The Last Executioner (4 page)

The Americans on the mountain were mostly technicians and they ran the place like no other camp I knew. For one thing they had a pet, a young brown bear, and they seemed to live on a ridiculous amount of eggs. Also the men didn’t wear uniforms. This military base was not what it appeared and I learned much later about its tragic end. It was actually a secret Air Force radar facility sitting on one of the highest mountains around. There were links with bases in Laos, but as Laos was a neutral country, no foreign troops were meant to be based there. To avoid the detection of US soldiers crossing back and forth between the borders, it was decided that the site could only accommodate civilians or military personnel with civilian documentation. However the American Air Force didn’t want to supply its men with false documents as it would cause majors problems if the men were captured, and they would have no protection under the Geneva Convention as prisoners of war.

Therefore the men had to be ‘sheep dipped’. They left the Air Force and as civilians they were hired by a legitimate civilian company. Their employer sent them into Laos as ordinary employees. Afterwards they could rejoin the Air Force. The men were specially chosen for the mission.

It was believed that this location, high in the mountains, would protect the base from attack. The mountain was so steep that the Americans were confident their men would have plenty of time to be rescued by helicopter should their position be located by the Vietnamese. The secret radar was even wired up to explosives should the enemy attack. I don’t remember seeing it myself but even if I did I would not have known what I was looking at.

It happened in March in 1968, just before midnight. 33 North Vietnamese managed to climb the mountain while enemy planes overhead were attempting to bomb the radar system. The Vietnamese had been practising climbing difficult rock peaks for months. When they reached the site, between the radar buildings and a Thai guard post, they hid until 3am. Then they made a move but were spotted by a guard who threw a grenade at them. This prompted the Vietnamese to open fire with their submachine guns. They killed over half the Americans they found there, men I had probably chatted to and certainly played in front of.

***

As usual the show on Phupan went down really well and we got plenty of cheers and applause. After the gig we all headed back to town for dinner. We had learned to behave ourselves when we were out late at night in the city. Plenty of high-spirited evenings ended in alcohol-fuelled battles so it was wise to keep to your own group and not attract any unpleasant attention. I wasn’t happy. The Americans had paid quite a bit for us, but I only got a few hundred baht from the managers. I had also discovered that the Las Vegas bar had paid an advance of 2,000 baht before we even arrived in Udorn, none of which found its way into my pocket. That was the last straw and I quit the band.

I decided to head to Korat or Nakhon Ratchasima, north of Bangkok, with my girlfriend Tew. It was a busy enough town with plenty of shops and nightspots. I took a room at the Tokyo Hotel for 40 baht a night. An old friend from home and his girlfriend moved in with relatives of his who owned the Lucky Bar. I had thought that we might get to play in this bar but entertainment was provided by their compact and reliable jukebox. However, his girlfriend’s uncle owned a bar and I got to play there. After maybe three weeks I returned to Bangkok. The uncle couldn’t afford to pay us much and I had had to leave the hotel as I couldn’t make the rent.

Back in Bangkok I was unemployed again and I accepted any little gig I could get, from weddings to birthday parties. I played briefly for a band called Johnny Guitar. We travelled to Nakhon Phanom to play at a movie-theatre near the Thai-Laos Border. I got tired of waiting for other people to throw me a bone and decided to form my own band, once again. There were five of us; Kay, who was a great guitarist, and the singers, husband and wife Klelk and Toi, Tui the drummer and myself on guitar. I suppose I hoped to recapture the good old days with Mitra but it wasn’t meant to be. For our first gig in Ratchaburi, west of Bangkok, we got paid absolutely nothing, having been ripped off by the unscrupulous bar owner. I decided to try our luck at Ta Khli, and had got us a booking at the Blue Sky bar. This turned out to be a bar only frequented by African Americans. We didn’t see one farang cross its threshold, which I found a bit strange.

I was also dealing with insecurities over my guitar playing—the band’s and mine. As I say Kay was really good and Tui was a really talented drummer. They were all old friends of mine from Bangkok and it was galling to be made aware, by them, of the gap between their skill and mine. I no longer felt comfortable with them on stage. Furthermore, relations in the group were becoming a little strained. Tew, who was my girlfriend at the time, was now travelling with me to all our venues and she just didn’t get on with Toi. They eventually had a full-blown argument one night in Ta Khli, which didn’t help matters at all. Then there was the matter of our shaky finances. Toi had arranged for us to be supplied with most of our equipment in advance of making any money, and we weren’t anyway near paying for it yet. And just when I felt that things really couldn’t get any worse, my father arrived at the bar to tell me that the friend who lent me his cymbal now wanted it back. That was it, I threw in the towel. I am only human after all.

It turned out to be a wise move because shortly after my return to Bangkok I was asked to join The Crickets, a popular Thai tribute band to The Beatles. We played at the best of venues, like the Lido nightclub in Bangkok. This was a big nightclub, run by a Chinese guy, Sia-uan, who rented it from a police officer. It hosted a variety of shows, from magic to strippers, to dancing. There were lots of girls, mostly Thai or Japanese. I had a great time working there. A huge party was organised for New Year’s Day and all the entertainers received gifts. I think I got a horse-shoe ash-tray and a wallet which I gave to my father. I even appeared with The Crickets on TV, when we performed ‘Simple Simon Says’ for the well-known
Seven Show
.

But of course, all good things come to an end. I was no longer a teenager, free of responsibility. The wild hey-day, if you could call it that, of the Vietnam War was coming to an end, and with it went my career as a musician. I needed to find a new path.

Chapter 3

My life had changed considerably by 1969. I had met Tew the previous year. She was 18 and I was 20. We lived near each other in Udorn. I shared a rented house on the Mhakkaeng Road while she lived next door, across from the pawn shop, with her cousins. I used to frequent a Kaogaeng stall on my way to work. This is a bit like fast food Thai-style—you choose two or three dishes and the owner spoons them on to a plate of rice.

I saw her there one day, sitting by herself and reading
Bangkok Magazine
, a popular rag magazine at the time. She was wearing a light summer blouse, khaki pants and her hair was held in place by a brightly coloured bandana. I watched her read for a while and thought about my approach. An idea popped into my head and I sidled up to her and asked could I borrow her magazine. Not very original I suppose, but it was the best I could come up with. However, when she smiled warmly at me in reply I knew I ‘was in’. We developed a true friendship, with lots of conversation and exchanging of books and opinions. Our courtship consisted of dinners, movies and shopping. She was a typical northeast girl who was very attached to her family. And I liked that about her. She was, and still is, sincere and unpretentious. I always felt comfortable around her, plus she had a nice jaw-line—I don’t know why, but I really dislike women with big jaw bones.

Tew was attractive without any of that sophistication and seductive beauty that can cause a lot of trouble for a man. I remember discreetly looking at her face and then studying my own in the mirror before reckoning that our children would probably be handsome enough. I didn’t have to worry about her flirting with my friends behind my back; she was a practical girl who had fortunately decided to settle for me. I also felt ready to settle down after my years of travelling around. Plus, and I know this will sound very unromantic and selfish, but I really wanted someone who would look after my father, who was now in his 70s. She returned to Bangkok with me and got on like a house on fire with him.

We were a bit ahead of our time in that we lived together first. My father warned me not to mess her around, as she would find it difficult to meet someone else after living with me. She ran away from her cousins in Udorn to join me. We had kept our relationship secret from her family for as long as we could but of course that wasn’t going to last forever. We only formally registered for marriage after the birth of our second son. Looking back now I just wish I had more money starting out. We probably rushed things unnecessarily. I don’t remember us ever sitting down properly to discuss our future, and we had no savings between us, or a house, but I suppose it all worked out fine in the end.

My music career ended after I was summoned to do my military service and ended up in the Air Force. Given the choice, I would have preferred to continue playing guitar, but there wasn’t really a choice. Two years was the legal requirement. I was glad that Tew was going to be at home minding my father. The aviation school, which was brand new, was in Nakhon Prathom, and again I did very well—I came first in the class. I lived on the base Monday to Friday and returned home to Bangkok every weekend. The dormitories were upstairs over the offices.

The training was very tough and I can’t say that I enjoyed military life. It was all about toughening us up. On the first day we were told to leave our ego and status outside on the street because everyone was just a soldier as far as school was concerned. The worst part for me was having to get up at 4.30 every morning, dress quickly, and then line up for inspection prior to running a few miles before breakfast. The training could mess with my head. At lunch we might all rush in hungrily to be fed but find that we had to line up in the canteen. We would be allowed in to sit down and our lunch would be dished out to us. Only we weren’t allowed to eat it. Instead we would be taunted and asked if we were hungry? Did the food smell delicious? To which we had to reply with a resounding, ‘No Sir!’

It was the same when we were out on one of those endless runs. Your lungs might be in a state of collapse or your leg could be broken in three places but woe betide anyone who answered in the affirmative when asked if they were tired. I couldn’t believe the amount of running involved. Most of us needed new combat boots before the first year was up. Once again music saved me; I spent most of my free time playing my guitar.

***

That year saw many changes in my life. There was a death and a birth in my family. Sadly, my father died on Sunday 6 July, aged 77. I had arrived home on the Friday evening. As usual he was delighted to see me and had a lovely dinner ready. He seemed perfectly fit; he still rode his bicycle and enjoyed smoking his pipe after a meal. I asked him to help me make paper hats for a football match at the aviation school and he was delighted to help. On Saturday evening he was confused and distressed, saying he couldn’t find 200 baht that he had stored somewhere in the house. I helped him look for it, or what was left of it after the termites had been feasting on the banknotes. I’m afraid that I got really annoyed and pointed out the mess and dirt of the house.

He didn’t say anything, just hung his head in shame. Later on he listened to his favourite radio programme and danced to the songs he knew. He had been doing this for years. Around 9pm he said he had a stomach ache, and Tew also complained of not feeling well, so I headed out to the chemist to get medicine. When I got back, my brother Oud had arrived in from work. After a while, everyone went to bed and I tidied up the house for an hour or so.

I awoke at 6am the following morning to a stricken Oud telling me that our father was dead. I wouldn’t believe him. Tew and I rushed into his bedroom. For the first time ever he appeared painfully thin and frail to me, and deathly still. Oud left us to run and fetch the doctor. I broke down as I looked upon the lifeless body—the first dead body I had ever seen—and Tew clung to me as I wept. After a while Oud re-appeared with the doctor who confirmed he had died after his gallbladder burst. Oud said he heard him go to the bathroom several times during the night. Though this wasn’t really out of the norm—for as long as I remember he always had to make several nocturnal visits to the bathroom.

When I think about it now it seems that news of his death spread almost immediately, and we were suddenly invaded by neighbours and friends. Oud was great, he just kept busy organising everything. He rang all our relatives, but they weren’t very helpful. They immediately started telling us what to do for the funeral—silly stuff like be sure to get a pretty coffin, book a band, or show a movie—but didn’t offer us any money towards it. I think I was still too much in shock to be of any help; all I could focus on was that I needed to ask the aviation school for some time off. I walked out of the house amid family trying to locate someone to embalm my father’s body, which was still warm to the touch.

I remember crying all the way to the school over the worry of how we were going to pay for the funeral. I had no savings and Oud had little more than me. I turned up at the Commander’s house and told him that I needed time off because my father had just died. He asked to see the death certificate, which of course I never thought to bring with me. Fortunately he could see that I was genuinely stricken with grief.

We kept his body at home, that old rundown house that he loved. He had always said he wanted to die at home, so I was going to keep him here as long as I could. Besides, he was scared of hospitals and refused to go near one after his first wife had died during a minor operation—I don’t think he ever got over that. For months after, I blamed myself for not making him go to hospital when he complained he wasn’t well. I know he would have argued that we couldn’t afford it but maybe if I had got him to the hospital they might have treated him, because it was an emergency, and let me pay afterwards, I would have got the money together eventually.

My father was certainly a popular and well-respected man. I was persuaded to move his body to the Wat, the Buddhist temple, because the house couldn’t hold the crowds that came to pay their respects. Oud and I hosted the funeral. We didn’t have much money and were grateful to the large number of people who gave us thousands of baht towards the expense. My father had already given me a list of phone numbers of his former students that I was to call if ever I was stuck. His faith in his students was justified. I rang Manoon Trirat to tell him the news. He turned up for the funeral with many other former students, that he had personally contacted, and was a huge help to us. They all gave us money and Manoon offered us books about the moon and space travel to be given out as a keepsake of the funeral. Usually people would give out books on Buddhism but Neil Armstrong was about to go to the moon and everyone I knew was really excited about it. Pat Boonratpan, the Governor of Ubolratchathani, flew in specially and took charge of the proceedings one night. You see, Thai funerals run for several days. Phra Manoowes, a senior member of the Privy Council, also came to pay his respects and my mother turned up and made Malai, a traditional Thai flower arrangement.

As one life departed, so another came into my world. My son, Prawes, was born at 5.17am on Thursday, 30 October. The new arrival helped to fill the void caused by my father’s death, though I couldn’t help wishing that he had lived to see his grandson. I only got to see him, myself, late on Friday evening when I returned from the Air Force. Tew was still very tired but very proud of this tiny little being. It took a lot of encouragement on her part to get me to hold him; I was terrified that I might break him. I’m sure most men think that when they are faced with their first child, plus I don’t think that I had ever held a newborn baby before. Anyway I was completely smitten; he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen—at least until his siblings arrived. I was a lot more confident with the other two children, once they came along.

***

I started to study Para medicine in the medical department of the Air Force and did well in the exams. I worked at Jantarubeksa Hospital in the Kampaengsaen district of Nakhon Prathom. There weren’t a lot of doctors or nurses there so I had to work hard. It was a little overwhelming if there was something big like a train crash. However, it was a good training experience from doing first aid to assisting with operations.

I learned a lot of things during my time there. For the first time I observed a clear division between men based on their background and military status. It struck me that education was an important tool—life in the army wasn’t so rewarding if you hadn’t got a decent education. I decided not to pursue a career in the Forces and was impatient for my two-year stint to end. I was offered the chance to further my medical studies but I just longed to return to the stage and the big money.

I graduated on 30 April 1971. Shortly after the ceremony I called up my old band mates and we headed out to the Playboy bar in Ubol. Unfortunately it was all different now. The Americans had gone and business was bad. The owner paid us for our first two nights but on our third he paid us less than what he promised, and on the fourth and fifth night he had no money to give us at all. A lot of the bars and restaurants were closed due to lack of business. We tried our luck in Korat but the bar owner there couldn’t afford to pay us, and neither could the owner in Ta Khli. I decided to cut my losses and return home to Bangkok.

My older brother was working in a bar in Patpong and I would often drop in on him. I was worried about making a living and supporting my young family. A friend of ours, Na, opened a bar in her house at Lang Suan behind Erawan Hotel. One night my brother introduced me to her boyfriend George, an American, who introduced me to his buddy Bob Clarson. Bob was head of the oil survey team that worked for Thailand and Singapore. I couldn’t believe my luck when he told me that he might have a job for me.

I ended up on an island off Pattanee, a province in the south of Thailand, working for a bad-tempered American. Up to now my experiences with farangs had all been positive but this was about to change. I was employed as an interpreter for the natural gas survey team, which meant giving Tew as much money as I could spare before stocking up on three months worth of canned food. My boss and I had to set up a radio station in order to communicate with the ships out drilling for gas and also with the headquarters in Singapore. There was lots of equipment that I had never used before so naturally I was a bit hesitant. He would just shout at me, impatient at my ignorance instead of showing me what he wanted me to do. Most of the farangs there yelled at their Asian counterparts and treated them as if they were stupid. There was a pattern to their behaviour; they would insult you first and then they would pat you on the head or the back and all would be fine again, until the next time.

I couldn’t believe the amount of money that was spent on ridiculous things. Once a guy was flown in from Singapore just to fix a transistor radio. They spent 200 baht in sending me back to Pattanee to buy an unnecessary, in my opinion, spare part. I was quite suspicious about their expenses and their desire to spend as much money as possible but I was in no position to question it.

Soon I was very fed up—it was boring and I missed my family in Bangkok. It was hard to sleep at night thanks to the mosquitoes and I was forced to take long walks when my boss wanted to be alone with his Thai girlfriend. Every day was the same—make coffee for the boss, eat, swim in the sea and inevitably be yelled at for something or other. I had no choice but to stick it out, I needed the money. Finally in June I was told that the mission was completed and that we could start packing up. I was delighted to be going home. I met up with Bob back in Bangkok. He bought me a beer in Na’s bar at Langsuan House, where I was living, and paid me 1400 baht.

I found myself unemployed once again.

Then, on 21 July 1971, a couple of weeks later, my older cousin Too rang me up to tell me that the Department of Corrections in the Ministry of Interior was looking for prison guards. He suggested that I meet him the following day and he would help me fill out the application form. And I thought to myself, why not ..?