Phrank, my friend,
I have told this story many times.
Yes, the Bic was my Vietnam razor, and it came in the standard sundry box along with toilet paper, canned shave cream and other personal supplies. In the jungle, the steel helmet was my sink, the Bic my razor and the canned shave cream goo, well . . .
(I have the Bic with a bow tied around it mounted on the shave den wall as a reminder of my past sins.)
I didn't wear aftershaves or colognes, because foreign fragrances, anything not part of the jungle, caries a distance, and I didn't need to invite an AK 47 to my party. I promised myself that if I ever got out of that armpit alive and back to The World, I would never touch such razors again. And I have not, although by then cartridge razors were more readily available than the great razors of bygone years.
Later, after 30 years behind the radio microphone, I once again found the safety razor of my youth, and later the straight razor.
I had wanted to shave with the straight razor since my early twenties. Not because it was the cool thing to do; rather, I found something mystical, and romantic, about it, and still do. But then life got in the way and I had to wait for decades before fully embracing the straight razor. Although I still enjoy the safety razor, the straight razor shaving ritual gives me immeasurable joy.
Sometimes I even add an extra pass to my three-pass routine just to make the shave last a little longer.
Phrank, I don't want to hijack this thread; I will do something on my small lineup of synthetic brushes in the brush section. Stay tuned.