It was really a rough moment for me. Here was my first-born, and I tried to do the best for him all the way, and he turned out a darned good kid. And they sent him over there. You've spent all this time teaching him not to do anything unkind to anybody or anything, and then he is taught how to kill. One of the hardest moments in my life was writing to Don and telling him that he had to do what he had to do.
So, I had both my husband and my son in that war. I didn't worry about Chuck; he could take care of himself. But Don was also like a willow, who could bend and accept anything. He was a paratrooper and was on point guard with his platoon when they were ambushed. I guess he must've killed a bunch-he never would tell me, although he told Chuck-but they gave him the Bronze Star with a V for valor. When the general was about to pin it on him, he said, "Here's one that I bet your dad doesn't have." Don said, "Yes, sir, he does." I have Don's medals now. He gave them to me when he got home and said he never wanted to see them again. But I think he'll change his mind someday.
I'd fly into Vietnam from Korea in my Phantom while General Momyer was still commanding the Seventh Air Force over there. I knew he wouldn't let me into the country just to visit my son no way. In fact, he probably would have court-martialed me for trying. A full colonel couldn't fly into the country without his personal permission, and I wasn't about to receive that. So, I bluffed my way through the communications net by using a call sign-Blue Bird One that I had used when I was flying B-57s over there.
Meanwhile, I had arranged to fly into Cam Rahn Bay, where the Army picked me up in a chopper and flew me out to Bong Son, where Don was flown in from the bush to visit with me. A few times, I choppered out to his outfit bivouacked in the central highlands and spent the day with them. He was in the 173rd Airborne Brigade. I flew back to the air base in a chopper with Don as a gunner, kind of riding shotgun for the old man. I got a kick out of it.
On a few of these sneak visits, Seventh Air Force headquarters almost caught up with me. The operations officer at the base was a friend, and he tipped me that Momyer's guys wanted to know the name of the pilot who had flown in in an F-4. The general had those bases wired, but I managed to stay about an hour ahead of him. So I got the hell out, but not before coming in over the trees at 600 knots where Don was, then pulling up and doing slow rolls. Don later told me it was something to be seen: guys hit the deck like it was the end of the world. He enjoyed those visits, and so did I. It was really something for a guy like me to see my son in that environment, doing the things he was doing. Once I even went out with them on patrol, which was an interesting experience for an Air Force colonel.
I noticed he was using just about everything I had taught him about hunting and fishing and living in the wild. He and his platoon were wiping out V.C. left and right because they knew their habits, ambushing them at night with starlight scopes and claymore mines. Don would set a mine on the rope bridges across a jungle river, and it would be so black at night, that he would stay right at the end of that bridge until he knew their point man was just about across it. He said he waited until he could smell the garlic on the guy's breath before detonating the mine. That kind of war was an eye-opener for me; those were really brave kids. Later in his tour, Glennis and I took his girlfriend and went to Hawaii to visit him during his leave. Don came out of it without a scratch.
Andy also went out with his son, Jim, who was flying a single-engine prop airplane for psychological warfare. Jim would scoot over the jungle canopy and turn on his big loudspeakers that blared a propaganda message while a second guy kicked out thousands of leaflets. He took up Andy on one of his missions and said, "Hey, Dad, would you mind doing a little work here?" So, Jim, a second lieutenant, had a bird colonel kicking out leaflets.
Once Andy and I flew a combat mission together.
He flew in the back seat of my B-57, and we went out and bombed a bunch of trees at the direction of a forward air controller, who thought V.C. were hiding down there. It was no big deal to either of us, and only later did we talk about the fact that it was our first mission together in twenty-two years. Considering all our close calls since then, it was amazing that two old jocks were still around to do it.
A MIRACLE STAR
In the fall of 1968, the time came to deploy from Korea back to our base at Seymour Johnson in North Carolina, and all three of my F-4 Phantom squadrons made it back as neat and clean as a pin. No aborts, no problems. I maintained a perfect deployment record in TAC that was unique. General Disosway, TAC's commander, wrote a glowing commendation, calling me his outstanding wing commander. But a couple of months after I returned to the States, TAC got a new commanding general and I told Glennis, "Better pack our bags. I may not be around long." Gen. William Momyer came back from Vietnam and took over.
Forget the compliments from others; I figured I was in for a rough ride. Not long after he took over the general came down to Seymour Johnson and we finally met. He looked me over, stepped into my staff car, and never said a word on the ten-minute ride to wing headquarters. I briefed him on my wing, our activities in Korea, and our current status. He nodded and left. We were together more than an hour, and I can't recall him saying a word.
A month later, I took my outfit down to Puerto Rico and staged a firepower demonstration. Momyer was there. I led the wing on the bombing exercise, and laid in a snake-eye bomb right in the box. The general ignored it. The guy was allergic to me, and because he was my boss and a four-star general, I had a bad itch. He had his opinion about me, and I had mine about him, but his was the one that counted.
Not long after, an assistant secretary of the Air Force came down to Seymour Johnson with an entourage to see a typical TAC base in operation, and the escorting general wheeled them in my direction. The secretary (whose name I've forgotten) said, "I'd love to go up in one of your fighters." Hell, why not? I'd flown VIPs around dozens of times, given them a nice smooth ride, and they had always enjoyed it. So, I took this guy up, even hit a tanker with him in the back seat so he could see how we refueled, then went out and fired some rounds for him on the gunnery range. He was really delighted and flew back to Washington around two in the afternoon. About five-thirty, I was Dulling into the driveway of my house when the radio in my staff car informed me that General Momyer was calling. I said, "Just a minute. I'll get on my hot line in the house."
Hot line it was. That damned receiver practically melted to my ear. Momyer was in a rage. I had never before been exposed to such verbal abuse: "How dare you fly that secretary without my permission? Who in hell do you think you are? Yeager, I'm telling you this-there isn't enough room in this command for both of us." On and on, until I finally said, "General, I don't know what you heard, but the Pentagon people brought him down and wanted to impress him and handed him over to me. I thought I had impressed him fine." Momyer banged down the receiver.
I was slightly concerned, about the way I'd feel if a wing fell off. I called a few of the senior officers on Momyer's staff to get some feedback about what went wrong. I was told, "Don't worry about it. You know how the boss can get. You did a good job with the secretary. Don't worry about a thing." But, hell, I knew better. There was no way I was going to survive that kind of chewing out by a four-star general who ran TAC. I was one of his senior employees, and if this were a civilian corporation, I'd already be heading for unemployment. My days as a wing commander under that guy were in a quick countdown. He was going to get rid of me as fast as he could. I never knew what his grievance was but the boss doesn't have to explain himself. For all I knew I was already gone, but the paperwork just hadn't caught up with the decision.