Chickenhawk: Back in the World

“The Bureau of Prisons will be in touch. Count on it. Could be a month. Could be a few days.”

Knox called me on the morning of August fourth. “I’m sure you don’t get the New York Times down there in the swamps.”

“I’ve heard some people saw one in Gainesville, couple years ago.”

“Great. You have just been reviewed by Christopher Lehmann-Haupt in the Times. And it’s a great review. Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

Knox read me the review.

Lehmann-Haupt started by calling Chickenhawk a “remarkable journal based on a year spent flying assault helicopters… in Vietnam.” He said, “So compelling are Mason’s technical details that only by subliminal degrees do we become aware of his mounting battle fatigue.” He ended the review this way: I wish I could close by quoting in full one of the scenes in which Mr. Mason demonstrates his use of detail… But each of these scenes is too long to be quoted in full. Besides, it is the even longer combat scenes that catch the real flavor of Chickenhawk. It is to combat that Bob Mason is always drawn, no matter how frightened he feels… And in that paradox lies the terror of his hypnotic narrative. It is combat that becomes his natural environment. Combat becomes the only habitat in which he feels alive. Combat possesses his dreams long after he has left the war. And in realizing this, he discovers that he has gone quite mad.

I was stunned. Lehmann-Haupt seemed to get it, and I was happy that I’d gotten through.

To illustrate the power of the Times, at noon the same day the review came out a producer from the Today Show called. She wanted to know if I could be on the show. I said I’d have to check with Judge Blatt, I’d let her know. By two o’clock, People magazine and Time magazine had called to arrange interviews. By late in the day, a clerk from Sol Blatt’s office called me to say that the judge had no objection to me traveling to New York since it was part of my work, but, the clerk stressed, when I was assigned a date to go to prison I had to report immediately, no matter what television show I was scheduled to be on.

Suddenly everybody knew I’d written a book. Almost none of them knew I was also going to jail. None of the reviews mentioned my pending incarceration. The Today Show people found out when I told the producer that my trip was subject to clearance by a judge.

Towler insisted on flying down from Michigan to help out while all this was going on. He wanted to see what I was going to wear on television. I showed him a blazer I had bought years before in New York. Storage in our cabin had spawned several colonies of mildew. “You can’t wear that on the Today show!” Jerry insisted.

“Why not? Most of the stains are on the pocket and on the back. I’ll be sitting down.”

“C’mon, take me into town. You need something to wear. I’m not going to let you embarrass helicopter pilots.”

We went to J.C. Penny’s and Jerry helped me pick out a new blazer, some shirts, pants, and a tie. Knowing I had very little money, he insisted on buying this stuff for me.

That night Jerry brought out a box of slides he’d taken in Vietnam. We saw ourselves, two skinny kids again, filling sandbags for our bunker at Dak To; touring a village where a kid tried to sell me a dead baby; in the cockpit of our Huey; making coffee next to our helicopter in a rice paddy. Time travel. He showed a slide of me standing on smooth red clay, staring into the camera. I didn’t remember being there. Jerry said it was taken after the battle at Plei Me, didn’t I remember? No. I recognized that it was Plei Me; but I couldn’t remember the picture being taken. I couldn’t remember being there. Behind me were a score of Vietnamese bodies, men who’d been hit with 20mm cannon fire from strafing American fighters. They were eviscerated, beheaded, twisted, and horrible. I didn’t remember it at all. If it wasn’t for the slide, I’d still say I hadn’t been there. I wondered what else I’d forgotten.

We stayed up until early morning talking. I realized that Jerry and I had become brothers through our shared experience in that war.

The next day, when I did a book signing at Goering’s Bookstore in Gainesville, a Time photographer showed up, too. Jerry and Patience stood behind the photographer goofing it up to make me smile. I was feeling the exhilaration that comes from such attention. I’d never had so much recognition in my life.

Jerry left the next day, satisfied that I was prepared for my New York trip. He told Patience that if she needed anything, call.

The court called. I had to report to Eglin Federal Prison at Eglin Air Force Base, Florida, on Friday, August 19. I’d have just enough time to go to New York.