Contributed by Earl Honeycutt Col. (ret)
I am attaching a letter that describes a night in Poro in late 1969. My buddy wrote the letter to his friends back in the states to explain what the Philippines was like. The letter is written in a style not unusual for a young man who is trying to impress his friends with large words and phrases he might not use on a day-to-day basis. However, the letter should bring back memories of an evening at the Harbor Lights (or any other bar in the Philippines). The purpose of adding this letter to the Wallace Web Site is to share memories from a wonderful assignment that touched all of us who spent tours of duty there. My sincere best wishes to all Wallace AS Veterans. Earl
Dear Friends, January 1970
War is hell! But your recent letter lessened the pain almost to the point of being bearable. The night patrols at Wallace AS have been exceedingly dangerous lately. The casualties are terribly high. I will now endeavor to describe a typical night in Poro (the bar section of town). I'm doing it because someone needs to know. Besides, my conscience is bothering me. We start the patrols at 9 p.m. normally, because it's difficult to prepare for a night foray outside the fence unless you have been sipping a few drinks. Thus, we drink until 9 p.m. in the NCO Club which is called the WASCOM. Then, feature driving through a security checkpoint and smelling every odor you can imagine and seeing huts made of bamboo that lean at funny angles. And the children we see around the huts-- up to and including seven year olds-are often not wearing anything. We are transported on our nighttime missions in a jeepney, a vehicle that was constructed from WWII left over jeeps that have been decorated with chrome, loud horns, and long bench seats that run down both sides of the rear compartment. As we drive along the road any guy walking who feels the urge can just step out of other people's way and cut loose. Plus, there are ever present kids running after us screaming "Hi Joe!" as some in the world would scream "rape!"
Our first stop tonight is the Harbor Lights Canteen. The smell is ah... a concoction of fish heads and cheap vinegar. The one-legged kid and the 99 year old woman who sells baloots accost me as soon as I step inside the door and the screen door slams behind me. These two get as close to me as possible, because they know they are offensive. The easiest way to get rid of them is to pitch a few centavos in the opposite direction and then quickly mingle with the merry makers and other makers. As soon as you gain access to a table, the subject of companionship is quickly broached. It's usually in the form of a long black haired wench that sits down on your lap with her hands palms down on her rear and my you know what! About the time my interest is aroused she coyly remarks about how thirsty she is-ah, such innocence!
When refreshments arrive, my mahol (sweetheart) looks at my handsome body with her dreamy eyes (you know, the roadmap kind) and to my utter disbelief, informs me of how much she'd like to cuddle up with me in her little trundle bed and do all those things you read about in the books Daddy used to keep hidden. If only I can manage to find 30 pesos to pay her bar fine, she says. Everyone knows bar fines are usually non-existent, so, says I: "Self, I'll just haggle the price to while away the time." Now this can get pretty deep. These women love to bargain and enhance their bartering by forcing you to handle the merchandise. This way they try for a rapid settlement at an exorbitant price. No so, with us veterans. After you've been here for a while, the game becomes more a point of pride than anything else. She starts with, "You pay me 50 pesos." And to keep her off balance, I say the same thing back to her. She doesn't know whether to act hurt (all GIs are big hearted) or to take me seriously, but at much lower rates (cause working girls like their fun too). Time for more refreshment, because bargaining is a very thirsty business and besides these girls get a cut of all the San Miguel beer they sell! By now, our table is packed with GI friends and their counterparts to my brown eyed beauty. The juke box is blaring the latest Philippine band's copy of an American hit song and San Miguel is flowing freely down throats, shirts, dresses, and other body parts. Philippine Constabulary (local police) with Thompson submachine guns casually stroll through the bar and exit out the side door. My little jewel of a girl is now totally confused and also a little drunk like the rest of us. Why am I being so obstinate, thinks she? She has to lower the price, she finally decides, or I'll probably shift my attention to another girl at the table whose legs are wrapped around mine under the table. I'm such a sly #*%^!
At this point she decides to try the dance routine. "Honey", she says, "Wanna Dance?" Oh these girls are so articulate. Oh oh (yes) say I, to show my mastery of the local language. So we stumble to the dance floor. Now dear reader, dancing over here is more than meets the eye. Let's just call it mental seduction. Oblivious to the type of music, she slow dances when she thinks she has an interested customer. Same principle as squeezing the Charmin® I guess. The dance ends and I try to quietly slip back to the table. My physical condition is noticed by one of the GIs, however, who crudely comments about the bulge in my pants as I am unlucky enough to be the last one to exit the dance floor when the music on the jukebox ends. Such a fun loving crowd and my sweetheart smiles, knowing she has me on the run.
In what seems like a twinkle of the eye, the bewitching hour arrives and passes and couples stroll past us grinning slyly on their way out the door. "Snicker, snicker," says I. Another battle won and lost, as another young American joins the ever growing line of sin and perdition. Hopefully he will not have to stand in another line, in three to five days, that forms inside the medical clinic each morning at 0730 because of this night.
Meanwhile, our conversation among other things becomes more heated. Finally, Mama-san decides to throw out the cat, a few assorted drunks, and call it a night. Make your own conclusions, because self-incrimination is a terrible thing. So ends another beautiful day in the PI (Philippine Islands). It's an interesting life, devoid of monotony and worthy of a young man's time as long as moderation is carefully stored in the recesses of his brain. Take care and I look forward to seeing everyone in another six months!
Yours very truly,
A Wallace GI