- By
"The Vapor"
- Keyboards
- The
Phantoms, 1967-1968
I'm
about to tell you about a non-fiction war story that
sounds more like "Eddie and the Cruisers" meet "Full
Metal Jacket," than it does about the war in Vietnam,
but it is all true.
It's
about "The Phantoms," a Marine Corps Rock Band in
Vietnam, circa 1967-1968. I'm the one on the
keyboards.
We
were a motley crew (no not that "other" rock group)
with high ideals, locked and loaded M14 rifles, K-bars
across our chests, the worst band equipment in the
world, and were based in Chu Lai - the home of the 1st
Marine Air Wing.
With
the smell of ordnance, jet fuel, and the unmistakable
jolt of those old F4B Phantom Jet after burners raging
just a few yards from our "hut," a few of us decided
to give just a tad more to our brothers (and sisters)
than required. Since entertainment was at a premium -
and Bob Hope wasn't our resident entertainment, we
decided to give the Wing and a lot of surrounding
bases, shades of home via rock music. We didn't know
how impacting that decision would be. Now, though, all
who knew of "The Phantoms," held us in their
hearts.
We
cleared it through the old man, Colonel Edward
LeFaivre (passed in 1992 - forever in our hearts), and
began our search for other potential members with a
beat and just the right amount of lunacy. C'mon, this
was Vietnam, not the Whiskey-A-Go-Go. You just don't
start a rock band in the middle of a war and expect to
come out alive. Once we got the guys, though, we
needed the "stuff."
We
scrounged the instruments from all over. Richie Matta,
the band's foundational papa in 1966, took up a
collection at the E-club, under the scrutiny of our
Top Sergeant. He hauled in enough to buy everything we
needed. Don't mention the term "Black Market." Richie
was the best. A cross between Radar O'Reilly and
Klinger from M.A.S.H., he could get hold of anything.
And he did.
We
practiced in the Chu Lai Special Services building
where we watched old, "borrowed" reel to reels of Wild
Wild West on the weekends, and got pretty good in
spite of all the rocket and mortar
attacks.
We
played at bases all around I Corps (including tiny
ones where we had to bring in a generator for juice),
but were concentrated in Chu Lai and Da
Nang.
Rides
(aboard 4X4s) and Hueys to and from the gigs were
chancy and dangerous all of the time.
We
were the greatest military rock band in the country,
though I heard that MAG12 had one too, and we loved
bringing just a skosh of the world to all our bros in
the bush, including the airplane jockeys we
loved.
Our
main objective was to keep hope alive in all the
pilots, grunts, and other Marines throughout the
South. We succeeded.
Sure,
I admit it. Our legs weren't as nice as Raquel
Welch's, who toured with Bob Hope when we were in
country, and sure, we didn't smell all that great, but
we played the Stones and the Animals with a vengeance.
And Richie? He was the best damned New Orleans-style
rhythm and blues singer I ever heard, then and now.
That's why we peppered our act with The Four Tops,
Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, and other hot groups
that forced the memories from all of our
minds.
Richie,
though, had some truly altruistic goals when he put
our group together. "See em out there, Pat?" he said
to me, as we watched a few F4B Phantom jets against
the late afternoon sky. "Those are the guys who put it
all on the line, every day in every way. Those are the
ones I want to reach. Those are the ones I want to
wrap up in a lot of happiness and show them hope in
every way I can. We can do this, Pat. We can entertain
them and a lot of others, and make a difference in
this war...not for the effort itself, but for those
who put it all out there without any concern for
themselves."
After
the gigs, we un-strapped our guitars, slung our M-14s,
and got back to the real toilet of Vietnam day-to-day.
It was the worst of times. It was all we had, and we
made the best of it. Friends and bros died
there.
But
I never forgot my "second job" as a rock and roll idol
(ahem) who couldn't even let his hair grow long.
So
what was one of the 'Nam vets' favorite
requests…yeah, besides the Stones' Satisfaction?
If you know the tune, sing along. We weren't live at
the Greek Theatre. We were live in a war
zone:
- "...In that dirty ole
part of the city, where the sun refuses to
shine
- people tell me it ain't
no use in trying.
- Little one you're so
young and pretty, but one thing I know is
true
- You'll be dead before
your time is due.
- See my daddy in bed he's
crying see his hair been turning
gray
- He's been working and
slaving his life
away.
- ...We gotta get out of
this place, if it's the last thing we ever
do
- We gotta get out of this
place. Boy there's a better life for me
and you… and you know it's true..."
- We Gotta Get Out Of this
Place
The Animals, circa
1967
|
Of
course, if you don't know the tune, you were probably
never "in country." You'll just have to take my word
for it.
Oh,
and one last thing. If you think we didn't make a
world of difference to the brave veterans who fought
there before, during and after the TET offensive of
'68, think again. A smile on the face of those brave
men was something they rarely showed. But they showed
it to "The Phantoms," pretty much the first US Marine
Corps rock band in Vietnam war history.
