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I landed in Da Nang for my second tour aboard Vietnam
Airlines with my wife and my memories. The first time, almost 41 years ago, I
was on a Military Air Command plane with other Marines and my fears. The
missions were very different. I was going to bring a closure to my memories as
Marie had done in Bangkok just days before.
After months of research to find where I had been, I only
had the name of a village and a few photographs. Marie and I went into Hoi An
to rent a car with a driver that could speak English. We were to be picked up at
7 AM in two days.
The car and driver showed up promptly and we headed for the
Phu Bai area between Hai Van Pass and Hue looking for Sao and Mai. The car was
a 4 seat compact Chevy made for Asia. As it turned out our driver could speak
only a few words of English: Yes. No and I Don't Know. Sometimes
interchangeably. Sao and Mai were a couple whose house our squad essentially
took over. They cooked for us and we paid them either in C-rations or Military
Scrip. Sao was a former South Vietnamese paratrooper who fought with the French
in the 1950's and was wounded in the leg. Mai was pregnant with yet another
child. Along with their several children, they owned a pig. I don't know why I
mentioned the pug other than I remembered this pig fat pig. We were not there
more than a few weeks but they were very gracious to us, as I am sure they had
been to the Marines occupying their home before us and after us at the risk of
their own lives. It was also my first experience in a combat situation.
On the way north on our search we passed the Nam-O Bridge
and the Esso Plant, both just below Hai Van Pass and both provided memories.
As could be expected there were changes but both were recognizable.
The winding road around the mountains along the coastline
of the South China Sea provided a beautiful panorama of the country eastern
shoreline. As we approached the peak of Hai Van Pass, about 1500 meters high
and about an hour and a half out of Hoi An where we were staying, the clouds
got so thick that seeing the road was very difficult. At the top, on cue, the
tourist trap appeared and as we pulled over to take a break we were accosted by
vendors to buy their bracelets, post cards, t-shirts and other trinkets native
to all souvenir stands. The stop contained an overlook and about a dozen
hooches constructed of cement, bamboo, tin, cardboard or thatch or combinations
of the aforementioned materials. We decided on a hot coffee, though Marie could
not resist the pregnant woman with two children and bought some stuff. The
owner of the stand, a chain smoking young man named Trang, spoke remarkably good
English for not having a formal education and not having been to America. We
all sat at one of the two tables at this outdoor venue under cover of a thatch
roof. Marie told Trang why we were here. He knew little of Phu Bai but was
very familiar with Nam-O Bridge and the neighboring village of Kim Lein where he
and most of the other vendors lived. He remembered what the Esso Plant looked
like before all the additional storage tanks were added as well as the train
station just before the entrance to the train tunnel inside the Esso Plant. The
encampment that I had stayed in was now a Vietnamese Military base and off
limits to civilians much less a former U.S. Marine.His grandfather was in the
South Vietnamese Army and told him stories of the past. Maybe it was for that
reason Trang took a liking to us.
At that point I brought out pictures I took in 1968 of
three small children from the town of Kim Lein. As word got out that we had old
pictures, all the vendors converged on us grabbing for the pictures without any
regard for the tour busses pulling into the lookout area. Nobody recognized the
children.After gathering the pictures back we talked about another family.
The family was from a Catholic village which I thought was Le My. That was a
name I picked up on a website in my research prior to my visit. The blog stated
that Le My was a village near Hill 60 (60 meters high) that was friendly to
Americans. Our driver had no idea where Le My was.
Trang knew that a vendor at the Pass was familiar with the
village of Le My and brought him over. Boa was a generation older than Trang and
did not speak English. I showed him pictures of Mama-san Lynn and her
daughter Suzie, the names they had told us to call them. I also showed him a
picture of her house. Trang surmised she must have been pretty wealthy to have a
house like that back then.
She was about 10 years in 1968 and a fearless and most
precocious young girl. She would tie us Marines around her finger like we were
here big brother. Her mother, Mama-san Lynn, was the utmost statement of
elegance and class, amazing traits after being at war most all her life. They
came to the entrance to our encampment at Hill 60 along with the other vendors
that sold Coca Cola's, candles, candy and other necessities. Mama-san Lynn did
our laundry. In today- back tomorrow. 50 cents a garment. We only had two sets
of clothes, both camouflage fatigues, and got them cleaned as we thought we
needed. Since we lived and slept on dirt and it was the rainy season, we got
them cleaned often.
After gathering up our pictures from the vendors again, a
most unpredictable act of kindness was offered Trang and Boa told us to stop
at the Pass in our way back from Hue, which would be about two o'clock PM. The
two of them would lead us to Le My.
All the way to Phu Bai and Hue all I could think about was
what would I say to Mama-san Lynn. To me it seemed like a reality, I knew we
would be successful. We went through Phu Bai and I recognized the remains of
an old French Fort which might have been the place where Charlie Pitman, during
an attack on our perimeter raised a rifle to our South Vietnamese protectors
who were attempting to flee, and told them if they ran he would shoot them.
They returned to their positions and protected us from the attacking North
Vietnamese Army while we were firing our mortar rounds from our gun pit inside
the fort.
We continued on to the Imperial City of Hue, a beautiful
city that housed the old Emperors and Buddhist high priests It was also a city
taken over by the NVA during THE TET OFFENSIVE, and the city that cost many
lives to retake. Vance Hull told me stories of his experiences after he joined
our squad. His stories were as bad as the stories I would here from the
'shortimers' left in our squad from Khe Shan.
We were anxious to get back to the Pass so after a pleasant
lunch we left Hue without entering the old walled Imperial City. I guess we had
seen enough palaces and temples in our mission to Bangkok. As we passed
thorough Phu Bai again, we stopped at several places I thought might be Sao and
Mais home but nobody ever heard of them. We stopped at the remains of the
French Fort and were able to confirm that what was now a marketplace surrounding
the steeple used to be an old French Fort like those seen in old black and white
French Foreign Legion films. What was now the village next to the market place
used to be rice paddies. The bridge we protected was now in the process of
being replaced.
We drove on to Hai Van Pass and got there about 2 PM. The
weather had cleared up but the Pass was still in a cloud. Trang and Boa were
waiting for us. Neither of them truly thought we would find anybody from 1968
but they said it was an adventure as they took off each on their own motor bike
with Marie, me and the driver following in our car. We stopped at the Esso
Plant and Nam-o Bridge to take pictures. Trang said that Le My was about 15
kilometers on small roads from there and did we still want to go. We went on.
Through small villages and outdoor markets on paved and unpaved roads meant for
no more than two motor bikes to pass. We turned left and right and left so many
times and everything kept looking the same- poverty on top of poverty. We
finally got to what we were told was Le My and stopped at a crossroad. We got
out and Trang stopped an older woman to tell our story. The car was not an
unusual sight but when the people saw Marie and me, we drew a crowd of maybe 50
people. All the others had business to do. As our story was being told by
Trang and Boa, our pictures of Mama-san Lynn and Suzie were disappearing into
the villagers' hands. We were able to keep track of them by the giggles and
laughter as they went from group to group until someone said they thought they
recognized Mama-san Lynn. Yes, there were several knowledgeable nods of
agreement. Yes she lives in the village and it could be her, 41 years ago.
Trang mentioned she was Catholic and lived near a church and the smiles
stopped. There are no Catholics living in this village we were told It was
much the way that there are no Eskimos living in Guatemala. There just isn't.;
Several of them said there was a Catholic village about 5 kilometers away in
that direction. Boa new where it was, but I had no idea where we were and the
village could have been in Guatemala for all I knew. Trang mentioned the Hill
60 where I had been based for two months and an old lady said she knew of the
hill. It was behind her house about a half a kilometer away and she would take
us there. We had to walk as the car would not fit on the pathway so car and
driver stayed but some villagers followed. Her house was a very nice two room
cement house as was most all of the wealthier villagers homes. She lived next
to her sister and made mention she was very proud of the house. Behind the
house the land started to rise and we walked. She talked through Trang and told
us the hill was being leveled for expansion of the village and you could see
where the hill was being cut into one by one for each home. Nothing at all like
a Centex development with flags marked for utilities, roads being built and
construction equipment abounding. As we reached what appeared to be the top of
the hill, we looked down at a brand -spanking new 4 lane highway. The old woman
explained that the hill was split and the highway went through it. There were
two bunkers left on the other side of the highway and she would take us to them.
I had no desire to climb down the steep hill, cross a busy highway and climb up
the other side if the steep hill. While the area looked familiar I could not be
sure. I asked the old woman to point to where the road was that led to the
entrance of the encampment and where the Catholic village was. She was dead on.
She even pointed out where the helicopters landed. She also pointed to where
they found five American bodies several years ago.
It was getting late and I wanted to move on. We walked back
to her house, took some pictures of her and her family, gifted her some money to
show our appreciation and moved on. Trang and Boa leading the way on their
motor bikes and the driver, Marie and me in the car. This time we drove
further out into the countryside past rice paddies and small villages until we
turned right into a village surrounded by trees and there it was, a Catholic
Church. We parked in front and followed Boa to the back where there was a neat
row of what looked like one story row homes made of cement but were really
attached apartments. One of the townspeople had told Boa that a Sister of the
Church lived behind door # 2. A young looking Nun of about 35 years of age came
out. Though she spoke English, Trang told her the story and we showed her the
pictures. She did not know of Mama-san Lynn or Suzie but there was a Nun who
had been there 35 years and she should know. The Nun got her birth sister to
fetch the older Nun. She returned shortly, the young sister of the younger Nun
on her motor bike and the older Nun sitting behind her. Other villagers who by
this time learned of our story followed them. The older Nun did not recognize
anybody in the picture but she knew of an older woman in the village that might.
The whole troupe marched back to the entrance to the village where there was a
small hooch of cement and thatch on the side of the road at the entrance to the
village. The woman did not know but she knew of a woman in another, poorer
Catholic village about 2 kilometers away who might know something. By this time
it was about 5 PM and everyone was having doubts. They looked at me and I said
lets keep going. The two Nuns on the motor bike led the way, Trang and Boa
followed and we took up the rear in the car. We got to the village and the
older Nun knew where the old woman in the second Catholic Village lived. The
village was having a new road being put in and it was causing dirt and dust to
swirl everywhere. The modern new Compactor was pounding the dirt level and
smooth with its giant roller causing the few cars to stop and wait for the
Compactor to get out of the way as it went back and forth over this new dirt
road. The motor bikes had no such problem as they were able to go around this
heavy piece of equipment. The Compactor must have been there for days going
over the same 50 yard stretch as the bikes and the cars had no place else to go
but on this new unfinished road causing new ruts as they went around the
Compactor to continue their journey. I guess Einstein's theory of insanity has
not been recognized by the Communist Party.
Well we get to the older woman's house which is right in
the middle of all this construction. With motor bikes whizzing by, and dirt
circulating in the air the Nun's tell her our story and sure enough she has no
idea who were in the pictures. But, she says, another old woman in the village
was a vendor at the hill during the war. Someone runs to get her from across
the road and up a path. A minute later this almost toothless old woman with the
biggest smile comes running down the hill showing amazing nimbleness for a woman
of what looked like 80 years old. (She was 65). Behind her another dozen or so
villagers came to the scene. There was some passing of the pictures, Vietnamese
chatter and then: Yes, she knew this woman they were best friends. Where is
she?. She died several years ago.
So what happened to Suzie? Oh, she lives down the
street with her husband. Can you show us? Sure.
After she tells the Nuns and Trang and Boa and the
listening crowd that the home is a half kilometer away the Nuns say they have
to go back home. After profusely thanking them and making a donation to the
Church, the two Nuns, get on their motor bike, the younger English speaking one
in front and the older one again sitting behind her with her arms wrapped around
the younger holding on for dear life and pull away to perform their next
miracle. We put the old toothless friend of Mama-san Lynn (of blessed memory) in
the back seat of the car, now surrounded by several dozen villagers with the
numbers increasing as the story spreads. We followed Trang and Boa on their
motor bikes led by others on foot or on their motor bikes. We backtrack making
our way over the road between the oncoming motor bikes and around the
Compactor, still slowly rolling back and forth, continuing to smooth out this
new dirt road not at all concerned about the story of the day.
When we reach the pathway to Suzie's home we all stop and
get out, or off of our vehicles. Led by the toothless, smiling, chattering dear
old friend of Mama-san Lynn (may she rest forever in peace) we march up this
slowly inclining, meandering path through tall trees and past the two room
cement houses with the front rooms open to the elements where you can see the
women cooking over open fires preparing for the evening meal as the sun starts
to set. Our toothless friend stops in front of one of these homes,
indistinguishable from any of the others save for the decorations on the far
wall of the open front room. A huge Crucifix about five feet tall, with
everybody's image of Jesus Christ nailed to it, is hanging on the wall looking
lovingly down blessing the family and all passersby 24/7. We are told this is
Suzie's husband house but she is not home. Someone had gone to get her. We are
introduced to her husband, a gentleman of about 50 years, who came out to greet
us. He looked as stunned and confused as I felt. He starts shouting
instructions and several young men and women run to the back room just as a
motor bike with two women pull up nosing its way through the crowd. The one in
back looks like Suzie would look 41 years later. Trang took charge as this
woman approached. Trang told her who I was and why we were there. This
obviously embarrassed woman had no recollection of me. Before disappointment
could set in Trang asked her if the American soldiers had a name for her during
the war. She shyly nodded yes, Suzie.
My 59 year old body desperately held back the emotion of
the 41 year old memory that was wrenching from my soul. I save that eruption
for more private moments. Marie was less successful as tears streamed from her
heart. Marie and I were lost and thankfully Trang took charg. He brought Suzie
over to us and showed her the pictures we had of her as a little girl and her
mother as a beautiful young woman. She looked up at us, pictures by this time
being passed around to the crowd as they howled about how ugly she was as a
child. Her husband motioned for us to come in to their home and sit down at
their table next to a very large statue of the Virgin Mary and with Jesus
continuing to smile on us. The younger people emerged from the back room with
bottles of water and glasses. We sat without saying a word and drank. Suzie no
longer remembered her English. After forty one years and a drink of water,of
all the questions to ask and all I wanted to know, what finally came out was
"How are you?" The answer of course was "Fine". Marie, as any normal mother
would, asked about her family, she had six children. Are they all here? No, one
is married the others are all here. She pointed them out. Do they go to
school? No How Come? We are too poor. They must work to support the family.
Trang, who was seated with us, was now being kept very busy and enjoying every
minute of it. Marie asked about their real names. Suzie's name is Bong and her
husband's name is Toung (my keyboard is unable to put in the proper markings
that go above some of the letters bit the pronunciations are Bohng and Tong, if
I remember correctly) The banter went on but I was too dazed to remember what
was being said. Marie finally asked Bong about her mother. She died in 1970,
two years after I met them. After about 10 minutes with me unable to ask an
intelligent question and Bong and Toung too embarrassed to get truly personal
in front of what was by now a very large but quiet crowd in front of her house
listening intently to every word, I suggested it was getting late, and everybody
needed to get home, really meaning we all need to get on with our lives.I was
disappointed in myself in that I was too drained to handle the situation. We
took pictures of them, of us, of us and them, of Trang , Boa, our driver and
them etc, etc, and exchanged addresses promising to send them the pictures.
Marie suggested we give them some money and Trang said we should give it to her
Troung. I gave him the Vietnamese money Marie put in my hand and said how much
we appreciated the hospitality and we wanted them to buy presents for the
children. As twilight was ending we all exchanged goodbyes with Marie
attempting to hug Bong. Shaking hands and nodding was all that was successful.
We headed back to our car with our toothless friend holding
our hand. We put her in the back seat and again led by Trang, Boa and the crowd
we all drove around the Compactor, still doing what it does, down the smooth
dirt road to the path to our friend's home.
During the short ride back to her
home, and in her pigeon English we learned that her wartime American boyfriend
wrote her and he was coming to visit her. She wanted to marry him. That is when
we learned she was 65 and her boyfriend was 65. When she got out of the car
Marie gave her some money thanking her for all she had done. By this time it
was just Marie and me, the driver, Trang and Boa. The curious villagers
disappeared to their homes as we were no longer a story.
We finally had a chance to stop and reflect. Trang and
Boa, who were as responsible as anyone for our successful search opined that he
never really thought we would find her and they were just doing it as an
adventure. They were more surprised than me that we found Suzie and equally
pleased. They did not show their emotion but certainly in their loyalty and
friendship, they expressed it as clearly as Jesus smiling at us in Suzies home.
As we said our goodbyes and exchanged addresses Marie slipped them each an
expression of thanks the way most Americans do, a big tip. Though they accepted
it I don't know if I would have done it because these people became our friends
and I hope they were not insulted by our expression of thanks. We will stay in
touch with them through emails. In touch with Trang anyhow.
During the 45 minute or so ride back to our hotel through
the darkness of the countryside and the dim lights of the outskirts of Da Nang
Marie made a decision. She wanted to help Bong and her family even more by
sending them more money. We arrived at our hotel at about 7 PM. We both
realized that while our driver did not speak much English and we spoke no
Vietnamese, he was there with us for the full 12 hour journey. I wish now I
could tell you his name. Though very quiet, he drove us wherever our quest took
us. He was expecting to do the typical tourist trip to Marble Mountain, The
Imperial Palace in Hue, the War Museum in Da Nang and other spots of interest
but we took him out of his surroundings. He enjoyed the wild experience as much
as Trang, Boa, the Sisters, the toothless old lady waiting for her American
boyfriend from 40 years ago to arrive and marry her, all the crowds that saw
the pictures, or gave us directions or followed us on our journey as well as I
hope all of you that are reading my story. For everyone except you, Bong,
Troung, Marie and I, the story ends here. Marie was determined to keep it
going.
The next morning Marie approached the people at the Front
Desk of our hotel saying that we wanted to send them some money along with a
letter. Could they translate for her and arrange for the letter to be sent, if
possible. Marie showed the address to the Front Desk and was told there was a
cell phone number. The phone call was made and the Troung was told we had a
present for them, how should we get it to him. He responded that he would come
to our hotel the next morning, Tuesday at 10 AM. Since we were leaving Tuesday
afternoon it was perfect. We could not invite them to eat at the hotel or use
the facilities because we had learned from an English couple at the hotel that
the Vietnamese could not use the hotel without government permission. The
couple was in Hoi An for their son's marriage to a Vietnamese young lady and
wanted to invite her family to dinner but their future daughter-in-law
graciously declined the invitation with that explanation.
Tuesday morning at 10 AM we got the call they were out
front. It was Bong, Troung, and his brother who drove them on his motor bike.
A young lady at the front desk agreed to translate for us. We all sat in the
lobby of the hotel. After some small talk about our families we again asked
about her mother. Mama-san Lynn died in 1970 after a fatal illness. Bong and
her brothers and sisters were raised by the father whom I never met. He still
lived in that same house. I reminded her how she would jokingly insult the
Marines ( You numba 10 Marine. You no good. He numba one Marine) and then
charm us with her smile. And how Vance ( another Marine ) and I visited her
mother's home during the monsoons to purchase candles for the Marines on the
hill. We were wined and dined, slept and given fresh clean clothes and even
given free candles for Vance and I. The other Marines had to pay. Bong
reminded us that she was only 11 at the time and remembers nothing. She asked to
see the pictures again and Marie went to our room to get them.
I inquired about how they earned money. It seems that
Troung leased land from the government for the family to farm rice. They were
allowed to keep some and sold the rest of the rice back to the government. But
now the government was not renewing the lease because it was going to use the
land to build something on. Maybe a hospital or a school or more houses. Troung
did not know. The family had to find another way to survive. They would
probably buy produce from the local farmers and sell them in the market places.
By this time Marie returned with the pictures. Bong asked if she could have a
photo of her mother because she did not have any pictures of her. We gave her
one and promised to send her the rest after we got them copied. It may sound
selfish, but they are my memories too. We again said our goodbyes with promises
to write. Marie told me we would be sending money periodically to help them out
While at the hotel, I studied Bong and she looked exactly
the same as her picture. Older, yes, bigger, some wrinkled, not
much. wiser to the ways of the world, more than me. Happy, I think so. I
hope so.
Andy Lavigne
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