Good Morning Mr. & Mrs. North & South Vietnam and all the Ships at Sea

There was an interloper at 340 West King Street in the late spring of 1983. He was a young man who went to Lancaster Catholic with me, Dan and R.E. and who certainly knew Phil & Sil by reputation if nothing else. He bumped into me in Harrisburg late the previous year and having stuffed my phone number into my pocket; in a time of need he decided to use it. He was in between jobs and seemingly on the way somewhere out of state. Before he could leave though he needed a place to stay to get his act together. Thus, Leo R. Smith came to the 340 Club.

Leo had graduated from Catholic High in June 1969 and opted to serve his country as a Marine grunt in Vietnam. If memory serves he achieved the rank of Lance Corporal and his field of duty was in an area that Leo loved – radio broadcasting. He was active in the radio broadcasting club in high school and his hero was a certain Howard Cosell. In Vietnam, Leo was a disc jockey not all that dissimilar from Adrian Kronauer (he of Good Morning Vietnam fame). Leo’s patented call was based not on Kronauer but rather a spin on Walther Winchell’s WWII cry of Good Morning Mr. & Mrs. North & South America and all the ships at sea, here’s the news … In Leo’s case it got him disciplined because unlike the Amerika’s his North & South neighbors were the combatants not allies.

I know Leo served his country honorably. My most vivid memory of Leo during his service period occurred on the evening of December 31, 1969. The great New Year’s Eve Party at Bucher’s. In my memory it was the night I met Sil & Phil (I know it was at Bucher’s where I met them; I’m not 100% sure it was that night); it definitely was a watershed night for all of us. The 60s were over. Our innocence was lost. We were drinking – just learning to drink and therefore not just drinking beer but Ripple, Thunderbird, Orange Drivers, Cherry vodka, Southern Comfort, and experimenting with the same cigarettes as Mick.

Tim Bucher’s mom made sure us young boys – we were 18 – did not drink and drive in a way that many, today, would frown upon. She made sure we did our drinking under adult supervision – hers – and, further, that we did not drive home if unsteady. Assisting her on that night was her oldest boy, like Leo a Vietnam vet, Tom Bucher, perhaps 8 years older than us. Maybe 26. An Air Force Major; perhaps a wartime full bird. I dunno.

I do know that with such chaperones – Mrs. B & Tom – it was, while stupendous, a relatively well-behaved party. Me and my future hitchhiking partner Joe Riley arrived early with no intention of leaving before the first day of the new year was half over. We were both packing pints of booze in the Malcolm position; where Alex Haley taught us the Malcolm X packed his heat.

Among the many highlights of this manhood dispensing event was one involving our servicemen. Leo retreated to the backyard for a quick piss and perhaps a bit of a smoke. Tom spying went out after to watch over him, bring him back to the nest, and just maintain order. “Leo get in here” barked the 26 year old airman. To which the young Marine responded: “I’m Lance Corporal Leo R. Smith, I’ll come in when I’m ready.”

At that point the man of the house bellowed back: “Colonel Tom Bucher … get in that house Corporal.” It was the first time that Leo had heard Tom’s rank so articulated and the young jarhead, with tail between his legs, darted in to the house and the party continued.

That wasn’t the last time that I saw Leo until his whirlwind stay on West King Street over 13 years later but it was one of them. While I had it soft, got my degree, relatively cushy job, splitting expenses four ways, and partying to my heart’s content; Leo had it pretty rough … there aren’t a lot of opportunities in broadcasting and life had not treated him kindly. His last job had been as a cabdriver and most of his friends held mortgages on what little Leo had to show. It was under those circumstances that Leo came a knockin’ on the 340 door.