Black April Begins

The fourth month of 1975 was the final for South Vietnam

April 1975 was a dark month in the history of the Vietnam Era. In fact, in certain circles, it is known as “Black April.”

The month in question was April, the cruelest month. It was the month in which a war that had run on for a very long time would lose its limbs, as is the way of wars. It was a month that meant everything to all the people in our small part of the world and nothing to most people in the rest of the world. It was a month that was both the end of a war and the beginning of ... well, "peace" is not the right word, is it . . . Viet Thanh Nguyen, The Sympathizer

Where to start?

On April 1, our beloved driver, Mr. Bi, wrote this carefully crafted letter. One can read between the lines, between his neatly penned letters, that he was scared to his core.

April 1st, 1975

Dear Sir and Madam,

Difficulty is coming ahead. We worry about the lot of the present situation of my country and think hard about our coming suffering days without jobs.

I know this sudden separation is beyond all of our will. I don’t know what will happen to my family, then. Please, before leaving Saigon, do me a last favor—send me to or find me another job.

In my life, I do believe God will be with good and kind people like both of you, forever.

Hereby, I want to express my deepest heartfelt thanks for your immense kindness and your wonderful treatments toward me, so far.

Again, an oceanful of thanks.

Sincerely yours,

Bi

He must have been watching—and helping—as my mom, crazed, packed up 6000 pounds of household goods with “no packing material.” The Welch family was leaving, and where would that leave him?

On April 3 we departed at 1:00 pm from Tan Son Nhut airport on Pan Am Flight 782.

My father thought my mother would breathe an easy sigh of relief once on the plane but our evacuation adventure was only beginning. She wrote To him the day after we arrived:

April 6, 1975

Dearest Jim –

We arrived safely in Boise last night at 9 p.m. Our trip was rugged – but only after leaving Guam when we lost one engine – had to dump the fuel  & land again. The aircraft was quite unstable & we had to land “too fast” to maintain some stability & then try to brake w/o hitting the plane & air terminal – wild – barely missed – sit in plane 3 hrs while they sprayed. They put on a new engine – but the flight to Hawaii was also far from smooth – & in Hawaii after we boarded the same flight to go to S. F. (as we had lost time staying in Guam) & sat there about 2 hours – they said the new engine was faulty & the plane was grounded. We went to a hotel for the 1 ½ hrs – & caught the original United flight to S.F. & up to Boise.

Her heartache was evident in these few lines:

Leaving you there was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do – & I pray by the minute for your safety. How is your plan progressing? I feel so far away from you & miss you so much . . . Please take care of yourself –

PLEASE keep in touch & know how much we miss, love, & need you – 

All my love–

Nancy

She enclosed similarly heartfelt sentiments in a letter from my two oldest brothers:

Dear Dad, 

We had a real hard trip and had to stay in Guam and Honolulu because the [number] one engine broke down. Sorry I didn't get a postcard in Hawaii but I send all my love in this letter. Now we're in Boise, it's snowing, it just started tonight. Today it was 33°, ice cold. When we got here we didn't have any clothes so we froze. It's so nice to be back to the U.S. but it be nicer if you were here.

I hope the days go fast. Ya know what today we went to McDonald's. It was pretty good.

Oh ya, Grampa said it's too cold to fish. I love and hope to see you soon. Goodbye with love. 

Love, Your Son,
Mike [12 years old]

Hi Dad,

How have you been? Fine, I hope because I want to see you soon. I have been wondering when you are going to get home? Is it sometime in early June, [that] is supposed to be the original time, right? Have the household [items] gotten out of Viet Nam? 

I miss you very much!!! We are fine here in gramma and grandpa's house. All the people are worried about you, except me. I know if you have to you can get yourself out with other people by yourself. I know you can take care of yourself. Make sure the mini-bike gets out. How are you doing with the radio problem? I hope you're o.k. and you do get the problem solved. I've got to go to bed now.

Good-bye and Good Luck

I love you very-very much,
Chris [14 years old]

Because we had been traveling, we didn’t know about the crash of the CA-5 Babylift flight on April 4th.

My mother wrote this note about the crash in the margins of her daily calendar.

We’d originally been slated to be on that flight but my mother changed plans for some unknown reason—possibly because the eight of us would have taken up some much-needed space. It wasn’t until I was in middle age that I realized I carried a significant amount of “survivor guilt” around the event; I grew up thinking that I lived because orphans died.

The significance of that plane crash, on the cusp of the final days is highlighted in this excerpt from my 2023 edition of For the Love of Vietnam: a war, a family, a CIA official, and the best evacuation story never heard:

Shortly after takeoff, a warning light had come on and the pilot had attempted a wide turn to get back to Tan Son Nhut. Before he could complete the return, the bottom of the airplane was torn apart by an explosion. The gaping hole immediately sucked the air from the cabin, instantly killing some of the 250 orphans and 50 volunteers abroad. Others were spewed into the air, still alive. Wildly out of control, the plane plummeted to the ground, careening nearly half a mile through the thick mud of the rice paddies. As it slid to a halt, water filled the cabin, drowning still more victims.

The tragedy struck those in Saigon like a blow to the heart. People flooded to the airport to lend a hand, to give blood, or to help unload the rescue helicopters who shuttled the injured from the crash site back to Tan Son Nhut.

“As the children were carried off the choppers, you couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead. Nearly every one of them was covered from head to toe with mud . . . they were limp little rags,” one rescue worker said.

At the time it was thought to be the second-worst crash in aviation history, taking more than 200 children and every adult but one. Later it would be discovered that over half of the children did survive, but the losses were devastating nonetheless. My father wrote to my mother that night. He shared his anguish in five words: “What a tragedy! I cry.”

Rumors quickly spread that the crash was caused by Viet Cong artillery fire, but the truth was much more unnerving: it was the result of a simple latch that had not been secured properly. In the stressful atmosphere that was Saigon in April ’75, someone had failed to take the time to follow standard safety checks and it had reaped this disastrous result. What other tragedies might occur as the intensity of the evacuation picked up speed and the press of the enemy armies forced even greater panic?

And worse, how could those still in the country hold on to any hope when it felt as if the country was dying?

This was the first week of “Black April.” Things were only going to get worse.

Thank you for reading. For “Black April” I’ve reduced the price of my book on Amazon to just $11.99. Please consider gifting a copy to a friend or a library that might find some benefit in the history of Vietnam.

If you have read my book and liked it, please consider leaving a short 5-star review on Amazon or Goodreads to help spread the word.

Until next time,
Kat ❦

P.S. Here’s a one-minute memory of the flight out.

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