Our experience:

GOING BACK…………….GOING FORWARD

My husband, Bob, is a Vietnam veteran. He is not unique in his feelings about the Vietnam war; however the need to rationalize that war experience is emotionally stronger for some than others. Bob wanted to find the elusive piece of himself he left behind. That led us to the decision to go back to Vietnam in March of 2007–,back to find who and what he left after his year long tour in Hoi An, Vietnam. That decision was the catalyst for what became the adventure of a lifetime.

I met my husband in 1971, several years after his tour in Vietnam. We were married in 1973 and have four children, now adults, from our marriage of 32 years. I knew some of the details of his duty. We had often talked about him trying to find the civilians with whom he had worked. My husband and I started exploring possibly going back after the kids were grown, but excuses like the long plane ride, the weather and the language stopped us quite a few times. I had a strange sense that this was the year Bob was supposed to return.

Bob, enlisted in the US NAVY in 1966 and volunteered to go to Vietnam in 1968. He was a medical Corpsman. A corpsman in the Navy is a combination doctor, nurse, and combat sailor. He was sent to Hoi An, Vietnam to serve with a military medical “Milphap” team. Hoi An is approximately 25 miles south of China Beach, in Da Nang. The Milphap teams function was to join forces with the South Vietnamese civilian hospital in Hoi An and help the hospital personnel learn modern day medical techniques and social values. They taught the Vietnamese sanitation and infection prevention and control as well as other medical procedures. As a result, more Vietnamese civilians injured in the war survived without fear of serious complications from their wounds. Bob worked hand in hand with the nurses and doctors on the male surgical ward. His team also helped improve the hospital surroundings by painting and cleaning the hospital wards in their off duty hours. He had to learn the Vietnamese language in order to communicate with the nurses and doctors. He became very friendly with some of the medical nurses and doctors and as a result, often was invited to their homes. His team was sent back to the US in 1969 after completing their one year tour of duty. Before leaving, he took pictures of three nurses with whom he was friendly and vowed to return one day after the war to find them. The picture showed the head nurse and two floor nurses; all who were the equivalent of RN’s (Registered Nurses) in the United States.

During his tour, Bob befriended a wounded orphan boy by the name of “Ky (Pronounced Kee)”. Ky was brought in to the hospital one morning wounded after both his parents were killed in an attack. Ky was about 3 yrs old and after his wounds healed, he was sent to the Catholic Orphanage approximately two blocks from Bob’s base camp. Bob supported Ky at the Orphanage for $10.00 a month. He visited Ky often and they became very close. Bob would bring Ky clothes and food and just hang out with him. Leaving Ky at the orphanage was heart wrenching and to this day causes him mental turmoil. He has never forgotten Ky and has often speculated what may have happened to him after he left Hoi An. He had pictures of Ky and on many occasions has shown these photos to our children.

The time to go had come, so, I enlisted the help of a Travel Agent in our old hometown of Audubon, New Jersey to book the hotel. I was a little apprehensive about the area and our accommodations, but the agent assured me not to worry. Today Vietnam is very civilized compared to the war torn country of 38 years ago. I learned from the agent that most toilets are clean and restaurants are safe. What a relief ! We were originally booked only to go to Hoi An where Bob was stationed, but due to conflicting air schedules we had to stay one day and night in Ho Chi Min City(Saigon) before we returned to the United States. This unplanned excursion to Saigon is important for later in the story.

March came, with three suitcases in hand we were off to our destination. Never could I have imagined going to a third world countr like Vietnam, yet here I was flying more than twenty hours so my husband might find some peace that had eluded him since the war. We left on a Friday night and finally arrived at a lovely resort on the Thu Bon river on Sunday night two days later. The heat was instant; thick stagnant air intermingled with tropical flowers and foliage. Hoi An is a very small, quaint, old town just south of Da Nang. It was not what I expected; I guess I had a distorted image because all I knew was what Bob had described to me. Tan Son Naut airport was a scene out of a 1975. There were hundreds of people outside the main gate shouting and waving trying to find their relatives getting off the planes. If you have a transportation waiting for you, you must wade through the throngs of relatives and find your agent with the sign with your name on it. After navigating the chaos, we found our agent and twenty minutes later we were in Hoi An.

It was around 8 o’ clock in the evening when we finally arrived at the resort. The hotel-resort boasts magnificent views of the rice paddies across the river. It is hard to believe there was ever a war here in the midst of the tropical ambience. Yet, here and there on the way in from town, we did see shreds war; a jeep here, a uniform there. Hoi An still retains much of its charm, however, it is still reminiscent of days gone by in its frankness. In the midst of decaying homes and stores is a bustling business center geared towards the tourist trade. English is spoken, though at times difficult to comprehend, and the American dollar rules. Most resorts are on the outskirts of town as was ours. Air conditioning is sporadic since the Vietnamese infrastructure is still struggling with electrical and plumbing issues in a fast growing tourist economy. Construction is everywhere and foreigners can now own land, to the delight of developers. Everywhere you go in Vietnam, north or south, city or country, driving or walking, required the negotiation of a mixed flow of bicycles, motorcycles, cars, carts and buses. Cyclists are not expected to confine themselves to any one lane continuously weave back and forth between lanes. The motor vehicles, some of which have all the acceleration of a grocery cart, are not about to lose precious momentum by slowing down unnecessarily and they all keep going, stopping and merging with unremitting horns blaring. I felt like we were in a travel documentary, but realized, that as long as our taxi didn't do anything the rest of them couldn't possibly anticipate, like come to a stop, they would simply weave us into their traffic pattern.

Monday morning, after a decent nights sleep in a lovely room, I decided to relax on our balcony with my usual cup of coffee and watch the water buffalo across the river. Apparently, it was time for his morning bath. Reality check, yes, I grasp, I’m really sitting here in Vietnam, watching the rice paddies wave in the breeze with a water buffalo prancing around in the river. Bob went outside to check out the resort layout and get his morning java. Approximately 10 minutes later and still trying to chill out, Bob appears at the door of our room with one of the gardeners. “This is Hung’,” he says, “ I started talking to him and he may know the nurses”. “Excuse me?” I say. Hung’ is now bowing and trying to talk English. “I see picture, I can tell” he says. In disbelief, I watch as Bob shows Hung’ the pictures from 1968 of the nurses at the hospital. Hung” says , “I was born in 1968.” “I live near Hospital and Orphanage” he utters. Hung’ is now talking very fast and neither of us can understand him. He is pointing excitedly to the pictures and we are realizing he may know some of them? Maybe? Bob and Hung’ make an effort to communicate, more or less , unsuccessfully. We finally grasp that Hung’ will get back to us by evening with some information on the nurses. What was the probability of Bob meeting a stranger who barely speaks English, born the year Bob was in Vietnam, who works at the resort where we are staying, that may know the nurses Bob worked with in 1968? Erie, to say the least. Hung then left the room and went back to work and we set off to breakfast. Breakfast was served on an open air terrace with magnificent views across the river. The breakfast buffet was extensive and the music playing was a continuous stream of songs from the 60’s.

Into Hoi An we go to see if anything has changed from what Bob remembers. What a shopper’s paradise! Hoi An town is a thriving, bustling tailors village that make clothes, purses, and shoes and scarves to each person’s exact specifications from exotic silks and leather. They show you hundreds of different types of materials from which you can choose your garment. Then they measure you and you come back to get the clothes within a few hours. The clothing is extremely affordable; one dollar is equal to 16,000 VD (dong). We went crazy trying to calculate things but all the merchants have calculators. I had heard the Vietnamese negotiate prices on everything, but they have taken haggling to an art form! No way, can anyone get away from the “market “ without buying something. I love to haggle so I felt right at home, but it was still a unique experience. We had lunch in town at a small restaurant on the river called “Brothers Café”. A lovely breeze was blowing and we enjoyed a short conversation with a couple from Washington State. The French had occupied Vietnam for many years before the war and I noticed the French influence in the restaurants. In the middle of run down buildings with no or little exterior décor or paint, every restaurant was charming. Every café we visited, always had a white linen tablecloth with linen napkins and fine china. The waiters put the napkins on your lap as in a fine French restaurant. The glasses are refilled immediately and the plates are removed instantly after you are finished. The other peculiarity was that every dish served had charming vegetables formed into floral shapes; a disparity to the surroundings. Exhausted after our first busy day, we headed back to the hotel by taxi—only $1.50 and back up to our room. During our shopping expedition, we had passed the old hospital. There is now a new building with the crumbling ruins of the old hospital behind it. Passing the old hospital brought back harsh mental flashbacks for Bob; he could not go near it.

It was now around 4pm and the phone rang. It’s was the front desk calling. “Please meet Hung’ out front” the clerk says. We set out to meet him and he motioned for us to get on the back of his motorized scooter and his friends scooter. Okay, should we trust this unknown gardener or not? It just seemed okay, a gut feeling. Off we go on the back of a very small motorbike, with two strangers. Where we are going, I have no idea. This has been one bizarre day already and getting more wacky all the time. We arrived at a stucco house which belonged to Hung’ and his sister and her husband. He took us inside to meet his sister Ly(Lee) who speaks (thank goodness), better English. He parked his bike inside the home on the marble floor across from the sofa we are now sitting on. We are immediately served tea. When you are a guest in any Asian home, you are always served tea first—a very watered down version of green tea. Several hand gestures and language attempts later, it is determined that Hung’ knows someone from the hospital. Hung’ calls him on his cell phone. In Vietnam, almost everyone owns a cell phone, a TV and a motorbike. There is also no carpet, only marble, tile or wood flooring in the majority of homes. They own very little else—no refrigeration or house phones or washing machines, no modern conveniences as we are accustomed to having everyday in our homes. Houses are stucco or wood and most are not painted and have little décor if any.

Roughly 15 minutes later a motorbike pulls up with an older man, I’d say in his late 50’s. Bob immediately recognizes him. Through tears and several chaotic dialogues later, I identify this man was the anesthesiologist with whom my husband worked 38 years ago in the hospital. I was astounded and stunned that we had actually found this person from that long ago in a country that had gone through a complete political regime change. I was astonished that someone who had worked with the US military had actually survived. Not only survived but here he was in front of us. Wait, it gets better. Cell phones start ringing and up comes another bike with a different man and women on the back of the bike. In walks one of the floor nurses and her husband! By now, Bobs mind is in a maze; of current times and past. His emotions were on a roller coaster that won’t stop. He is having a difficult time speaking what little Vietnamese he can remember, but with Hung’s sister, Ly, communication is achieved, to a degree. The nurse is crying, everyone is crying and laughing. The nurse and her husband in their late 60”s are retired now after surviving a traumatic life. They had been sent to the re-education camps like most Vietnamese after the war. The anesthesiologist never married and also survived the re-education camp. The nurse and her husband have four grown children. Bob shows them the pictures from 1968 with the three nurses. “I remember”, she says. “You smoke pipe”. They laugh, “Yes, I did” Bob says, “I still do”. . Bob takes pictures to show everyone back in our town how his story unfolded and we vow to send them copies after they are developed.

Bob tries to establish if they know where the other nurses are located. More chaotic discussions; hands going back and forth between the anesthesiologist and Hung’. Hung’ tells us “I call, I try to find by tomorrow”, he smiles. He promises to see them again before we leave Hoi An. What a day ! We are both worn out and back we go, on the motorbikes to the hotel. Addresses have been exchanged for future letters. I fall into bed and sleep; however, Bob is way too excited and wakes up at least every two hours.

One piece of the puzzle has been solved but the emotional distress sustained in a war never really goes away. Call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or anything else, the pain is always just under the surface. Going back for Bob may help settle some issues and raised other questions. I got up the next morning to find him sitting on the balcony in tears. Holding his hand was all I could do, because I have never felt the terror that comes with working a year in a war zone and trying to make sense of it after it is over. One minute he may have been helping piece together a wounded soldier and the next shooting at someone coming through the concertina wire with a grenade in their hand; and in his war, that grenade may have been attached to the hand of a child.

We got up and ready the next morning to go to the orphanage. Ky is still a missing piece of the puzzle. The orphanage still looks the same and Bob has to stop before entering to collect his thoughts. It is still the exact same building but now run by the Communist Government. The Catholic Church is still next-door and well preserved. The orphanage is very run down. There is almost no paint on the walls and almost all the rooms are open with no doors. I assume this is to let air pass through from the stifling heat. Some children are in classes and others are disabled. The disabled cerebral palsy children are in assorted phases of peculiar physical therapy. Volunteers do most of the therapy. They are from various charitable organizations that send doctors and physical therapists at sporadic times of the year to help the children. There is no formal program for disabled children-it seems as if they are tolerated. The government gives the Orphanage supervisor $10 monthly for each child, which barely feeds the children. There were 53 children at the time of our visit. There is no money for repairs to the crumbling building. We have brought with us several hundred toothbrushes, which are desperately needed. We have also brought some toys and coloring books and crayons. Bob tries to communicate to the supervisor about Ky, but it does not appear there are any records from the war. We are escorted through several rooms and allowed to give the children the toothbrushes and spend a short amount of time with them. We are allowed to take pictures of the children but cannot video the facility. We leave after 45 minutes. We came away with a very peculiar assessment of the orphanage. Bob and I stood across the street and stared–a feeling of satisfaction eluded us. These children almost seemed like throw-a-ways.

We then walked around town a bit, stopped and bought some bottled water and watched a charming pet monkey play with some paper. Weary and hot, we agreed to take the cyclos peddling us around town. The “deal” included stopping at some of the historic houses and temples. Cylcos are bicycles with a small one-person covered seat that is peddled by a person in the back, something like the pedi-cabs on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City. They would stop at the historic temples or homes and we would go in, see the site, and then come out and they would “peddle” us to the next building. Easy on the feet! The historic area has a strong communist presence and we saw guards every 4 feet or so sitting and watching everyone. The Communists are wary about anyone who may try and take away historic objects from the temples. We had lunch and then took a taxi back to the hotel. After a brief dip in the pool, we went back to the room and the phone rang again. It’s was the front desk “Please meet Hung’ at 7pm next to Brothers Café”, she says. We knew the location since lunch yesterday was at the café. Off we go again, this time in a taxi, to meet him. Next to the café, apparently oblivious to us earlier, was a historic home from the “Trung” dynasty that many charter tours visit. We are introduced to a Professor of math from the University in town. He is the brother of the head nurse in my husbands picture ! We are served tea and are motioned to sit on two very hard but exquisitely carved low wood chairs. The professor speaks English very well but in sporadic clips, which becomes somewhat insensitive. “She die”, he says. “She go on boat to Cambodia with our parents and die in typhoon April 1975 when Communists take over our country, he says.” Bob is shocked and very saddened at this latest news. As tears, begin to fall. This nurse was the head nurse with whom he had become the most friendly. The nurse had apparently tried to escape with her parents as the Communists entered Saigon—all three perished in a typhoon sometime after Saigon fell to the Communists in 1975. No bodies to bury, no grave to visit, just gone, lost at sea. Lost, like many other “Boat People” that tried to escape the horrors that awaited them after the war ended. The “boat people” were thousands of Vietnamese civilians; many that had government jobs or worked with the US, which tried to escape as Saigon fell. Those who made it to Cambodia lived for years in sub-standard tent villages until sponsors brought them to the United States. Countless Vietnamese perished in the rough seas, fell victim to pirates as they tried to escape or starved from lack of food; but the alternative of staying under the Communist rule was a worse alternative. As tears, begin to fall, the Professor tells us more details and the faster he talks. The Professor wanted Bob to place incense at her alter which is in the home and he did. The Professor provided new insights into her story. She had married in 1970 and had a daughter in 1972. According to the Professor, her husband stayed with the child when Saigon fell. Her husband was sent to the re-education camp and the Professor raised his niece until her father was released from war camp. Her daughter is now a teacher at the High School in town. The Professor brought out incense and directed Bob to place the incense at her alter which was on the second floor of his home. Bob has now located two of the three nurses in his picture. The Professor discloses to Hung’ where the third nurse is located. She is in Saigon living with her daughter. Hung’ tells us he will try to find a phone number and call her. Remember, I said we were not originally supposed to go to Saigon. Our itinerary changed right before we were due to leave for our trip and we were then scheduled to stay one day and night in Saigon before we leave Vietnam to come home?

Bob promises to bring back a copy of his picture of himself and the nurses for the Professor; he apparently has no photos of his sister since the war. The Professor also keeps a journal of everyone who visits his historic home and insists Bob write a modest entry about how and when Bob knew his sister. He requested I also write something about our trip and why we came back. We returned with the pictures the next day and exchanged addresses for future correspondence.

Back to the hotel and no sleep again for either of us that night. This crazy trip is affecting my sleep pattern now. Next day we get a phone call. It’s from the brother of the third nurse in Saigon. She lives outside of Saigon and is retired and living with her daughter. Bob agreed to call him when we get to Saigon the next day so he can bring her to our hotel or to meet somewhere. By now, the avalanche of emotions is both exhilarating and exhausting –and also we have a trip scheduled to DaNang to see China Beach and Marble Mountain today with a tour guide. We also had Hung’ set up a farewell dinner with the first group in town tomorrow, our last night, at a restaurant on the river.

Today is DaNang and this town is a thriving, bustling slightly larger city than Hoi An. It was where a lot of combat took place during the Tet offensive in 1968-69. From a group of mountains called Marble Mountains, the Viet Cong would hide and fire down onto the main military air base. We saw the Mountains, which are actually made from marble, and walked on the now famous China Beach and dipped our toes in the water—very warm but the beach sand was abrasive. We had a panoramic view of the beach from the top of the mountains but I wouldn’t recommend the climb up 200 steps for anyone with a heart ailment! We noticed the basket boats on the beach and saw a group of fishermen bring in a catch of several hundred small silver fish. Basket boats are small one person round wood and bamboo vessels that have half of the boat on top for sitting with a storage area under the seat for the fish. We then returned to Hoi An worn out after hiking up and down the mountain. Bob was okay, but I was definitely not in shape for that climb! We had a nice calm lunch and relaxed for the rest of the afternoon at the hotel pool.

On the final day we just did a little more souvenir shopping until dinner. Hung’ had suggested we meet at a newly launched Vietnamese restaurant on the river in town. It was an open-air café and the menu was mostly fresh seafood. Bob and I both love seafood. We all gathered and sat at a table already prepared for our group. Bob tells Hung’ “ you order what you enjoy, we will eat that also”.
Brave wasn’t he? Hung’ orders prawns cooked in beer and spring rolls and several other seafood items.
“You like? He says”. They bring out a flaming dish which has the prawns in a brandy type of sauce. Prawns are very large bulky shrimp. They are wonderful. “We love it, Bob says”. The music playing softly in the background is 1960’s Simon and Garfunkel’s -Sounds of Silence—more De Ja Vue? I know this is starting to sound like a fictional story but this was the way it happened. Meanwhile the nurse keeps putting more food on my plate. She also hands me a card she brought that says “Best Friends”. She hands Bob a note she wrote in Vietnamese. Her message is clear without any language interpretation needed; we are friends for life. Unfortunately, Hung’s sister, Ly, who was supposed to help interpret, never makes it to our meal until the very end. We all still managed to have a great time. They asked what time we were leaving in the morning and Bob advised the van would pick us up at 6am so we would be unable to see them all again. We bid them farewell and promise to write soon. Many hugs and tears and pictures later, we were back in our room packing for Saigon the next day.
6 am Saturday—we are getting in the taxi and are amazed to suddenly see the anesthesiologist and the husband of the nurse standing at the gate. They had gotten up very early to see us off and came all the way in from town to our resort to see us leave. BIG HUGS and tears and off we went to Saigon.

Saigon; what a city—it may as well have been New York City. Saigon has lots of noise, traffic and skyscrapers. We get through the airport scene again and are whisked off to our hotel on the Saigon River. It was a lovely Marriott resort with a roof top pool and five star restaurants.
We called and left a message for the brother of the other floor nurse advising him we were at the hotel. We then made a short hiatus to the local flea market in the center of town; another mish mash of assorted merchandise with LOTS of haggling. We came back to our hotel and up to the rooftop pool to have cocktails. Around 4pm we back to our room and rested awaiting the next phone call. It was getting late so we had dinner and then returned to our room. Finally, the phone call we were anticipating came but it was not what Bob had expected. The brother had been delayed at work and he and his family could meet and talk with us at the hotel but he would be unable to bring his sister with him for the visit since she lived to far from town. That was fine; Bob was still amazed he had found her at all. They met us in the lobby of the hotel where there was now a string quartet playing classical music, which made the whole experience again like another scene from a movie. Bob and him talked for about an hour while I attempted to make small talk with his wife. The nurses brother was also unaware of the death of the head nurse and said he would relay the information to his sister. The brother then called his sister on the phone and with varying degrees of success; Bob was able to talk with the third floor nurse. It was another emotional visit but it still helped to cement the bonds after the war. This nurse and her brother have family in Massachusetts. Bob promised to call and inform them he had spoken to the their family in Saigon. Bob and his new friend exchanged emails and addresses and also supplied addresses for his sister for later communications.
We left the next morning for the long flight back to the United States.

There is great comfort in connecting the dots of the past and bringing them forward into the future.
The search for one’s identity is ongoing throughout life and Bob is now better able to accept the past and move on with his future. I think I appreciate now Bob’s struggle with the past and why he needed to go back. I feel I have a enhanced understanding of the connections that are formed by war. I can’t escape the oddity or “karma” of how all these people came together so easily during our trip. Everything and everyone just fell into place, and it was an amazing adventure for both of us. I was able to see what a beautiful country Vietnam is today and Bob was able to see how far this country has come since the war. I can appreciate the wonderful country we live in and how lucky we are to have all we do in the United States. We have good plumbing and electric that we take for granted. We have refrigeration and washing machines. We have modern cooking appliances and safe food and water. Yes, I did have a slight tinge of “you should not have tasted that water(tea);” syndrome since we had tea in several homes of his Vietnamese friends made with water from their homes. To refuse the tea would have been considered rude.

In ending this article, I hope I have allowed a glimpse into the minds of all who struggle with the ghosts of war; and how some wounds need to be reopened to help heal and seal the future. In future generations, I’m sure, there will be other veterans replaying this scene, but in a different country.

What did the north's war against the south do but bring death and distruction? The nva hamm should be ashamed of what he did. I hope ho and giap rot in hell for what they did. One of our hooch maids would tell us to 'kill cong'. I asked her why she said that and response was because the vc killed her village chief husband because he would not help them. A war of national liberation? NO WAY! The author of this piece was correct in that we should have gone after the north's leaders.
Air Cav Trooper 1968