Chapter IV
Service: Army Training, Vietnam & Coming Home
Mike Allen's military career, from boot camp and jump school through his tour as a CH-47 Chinook pilot in Vietnam and the return to civilian life.
Long before Mike Allen was threading a helicopter through Alaskan mountain passes or training a telescope on the Pleiades, he was a young soldier learning the hard fundamentals of military life. His path through the U.S. Army — from the regimented world of boot camp and jump school to the skies over Vietnam — would shape the pilot, the adventurer, and the man he would become.
The early days of training meant drill, discipline, and camaraderie forged under pressure. Group photographs like this one capture the cohort spirit of soldiers newly immersed in military life — men dressed alike, standing together in the dirt, still becoming soldiers. The bare trees, utility poles, and paved base pathway in the background speak to a world of institutional order far removed from the civilian routines left behind.
Life in the barracks had its own rhythms: the precisely hung uniforms, the steel helmet balanced on top of the locker, the institutional walls — and, above the door, a small rectangular sign reading 'NO SMOKING IN BED.' Even in these surroundings, the young soldier smiles. There is confidence in his bearing, the look of someone settling into a new identity.
Among the milestones of Mike Allen's military training was jump school — an airborne program that demanded nerve and physical resolve in equal measure. The photograph above appears to show a soldier fully kitted in parachute harness, seated and ready before a jump, the reserve parachute pack resting in his lap and the helmet chinstrap fastened tight. The number '802' is taped to the front of his steel pot — a practical identifier in the controlled chaos of a staging area. Whether this image depicts Mike himself cannot be confirmed with certainty, but it belongs to this period of his military formation.
Flight training introduced Mike to the machine that would define his military career and, later, his civilian one: the helicopter. The small, bubble-canopied Bell H-13 Sioux — a staple of Army aviation training — sits on a flat tarmac, rotor blades already blurring with motion. Inside, a figure in a flight helmet and flight suit occupies the cockpit. Learning to control such a craft demanded an entirely different kind of awareness than fixed-wing flight: a constant, instinctive reading of lift, torque, and attitude. For Mike, who would eventually graduate to the massive twin-rotor CH-47 Chinook, these early hours in light helicopters were the essential foundation.
These snapshots appear to document a visitation day at a military installation — likely during one of Mike's stateside training assignments. A 'TNG BDE' (Training Brigade) sign is clearly legible in one photograph, and across the group of images, uniformed and civilian figures stand together on sunny lawns, squinting against a bright midday sky. The scenes carry the particular warmth of these occasions: families dressed in their best, soldiers briefly returned to something resembling ordinary life before the next phase of training resumed.
As training gave way to assignment, dress-uniform photographs became a kind of record — proof of arrival at each new milestone. One photograph, its border stamped 'JAN · 67,' anchors this sequence firmly in time. The olive-drab jackets, gold buttons, and garrison caps are pressed and polished; the men in these images stand before barracks, chapels, and base lawns with the particular composure of soldiers who have earned their place. The white chapel with its pointed steeple, visible in one frame, is a reminder that military installations also aspired to the architectural symbols of peacetime American life, even as the wider world moved toward war.
The pinning ceremony — an officer or fellow soldier attaching a new rank or qualification badge — is one of the military's most personal rituals. In this photograph, the gesture is precise and deliberate, one man's hands working at the other's chest, the recipient smiling. It is a moment of acknowledgment: of training completed, of a threshold crossed. For Mike Allen, moving through the ranks of Army aviation, such moments marked the steady accumulation of expertise that would eventually carry him to Vietnam as a CH-47 Chinook pilot.
Not every image from a war is grim. These photographs show men in fatigues who are — at least in this moment — grinning. Three soldiers drape long belts of linked machine-gun ammunition around their shoulders with theatrical ease, hamming it up for the camera beneath a canopy of green trees. Another soldier grips his steel helmet at his side, name tape on his chest, squinting in the pale light. The archive does not specify where these photographs were taken, but the uniform style, equipment, and color palette are consistent with Vietnam War-era U.S. Army service in the late 1960s to early 1970s.
In the field, rest was seized wherever it could be found — on the ground, in the shadow of a vehicle, helmets still on, rifles within reach. This photograph, black and white in the soft tonal quality of a mid-century print, shows soldiers heaped together in a loose pile of exhaustion, the dirt or gravel of the ground beneath them, large vehicle tires looming at the edges of the frame. One uniformed figure stands at the right edge, still alert. The scene, with its M16-pattern rifles and Vietnam-era helmets, appears to place these men far from home.
According to the family archive, Mike Allen served as a CH-47 Chinook pilot during his Vietnam tour — flying the massive, twin-rotor heavy-lift helicopter that became one of the workhorses of that war, moving troops, supplies, and artillery across terrain that roads could not reach. The Chinook demanded steady hands and cool judgment. It was demanding, dangerous, essential work. The documents identify Mike as having been a 'former U.S. Army CH-47 Chinook pilot in Vietnam,' and the photographs from this period show a young man who, whatever the weight of his surroundings, had not lost his capacity to smile.
Coming home from Vietnam meant stepping back into a civilian world that had continued turning in one's absence. This photograph, warm-toned and quietly domestic, shows two men in a bedroom — clothes hanging in an open closet, a lamp with a white shade, paperbacks on a low table. Whatever the specific occasion, the scene carries the particular texture of return: the ordinary rooms, the familiar faces, the slow re-learning of a life outside the uniform. For Mike Allen, that transition would not mean a retreat from aviation or adventure — it would simply send him, in time, toward Alaska.
The years of Army service — boot camp formations, airborne staging areas, dress uniform ceremonies, the skies over Vietnam — formed a crucible from which Mike Allen emerged as both a seasoned aviator and a man of restless capability. The same qualities that made him a reliable Chinook pilot in a war zone would, in the years ahead, make him indispensable to geology crews threading through the Alaskan wilderness: calm under pressure, resourceful in the field, and always — always — looking for the right place to set down.
Chapter IV · All Photos · 20 images