I Remember Russ

By terry Clark

Originally published in THE MOHAWKER Number 30, Fall 1997,

Newsletter of the OV-1 Mohawk Association

In the years of our Vietnam experience, a lot of us lost close friends. Some of us lost high school buddies, and sometimes just casual acquaintances we had met; perhaps in basic training, or at the "the Club", or maybe just on the stretch DC-8 carrying us over to Asia.

Russ Rowe was one of those. My hootchmate. The first time I ever saw Russ was at least 6 or 7 months before I met him. It was Rucker, late in the Summer of 1969. I was attending the OV-1 Transition Course. Our class had allowed as how we would meet one Friday night at the end of our training day for a few "end of the week" libations.

Now, anyone that has ever transited Ft. Rucker between 1967 and 1985 knows what a "snake pit" the High Rise lounge had the potential of being – and on this night it was no different. Jam packed and full of "noise". I was sitting with my class (with the obligatory 2 round tables pulled together) and generally enjoying life. I had noticed 2 or 3 tables away a group of 5 or 6 raucous Warrant Officers complete with Cobra patches acting like they thought they were Mohawk pilots. Sometime during the evening a guy that looked like a round, happy, Jeff Bridges came running up to that table with his arms stretched out making "airplane" sounds. He proceeded to make an "aileron roll" then stopped in front of his buddies and loudly proclaimed that he had just talked to "Dee Yay" and he was going to Fixed Wing and Mohawk transitions. Like me, it meant a second tour in Asia, but this time not only flying fixed wing – but flying the Mohawk. A dream come true.

About 3 or 4 months after I had arrived back "in country", Russ showed up at the door of my hootch one day looking for an empty spot. Same Jeff Bridges look. Same big round face. Same big grin. He was just happy to be there.

Russ took the spot across from mine. These were big hootches – generally only 4 guys per and we tended to make our "personal" space as private as possible, but, Russ wasn’t that kind of guy and in fact we became close friends as we shared the fact that we were both on second tours after our obligatory helicopter first tours. We were both to an extent "service brats". He was on only child and if I recall correctly, his father was deceased. He liked the Army. He liked flying for the Army. He liked being around Army people. He REALLY liked the 131st. He really liked to party. But when I think of how much he liked to smile. Bigly. He could do it.

For the time we were "hootch-mates" we grew pretty close and talked about all of the usual things that "contemporaries" talk about. Whether we would become "lifers", flying, partying, flying, committing a little mortal sin, flying. You know, the usual. All through that was the famous, and omni-present, Russ Rowe oval faced grin. One day we got the word that Russ was returning from the Route Pack mission on one engine. It was a nice day and since the word had been let out early, damn near the whole company was out to meet him on the ramp as he taxied in. The only thing wrong with that picture was that one drop tank was missing.

The Company CO asked him what happened to the drop tank, and Russ just lit up his famous grin and said something to the effect "Well, I felt I needed to do something and dropping the tank seemed like the right thing to do." Then he went in to a ten minute (Okay, I am embellishing) dissertation on how beautiful the tank looked when it detached from the wing and for a second "flew" formation with the Mohawk before dropping into the South China Sea.

In June of 1970, the impossible happened. We both got orders to attend the Sea Survival School in Okinawa. As luck would have it, I was to attend one week and Russ was to attend the very next week. However within the 131st, there was kind of an unwritten rule that said if it took you two weeks to attend a one week school….well, no one would say anything. It took Russ and I a week to get over celebrating the fact that we were going to "par-tay" in Okinawa. The Spud Club at that time was managed by a huge SSG that we called "Vulture" (geezerhood is approaching, and I can’t remember his name). We three decided that he would become our conduit of information since I was to arrive in Okinawa a week prior to Russ.

Well, I got to Okinawa and completed my class. I had called "Vulture" mid-week and in fact talked to Russ and got his flight information for Saturday. When Saturday arrived, I showed up at the Air Force Terminal at the agreed upon noon hour. No Russ. There were at least 5 or 6 more flights due in from various Vietnam bases that day and I stayed around for all of them (Hey, Russ COULD get a little lost now and then). No Russ. So, late that night I got a phone patch through to the Spud Club and Vulture. "Mr. Clark, Russ was killed two nights ago". I will never forget those words. Even a guy like Vulture could hardly get them out.

The next 24 hours are a total blur. I caught a hop on a C-130 to DaNang, then a Huey to Phu Bai. I didn’t even go straight to my hootch, but to the Spud Club. Hell, it was our "information center". Vulture told me the story.

On the night prior to Russ’ departure there was a big ole "Spud Party" and as usual Russ couldn’t miss it. However, at some point prior to midnight he escaped and went to bed. But Spuds being Spuds, several went up to our hootch and ceremoniously dumped Russ complete with sheets and pillows on the floor and demanded that he return. He did. For a while. But, being that he had to travel the next day, he left and returned to our hootch. Of course, there on the floor was his mattress, his sheets, and all of his bedding. Being of sound mind he elected that since my bed was empty, it would surfice.

According to the VHPA Member Directory, Russ’s smile stopped there. On July 17, 1970 an inexperienced artillery supervisor thought his tubes were aimed at the A Shau Valley for a little H and I fire. Unfortunately for the 131st, the A Shau Valley was 180 degrees from the business end of the tubes. I wasn’t there so I can’t claim any special knowledge as to how many casualties the unit suffered when the round exploded in the 131st Company area. Russ never woke up. A piece of that round caught him in the head.

I went back to my hootch really fearing what I would see once I walked in the door. Someone, and to this day I don’t know who, had cleaned things up. My cot was intact. The sheets were white and tight. And tautly wrapped across it was a dark olive green Army blanket. On top of that blanket was a set of orders. I picked them up and read that my orders sending me to Okinawa were canceled.

I know, not a great story. I lost Russ as well as several other friends in that war. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of them. But in Russ’ case; not only the waste, but that great big grin of his. Matter of fact, I feel it right now.