My nephew, Stephen Michael Lambert, told me this story:
In 1963 my father, Jack E. Lambert, then a captain in the U.S. Air Force, pulled a tour of duty in Vietnam. He was assigned to Tan Son Nhut Air Base near Saigon and was quartered in a hotel in the city. He usually rode a bus to work.
The bus stop was just a few steps from the main entrance to his hotel which made it easy to show up a little early, be first in line – and get the best seat.
This was the first stop on the route and the rider who was first in line got to sit beside the front door of the bus. The driver left that door open to get some air in the bus, a little breeze to give riders some relief from the heat and humidity.
* * *
As dad waited, a friend happened by who was excited about a coin he had bought from a shop down the street.
“Perfect for my collection,'” he told dad. It was a lucky find, especially so far from home.
In deference to riders who had queued up behind him and out of respect for his friend, dad stepped out of line to look at the coin. Another bus would be along in a few minutes.
Dad and his friend stood there, talking, while the bus dad had been waiting for came and went. But it didn’t go far.
Half a block later a motorbike pulled up beside the bus and someone threw a satchel charge through the open door. It exploded next to the seat where dad would have been sitting.
NOTE: That was not Jack’s only close call.
Coming Monday: You Can’t Make Me
