My trip to Vietnam to "Retrace my Father's Footsteps" exceeded my expectations; it was full of confluence, coincidences, and some telling ironies. It is impossible to relate the entire experience in brief (I took over 2000 photos, filled three reporter's notebooks, and posted eleven blogs), but with these 21 pictures and short captions, I hope to give you a well-rounded glimpse of the journey.
Prelude ~ My Father's Accomplishment
Photo 1: This plaque hung in our family home from for nearly 30 years, 1976-2004. This commemoration of the risk my father took to save his South Vietnamese employees and their families tugged at me for years, until, in 2012, I began to write about it.
James Welch
The Year of the Rat
Within an Accelerated Timing Factor You
Helped Activate a Motivational
Implementation Program Through a
Coordinated Approach on an Orchestrated
Basis with All Deliberate Speed. Cam On [Thank You]. Chuc May Mam
Part I ~ Setting the Stage
#2: Prepared and Ready. At Newark Airport, ready to take off—a day late, but not a dollar short, thanks to all those who supported me through my "Retrace My Father's Footsteps" Indiegogo Crowdfunding Campaign—Thank you all!
I'm also feeling the support of one of my father's Vietnamese co-workers (she bought me the pants) and new Vietnamese friends (Victoria and Cindy at Best Nails in Glens Falls are originally from Phu Quoc, the island my father chose as a stepping stone in his evacuation plan. They were instrumental in helping plan my trip there.)
#3: With my Mother's Company. In addition to the inspiration of my dad's rescue, I was carrying with me a reminder of my mother's part in our Vietnam experience (she, my six siblings, and I lived in Saigon from July 6, 1974, to April 3, 1975, when we fled). Her Guide to Vietnam and her 40-year-old map were only still relevant in varying degrees but made the surreal fact of our having been there more tangible.
#4: Saigon skyline, finally. To tell you the truth, I had been dreading this trip. The dangers and discomforts seemed to far outweigh the "delights of travel." Though I used to be an intrepid explorer, I now felt more of an armchair observer. However, the morning I saw the skyline of Saigon (it will always be Saigon to me) every fear and trepidation fled and I found myself beyond elated to be on a rooftop gazing out at the hot and busy and undefinable city. I suddenly sensed no sign of danger, though I could clearly see one.
#5: Unexpected Support and Comfort. My comfort level was increased in no small measure by the fact that my daughter, Chelsea, had decided some weeks before to accompany me. Due to flight arrangements, planned and unplanned, she arrived two days before me and had set the stage. As it happened, our first morning together was her birthday and the Duc Vuong Hotel's complimentary buffet felt like a celebration of joy. Her insights, support, photography skills, and understanding of my emotional and writerly needs contributed greatly to the trip's success.
Part II ~ Saigon, Where We Lived, Where My Father's Worked
#6: Peace Belongs to Everyone. I chose the end of April to retrace my father's footsteps because that is when he orchestrated his rescue. Of course (thunk to head), it was also the anniversary of the end of the American War (yes, to them it was the American War). Despite my skepticism about our country's motivations and capabilities on many levels, and of how well the socialist-communist government of Vietnam is doing, I was humbled and ashamed to see the dove of peace representing the years since we left the country.
#7: Stop! The Vietnamese government pulled out all the stops to put on a "Superbowl-Halftime Show" to celebrate the 40th "Victory Day." The stadium took up a city block, and streets were closed during business hours to practice the parade. One resident pointed out the extreme cost, "I don't need this," he said. Despite the glaring flamboyance, the guards in the picture wanted to keep it all a secret a little longer: they were commanding me not to take a photo.
#8: A Decent Interval, More than a Decent Read. I have read the spine of this book more times than I can count. It was one of hundreds that my father kept on two massive bookshelves. Every time I walked by, its red title would catch my eye and I would wonder what it meant (now I know all too well). Written by former CIA analyst Frank Snepp, it recounts the last days of Vietnam (he was a key narrator in the recent PBS documentary by that name). I am fairly sure that he and my father were well acquainted, if not good friends—they arrived in the city in 1973 within a month of each other and he was on the short list of guests to our housewarming party in September of 1974.
#9: The Pittman Building. This is an image that we all know: the rooftop that we thought was the embassy because a helicopter was perched atop it while frantic South Vietnamese scaled heights in their desperation to get out of the doomed city. It was really the Pittman Apartments, a CIA building. I didn't ask to be taken there but was the first sight our Saigon guide took us to. This photo was taken from inside the Notre Dame Cathedral, the church my family and I attended.
#10: Where the House Was. Our guide found our house! Or at least the alley where it used to be. I was completely taken by surprise when I walked into the alley and was almost literally bowled over by a sense of recognition. I didn't "see" anything familiar but I felt it. I recognized the space that 90-A Ly Tran Quan took up, but now it's been subdivided into three shops and apartments. (Yes, we had a big house.)
#11: An Unexpected Recognition. This was the most amazing thing. This neighbor and I recognized each other! I was taking pictures of the alley when I turned to see him looking at me and before I could think much about it, I waved and said, "Hi there!" Now to clarify, I was a stranger in a strange country and was particularly diffident in my demeanor as I did not want to attract unwanted attention or inadvertently offend anyone. As soon as I spoke, I thought to myself. "What am I doing, I don't know him!" but almost instantly our guide, Phuc, said, "He knows you, he says he knows you." With Phuc's help, we talked a little and compared notes. He said he would know my father if he were to show up, and he told me that our driver left as a boat person and that the owner of our house committed suicide after the North Vietnamese appropriated the house as an American "leftover." I wrote in my blog that "meeting him changed my visit from seeing an old house to seeing an old home."
#12: My Old Swimming Hole, the US Embassy. This is me trying to look like a nonchalant tourist so that Chelsea could take a picture of the site of the former U.S. Embassy (destroyed after the war). I had tried to take a picture some days before but had been told not to by a stern Vietnamese Army guard. No one accosted us on this side of the street. The current U.S. consulate is directly behind me and the former Embassy building would have been visible in the upper right-hand corner of the picture. I remember swimming at the Embassy pool, floating on my back, and gazing at the lazy white clouds as they passed behind the Embassy roof.
#13: The Remnants of My Father's Workplace. The nondescript warehouse where my father operated his secret radio station was torn down to make way for a luxury hotel. This radio tower may very well be the one that they transmitted from, and is currently most likely being used by HTV, a public television station, situated on the corner of the same block. Chelsea and I stopped to take a picture of the station and a guard came out of his kiosk. This time I was given permission to take a photo, but moreover, he wanted to talk about America. "I've been to New York," he said, his semi-automatic machine gun slung across his chest. "The people are so nice there, not like here. I really like Central Park." I wanted to take his photo but was afraid to ask; his gun was just so apparent there between us.
#14: The War Remnants Museum, Inside and Out. I did not want to go to the War Remnants Museum. I was hot and tired and hungry and shaky from all the touring and searching, as good as it had been. But I knew I would feel as if I'd missed something (or been remiss) if I didn't go. So after a strengthening cup of thick Vietnamese coffee, I made a beeline through the displays, taking quick notes and photos of the things that I had not already seen or read elsewhere. Despite my dedicated speed and the "professional distance," I did not escape without a prophylactic bench-sit to keep from losing my lunch. As I left, I saw this mural donated by a children's school.
#15: Meeting Up With An Old Schoolmate. Kim Westlake-Life just happened to be in Vietnam at the same time I was. A fellow blogger, I had "met" her online after finding her posts (www.Go-aheads.com) about returning to her childhood home of Saigon. We met on the top of the Caravelle Hotel, a much-visited hot spot for Americans back in the day. As we perused the final school newsletter I'd brought, we chuckled over the bowling pictures and heaved heavy sighs over the optimistic article that discussed which new location would be fitting for the growing school: "Where to Next Year?"
Part III ~ Phu Quoc Island, My Father's Last Stand
#16: Locating the Old Naval Compound. Using Google Maps, I found the group of buildings ("ten in two rows, plus two smaller buildings") my father and his people called home for the eight days that they were holed up on Phu Quoc Island. I was so excited and looking forward to walking about and getting a closer look. However, it was not to be.
#17: No Admittance . . . No Way. This gate blocked the entrance to the road to the compound. The guard in his kiosk (another one!) and the no trespassing signs, not to mention the spiky gate deterred us from trying to make our way down or around. But luckily, there was another dirt road, just ahead.
#18: The Bathing Beach. By studying the map, I could see that this was the beach, Khem Beach, that my father said that the nearly 1000 employees and families with him used for bathing and washing. Any thought of hiking into the compound was eclipsed by the huge construction site at "their" end of the beach: another luxury hotel. (We may have lost the war, but communism hasn't won out, that's for sure).
#19: In Search of the Launch Site. This is an obviously touristy map of Phu Quoc but it is clear that there is a strip of beach at the base of the island. According to my father's description, the navy trucks drove through An Thoi to get to a beach from which transport boats took him and his people to the SS American Challenger. It seemed like it would be an easy thing to find.
#20: An Uncertain End. Granted the beach might have changed over the past 40 years, but I could not imagine over 1000 people gathered on this thin strip of sand (and stuff). There were two more strips of beach on the map to the east but there seemed to be no roads. Thus, due to the language barrier and the onset of lunchtime, I called it a draw. I had seen the gate to the compound where my father and his people had stayed, had seen the beautiful beach they used, and had driven the same road they drove in the dark of night on that last day in Vietnam, April 29th, 1975. If it was not the right beach, I would still see the horizon that they had headed toward.
#21: A Satisfying Conclusion. I spent that afternoon, evening, and the entire following day, recounting the events of my days and of the days of 40 years past. It was one of those rare times when you know you are in the right place at the right time. For a "Vietnam" story, that's a rarity. On the evening of the 30th, I said wonderingly to Chelsea, "This has been the best day."
I was in no little awe. And I am grateful.