Photo page from my father’s 1972-75 (his Vietnam years) passport.
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On April 16, 1975, my father wrote to my mother:
Dear Nance,
Where do I begin?? The last two weeks are so filled with action you would never believe it. I have just received your second and third letters and understand your concern. We are going along day by day doing what must be done and preparing for “tomorrow.”
I could write volumes about the last days—the bombing of the palace, the Bien Hoa shoot out, Xuan Loc and all---but that must wait until later.
He signed it, Greatest Love.
He never did “write volumes” about those incidents, more’s the pity.
But the woman who served as the librarian at our elementary-middle school, the Phoenix Study Group, in 1974-75 thankfully did.
Book Excerpt: Chapter 25 | April 1975 | Blind Faith Will Get You Killed
Friday evening, April 4, 1975. Someone hammeredon the apartment door, frantic to get our attention. Muoi flung it open to see Bert Foote, our downstairs neighbor.
Steve and I rushed to see what was going on. “What is it? What happened?” Steve asked.
Bert’s voice shook with emotion. “The C-5A orphan flight crashed on takeoff . . . not sure if it was shot down or something else. Mrs.Tho, from across the hall, and her two kids were on the plane . . . they didn’t make it.”
I gasped. “No!”
The shocking news exploded in my brain. I pictured the hopeful family packing for their flight to freedom, rushing to board the American transport, feeling saved, and then plowing into a rice paddy on takeoff.
How capricious life is. It turns on a dime. One wrong choice, and you’re dead. My heart sank to my toes. I could have been on that plane!
“Can we do anything? Do they need help out there?” I asked, feeling I had to do something to earn the right to have survived.
“It’s a madhouse right now,” Bert said. “You’re better off here. Jeannie and I are staying put, but I will check out our roof. I can land a helicopter there if I have to get us out in a hurry.”
Steve’s Work Diary
5 April 1975: The news said there was heavy fighting in the delta. I will admit I got pretty scared. The only way out of our area is to get to the USAID building on Yen Do. Karen and I discussed the possibilities before going to sleep.
Our assembly point was the USAID building on Yen Do Street. It wasn’t far from the apartment, but we would have to get there on foot. All cyclos had been banned because some drivers were suspected of being Viet Cong. Taxi drivers could turn on us. Not safe.
We each packed one small bag with essentials in case we had to move fast.
“We have to be ready to grab our bags and get to Yen Do when the time comes,” Steve said. “We can’t tell anyone.”
“How will we know when?” I asked.
“I think I’ll hear something at the office.”
“How will I know if you’re there and I’m here? We don’t have a phone.”
“I’ll come get you,” he said.
“What if there’s no time? You have to make it to the evac site. It’s going to be dangerous.” Panic…those bees began buzzing in my chest.
I can’t think straight. Anything can happen. What will happen?
Steve pleaded with me not to worry. “I promise I’ll come for you. I would die for you.”
Speechless, I stared at him. I would die for you. In five words, he’d expressed a level of feeling I hadn’t known he possessed. Is this what fear does to you? Is this what fear feels like? We’re in danger. The streets are full of people who hate us. Nothing matters more than the people you love. Please, God, don’t let it come to that.
Orders to head for the evacuation site could come at any moment. If I wasn’t afraid before, I was then.
Tuesday morning, April 8, 1975 The force of the explosion rattled the bedroom windows. I looked out to see what had happened—not the thing to do with gunfire in the area. Black smoke billowed into the sky a few blocks away and drifted over the city.
I grabbed my camera, fired off a shot, and rushed to finish dressing. Muoi banged through the kitchen door. She hadn’t made it to the market. Her basket was empty.
“Madame,” Muoi’s voice, shrill and shaking, echoed the sound of fear. “Airplane drop bomb. Peut-être Americans come back?”
“No, Muoi, I don’t think so,” I said, regretting that no one was coming to help us.
The farm where I grew up sat on top of a hill in upstate New York, where winter came early, and heavy snow meant we often lost power for days. I learned then that the priority in an emergency was water.
Is Saigon under siege? It might be!
As Muoi and I prepared for a siege situation, potable water took precedence. Tap water wasn’t safe and had to be filtered through charcoal to purify it after boiling.
I asked Muoi to get out all the liquor bottles and pour me a Coke. She did as I asked, then was astonished when I told her to pour all the liquor down the drain. We needed bottles for drinking water.
I didn’t drink liquor, but, being in panic mode, I opened a bottle of rum and, before pouring out the contents, added a hefty amount to my glass of Coke. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Muoi doing the same—desperate times.
Author Karen Kaiser did get out the following day, April 9th, on her way safely to Bangkok, Thailand.
Her husband, Steve, was finally able to join her nine days later on April 18th.
My father remained in Saigon, contending with the disintegrating situation:
It would be some hours before the House Seven staff would hear that the barrage had been caused by an attempted assassination of President Nguyen Van Thieu. A South Vietnamese regular had easily slipped a plane into the air and bombed the presidential palace and then just as easily taken the bomber safely to the North.
The ensuing gunfire in response had been nothing but an empty threat to the pilot, a guttural cry of frustration at the impotence felt by soldiers put in the impossible situation of protecting what could not be protected.
President Thieu had survived the attack by sheer luck, but Welch did not believe that luck would last. No one in their right mind did. ~ For the Love of Vietnam:
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Kat, you bring life to these harrowing memories. Well done.
Amazing Narration Kat! You really did an great job of bringing emotion to that very stressful time.