By Don Wolfe
One of the greatest gifts I took home from Vietnam was lifelong friendship.
I want to tell you about one of those friends, George Rothnie.
We met in the summer of 1968 at the Navy’s Equipment Operators School in Davisville, Rhode Island. After training, we were separated for a year of shore duty—George went to Texas, and I was sent to Great Lakes, Illinois. A year later we reunited in Alpha Company of Mobile Construction Battalion 10 (MCB-10), first in California and then in Vietnam.
Another friend, Roxie Spray, also went through school with us and served in Alpha Company. George and Roxie spent much of their time driving heavy trucks, while I started out on security duty before moving on to heavy equipment.
One day our heavy equipment platoon was between jobs, so I was volunteered to drive a dump truck hauling asphalt. Compared to operating bulldozers and other heavy equipment, driving that truck was like driving a sports car. It even had a roof—ha ha! That was a big deal under the tropical sun.
On my last run of the day, I got a flat tire. I managed to limp the truck as far as a nearby village before I had to stop. One of our other drivers passed word back to our base camp that I was stranded.
Then I waited. And waited.
As evening approached, I knew I was in a bad place to be after dark. There was a nightly curfew. Everything shut down, traffic stopped, and gates were closed across the roads, including the gates at Phu Bai. That was when the Viet Cong (VC) became active. Anyone caught outside the gates after curfew could be mistaken for the enemy—or worse. Our base camp, Camp Wilkerson, was on the other side of Phu Bai, inside Camp Eagle.
As time passed, I started wondering whether I would be stuck there for the night—and whether I would survive it.
Then I began hearing scattered gunfire in the distance. That wasn’t unusual in Vietnam. But the shots became more frequent, and they sounded closer. To me, it seemed like a firefight was moving toward the village. There was an Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) compound nearby, and the soldiers there were getting anxious, yelling to one another and watching in the direction of the shooting.
Finally, an MCB-10 wrecker arrived with a replacement tire.
Behind the wheel were my two friends, George and Roxie.
They had heard I was stranded and volunteered to come after me—even though it meant going out after curfew.
Thank God.
I immediately started changing the tire because we wanted to get the heck out of there as fast as possible. Naturally, the last lug nut was frozen solid. It was getting darker, the gunfire was getting closer, and I put everything I had into that wrench. Finally the lug nut broke loose—but so did something in my back. I felt it give. The adrenaline was pumping, so I didn’t feel much pain at the time.
Once the tire was changed, we headed back toward Phu Bai and relative safety. They opened the gates to let us through. Thanks to George and Roxie, we got back late—but we got back in one piece.
Just another day in the tropical paradise.
Roxie stayed in the Seabees and eventually retired from the Navy. Sadly, he passed away several years ago.
George returned to his hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. Not long afterward, he was in a terrible automobile accident and was lucky to survive. True to the Seabees’ “Can Do” spirit, he recovered and went on to a long career as an over-the-road truck driver. As I remember it, he spent many years hauling Kentucky bourbon to New England.
George and I have remained lifelong friends.
Like so many Vietnam veterans, George was exposed to Agent Orange and is now dealing with serious health problems. Most of our other Seabee friends from Vietnam have already passed away.
George’s story began even before he came to America. He was born in Scotland. At a time when many young men were trying to avoid military service, George chose to enlist in the Navy Seabees. Service ran in the family. His father had been a British Commando during World War II. The Nazis captured him—if I remember correctly, on the island of Crete—but he managed to escape.
I’m grateful George made the choice he did.
Without him and Roxie, I might never have made it home.
The official motto of the U.S. Navy Seabees is Construimus, Batuimus—”We Build, We Fight.” Their better-known unofficial motto is simply:
Can Do.
