This article is a guest post by the 1974-75 Phoenix Study Group (PSG) Librarian. I’m so grateful to have crossed paths with her again after all these years.
MAY 1974
A variety of private schools, established after the evacuation of 1965, provided education for those children whose families chose to remain in Sài Gòn. One of the schools was the Phoenix Study Group. Like its mythical namesake, it rose from the ashes of its predecessor.
A new superintendent, Dr. Bottorff, arrived and occupied two rooms in one of the U.S.-rented buildings. I’d heard of an opening for a librarian and paid him a visit in the late spring of 1974. Inside the space, grime-covered windows and walls the color of pea soup greeted me. The only furnishings were a metal desk, a chair, and a couple of file cabinets.
A sturdy blonde woman occupied the chair. She gripped a half-smoked cigarette tightly between her prominent lips. An overflowing ashtray sat at her elbow. Her desk placard identified her as Bunny, administrative assistant to the new superintendent.
She glared at me from beneath thick eyebrows. “Who are you, and what do you want?” she barked.
“I’m here to see the superintendent,” I said, attempting to project self-confidence in the face of her brusqueness.
“What for?”
Why was I being interrogated?
My pulse ticked up. A hot wave of adrenaline crept across my scalp. I took a deep breath to tamp down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me and continued with my planned opener.
“He needs a librarian … and here I am,” I said.
“Wait here.” Bunny, still scowling, rose and trudged into an adjoining room.
After a few minutes, she emerged and motioned me into the superintendent’s office, a space devoid of personality and outfitted with only another desk, a couple of chairs, and a bookcase.
Behind the desk sat a rumpled, heavy-set, gray-haired man of about fifty, Dr. Bottorff. Newly arrived from stateside, he could be excused for appearing frazzled—he had a lot on his mind. I hoped to solve at least one of his problems and explained my business.
“You have experience?” he asked languidly, in a voice that pegged him as someone unused to heat and humidity.
I told him about my library science degree, involvement with Head Start in Selma, Alabama in 1966, and other school library programs. He said he needed to see transcripts.
Transcripts! In this place he needs transcripts? He should feel lucky I showed up.
“I’ll have them sent from the States,” I said. “It’ll probably take three to four weeks. When are you planning to make a decision?”
“Once I have the transcripts, within a week or two … July or early August.”
“That’s fine. You can reach me through my husband’s office. I look forward to hearing from you.”
I gave him Steve’s office phone number and wrote home to make another request of my ever-supportive parents—please send my college transcripts.
SEPTEMBER – OCTOBER 1974
On an early September afternoon, I stopped by the headquarters of the American Women’s Association of Saigon to finalize plans for an upcoming program I’d planned.
“Hi, Karen,” a familiar voice called out to me.
I turned to see my friend, Avery, walking my way.
“Congratulations,” she said. “I hear you’re the new librarian at the Phoenix Study Group.”
“What? Where did you hear that?”
“The committee met last night. Dr. Bottorff, the superintendent, announced the teachers’ names, and you got the job.”
“That’s great news,” I said, “I wonder why no one said anything to me. Think I better find out.”
I appeared at the superintendent’s office the next day. Bunny seemed in a more pleasant mood than on my previous visit. She greeted me with half a smile.
“Karen, good morning,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Bunny. I need to see Dr. Bottorff. Is he in?”
“Yeah … umm … hold on a minute. Listen, I’m sorry about being gruff with you before. I’m always tough with people until I know who I’m dealing with. I lighten up later.”
“Well, I guess it pays to be careful.”
“He’s here. Go ahead in.”
I tap-tapped on the office door and walked in. The room looked like a crazed squirrel had gotten loose inside. Folders lay scattered over the desktop, contents spilling out. Piles of textbooks slumped onto the floor.
Dr. Bottorff sat at his desk looking as frazzled as ever. He squinted up at me like I’d interrupted a complex thought process.
“Good Morning,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Uh … sure. Come in. Have a seat.” He indicated the one empty visitor’s chair. “What can I help you with?”
“I heard through the grapevine I’ve been hired as PSG’s librarian, but I’ve had no official word.”
“Oh, well, that’s right. You have the job. I’m surprised you didn’t get the letter. Bunny was supposed to contact everybody.”
“Nope, no letter, but I don’t care about that. I’m happy to have the position. Just needed your confirmation that the rumor was true.” I stood to leave.
“Hold up a second,” Bottorff said. “I’ll walk out with you … Bunny, what happened to Karen’s confirmation letter? She didn’t get it.”
“I paid that messenger guy to deliver it,” Bunny said. “Oh, no … he must have kept the money and disappeared. Damn! That’s it for him.”
With Avery’s information confirmed, I prepared to go back to work.
The Phoenix Study Group served English-speaking children at three locations: Kindergarten students met at 66 Doan Thi Diem, 1st through 4th graders at 192/194 Cong Ly, and 5th through high school at 209 Hien Vuong.
The library occupied a sizable second-floor space in a building at the Công Lý location. A small room was set aside at the Hien Vuong location, and I transferred selected books there to create a library for the higher grades. In addition to managing the book collection, I spent half an hour every week teaching library skills to each class and presenting book talks.
I recognized many of the titles in the collection, and the existing card catalog looked adequate, but supplies were few, and the room at Công Lý needed furniture—tables, chairs, and bookcases. Dr. Bottorff asked me to put together a supply order and specifications for furniture. Coming up with a list of the basics presented no problem. As for the furniture, I had to wing it.
One week later, the carpenter and his assistants delivered sturdy but slightly out-of-proportion tables, chairs, and bookcases built precisely to my specifications. They resembled something out of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. The seats of the chairs looked like they could hold two children, and the legs of the tables and chairs were too long, but they worked. The shelving was a little wonky, too, but it served the purpose. I could not complain.
A corkboard on one wall demanded a mural, which I created from construction paper left over from my previous job at a different school. When I’d finished, a proper school library was ready for business.