One hot Vietnam day I flew a borrowed UH-1 Bell Helicopter (Huey) from Qui Nhon south to Saigon. A refueling stop was scheduled at a helipad south of Tuy Hoa because somewhere west of there I hoped to find my brother, David, a paramedic with the 101st Airborne Division. It had been many months since we’d seen each other and I hoped to visit with him for a while before continuing on to Saigon.

In those days, it was Army practice for siblings not to be assigned to the same war zone at the same time. The Army didn’t want to lose several children out of the same family at one time, as happened during WWII. However, it was possible to sign waivers and get around the regulation which is what David and I had done. So we both ended up fighting in the Vietnam War at the same time, but in different units.

Why his unit had selected this particular site to be a helipad was more than a mystery. For as each helicopter landed, the downwash from the main rotor blades stirred up so much powdered red dust and sand that the pilot could momentarily almost lose visual contact with the ground.

The only safe way to land was, toward the end of a deliberately slow approach, to gently flare the helicopter slowing it down even more and then just as the whirling dervish dust dance started quickly push the skids deep into the dust until they gripped the hard surface underneath. At least that was the theory. If the pilot did everything perfectly, the skids would grip the ground before he became disoriented by the blowing dust and crashed.

On short final approach, I noticed a soldier sitting on the stump of a palm tree close to where the helicopter was to touch down. He wore a bulletproof flak jacket, his M-16 rifle leaned against his left leg, and he was eating from a can of C Rations with a white plastic spoon.

A steel helmet was jammed on the back of his head. Judging from the thick layer of dust that coated his clothes, face and arms, he had been sitting on that stump for an awfully long time. Perspiration had carved muddy lines down his dirt-caked face and it would be a miracle if he was ever able to scrub it all off.

Breaking off the landing approach, I flew low over the area warning him to move out of the way. Then I climbed back up to traffic pattern altitude, herded the “Slick,” (which is what the troops called UH-1s) around in a lazy circle and re-initiated the approach. All this time, to my irritation, the soldier didn’t move. Irritated and tired of waiting I quit circling and committed to make a landing.

When I finally landed the Slick’s rotor blades whipped up so much dust that it momentarily blocked out all visibility. After engine shutdown, my crew and I waited until the rotor blades stopped turning, then we quickly jumped down into the dust and slammed the doors closed.

The soldier was still sitting on the stump his right hand clamped down over the mouth of the C Rations can, trying to keep the dust and dirt out. I trudged toward him through the red powder.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I asked him.

He squinted up at me and carefully forming the words in his mouth like he was chewing mud mumbled, “All day.”

“Why don’t you move when a helicopter lands?” I asked. “You enjoy getting dusted off?”

“No, Sir,” he replied smiling broadly. “Today is my last day in ‘Nam.’ My First Sergeant told me to come down here to the Pad and wait. He said that sometime today a helicopter would fly in here bound for Saigon. I’m not going to leave this Pad until I get on that bird. My First Sergeant told me that a ‘copter’ was coming for me and he never lies!” he added with conviction.

Then slowly struggling to his feet he awkwardly saluted and hesitantly asked, “Sir, are you that helicopter?”

“No,” I replied. “But in a couple of hours I’m flying on to Saigon. If you’re still here when I get back, I’d be glad to give you a lift.” He was -- and I did. By the way, the visit with David went great.

Since then when things get muddied and priorities get confused, I think back on the dedication and singular focus of that soldier covered with dust and grime sitting there on that tree stump eating a can of C Rations. It helps me keep my perspective.