Stories from Gangplank

This one only Stan knew:
I got a call from Stan Grubaugh one sunny afternoon asking me to come to the Cantina Marina to meet an un-named person.

When I got to the bar I was introduced to ....?...... Doolittle.  When I connected him to the Tokyo pilot Doolittle I was allowed to proceed.  (apparently others had wanted to know about the animals and were never introduced to Doolittle, the grandson of the famous Doolittle of the 1942 Raids over Tokyo and Japan.  Long story short, he told me how he arrived at Cantina.  

He lives in this general area but meets up with some buddies from Vietnam every month for a beer at a different bar.  The previous month he was at a bar in VA relating a story about his extraction from Laos.  His group (2-3?) had been inserted into Laos by riverboats but eventually came under fire and all were killed except for him.  He knew his only way out was by the river  or a helicopter.  He called his skycap (I think that was the title...a plane overhead he could call for backup, etc.).  Since he was in Laos and the US was not officially in Laos, the skycap said he had to get clearance from the White House to pick him up.  Thinking that was going to take a while, he remembered another skycap that had helped him out before named Bushmaster.  Doolittle called for Bushmaster and he answered.  Bushmaster directed him to a certain corridor he was going to strafe and clear the Viet Cong for Doolittle to get to the river.  As he told that story to his buddies in that Virginia bar, the guy around the corner of the bar said, "I am Bushmaster."   Bushmaster was a regular at the Cantina from Capitol Yacht Club.  They were at the Cantina to to pay tribute to Bushmaster.  


Second:

A jokester from the marina called to tell me to come over to his boat because they found a dead Chandra Levy.  I started to go until they laughed and said it was a joke.  (I have to admit the whole marina had been on a Chandra Levy watch since the Congressman Gary Condit had been accused of her disappearance/murder.)  The next week the same guy calls and tells me to come over to his boat to meet a National Geographic photographer who wanted to highlight us in a NG article.  I told him he was crazy and I wasn't going to fall for that.  I never lived down the fact that I would believe there's a dead body but would not believe that there was a NG photographer interested in us.  He ultimately took lots and lots of pictures for what seemed like weeks.  They appeared in the NG's zip code segment.