to harvest their rice or fish for a living. Fighting had been a way of life for 1000 years. Tribal, the Chinese, the Japanese, the French, their own political conflicts and now the United States involved. I saw the Army of South Viet Nam fail to achieve the standards necessary to rely on them to continue the war without our help. I listened to our news anchors giving out troop movement plans that I knew to be “Secret”. I heard of the rioting of the war protestors and their anger was foreign to me. More foreign than the country I was fighting in. I looked upon it as a rebellion.

 

Finally, one evening the Colonel and I took off on a heading that would take us out of the country. I asked Saigon to track my location incase I did not return. As I approached the border I was asked if I was aware of my course and location. I gave an affirmative and engaged my transponder for sure identification. At about 6,000’ we explored portions of Cambodia. As we circles a set of coordinates, the Colonel called in a fire mission with his artillery to make sure rounds would impact close enough to adjust to be on target. We had no reference points since crossing the river. We observed a couple of airburst smoke rounds in the vicinity and called it a night. We had no intelligence on what weapons we might face. I had flown high to remain on radar and also to be above heavy caliber machine gun range.

 

The following morning, we would repeat our flight in an area called the Parrot’s Beak. This time we went in on a clear morning at tree top level, except there were not a lot of trees. Small patches of high ground surrounded with trees and small villages separated by rice paddies. The country was much neater than Viet Nam and unscarred from craters. This was about to change. Remember, I was piloting a new type of aircraft that few had seen before. As we cruised between hamlets, the lanes were crowded with troops. They weren’t ours. Platoon to company sized groups marched in loose formations dressed in khaki, black pajamas or deep blue uniforms. They all carried AK-47’s and rocket launchers. We exchanged waves sometimes from less than twenty feet away. To this day, I don’t know what color uniforms the Cambodians wore as I never saw one of their soldiers for sure.

 

We searched vacant high ground to install fire support bases and then adjusted some artillery fire to fixed point so we could rapidly adjust fire ad Americans and South Vietnamese would move in. We were finally going into the Sanctuaries of the NVA and the Viet Cong. As I headed home that day, I saw Migs pounding an area about 15 miles away. I think I mowed some rice as we raced for the border. As our troops moved into Cambodia, my R&R in Hawaii with my wife arrived and I spent 5 days with her. The news troubled me as I listened to Cronkite pinpointing details that even my pilots didn’t know. I felt he endangered many of our young men and could never forgive him. I viewed the ruin of our trust in our Presidency and what we hoped our elected officials valued. And I wanted to be back in combat more than in the warmth of my wife’s arms. I had changed a lot and not sure if it was a good thing.

 

As I got back, the amount of food and weapons found was so vast, much of them had to be destroyed in place. But we were on a Nixon timeline to get out of Cambodia so the kids bicycles walking a load of ammunition from the north would soon resume and the rice replaced from the harvest of the locals. As we withdrew it felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. For about 60 days, we fought the war like we did in 1967. Track, engage and destroy. The horrible reality of war is that it is meant to kill and break things. We could do it better than anyone when the limits were lifted. But the limits returned and our forces were beginning to return home. We could bomb this today but not on Thursday. You have to clear this airstrike with Saigon, so 12 hours later we get the okay. Kids die. Take the hill at all costs. Ok pack up we’re leaving. And we did it again in two weeks. We were losing young men at an alarming rate because we could not use all of our assets. We had an enemy determined to bring the country under one flag and we were allowing that to happen at our military’s expense.

 

We became involved in Viet Nam shortly after the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu. Under Eisenhower we were engaged to stop Communist incursion into the area. We used Special Forces as advisers and indigenous forces to hold back guerilla tactics. This continued under Kennedy with only slight increases in troop movement. When Johnson came into power, he saw another need to escalate our involvement. I always heard he knew about off shore oil resources in North Viet Nam and ore resources that were untapped. I never believed the Gulf of Tonkin incident occurred as reported and some tend to agree now. I think this was the time that I began to doubt our Washington leadership.

 

I was wakened at 3:30 one morning to take the Colonel to oversee a cross border attack on one of our firebases (FB Jay) on the Vietnamese edge of our border with Cambodia in the Fishhook region. It was barely light as we came on station. Jets were pounding the perimeter on three sides. There was no Air Controller, so I switched to the air to air frequency (I was also on the firebase frequency and knew where the heaviest fire was coming from). Many of the howitzers inside the firebase had been knocked out and only the jets had kept them alive. Contacting the jets, I rolled in without lights and asked them to watch for where the firing at me took place. As I could hear the firing escalate, I turned on my upper light beacon to mark the target. We did this for about 30 minutes with the jets until a pair of Cobra gunships with their Scout buddies arrived for mop up. Landing and shutting down, the Colonel went inside to view the damages and I walked the aircraft surprised to find no holes in the bird. By now, the covered bodies began being brought out to be recovered to home base. Even with the 15 or 20 dead kids I saw, the units involved were lucky. Their small cannons had been knocked out by mortar fire and then satchel charges to their ammo supply had damaged two of their three larger cannons. The explosion so vast that one tracked cannon had been tipped on the side and enemy dead littered the area outside the berm missing their upper torsos from the blast force. Green potato masher grenades were everywhere. We were there most of the morning as the wounded were evacuated and then the dead sent to the rear. I think we returned one of their senior sergeants who was wounded to the rear with us. He was afraid if he was medivaced, he would be sent to a major hospital and then evacuated back home. He wanted to find a good medic, get some stitches and get back with his unit. I knew what he meant and the Colonel agreed.

 

The day came when the Colonel finally went home and I flew Col. Baker and the Command Sergeant Major to Saigon for his flight out of country. It was a relief for me and also a little of a let down. While I didn’t especially like the Colonel, he always treated me with respect and promoted me to 1^st Lieutenant from Chief Warrant Office CWO-2. He also insured I wore a lot of pride on my chest when dressed in my class A uniform. Service to the Colonel and being the flight instructor took it’s’ toll on relations with the Aviation Staff though. I was seldom available for other missions or other assignment. My time was like the personal driver for a celebrity. At his beck and call. I reported to a CO and his staff, but I worked for their boss.

 

My next assignment was to report for the Artillery’s Officer Basic course at Ft. Sill, OK. Completing that, I joined Officer’s Candidate School as a classroom instructor. A non Flying job. The glory of Hueytaxi’s days was over. But I had my family with me again and a new home.

 

A little over a year later I left the Army as our troops came home the need for us was eliminated. I haven’t flown again. It wouldn’t be the same. I remembered other Artillery pilots complaining about the staff officer they were transporting would sleep the whole time. I always felt that was a complement that you trust me enough to catch a nap while riding with me. We were basically airborne cab drivers most of the time. When we flew the Hueys we carried more. But it came down to “you call-we haul”. Just the method of transportation was different. If it had been Korea, I guess I would have been a truck driver.

 

There have been moments when I make contact with a friend from that time in our lives that I always enjoy, but we never get together. And then once in a while a real special moment takes you back.. One morning I was gassing my car when a lady old enough to be my Mother stood in front of my car staring at my Viet Nam Veterans Helicopter Assn. license tag. She looked up inquiring if I flew and I said yes. As she approached, with a sparkle she asked if I would mind a hug from an old lady. Before I could even answer she gave me a strong hug for a lady of her size. Before releasing her hold she said I saved her son’s life. As she stepped back, tears flowed and I explained there were thousands of us flying back then. It didn’t matter to her. Her son is alive because a helicopter pilot got him to safety quickly and I was the first pilot she ever had met. Moments like this temper the rage I felt at comments I heard returning from SE Asia.

 

Now years later I still have memories and I have most of my family. I joined the computer age and enrolled in a baseball message forum. I needed a log in handle. One of my favorite songs is Taxi about unfulfilled dreams by the late Harry Chapin. And as I review my important things that meant something to me, I combined Huey with taxi from the year of my life developing my character as a Huey taxi driver. The name is pretty simple; the story is a little long.

 

So who is he now?"

 

 

 

[USARV72]

Welcome home and welcome to the forum.

[m1ashooter]

Thnak you for sharing a piece of your life with us.

[bobgee]

Thank you for your service and your story. Bravo Zulu! Bobgee

[skautdog]

Roger,

 

As a former 1st CAV grunt PLT LDR (Combat Tracker), assigned to 1/9th. THANK YOU and your brother pilots.

 

Ken

[Garandomatic]

Glad I took the time to read this. I grew up around several helicopter men, and they had a big effect on me.

[Jack's Son]

"........and me, I'm flying in my taxi, taking tips and getting stoned.........."

Peace starts inside!

Thanks you.

[hueytaxi]

"........and me, I'm flying in my taxi, taking tips and getting stoned.........."

Peace starts inside!

Thanks you.

I never hit the drug scene somehow, it just was not acceptable in aviation for me. But i came close. way too much alcohol for 20 years post service until I put a stop to it. Harry Chapin is my favorite artist with Taxi and my unfulfilled dreams and Cats in the Cradle following the loss of my 14 y/o son.. I am fortunate after finding about a dozen of my original wingmen and a few of our chiefs and gunners. We communicate several times a week and it is comforting.

Thanks guys for the comments. This place can become a release point at times.

[Sabrejet]

A thoroughly absorbing read! Thank you for sharing your memories with us.

[bobgee]

FYI - There is a movie called "Sky Soldier" available on Netflix with great photos and narrative about another Florida 2 - tour helo pilot. Highly recommend it. Bobgee

[Garandomatic]

I'll second that. I posted a review on the movies forum, it was pretty darned amazing.

[pmanton]

Welcome Home.

Paul

CW-2 RET

101st Abn Div 68

[hueytaxi]

I thank you my brothers. That war took its toll on us in many ways, but it also made a lot of us kids a grow up stronger. I was the usual 20 y/o WO-1 and lucky enough that my unit had a majority of older experienced aircraft commanders. they had been trained by those who learned during Ia Drang, flying into and out of X Ray and Albany. They demanded a lot and pushed us far beyond flight school. Most of all they trusted us at critical times, told us when to duck and guided us when it felt right to run, not continue our approach. By the end of my second tour, I felt old compared to the young guys coming on board.

[TRR]

What a well written piece of history! Just wanted to say thanks for sharing and doing what you did.

[hueytaxi]

Roger,

 

As a former 1st CAV grunt PLT LDR (Combat Tracker), assigned to 1/9th. THANK YOU and your brother pilots.

 

Ken

Ken, we thought you 1/9th guys were the crazy ones. You would go out and find a fight and soon after we were inbound! I salute you and the fine men you led!

Roger