My memories of Vietnam begin in childhood. Rice paddies, in black and white. Strange skinny faces, unlike any I’d ever seen in my little hometown. Those funny round pointed hats. And, of course, helicopters, fascinating and frightening beasts, the blast from their rotors flattening the tropical grass as they came in for a landing, and then the soldiers, one hand on their helmets, the other carrying their M16s, jumping, running, disappearing into the jungle. It was quite a show, almost every night.