It's 87 deg in VA atm, it's like a million where you are - they can probably stand the extra fabric better.All I can think of right now is they had a lot of hot clothes on!
It's 87 deg in VA atm, it's like a million where you are - they can probably stand the extra fabric better.All I can think of right now is they had a lot of hot clothes on!
Have you ever read A History of New-York from the Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty, by Diedrich Knickerbocker (1809)? There is a chapter where the Dutch traded the Indians some beads for all the land that could be covered by the clothes one man was wearing. He had on nine pairs of pants. lolAll I can think of right now is they had a lot of hot clothes on!
Never heard of that part of the transaction LOL!Have you ever read A History of New-York from the Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty, by Diedrich Knickerbocker (1809)? There is a chapter where the Dutch traded the Indians some beads for all the land that could be covered by the clothes one man was wearing. He had on nine pairs of pants. lol
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diedrich_Knickerbocker
Land covered by 9 pairs of pants?Have you ever read A History of New-York from the Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty, by Diedrich Knickerbocker (1809)? There is a chapter where the Dutch traded the Indians some beads for all the land that could be covered by the clothes one man was wearing. He had on nine pairs of pants. lol
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diedrich_Knickerbocker
Satire uses exaggeration to make it funny. The Dutch did wear lots of clothes. And I read it several years ago when I was reading tons of real histories from the colonial period. Don;t remember the exact measurements, but there were shirts and under garments involved as well.Land covered by 9 pairs of pants?
What is that, like 30 sq ft?
Until you've spun by hand you don't really appreciate that volume of textiles.Satire uses exaggeration to make it funny. The Dutch did wear lots of clothes. And I read it several years ago when I was reading tons of real histories from the colonial period. Don;t remember the exact measurements, but there were shirts and under garments involved as well.
Since I've taken up hiking, I wear a lot of silk. Crazy how light it is, but still works. When I have to wear Carhartts or something like that, it feels like I'm in armor.Until you've spun by hand you don't really appreciate that volume of textiles.
Cotton is Rotten.Since I've taken up hiking, I wear a lot of silk. Crazy how light it is, but still works. When I have to wear Carhartts or something like that, it feels like I'm in armor.
Cotton Kills is up there with hike your own hike as far as hiker lingo.Cotton is Rotten.
The shit will kill you if you get wet & can't dry quickly in this climate.
Date:The College of Rock and Roll Knowledge
Captain Trips would have been celebrating his 77th birthday today. Of course we are talking about the one and only Jerry Garcia from the Grateful Dead.
We find it hard to believe that we lost Jerry almost 24 years ago.
Happy Birthday Jerry. What a long strange trip it was…… and Thank You!
What is the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear Jerry's name?
From wiki wiki: Jerome John "Jerry" Garcia (August 1, 1942 – August 9, 1995) was an American singer-songwriter and guitarist, best known for his work as the lead guitarist and as a vocalist with the band the Grateful Dead.
Many Navy Seals in Vietnam wore cotton Levis....Cotton is Rotten.
The shit will kill you if you get wet & can't dry quickly in this climate.
Grandma Gatewood hadn't got the memo either. There were giants on the earth in them days.Many Navy Seals in Vietnam wore cotton Levis....
They did so as the only thing better at shedding water at that time was wool & I can't imagine wearing that in the tropical heat.Many Navy Seals in Vietnam wore cotton Levis....
My best afloat unit bar none was Skippered by no less than Capt Ross Bell. A Maverick & a true sailor..On August 1, 1966, Lieutenant JG David Brostrom and Engineman Second Class Jerry Phillips became the first United States Coastguardsmen to be killed in the Vietnam War. Their vessel, the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Point Welcome, was mistaken for a North Vietnamese boat in the early morning dark, and three U.S. Air Force aircraft attacked the boat with cannon fire and bombs. The loss of two men to “friendly fire” was a tragedy, but it was also the occasion for incredible courage and sacrifice.
In the dark morning hours of August 1, 1966, a U.S. Air Force spotter plane dropped several flares directly next to a suspected North Vietnamese boat near the mouth of the Cua Tung River, off the coast of the Demilitarized Zone between North and South Vietnam. The spotter pilot and his Forward Air Control (FAC) officer, aboard a nearby C-130, believed the boat was likely attempting to run arms or supplies into South Vietnam for the Viet Cong insurgency. The FAC authorized a strike. Over the course of an hour, a B-57 Canberra bomber and two F-4 Phantom II fighter-bombers conducted strafing runs and multiple bomb drops against the suspected North Vietnamese junk. After three runs, they had not managed to sink the boat though it was dead in the water and the crew had abandoned ship in the predawn darkness. Suddenly, the FAC received a frantic message that stopped him short: The North Vietnamese junk that had been attacking for an hour was no enemy junk at all. It was the United States Coast Guard Cutter Point Welcome with a crew of 12 Americans and one South Vietnamese officer, all of whom had just been killed or wounded by “friendly fire.”
The USCGC Point Welcome was part of Coast Guard Squadron One, a fleet of 25 cutters and other patrol craft that had arrived in South Vietnam in July 1965 to assist the U.S. Navy with Operation MARKET TIME. Squadron One patrolled the entire South Vietnamese coastline from Thailand to the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) searching for enemy vessels smuggling arms, ammunition, and other war materials for the Viet Cong. On the morning of August 1, 1966, the Point Welcome was in the second day of a three-day patrol and about a mile off shore when the deck officer on duty saw four flares fall from the sky and splash into the dark waters nearby.
According to the rules of engagement, aircraft were required to fly a “recognition” pass with their lights on before firing on a surface target. If the vessel was friendly, they were to respond with their own lights with a pre-arranged signal. Since no such recognition flight had come, the Point Welcome’s crew—11 men plus a South Vietnamese liaison officer and a freelance journalist—assumed the flares were meant to illuminate nearby enemy targets they had not yet spotted. They made no attempt to identify themselves. A series of mistakes and judgement errors had thus set the stage for disaster.
A short while after the dropping of the flares, a U.S. Air Force B-57 Canberra sliced past the partially-illuminated Point Welcome, spraying the boat with 20-millimeter cannon fire. The Point Welcome’s executive officer, Lieutenant JG Ross Bell had two toes and a chunk of his arm shot away. Somehow, he managed to sound the alarm before he collapsed. The boat’s commander, Lieutenant JG David C. Brostrom, who had been below decks, scrambled to the pilot house and placed an emergency call to the Coastal Surveillance Center (CSC) at nearby Da Nang to say they were a Coast Guard vessel under friendly fire. As the CSC quickly attempted to raise I Corps headquarters to relay this information, the B-57 made a second attack run.
As the plane’s cannon shells again smashed into the cutter’s hull, several shells ripped through the pilot house, the communications equipment, and Brostrom himself, killing him instantly. Another shell struck Engineman Second Class Jerry Phillips in the back, mortally wounding him. Lastly, several shells ripped through the Point Welcome ’s stern, destroying its rudder and igniting a fuel fire. Chief Boatswain’s Mate Richard Patterson, an experienced sailor, grabbed a hose. He doused the flames by forcing the burning fuel overboard with the hose spray, then sprinted for the damaged pilot house while ordering everyone else below deck along with the wounded. Patterson knew a third attack run was surely coming.
With the radio and rudder shot away, Patterson had no way to call for help or to steer. He knew he had to present a moving target, so he slammed the throttle forward and commenced a series of zig-zag maneuvers, steering the cutter by alternating the port and starboard engines. Patterson attempted to reach the shore less than one mile away, but two F-4 Phantom II fighter-bombers appeared and commenced a third attack run. The Phantoms dropped cluster bombs and two 250-pound bombs, one of which hit the water so close that it lifted the Point Welcome momentarily out of the water. Approximately 30 minutes after the attack began, the cutter’s engines quit.
Patterson ordered the crew to abandon ship. Every single man had been wounded by shrapnel or shells, but the more able-bodied placed their wounded comrades aboard rafts while they swam alongside. About halfway to shore, the attacking aircraft received the urgent order to cease the attack, but South Vietnamese shore defense units, also assuming the now-swimming crew were enemy sailors, opened fire on the survivors with small arms fire. Finally, another Coast Guard cutter arrived to assist. The USCGC Point Caution maneuvered to shield the survivors before pulling them aboard.
The Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV) convened a board of investigation following the attack. The board ultimately reported that both human error and poor institutional practices led to the catastrophe. The FAC aboard the nearby C-130 did not make a recognition pass with its mission lights on, as was standard procedure, and even though crewmembers aboard the Port Welcome had seen or heard the FAC aircraft, they did not offer the standard recognition signal. No one realized the boat was friendly until it was too late. Finally, and perhaps most crucially, there was little or no communication between the command headquarters of Operation MARKET TIME and the U.S. Air Force commands in the region, despite sharing the same area of operations. In the wake of the tragedy aboard the Port Welcome, MACV insisted that in the future aircraft needed to first contact the CSC in Da Nang to confirm no Maritime forces were in the area before commencing a strike.
While 11 men recovered from their wounds, Lieutenant JG David C. Brostrom and Engineman Second Class Jerry Phillips became the first Coastguardsmen to be killed in the Vietnam War. All 13 men aboard the vessel received the Purple Heart for wounds in battle and Brostrom and Chief Boatswain’s Mate Richard Patterson—who likely rescued the rest of his crewmates with his actions that morning—received the Bronze Star with a “V” device for valor. Brostrom and Phillips are memorialized on Panel 9E, rows 126 and 128, respectively, on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C.1
Captain Ross BellOn August 1, 1966, Lieutenant JG David Brostrom and Engineman Second Class Jerry Phillips became the first United States Coastguardsmen to be killed in the Vietnam War. Their vessel, the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Point Welcome, was mistaken for a North Vietnamese boat in the early morning dark, and three U.S. Air Force aircraft attacked the boat with cannon fire and bombs. The loss of two men to “friendly fire” was a tragedy, but it was also the occasion for incredible courage and sacrifice.
In the dark morning hours of August 1, 1966, a U.S. Air Force spotter plane dropped several flares directly next to a suspected North Vietnamese boat near the mouth of the Cua Tung River, off the coast of the Demilitarized Zone between North and South Vietnam. The spotter pilot and his Forward Air Control (FAC) officer, aboard a nearby C-130, believed the boat was likely attempting to run arms or supplies into South Vietnam for the Viet Cong insurgency. The FAC authorized a strike. Over the course of an hour, a B-57 Canberra bomber and two F-4 Phantom II fighter-bombers conducted strafing runs and multiple bomb drops against the suspected North Vietnamese junk. After three runs, they had not managed to sink the boat though it was dead in the water and the crew had abandoned ship in the predawn darkness. Suddenly, the FAC received a frantic message that stopped him short: The North Vietnamese junk that had been attacking for an hour was no enemy junk at all. It was the United States Coast Guard Cutter Point Welcome with a crew of 12 Americans and one South Vietnamese officer, all of whom had just been killed or wounded by “friendly fire.”
The USCGC Point Welcome was part of Coast Guard Squadron One, a fleet of 25 cutters and other patrol craft that had arrived in South Vietnam in July 1965 to assist the U.S. Navy with Operation MARKET TIME. Squadron One patrolled the entire South Vietnamese coastline from Thailand to the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) searching for enemy vessels smuggling arms, ammunition, and other war materials for the Viet Cong. On the morning of August 1, 1966, the Point Welcome was in the second day of a three-day patrol and about a mile off shore when the deck officer on duty saw four flares fall from the sky and splash into the dark waters nearby.
According to the rules of engagement, aircraft were required to fly a “recognition” pass with their lights on before firing on a surface target. If the vessel was friendly, they were to respond with their own lights with a pre-arranged signal. Since no such recognition flight had come, the Point Welcome’s crew—11 men plus a South Vietnamese liaison officer and a freelance journalist—assumed the flares were meant to illuminate nearby enemy targets they had not yet spotted. They made no attempt to identify themselves. A series of mistakes and judgement errors had thus set the stage for disaster.
A short while after the dropping of the flares, a U.S. Air Force B-57 Canberra sliced past the partially-illuminated Point Welcome, spraying the boat with 20-millimeter cannon fire. The Point Welcome’s executive officer, Lieutenant JG Ross Bell had two toes and a chunk of his arm shot away. Somehow, he managed to sound the alarm before he collapsed. The boat’s commander, Lieutenant JG David C. Brostrom, who had been below decks, scrambled to the pilot house and placed an emergency call to the Coastal Surveillance Center (CSC) at nearby Da Nang to say they were a Coast Guard vessel under friendly fire. As the CSC quickly attempted to raise I Corps headquarters to relay this information, the B-57 made a second attack run.
As the plane’s cannon shells again smashed into the cutter’s hull, several shells ripped through the pilot house, the communications equipment, and Brostrom himself, killing him instantly. Another shell struck Engineman Second Class Jerry Phillips in the back, mortally wounding him. Lastly, several shells ripped through the Point Welcome ’s stern, destroying its rudder and igniting a fuel fire. Chief Boatswain’s Mate Richard Patterson, an experienced sailor, grabbed a hose. He doused the flames by forcing the burning fuel overboard with the hose spray, then sprinted for the damaged pilot house while ordering everyone else below deck along with the wounded. Patterson knew a third attack run was surely coming.
With the radio and rudder shot away, Patterson had no way to call for help or to steer. He knew he had to present a moving target, so he slammed the throttle forward and commenced a series of zig-zag maneuvers, steering the cutter by alternating the port and starboard engines. Patterson attempted to reach the shore less than one mile away, but two F-4 Phantom II fighter-bombers appeared and commenced a third attack run. The Phantoms dropped cluster bombs and two 250-pound bombs, one of which hit the water so close that it lifted the Point Welcome momentarily out of the water. Approximately 30 minutes after the attack began, the cutter’s engines quit.
Patterson ordered the crew to abandon ship. Every single man had been wounded by shrapnel or shells, but the more able-bodied placed their wounded comrades aboard rafts while they swam alongside. About halfway to shore, the attacking aircraft received the urgent order to cease the attack, but South Vietnamese shore defense units, also assuming the now-swimming crew were enemy sailors, opened fire on the survivors with small arms fire. Finally, another Coast Guard cutter arrived to assist. The USCGC Point Caution maneuvered to shield the survivors before pulling them aboard.
The Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV) convened a board of investigation following the attack. The board ultimately reported that both human error and poor institutional practices led to the catastrophe. The FAC aboard the nearby C-130 did not make a recognition pass with its mission lights on, as was standard procedure, and even though crewmembers aboard the Port Welcome had seen or heard the FAC aircraft, they did not offer the standard recognition signal. No one realized the boat was friendly until it was too late. Finally, and perhaps most crucially, there was little or no communication between the command headquarters of Operation MARKET TIME and the U.S. Air Force commands in the region, despite sharing the same area of operations. In the wake of the tragedy aboard the Port Welcome, MACV insisted that in the future aircraft needed to first contact the CSC in Da Nang to confirm no Maritime forces were in the area before commencing a strike.
While 11 men recovered from their wounds, Lieutenant JG David C. Brostrom and Engineman Second Class Jerry Phillips became the first Coastguardsmen to be killed in the Vietnam War. All 13 men aboard the vessel received the Purple Heart for wounds in battle and Brostrom and Chief Boatswain’s Mate Richard Patterson—who likely rescued the rest of his crewmates with his actions that morning—received the Bronze Star with a “V” device for valor. Brostrom and Phillips are memorialized on Panel 9E, rows 126 and 128, respectively, on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C.1