Acting Like The Goofy Uncle

The village school at Long Phu II was a little, thatched-roof, open-sided building. It had a chalkboard, which must have put it above most Vietnamese village schools. Each row of students shared a long table and sat behind it on a long bench. The tables were sized, front to rear for the kids by age, youngest in front back to the oldest. It was just a one-room schoolhouse for all the village kids, from pre-school through about junior high.

The teacher was a real looker, too. She spoke English, but not when our Interpreter “Frenchy” was around. Word was she was one of Frenchy’s girl friends; he had one in every village. Our Battalion Chaplain, Lt. Victor H. Krulak (the Third, no less) had arranged with Civil Affairs (called the S-5) for India Company to “host” a party for the school kids. The Headquarter Company cooks who were assigned to India got involved and promised to make cookies, Kool Aid and to provide cold pop.

The Battalion’s Intelligence Section was going to tag along looking for suspicious characters and to interview some of the adult locals. India’s entire Command Section, from the CO through the First Shirt down to the lowest clerk and all of the radio operators were there to escort the Chaplain and help him succeed with his little picnic. After all, his old man WAS the Division Commander. There was also a platoon of Infantry hanging around to provide security. The Infantry fanned out and secured a perimeter around the school. The cooks showed up with trays of sugar cookies, pop, ice cream and ice-cold drinks. For some of those kids, it was the first time they ever had a cold drink or even seen ice. They were curious about the ice cream, so a few of us ate some first.

The Snoops from Intel were busy interviewing the local villagers. As the kids sat behind their desks enjoying their treats, we Marines stood stern-faced and crossed-arm along the walls of the classroom. Turned out Frenchy showed up from Battalion and had the village’s schoolmarm in a very private conversation. Things were going downhill fast. The kids just sat there and stared at us. We weren’t “˜winning over their hearts and minds’ to our cause. Chaplain Krulak looked very depressed. Somebody had to do something, even if he had to act like a complete idiot. And, I was just the guy to do it. I knew something about kids. I had enough nieces and nephews to know what to do.

I went to the front row of the classroom and approached the first row, the three and four-year olds. I reached down and picked up the first kid, a little boy held him over my head and rubbed his stomach on the top of my Marine Corps crew cut. The kid wiggled, giggled and then laughed out loud. I did the same thing to the next kid with the same result. After that, all the kids in the first two rows were jumping up and down with their arms raised, screaming gleefully for their turn to be tickled on the top of my head. I went through about three rows of kids until they looked too old for that routine. It took a while for the teacher to regain control of her class because all of the kids wanted a second turn.

As I returned to my place along the wall with the other Marines, the CO came up to me and told me to make sure I scrubbed the livin’ shit out of my hair that night. Then Chaplain, Krulak, approached me, told me I did a heck of a job and he was going to ask the Company Commander to make sure that I was permanently assigned as his escort whenever he came to India Company. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. I guess I was the hit of the party.

That evening, the ribbing I got was almost unbearable. The guys were calling me the “Kiddy Tickler” amongst other things. They kept reminding me that from there on out, I was stuck with Krulak.

I wish my sisters didn’t make nieces and nephews!

Author/Jerry Czarnowski