The Town Heard ‘Round The World

A small village called Long Phu II was the base of India Company’s operations for a short time. The monsoons were ending; we were recovering from Operation Hastings, getting replacements, rebuilding and training. We conducted limited patrols, and at the same time we were stretched thinner than Saran wrap over a bowl of three-fart beans.

One day, while in the village proper a collection of thatched-roofed, bamboo huts which had a barber shop, a shop which also sold kerosene and lamps, and another place which sold mirrors made out of hammered out discarded beer cans we came upon a bunch of kids playing some sort of “kick-ball”  or soccer game in the street. Naturally, the Marines began playing ball with the kids just as any G.I. ever did in any war any G.I. has ever been involved in.

After the game, one of the boys braved breaking away from his group. This was very brave of him because later he could have been reported to the local Viet Cong as an informant.

He came up to a group of us and, though he struggled with his English, said, “Someday, I go to America. Become American.”

“Good luck, kid” some of us said.

“Hey, G.I. Where you from?” he asked the Marine on my left. The Marine replied. His hometown brought no reaction from this young Vietnamese.

“Where you from?” he asked the Marine on my right. The second Marine replied with his hometown and state. The kid was not impressed.

Finally, the kid looked up at me and asked the same question. I looked down at him and only said, “Chicago”. Ten thousand miles from home and several time zones removed, I had not thought of Chicago for a long time. I guess this kid thought about Chicago for a few seconds also. He put his head down, kicked at the dirt, and was obviously in serious thought. Here was a twelve or thirteen-year old kid who was thinking about a town on the other side of the planet.

The kid looked back up at me with a huge smile on his face. He assumed a firing position, as if holding a machine gun. Then he excitedly exclaimed, “SHEE-CAW-GO!!! BAM! BAM! BAM! AL CAPONE!”

Halfway around the world, Chicago’s reputation had preceded me. I don’t know how he ever learned about my hometown, but that kid made me proud to be a Chicagoan!

I hope that kid made it to the States. He’s probably a good American. Or, a great gangster.

Author/Jerry Czarnowski