ABSTRACT
harold hill, warrant officer helicopter pilot, was back from Vietnam with ribbons, medals, wounds, and heavy tales of jungle descents and whirring, roaring rescues: flash of fire from the Cong, gasping and grateful GIs, Marines hooked miraculously aloft to safety. He told his friends in a modest monotone, not boasting at all, depressed and astonished by this new manifestation of Harold Hill as a hero.
