One of my best friends from my Navy days, from my drunken troubled Navy days, Bob Zwiener passed away from lung cancer three and a half years ago. Even though I spoke with him prior to his death and he had told me that he had lung cancer I never thought he could die. Bob was a tough, tough individual and he was a straight shooter as well as a loyal friend. Bob was Officer in Charge of the Marine Corps Detachment on board USS Hunley a Navy submarine tender. I was the Quality Assurance Officer in the Repair Department. What drew us together was my love of running and staying fit. That in itself was enough because I was the only one of sixty five Naval officers on board Hunley to not have a gut. Bob and I were also close because we were neighbors in Navy housing on Guam for a little over a year. His kids and mine were comparable in age and they spent time together.
I admired Bob for many reasons, primarily his military attitude and bearing. He was a marine’s marine for certain. He liked me but I don’t think he ever admired me except for my ability to avoid courts martial and other disciplinary actions that await scoundrels. Bob intervened for me at the Officer’s Club on Guam when I became unruly and slapped a drink out of a senior officer’s hand for an imagined slight. As I mentioned earlier I was existing in a troubled drunken state and my behavior was terrible. This story is not primarily about me therefor I will leave that as it is.
Bob told me a story about a mission he was ordered to perform during Vietnam. Bob was a specialist in warfare of the type that was needed in jungles and remote locations. He told me that his records were pulled from the files of the Corps and that he was made to ‘not exist’. Bob was sent anonymously to the Highlands of Vietnam by air and dropped by parachute into the jungle below. He was alone and with no uniform or markings or identification. He met up with a tribe of Montagnards as planned and spent some time with them hunting for the VC killing as many as they could.
Bob’s Montagnard and he were on the move continually and caused a lot of grief for the enemy. Finally his gang of Montagnards were overwhelmed by the VC and they and Bob were left for dead along a mountain road. Bob was lying in the middle of the road in fact when a U.S. Army truck came along and ran him over. The soldiers saw him flop and jerk and they realized he was not dead. Of course Bob was dressed in rags and looked more Montagnard than American so that was the second surprise for the Army guys. They carted Bob to the medics and he was saved. A few years later Bob told me the story in the luxury of the wardroom on a large and comfortable Navy ship.
We got along great. Bob and I shared a common intensity from within that both of us owned and respected in the other. We were not normal by any means. Just appreciating the other gave us a bond that was safe and comforting. One beautiful day we were on Tarague Beach near Anderson Air Force Base on Guam. The beach was at the base of six hundred foot cliffs the top of which formed the air field where B-52’s flew daily for bombing runs into North Vietnam. We were on the sand by the water staring back up the slope toward those massive coral cliffs. I was looking but Bob was reconnoitering. I remember I had a beer going as did Bob. He was looking and measuring and finally he tells me he could take the hill with a squad of men and a list of armaments he rattled off right then punctuated with the phrase, “and several wraps of primer cord”. He glanced at me smugly waiting for my response. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about but I wanted to humor him in this combat planning which I imagined he was looking for a contest. I took a look at the hill and the cliffs, squinted and twisted my mouth, took a swig and made a great deal out of squinting some more. “Shit”, I drawled, “I could take that fuckin’ hill with my two QA inspectors and a case of beer”. His look was priceless. I’d won.
That was our relationship. Bob played straight and I provided him with a funny bone. I spoke with Joann today for about 15 minutes. She was thrilled to hear from me 45 years later. Our children are in their 50’s and we are still humming along. We talked admiringly about Bob and his intensity. They lived apart for so many years due to Bob’s specialty training. I miss those days. We spoke for awhile and then we exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet for tea some day. That is how it should end. Old friends talking warmly and lovingly over the years and distance. The voices betraying the wear and tear of decades but the honey-pitch in our speech smoothing the lines from our faces. Semper Fi, Bob. Oo-Rah!
Playing Fair and Being Kind 