Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
My seatmate on the plane to Krung Thep (Bangkok) had a fascinating story to tell. Jack Morrison was a native of Ohio who was in business with his father in a game farm. He had spent the previous six months in a fruitless hunt for a snow leopard (or was it a snow tiger? Whatever!) This quest had taken him to Gurkha country in Nepal at the foot of the Himalayas. Much of his time had been spent with the government bureaucrats trying to get a permit just to hunt for his prey. I didn't want to speculate on the problems he would have had if he ever caught one.
'I was living rough with the cowherders, incidentally that's what Gurkha stands for in Sanskrit,' Jack said. 'You probably think of the Gurkha soldiers who fought with the British in the last war; they are the elite of course, the guys I was with are the rough peasants.'
'I worked with another American who claims he fought with them against the Japanese in the Burma campaign; he had some spooky stories to tell about the Gurkhas.' I said.
'Such as?'
'Well, he said that they were all dug into foxholes after nightfall but they never felt completely secure because of the Japanese patrols that crawled around in the battle area at night. When there was no moon the blackness was complete. Sometimes he said he could swear there was nothing moving and the only sounds were those of the nocturnal animals. Suddenly he would feel a soft touch on the back of his head as a hand gently felt the outline of his helmet. He knew if he was wearing a Japanese helmet the knife poised in the other hand would simply lop off his head! It occurred to me to wonder why a Japanese soldier would be sitting in a foxhole but I didn't say anything because it made such a good story!'
'Well,' Jack said 'the Gurkhas have a reputation for being tough soldiers and they would certainly be a match for the toughest Japanese soldiers; the knives they carry are sharp enough to shave with!'
'I assume the knives my fellow employee alluded to were the short broad-bladed knives they were famous for using instead of bayonets in hand to hand combat.'
'I'm sure they were! The guys I lived with still make them themselves and I bought a bunch of them when I left. I thought they were dirt cheap but they could have been doing me a favour. I'll give you one if you like!'
'I'd like that,' I said. (I still have the sinister looking weapon. I've never tried shaving with it but it does a 'beauty' job of carving a prime rib roast of beef.)
'Where are you staying in Bangkok?' I asked him.
'I don't have a place to stay right now; most of the hotels are chock-a-block. What about you?'
'I've got a reservation at the Oriental, actually. Look, why don't you stop there on your way and see if they've got a room available. If they have one, Bob's your uncle! If they don't have one and you're in a bind then you can bunk in with me for tonight.'
'Thanks, that would be great!'
The bus Jack had boarded was full by the time I cleared Customs so I took the next one and arrived at the Hotel Oriental a few minutes later than he did.
'It's okay,' he said, 'they had a room for me, the last one apparently. I just finished checking in.'
'Good! That solves your little problem; I'll just check in myself and be right with you.' I said, stepping confidently to the check-in counter and giving my name.
'I'm sorry, sir, there are no rooms available,' the room clerk said.
'But I've had a reservation since the end of February,' I said. 'That's a month and a half!' I said indignantly.
'I'm sorry, sir, we have no record of your reservation,' he said disinterestedly.
Jack had been listening to our conversation and he now came over and spoke to me. 'You got a little problem, pal?' he enquired.
'You might say so!' I replied. 'My travel agent made a room reservation here weeks ago and now this darling boy says they have no record of i!'
'Don't sweat it,' Jack said, 'well just have them put a cot in my room for you!' Oh! the incredible irony of it all was almost more than I could bear! Fortunately Jack left the hotel early the next morning to catch a plane to the States, and I took over the room.
The pool at the Oriental was magnificent and just at the right temperature; I spent many hours there the first couple of days. The second evening I dined in the courtyard next to the pool and struck up a conversation with a Swedish fellow who was working on a construction project for one of the international aid agencies.
'Would you be interested in a little stroll around the city after dinner?' he said.
'I don't mind,' I replied, so we walked out to the front of the hotel after eating and decided to walk along the main street. We had walked only about half a block when we were accosted by a young Siamese gentleman.
'You like to watch interesting sex show?' he asked.
'Whatta you think?' I said, turning to Gunter.
'Big strong man with pretty girl!' said our promoter in an attempt to influence our decision.
'Let's do it!' Gunter said, 'are you game?'
'If that's what you want!' I said. I must say I've never been keen on watching someone else do what I'd rather have been doing but I was willing to humour Gunter and the price was reasonable. Our 'guide' flagged down a taxi and we all piled in.
'Suriwongse Street!' I heard him tell the driver. We headed north toward the edge of the city but as we approached our destination I saw a reddish glow across the horizon. There was a rapid conversation between our guide and the taxi driver and we turned to the left leaving the glow behind.
'Big fire in Suriwongse area; I take you other place!' said our guide, man of many connections. The taxi stopped eventually at the edge of one of the klongs and we marched across a floating boardwalk and entered a dimly-lighted structure. It was virtually empty except for a bar at the far side; a woman was acting as bartender and there were two women sitting on stools who turned to look at us as we entered. One was short and stocky but the other was delicately boned and quite attractive. I guessed her age to be about twenty.
'You like a beer, mebbe?' said our 'master of the revels'. We both nodded and were supplied with bottles of lukewarm beer. Our guide hustled off to negotiate the forthcoming performance; we were still on our first beer when he returned.
'Very sorry, big strong man not available, how about me instead. Okay?' I nearly burst out laughing. This guy was prepared to make any sacrifice to fulfill his personal commitment; what a hero! He was going to get his fee plus a free piece of tail! Not a bad deal! We were led to a small windowless room that had two straight-backed wooden chairs facing a low bed. A single light dangled from the ceiling. We already knew who one of the performers would be but were pleasantly surprised when the attractive young girl we had seen at the bar was the other participant. She disrobed and lay down on the bed looking completely bored with the prospect. Our impresario, on the other hand showed considerably more enthusiasm under the circumstances. He obviously felt somewhat obligated to us and kept turning to us with appropriate comments.
I was struck by the irony of two persons performing the most intimate of acts for monetary gain in front of two perfect strangers. I found the image of two fully dressed individuals sitting primly on wooden chairs observing the activity to be incredibly risible.
'Ooh, tight!' was the young man's first delighted comment as intromission occurred; in the meantime his audience of two was sitting quietly, half empty bottles of beer dangling from their hands. Strangely enough, I felt completely devoid of titillation, almost as though I were watching a cooking show. I had never been privy to an 'exhibition' before and had been led to believe that they were exceedingly prurient. This element had been sadly lacking so far. After a few minutes of enthusiastic participation however, the 'ringmaster' suddenly cried a warning.
'Gonna come! Can't hold any longer!' he exclaimed in a mixture of concern and delight. At which point the young hooker swung a mighty blow with the fist of her far hand and struck the enthusiast full on the side of the head, knocking him off of her and onto the floor beside the bed. Apparently she was not amused by his preoccupation with self-gratification to the exclusion of her enjoyment.
The young man crawled back onto the bed, shame-facedly admitting to his culpability and attempting to mollify the frustrated and angry young woman. I glanced over toward my companion and saw that he had turned pale and appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Obviously the exhibition had a completely different effect on him.
'Let's leave,' he said. We rose and left the room as the heated debate on the bed continued.
We were seated at the bar again when we heard a voice from the dark far corner of the room.
'You strangers are a long way from home, aren't ya?' He came forward when we responded and introduced himself as Al 'Buster' Keaton, an American who was on R&R leave from flying military helicopters in Vietnam. This was 1964, remember, a time when Americans were supposedly not militarily involved in Vietnam!
Our 'tour guide' returned to the bar about that time and we settled up with him. He left the cathouse with Gunter and I remained behind with Buster to drink beer at the bar. He was tight-lipped about his activities in Vietnam but said I could communicate with him by writing to the Military Postal Services in San Francisco who would forward my letters and his. We headed back to town after a couple of more beers and he dropped me at the hotel after promising to pick me up the following morning and take me to a jewellery shop. He actually showed up and we went to a dealer's shop where I bought about a half dozen star sapphires for sixty dollars. I presume Buster was getting a hustler's commission for the sale but what the hell! I communicated with him for a couple of years and then our exchange petered out. I don't know what hapened to him as America's involvement in Vietnam gradually increased. I thought of him as I saw the gunships in battle and later the helicopters lifting the frantic escapees from the roof of the American Embassy in Saigon.
-o-
ORIENTAL HOTEL
Bangkok, Thailand
Thursday, April 9th, 1964
Hi dear;
Well, all our friends seem to have been very thoughtful and taken care to keep you from being lonely socially. I warned that Barney about feeding you too much booze but he seems to be governed by irresistible impulses. As far as you coming to Los Angeles to meet me I tend to agree with your sentiments. I sure don't plan to linger very long when I get there. Naturally I'll phone you when I arrive and I thought we could discuss the possibility of you flying to Vancouver to meet me. You might mull that over for a while! Please feed and water our little pumpkin patch regularly and distribute kisses to all interested parties in generous proportions.
By the way, you might phone Luke and tell him I now have about $200 worth of unused room accommodation vouchers which various hotels have refused to accept. In several cases even the local Pan Am offices have refused to endorse them, saying they are illegal. The forms he used should only be used for transportation they claim, under IATA regulations. This means I have had to use cash from my spending fund to meet these bills. Even when I present the receipt from each hotel to Pan Am in every case they won't give me cash because they claim the vouchers are on a budget payment plan and marked 'non-refundable'. That sure as hell doesn't have anything to do with me! It's all very well when they say it will be deducted from the balance when I get home but in the meantime Pan Am has had my money for two months while I pay interest for useless vouchers. Now I don't want you to get involved in any heated arguments over this because I've had sufficient cash as it happens and am sure I'll have no trouble cashing a cheque in Hong Kong or Tokyo. You might read this to him, though, for his general edification and for the sake of any little old schoolteachers he may be considering burdening with similar Corn Flakes coupons. For someone on a restricted cash budget it could be a bit more than slightly embarrassing. Meanwhile, if he feels he has any brilliant immediate solutions to this little 'faux pas' of his, tell him I would appreciate reading his explanation at my leisure when I reach Tokyo. Tell him to write me direct! As I say, don't argue about it, just drop the little bomb and let him think it over.
Well, I seem to have used up another whole page! I'll go and mail this now although I'm almost afraid to walk downtown, there are so many shops full of tempting goodies. However, I think I'll hold out for Hong Kong. Incidentally, this is the best hotel I've stayed in so far, air conditioned room and a beautiful pool. Had an enormous Chateaubriand last night for $1.75! Crazy!
Well, bye bye again,
Love you madly, Ron
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