He was sad inside. The first tour apparently cost Pat his wife and family (or at least his significant other) and this tour separated him from his best friend, a German Shepard named "Shep" I think. Pat Bogard played a mournful guitar and put experiences to song words with an unstrained and natural countenance. I think he must have come from someplace like Louisiana or the Delta, because of the Cross Roads Delta Blues style he lived and played. The result was an insight into his very soul, and in spite of the mental barriers I think we all raised against getting too close to anyone, I could not help but lower them for Pat. He was simply one of those very special people all too rare in this world or the next. Guess I have to admit I felt his pathos and became too close to him for my own comfort.
Pat told about how the bartender at the Holloman AFB, NM, Stag Bar stopped allowing "Shep" to attend happy hour, refusing to serve his best friend a draft brew, "Because he is not a member of the Officer's Club, Sir". The next Friday afternoon, Pat bought a membership for "Shep", and placed his new card on Shep's collar. Shep was served after that until the O'Club Council met a month later to address a loophole in their charter/rules. By then Pat was on his way to SEA for a second tour. That was the way he was handling his next assignment too, with humor and intelligence. I worried that he might be sent to Ft. Leavenworth prison for being AWOL, but Pat was not concerned..."it would all just work out"...he would say with an unconcerned smile and continue to ask to be scheduled to fly.
Few would have much to do with him over concern for their own security and careers...he was a bit of a pariah and an awkward dilemma for those in Command positions. Already a hero, having passed many 'gut checks' from a one year tour in combat, no one wanted to force an issue or play hard-ass. After all Pat was not refusing to fly combat missions, on the contrary he was volunteering daily.
There was another problem, a large yellow dog named Roscoe began to sleep at our hooch front door. Roscoe was a legend on base. Carl Richter, an F-105 pilot, brought Roscoe at ten weeks, with him in the F-105 cockpit from Japan. According to legend, Roscoe would dutifully await Richter's return from each mission, and somehow knew which aircraft revetment on the ramp would enable him to greet his master. Carl had married a Vietnamese lady and served three combat tours before dying near, or on his last mission of his third combat tour. After that, Roscoe owned Korat RTAB with his own special chair in the Wing Commander's Main Briefing room, Officer's Club Dining facility, etc. The initial approach fix (IAF) for an instrument approach into Korat was named after Roscoe. However, legend held that if Roscoe took up with you and slept at your door, it was a very bad omen since several had perished. This new development caused considerable unrest for me during Pat and my final week as roommates.
One day I returned to discover Pat had moved along to Ubon. He left only a receipt for a painting, written mostly in Thai, on my small desk with a note scrawled across it, "Gone to Ubon...no choice, thanks for everthing, Pat". Several months later Jeff Cliver and me sat at the UBon O'Club bar all night wearing our "Shit Hot" hats, purposely buying the bar all night. From that impromptu party I learned that Pat had become a "Night Owl" FAC (because he was as I expected; a "Shit hot fighter pilot with balls" and only those types became fast FACs), and he simply never returned from a mission. We bought Ubon RTAB officers drinks until 04:00 the next morning, and my secret Wake for Pat has never really ever ended...and never will. I searched for his wreckage for many months flying as a Tiger FAC out of Korat, but there were too many scraps of our aircraft strewn about Laos and Vietnam, making identifying one as his impossible. Curious, I found the Thai "Krup" using the receipt on which Pat had scratched his quick departure note. The Thai artist recognized me immediately, and with a proud smile reappeared with an oil painting of me sitting in flight gear made from an Intel photo. I cried and could not look at it for years.
Pat was one of us who gave far too much in service to his country. Far more than the many feather merchants in politics and Congress, that sent us over there, can even comprehend. Pat alone was worth more than the lot of them. Always will be.
I hear you from the other side.
And old friend,
D-Bell
This Memoriam has meant a lot to me. It made Capt. Lonnie Pat Bogard real. I adopted him because he was from Louisiana and I still hope to find a picture of him someday. I have made no attempt to contact his family. I would never want to bring back their pain after all these years, but if anyone knows of a picture or has any memories of him I would love to hear them.
BECAUSE AS LONG AS ONE PERSON REMEMBERS HIM,
HE WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
"The only information I can offer to you is that his wife was a teacher
at an elementary school that I attended on Holloman AFB, NM in the early 1970's. Although I was not her student, I have one of the POW/MIA bracelets with his name on them she brought to school. I gave a small donation to receive one. At the time, he was missing in action. I was probably in 7th grade. I still wear the bracelet today in his memory."
signed:
Elizabeth L. Lewis
Assistant Professor
Department of Political Science and Criminal Justice
North Georgia College and State University
Dahlonega, Ga. 30597
"My name is Judyth McDonald and I have had Lonnie's bracelet for many years. I am 52 years old. I was wondering if there was anyway I could find a picture of him. He is always on my mind. I know he had a fiancee that was also in the military during the Viet War. Any information would be greatly appreciated.
Inspiration ~ MDA ~ Kevin Costner ~ Cats ~ Needlework
Patriotism