December 10, 1967
In the air – heading to Vietnam
It was only the fourth plane Clayton Riggs had ever been on in his life. He flew the first time from Indianapolis to Charleston for the ride to Parris Island. Then he flew from Charleston back to Indianapolis for leave, then from Indy to LAX and now he was one of a few hundred, a full 707 load of fresh recruits winging their way on a Continental charter bound for some place called Da Nang, South Vietnam.
The sign read “10,000 miles that way” with an arrow pointing west. No one knew if it was 10,000 miles to Vietnam, but they did know the ride would be eighteen hours non-stop.
The thought of eighteen hours in a cramped airline seat was too much for anyone, especially Clayton Wesley Riggs. A seasoned flier of four whole flights, he still wasn’t comfortable up in the air. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be comfortable after this flight.
He was asleep, fast asleep, mostly to escape the wild antics, raucous laughter and party atmosphere that filled the cabin to overflowing. He fell asleep remembering his last promise to Mom, that he wouldn’t come home talking like a Marine, even if the Riggs family genes were chock full of Marine green. Mom knew too well what Marine language really was and she wasn’t going to stand for it.
It was near the eleventh hour mark of the trip when Riggs woke up for a second time. The noise remained on high and he was sure he’d die from the splitting headache he now endured along with an upset stomach.
He sat up from sleeping against the window. His neck was cramped, his back hurt and he was dead tired. He felt worse than he did after a day hauling in three loads of green hay on a blazing hot Indiana afternoon dripping in humidity that made you fight for every breath. He sat cramped in a window seat, needing to use the Head so bad he was about to hold himself like the little boy who used to sheepishly walk the halls back at Hope Elementary.
The guy in the middle seat was up trying to put the moves on one of the stewardesses, along with a planeload of other young Marines with some variation of the same line.
How could they be so foolish?
Riggs excused himself and climbed over a young Marine sitting in the aisle seat. He weaved his way up the aisle to the miniature head, still barely comfortable calling the bathroom a “head” as it made no sense to the simple young farmer following in his family’s footsteps. His Mom thought it was something dirty the first time he said it at home. In all the years living with Homer she’d never picked up the term, a term he probably knew far better than to use around her.
Finishing his business, he clawed his way out of the tiny room that was getting its share of work with this crowd. He felt better just being up and stretching his sore muscles. As he forced his way back down the aisle, it reminded him of the crowds he often fought on a busy day at the Indiana State Fair. The fair was wall-to-wall people having fun all day long and into the night.