Subject: Batcat Book From: J1J2@aol.com Date: Fri, 28 Dec 2007 13:16:28 EST To: westin@tdstelme.net I've just been reading your book again and am still amazed at the detail and human interest you manage to convey. Should you do an update, I would like to suggest a few pages on the hootch girls. Those women treated us as good as our mothers could have done. I've enclosed one story I think conveys that. Jerry J. (JJ) Smith LtCol, USAF Retired Leaving Korat My hootch had five rooms, two men to a room, on either side of the hootch's latrine. There were two hootch girls per hootch, each one had five rooms, ten men to take care of. My hootch girl's name was Samor. I don't know if that was her first or last name. Every morning about 0700, Samor would come into our room, get our laundry bags out of the closets and silently close the door behind her as she left. She would wash the clothes, daily, for her ten boys. While she was waiting for the clothes to dry, she would clean the five rooms and make the beds. Then she would shine our shoes and boots. Each afternoon she would pick a room that was empty (the two guys were probably flying), fold a blanket into eighths, lay it on the floor, plug in her iron, sit on the floor and iron the laundry she had washed that morning. By five o'clock, all our clothes would be back in our closet and in our dressers. For this magnificent service, we paid $20 per month. Samor worked five days a week and probably made $100 a month. She was about four foot eleven and maybe weighed 90 pounds. She had five children of her own. She told me her mother looked after them while she worked. About two weeks before I was due to leave Korat, Samor stopped me on the walk outside the hootch. "When you go home, Captain J.J.?" she asked. "In about two weeks," I answered trying to be evasive. I had seen some of the scenes between hootch girls and their departing boys. When one of the guys rotated back to the States, his hootch girl cried and carried on as though she had lost a member of her own family. I wanted to avoid that by slipping out unannounced. But, Samor was having none of this vagueness. "What day you go?" she continued. "I'm leaving Tuesday morning, the first of October," I admitted. "What time you go?" she persevered. "I'll be leaving my room about ten o'clock in the morning," I answered knowing I would be leaving about 0530 to catch the 0700 Hercules for Bangkok. "Okay," she said and went on about her duties around the hootch. Several days before my departure date, Samor brought my laundry back while I was in the room. She put the clean laundry away but hesitated before leaving. "Captain J.J., you take your radio with you when you go?" she asked. I had a small AM/FM transistor radio. I'd had it for three or four years. It was a good radio and I had planned to take it home with me. But, now I knew I couldn't. "No, Samor. I'm not taking the radio. Would you like to have it?" I asked. Her eyes lit up as she said, "Chi, kop khoum mach ('yes, thank you, very much') in Thai. Looking at the drapes we had hanging over the closet, she asked, "You take those with you?" My old roommate had rotated a few weeks earlier. Since I had a new Second Lieutenant roommate, I didn't care whether he had closet drapes or not. "You may have the drapes, Samor." I thought it only fair since I had given her $2 to buy the material and put them up when I first moved into the room. Again, "Kop khoum mach," she smiled and said. Finally, my departure day came. I was up at 0500. I showered, shaved and dressed. I had sent my hold baggage on to England a few days before and had only my B-4 bag and briefcase to take with me when I left Korat. I left about $20 in US and Thai money in an envelope taped to the radio for Samor. I had written her a note telling her how much I appreciated her taking care of me the past year. She would find someone to read it to her. I finished packing and heard the motor pool pickup pull up outside the hootch. I put on my hat, picked up my bags and opened the door. To my surprise there stood Samor. She had a flower lei which she put around my neck. She stood on her tiptoes, hugged me and said, "Goodbye, Captain J.J." She started to cry and tears rolled down my cheeks. This little woman had looked after me as though I was her son. My mother could have done no better. I said goodbye as best I could through my tears. I was happy to be going home to my family, but sad to be leaving Samor whom I would never see again. I was finally able to take my leave and got in the pickup. The driver had put my briefcase and B-4 bag in the back. I looked back as the driver pulled away from the hootch. Samor stood outside my room waving and wiping the tears from her eyes. I waved until we turned the corner and she was no longer in sight. I got out my handkerchief, wiped my eyes and blew my nose. I had a good driver. He said nothing. As soon as we were out of sight, I took off the lei and gave it to the driver. I couldn't stand the smell of the sweet flowers. "Give this to your tealot (Thai for girlfriend)," I said. "Thank you, sir," he said accepting the lei. I'm sure he'd seen other guys cry as their hootch girls told them goodbye. Maybe he was used to it by now.