It Was Just a Yellow Handled Pocket Knife

The Knife

by

Charles BrantleyYork

It was just a yellow handled pocket knife. There was nothing special about its appearance. It was probably exactly like an uncountable number of other yellow handled knives manufactured by some nameless company in the Far East many years ago. I carefully opened the single stainless steel blade while the memories of good times past flooded my mind. I looked carefully at the razor sharpness, and the small scratches made by a skilled hand as the blade was stroked across an Arkansas stone so many years ago. I remembered the warning about the sharpness. This was Bill's knife. Bill is my friend who influenced my life more than anyone, other than my parents. He gave me this knife as a small token of a friendship forged long ago in a far off land duringan unpopular war.That friendship was nurtured thru many years of sometimes meeting face to face, and uncountable phone calls. I carefully ran the blade along the hair on my arm, and I smiled with satisfaction as the blade shaved the hair after almost thirty years of being hidden in a drawer.

Those of us who have served in the military know that we often bond with fellow service members. We form strong friendships, indeed an almost family closeness, that can last a lifetime. Separation of miles and years does nothing to loosen the special chains that bind us. We can be apart for years, but when, or if, we meet again, it is like we were never apart. We just seem to take up where we left off. I am sure that every veteran can name at least one person withwhom he or she shares this special bond. Friendships formed during a war can be especially strong.

Bill Woods came into my life in late 1970. I was a young, newly married Air Force Staff Sergeant stationed in the Philippines. The Vietnam War was still raging, and I was going in and out of various Far Eastmilitary bases in support of the war. Bill was newly arrived, and he became my shift supervisor. He was a lot older than I, and he had been in the Air Force a lot longer, but we soon struck up a relationship due to his friendly, easy going nature. Bill was born in Harlan County, Kentucky, and he was as country as cornbread and grits. I, on the other hand, was a rock and roll loving, sax playing kid from North Carolina. I suppose the Southern connection was what brought us together in the first place. Bill was my Air Force boss, not that it ever seemed that way to me.

One afternoon Bill said, "Charlie, I'm going down to the Country Corner tonight to listen to the band. You want to go along?"

Now please understand, country music did not appeal to me, but Bill had asked, and he was my friend, so I decided to tag along. I asked my wife if she would like to go too but she disliked country music even more than I. Besides, she was pregnant with our first child, and she didn't want that country stuff to influence the baby. Bill came by at the agreed upon time, met my wife, and off we went.

The Country Corner was a nightclub like those thatseemed to proliferate around every military base during the Vietnam War. A big garish sign advertising "The Top Rail Boys" was splashed across the front of the concrete block building. A painted horse corral facade with a cowboy sitting on the top rail smoking a cigarette blended into the entrance and completed the place name.

The band was playing what I assumed was a country song as we walked in.We settled at a table in the back of the dimly lit room. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and beer was thick in the air. The clubwas almost full of Americans swilling beer or whatever, and several couples were doing some sort of country dance on the small dance floor. The bright lights of the stage were the only real lights in the place. We ordered our drinks, and sat listening to the band.

The Top Rail Boys were a group of older Filipino men who were surprisingly good musicians. I was astonished to see that the band even had a fiddle player, and he was good, not that I was much of a judge of fiddle players mind you! I guess the only fiddle tune I had ever heard was The Orange Blossom Special. We sat thru three or four songs and Irelaxed and watched theguitar player do some extremely fast and complicated guitar rifts. The band finished a song and paused for a couple minutes to wet their whistles and light a cigarette.

Things were relatively quite when Bill suddenly bellered out, "What else ya got?" I almost fell out of my chair because the place went silent, and all eyes suddenly fixed on us!

The effect on the band was electric!

All of 'em, to a man, started shading their eyes from the bright lights, and looking deep into the crowd trying to see who had shouted at them. I was embarrassed to say the least. Finally, the fiddle player stepped to the mic and said, "Who said that?" Bill didn't bat an eye and just belleredout, "I said what else ya got?" The fiddle player just smirkedand said, "Well, why don't you get up here and show us what YOU got." Bill pushed his chair back and said, "I'll be back in a little while, Charlie."

Bill climbed up on the stage where he was warmly greeted by all the band members with hand shakes and hugs. It was clear that they knew him well!He was handed a guitar, and offered center stage. Bill stepped to the micand became a professional country entertainer right before my eyes.

It was sheer magic the way he played. He was smooth and professional taking the guitar lead on all the songs. He sang Marty Robbins songs and Merle Haggard songs and a couple more. He finished up by playing a fast paced guitar tune called The Sugar Foot Rag. The Top Rail Boys played right along with him without missing a beat. Of course I didn't know the titles of any of the songs at the time. All I knew was, that I was seeing a true country musician at work in his natural element. Bill was good! And so began my love for country and Bluegrass music.

I soon found out that Bill could play any instrument that had strings. As good a guitar player as Bill was, his first love was the 5-string banjo or "banjer" as he called it. He had been playing the 5-string since he was a little boy. I also learned that Bill had been stationed in the Philippines a couple years before, and often played music with the Top Rail Boys.

Bill became a father figure to me and my little family. Hetalked me into buying a guitar, and he taught me to play it.He patiently spent hours showing me cords and teaching me country guitar licks. When my daughter was born, Bill carried her out of the hospital when we brought her home the first time. I was in Thailand on her first birthday. I have a cherished photo of Bill holding her on his lap at her first birthday party. Bill and I went on temporary duty into Thailandand Taiwanseveral times, and he always took care of me. Our friendship was strong, and it lasted a lifetime.

Mike Hammond came into my life sometime in early1972. I was on temporary duty atUdorn, Thailandwith the rest of our fighter squadron from the Philippines. Mike had just arrived in the Philippinesas a replacement,and he was immediately sent to Thailand to join the rest of our people who were supporting the Vietnam War.Mike was a young sergeant from a small town in Kentucky. He was a family man with a wife and a couple of kids,and he was homesick. He chewed tobacco constantly, and I later found thathe was also a superb thumb picking guitar player!I knew about thumb picking having seen Chet Atkins play a number of times.

When our unit finally went back to the Philippines, I introduced Mike to Bill and he became fast friends with Bill also. The three of us spent many hours sitting in Bill's living room playing music, often with a belly full of pinto beans and onions and cornbread prepared by Bill's own hands. I never could figure out how Bill could eat pinto beans and onions and wash it down with scotch and buttermilk! I almost gag to think about it even now. I mostly just watched as Bill taught Mike country music licks and Bluegrass music while I tried to follow along as best I could.

Mike and I grew close with that special friendship that often happens with military people. Miles and years of separation have done nothing to dampen that special friendship. We have been close friends for more than forty years at this writing.

We three separated in June of 1973 when I was reassigned to a base inRapid City, South Dakota. Sometime later, Mike was discharged from the Air Force, and went back home to Kentucky. I guess Bill and I wrote a couple of letters, but neither one of us was much of a writer. I thought of him often as I sat practicing the guitar. I would wish that he was there to show me something as I struggled to learn. We finally lost track of each other. I stayed in touch with Mike after he got out of service, and went back home. That's another story that needs to be told someday.

The war was still going on in 1974 when I was reassigned to Korat Air Base, Thailand. I was going to work on a different airplane than the F-4 Phantoms that I had been bustin my knuckles on for the past seven years. So,my trip overseas was interrupted by a twoweek school at Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas, Nevada. I needed some special training before I started working on the F-111A Aardvark at Korat.

I reported to the school bright and early Monday morning, and I was reading the bulletin board when I saw Bill walking down another hall. I hollered at him and we had a wonderful"close friends" reunion right there in the hallway. Bill had been assigned to Nellis when he left the Philippines. He had been there for a few months, and had been scheduled for F-111 school several times, but it was always cancelled. Just by luck, Bill was again scheduled for the same F-111 school and class as I. I stayed with him and his family until I finished my training at Nellis. It was a magical time of good music and fun with my special close friend. He took me to the airport the day I left, and we parted not knowing if we would eversee each other again.

While it doesn't really add anything to this story, my year in Thailand in 1974 and '75 was routine and pretty much boring. The war was winding down and all we did was fix airplanes and fly training missions. At least it was pretty much routine until May 12, 1975. On that day, the Cambodian Khmer Rouge decided to seize the USship, the SS Mayaguez from international waters.It was sailing toThailand with a crew of 39 and a load of cargo. The ship,and crew,was forced to sail to a small Khmer Rouge controlled island off the coast of Cambodia.President Ford decided to take the ship back and rescue the crew. I was the Noncommissioned Officer (NCO) in charge on the flightlinethat night when the action startedwith the F-111s so things got rather exciting for me for a time as I coordinated getting the airplanes ready for battle.One can read about that in history now. I guess I was lucky (?) enough to participate in the last battle of the Vietnam War.

The war ended, and the F-111s left Thailand shortly thereafter. We left as a unit and we were sent to Nellis Air Force Base, Las Vegas, Nevada. AlthoughNellis is a long way from my family in North Carolina, it was a really good place for me. The work was easy and there was very little stress. Bill had retired from the Air Force and was living in Las Vegas.

The next 18 months were great! I spent uncountablehours hanging out with Bill. Our families were together almost every weekend. We were close as always, and the time together just reinforced the strong bond that was forged so many years before. Sadly, because I was a career Air Force NCO, I was finally reassigned. I left Nellis, and Bill, for a new base.

I saw Bill a few times over the ensuing years because I was lucky enough to be sent to back to Nellis several times for some temporary duty. Each time, it was the same. We were justclose friends, back together, just hanging out.

My last trip there was in 1983. I was standing with Bill telling him goodbye realizing thatwe did not know when we would see each other again. But, that always was the case. He had my bags in his van. I had kinda tied them together with strapping tape to make them easy to move. I started to take the tape off when Bill reached in his pocket and pulled out a yellow handled knife and cut the tape.

"That's a pretty knife, Bill," I said.

He finished the cutting and immediately folded the knife and handed it to me. I thought he was just going to let me look at it, but he told me keep it with the warning that it was razor sharp. It was indeed.

The telephone was the long distance communications device in those days. Personal computers were just being invented. Nobody had ever heard of Microsoft or Apple or the Internet. Bill and I talked often as did Mike and I. Mike and I visited each other several times over the years, and we talked on the phone a lot. It was funny that we could talk for a couple hours, and never say anything serious. We were just two old buddies hanging out. We almost always talked about Bill and how much he had done for us and how much we missed him. Mike was still picking guitar and just getting better and better. He was smooth as silk with his thumb pickin and begin to play pretty often with a bunch of amateur musicians in his local area.

I got a call late one night from Bill. It was fun as always to hear his voice. We exchanged our usual pleasantries then Bill said, "Charlie, I've got terminal cancer."

My heart skipped a beat. Even now it's painful for me to remember and write about.

"Oh Bill, NO!Are they sure?", I mumbled.

"Yes, they are sure. There ain't nothing they can do for me, Charlie."

The call to Mike that night was pretty difficult.

Bill and I talked a few more times after that call but we never again mentioned the elephant in the room. We just talked and laughed about old times when we were young, in the war, andhanging out. Mike always came up during the conversations. Then one day Bill's wife called and told me that Bill was dead. He had already been cremated by the time she called. Now all I had left were memories of great times.

Mike "Burley" Hammond and I are still good friends. We talk often and we always mention Bill. How could we ever forget him? Mike is in the Bluegrass business for real now. He travels far and wide to the Bluegrassfestivals with Lardo, who plays the banjo. Together, Lardo and Burley are "The Moron Brothers." They're aBluegrasscomedy team.I would call it an act, but what they do isn't an act. What you see on stage is just two country boys from Kentucky doing exactly what they would be doing if they "was a sittin on the back porch telling lies and pickin." They write and sing songs; some funny, some sad, some provocative, but all good. They are on TV sometimes, and they have actually performed on "The Grand Ol' Opry." People just love 'em because there is nothing "put on" about them. I don't think they even rehearse.My favorite song by The Moron Brothers is, "If My Nose Was Runnin' Money, Honey, I'd Blow It All On You." Go ahead and Google it cause it is a real song. Sadly, Bill was already gone by the time Burley started becoming well known. Burley regrets that.

A while back I was rummaging thru my "treasure/junk" drawer, and I found that yellow handled knife stuck way in the back where I had put it all those years ago. I never carried it because it was too precious to lose. The memories of my friend, mentor, teacher, and buddy came flooding back. I sat down and held it like a talisman for a little while. It seemed kinda warm in my hand. It wasn't worth anything to anyone but me, and someday it would just be anotheryellow handled knife again when I didn't need it anymore.

But, maybe it was worth something to someone else.

I mailed the knife to Burley Hammond along with a note telling him where and how I got it. I told him who put those scratches on the blade. I know it is just as precious to him as it was to me because every time The Moron Brothers perform on stage, that yellow handled knife is in Burley's overall pocket.

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