Going Native, the unsavory fate of a Minnesota farmboy.

Of my tech school class I think four or five of us were assigned to Ubon. The rest to bases in Vietnam. On their dream sheets of assignments bofore gaduating tech school they put Vietnam since they figured we were all going there anyway.  Not all of us figured that way.

Ubon Tales

This is an edited correspondence to the site master of RAAF UBON before it was mothballed by Yahoo/geocities. It includes the edited email to my daughter that was the germ that began this blog, Ubon Tales.
   We so often only find out the why of our actions after the fact.  It is as though it is kept hidden from us so our actions will lead us to its discovery and thereby awareness of something unexplainable by any other means.   What began as a series of tales of my youthful adventures while stationed a RTAFB Ubon has become, I hope, something more.

Ubon tales 2

    The following is an edited E-mail entitled Ubon Tales 2, written to my daughter but never sent following an email titled Ubon Tales, depicting the raucous night life that revolved around the clubs in town. The RAAF UBON site had a nearly complete photo set of the clubs, though taken in the quietude of daylight. These photos prompted this first email as a means of sharing that time of my life. A third followed, titled Ubon Tales 3, also never sent.   These formed the seed of this blog, UBON TALES.

A Moveable Terror (Ubon Tales 3)

                                                  
   Stories supposedly tell themselves. They do not.  We only tell the story we can bear to hear, only a shadow of the real story. The real story is too filled with sound, smell, anxiety, fear. So we tell something less, something we can bear. I have had men tell me what they could of their stories, what they could bear.