I call this series "Just Vignettes" because that's what they are, just short snapshots of things that have happened to me or have been told to me. I can vouch the stories you read here are mostly true.

It was cold in Pusan. Surprisingly cold. At least to me, the chill was bone-chilling. This was my first time experiencing a Korean winter. 

Our ship arrived in Pusan for a visit, and officers and crew were granted liberty soon after. Walking away from the pier, my friends and I quickly hailed a cab in the industrial part of the city. Shivering as I entered the cab, I asked the driver if they had much snow in Pusan. After a brief pause, he responded with helpful alacrity, "No, not much snow, but we've got good crystal." His response momentarily confused me, but it signaled an auspicious start for three buckaroos about to hit the town.

Martial law was in effect. There was a shoot-on-sight midnight curfew. All activity outdoors ceased at midnight. I shall not confess what we did that day, but it involved neither snow nor crystal and is a tale I may tell someday. But this is not a story about what we buckaroos did that day. This is a brief story about the helicopter pilots assigned to our ship.

Pusan offered a fascinating, mostly unfamiliar mix of wares displayed in the storefronts. Our ship's four helicopter pilots spent the day shopping. The senior pilot was particularly enthralled by the beret-like hats that the hardware and appliance stores predominately displayed, piled in stacks, in their show windows. Little thought was directed toward the obvious question of why hardware stores were selling hats.

These hats came in a wide assortment of colors and patterns. The brims were elastic, so they were effectively one-size-fits-all. Finally, the pilot spotted one which he felt he had to have. The hat was emerald green and black plaid, like a Scottish tam o' shanter, complete with a little pom-pom in the center. He bought it, immediately donned it, and began promenading down the busy Pusan sidewalks.

The pilot related later how the denizens seemed more friendly towards him after he wore the tam o'shanter. Men smiled at him. Teen girls covered their mouths with their hands and turned their heads, giggling. Some older people stared. Others averted their gaze.

Sometime later, the pilots passed another storefront displaying the same type of hat. This time the hats were displayed stretched over the wire cages of electric fans. What he thought was a stylish hat was a dust cover to keep the fan blades clean while fans sat unused. He was wearing a fan cover atop his head, and all the locals recognized it as such.

Our would-be Scotsman had to endure some mocking from his companions, but he did not snatch the tam o'shanter off his head and furtively stuffed it in his coat pocket. Instead, he owned his fashion choice and wore it until he returned to the ship that night. I can imagine him offering, with a flourish and a tip of the hat, the gawkers who stopped to goggle, a heart-felt "top o' the morning!"