Living on the edge doesn’t make life more precious for Marine Corps veteran

He wanted to live life on the edge.

If he wasn’t staring death in the face, he didn’t think he could really feel alive.

In 1967, he was a gung-ho Marine Corps 1st lieutenant ready and willing to do his part to wipe out the enemy during the Vietnam War, a navigator/bombardier trained to rain down the fury of an unleashed F4 Phantom jet fighter.

On Wednesday, 72-year-old Guy Lashlee, barefoot and wearing a beard, jeans and T-shirt in his Henderson home, looked more like he did when he drove around the country in a VW bus trying to get his head together after the war.

On this Veterans Day, Lashlee says he will do what he’s done for years on Nov. 11: He’ll go to a parade, have dinner with his wife and other vets and their families and remember those not there, and recall that year in his life when he sat in the back seat of a two-seat fighter jet and roared across the sky on 200 missions.

Now an associate minister for a Baptist church in Hawaii — he lives half the year there and the other half in Henderson, where a daughter and her family live — he’ll also pray for those in the military and for those hurting from wounds suffered in conflicts across the globe.

And he’ll wonder why on Dec. 22, 1967, after his plane was hit, he’s here to talk about it but his pilot, Capt. Gary Henry Fors, isn’t.

In retrospect, Lashlee says that day started ominously at the airbase in Da Nang, Vietnam.

Lashlee said Fors didn’t like the fact that the plane they were to fly — their mission was to help stop North Vietnamese from bringing arms into south Vietnam through the nearby country of Laos — had the aircraft number 13.

“He was superstitious and angry we got 13. He asked the guy on the flight line, ‘What are you trying to do, kill me?’”

Soon after they were airborne, they realized they couldn’t make radio contact with other pilots or ground control.

With the Phantom carrying twelve 500-pound bombs for three bombing runs, Fors told Lashlee on their first pass that they were taking fire. On the third low pass, the aircraft was hit and started to roll. The last thing Lashlee heard from Fors was a string of profanity.

“I knew we weren’t going to pull out of it. I immediately tried to eject. … My canopy flew off but I didn’t eject.”

The Phantom was spinning. Lashlee knew if he didn’t eject with the plane right side up, he’d be dead, ejected into the ground.

He tried ejecting again. Miraculously, the plane was in the right position. The parachute deployed. As he dropped quickly to the ground, he saw his aircraft spin twice before bursting into flames.

Soon after landing, he heard excited jabbering nearby. He hustled away from the North Vietnamese.

Within minutes, he saw American aircraft looking for survivors.

“That was my realization people really cared,” said Lashlee, choking back tears.

He pulled a radio out of his survival vest and found himself talking to the Air Force pilot in charge of the rescue.

Enemy anti-aircraft fire was so heavy Lashlee could barely hear the officer asking him for coordinates to a nearby anti-aircraft battery. On his directions, a Phantom knocked out one battery, but there was still so much heavy enemy fire that a chopper coming to rescue Lashlee took heavy fire.

Still, the pilot touched down so Lashlee could jump aboard.

“It was a miracle we lived through that,” he said.

While another pilot said he saw Fors parachute to the ground, Lashlee never did. Fors was listed as missing in action — he was promoted to Lt. Colonel — and is presumed dead.

“Why didn’t I die?” said Lashlee, who left active duty as a captain.

Coming to believe only a higher power can know such things, Lashlee devoted his life to God.

He firmly believes a strong military “is needed for us to keep our freedom.” But he doesn’t believe that anyone, including members of the military, need to live on the edge, to stare death in the face in order to feel really alive, to enjoy life.

“The longer I’ve lived I’ve found God has made all of life an exciting adventure. Every minute of it. You don’t have to stare death in the face to enjoy your wife, children, animals, flowers, whatever. Life is precious. We’re not guaranteed any day on this earth. Don’t waste or squander it. Every morning be thankful for another day.”

Paul Harasim’s column runs Sunday, Tuesday and Friday in the Nevada section and Monday in the Health section. Contact him at pharasim@reviewjournal.com or 702-387-5273. Follow @paulharasim on Twitter.