In 1957, when I was attached to H&MS 35, President Eisenhower sent the Marines into Lebanon to support the coalition government of Lebanon (Christian, Moslem, and the Druze) against the Syrian fomented rebellion. I was first sent to Lebanon and then within a week, was sent to Port Leyote, Morocco.

The first airplane I flew in had a crew chief named John D’Adamo. At that time John was a staff sergeant but already a legend within the Marine Corp. Air Wing. He had for various reasons picked up the nick-name, John the Animal or mostly, just The Animal.

I am going to attempt to show John as something he would have fought against (he’d think it was not Masculine enough) but shows him as he really was. John was 32 and I was 23 and arguably the youngest staff sergeant in the Marine Corp. God knows I was as green a young guy can be and still know where all his plumbing is/for. John decided that I needed an education in the seamier side of life, and an assist with my military and social skills.

John took me under his wing and when I flew with him, it was like flying with my mother only she would have had to be blind… If I had followed all the advice given me by John, I’d have either been Commandant of the Marine Corp, or DEAD.

Lebanon and how to make Friends

With the entry of the Marines into Lebanon (all 1200 or so of us) the then Soviet Union threatened to enter in support of Syria who was at that time a “client State” and received all their military equipment and training from the Soviet Union. There were about two Divisions of Infantry “Instructors” – about 30,000 men and one regiment of T-34B Tanks – about 450-500 tanks. The Syrians had an Army of about 200,000 men and about 200 older but effective T-34 tanks.

Arrayed against this was the U,S. Mediterranean fleet with a heavy Carrier, and a US Marine Corp. BLT (Battalion Landing Team) of approximately 1200 infantry with zero heavy weapons or tanks. My Marine Air Group, MAG 35, was tasked with airborne support for the landing and re-supply as needed until ships from the US east coast could arrive in support (a 30+ day assembly and voyage).

I had just started 30 days leave and just reached the Main gate at Cherry Point North Carolina when the sentries at the gate turned all personnel back to the base with orders to report to their duty stations immediately. I did so and was informed I had ½ hour to change clothes, pack, draw my T.O weapon and return to the flight line for a flight of undetermined length to an undisclosed destination.

I was told to pack light as my weight allowance was 240Lbs including my pistol, ammunition, and any clothing and personal articles I brought with me. Since I weighed 185 Lbs at the time and my weapon with ammo weighed about 15 Lbs that left me with 40 Lbs I could bring with me. I foresaw a lot of laundry in my future.

When I arrived at the R4Q-2, I was told to Loose an additional 20 Lbs as we were taking a photographer from Life magazine with us and needed to find an additional 230 Lbs of weight allowance for him. Since the R4Q-2 was NEVER designed as a long haul, over water transport, we would be island hoping across the Atlantic. Under ideal conditions, the top cruising speed of the R4Q-2 loaded was 200 miles per hour with a maximum range of 1800 miles. One mistake by the pilot or navigator and we would find out how well we could swim…
We would eventually travel a total distance of 4,700+ miles to get to Lebanon.

Total travel time was estimated to be 32 hours not counting refueling stops, head winds, or any necessary repairs due to the long flight on our well kept but ageing aircraft (average age of our R4Qs was 9 years). After a flight of 800 miles and six hours (head winds slowed us down for those of you math types). Our first stop was Argensia Newfoundland. We ate our last hot meal for a while as the aircraft was refueled. Then back into the air for an 1,150 mile leg to the Azores. Since the range of our plane was 1800 miles, we were fortunate to now have tail winds that helped extend the range (average ground speed of 230 MPH). Five hours later, we arrived at Lojas AFB, in the Azores.

As the plane refueled, I heard one of the air force people manning the refueling equipment say to his friend, “these guys are crazy, flying a four engine ocean in a two engine airplane”. I could not have agreed more. Here we ate cold C rations from the can.

Back into the plane and off to Gibraltar, a short 675 mile leg…Uh oh, headwinds, it took a little over seven hours to get there and we were almost out of fuel. Refueled again and checked the weather/winds. Next leg was to Naples Italy, a flight of 1,000 miles but headwinds at altitude of 120 miles per hour! Our effective range went from 1,800 miles to about 800 miles (airspeed of 200 MPH minus 120 MPH head winds equals a forward ground speed of 80 MPH – no joy) with the ten hour fuel supply we had.

Meteorology said that by 6:00 am the next morning, the winds would shift and we would have a 100 knot tail wind. There was nothing for it but to stay overnight. The time was now 3:30 PM local so we decided to go catch some uninterrupted sleep and all meet at the British NCO club for dinner about 7:30PM. At this point, I discovered that John D’Adamo had taken me under his wing. He informed me that true Marines with 14 1/2 hours to go before a flight used the two ½ available hours (air crew cannot drink for 12 hours before flying) for “hoisting a few” and nearly ordered me to come with him to the NCO club.

We arrived there at about 4:15 PM, right at the time that the heavy drinking Brits showed up to support their club. John and I bellied up to the bar and ordered John’s favorite mixed drink, a boiler maker. First a shot of Irish whisky (No American whisky at the bar) and wash it down with a mug of beer (only English pints thank you!). Two of these and there was a certain glazed/rosy glow all around me.

A VERY large British Marine with the emblem of a Sergeant Major on his sleeve came up and asked John were we the yanks with the twin-tailed plane down at the air field. John allowed as how he had the privilege of speaking to us and yes we were from that plane. The Sergeant Major looked as if he had bit into something distasteful but then asked the question that started my education. He said “I say yank, what do you call that aircraft”? John responded with “R4Q-2”… The Sergeant Major looked stunned for a minute and then hitting John with a perfect haymaker he said “ah Fuck you too Yank”.

A few minutes later and well into the discussion, three men in a uniform that had red armbands and red ribbons about the base of their hats, the Brits equivalent of Military Police, came in to stop the fight (yes, by this time a very numb and slightly drunk young Marine was up to his butt in Royal Marines – and fine fighters they were too). As a man, the Brits and we two Marines turned on these poor individuals, picked them up bodily, and threw them in the swimming pool adjacent to the club.

We looked at each other (somewhat the worse for wear) and suggested that a drink might be in order before we continued. Well one drink led to another and the problem of two people speaking the same words but a different language was quickly resolved.

That night after we stumbled of to the transient flight quarters, John said “that’s your first lesson on how to make good friends. People you fight with make the best friends. You already know the worst you can do to each other”.

I never forgot it.