The Lure Back To Nam /1994
Gary L. Baxman
Delta Recon, 2/12 Cavalry, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile)
Vietnam 1965-66
I started out very lucky on this trip, as my buddy from Nam in 65-66 would be along. He was a Medic as I was with the 1st Air Cav based in An Khe. I had not seen him in nearly 28 years. He had not changed much except for the extra 50# or more and that thing he wears under his nose. He’s from Brooklyn and now Jersey so you know he’s full of it and a troublemaker. The young girl’s of Marble Mt. would call me “Man of many Rivers”. I’m bald and I look like I have a dozen rivers running off my head. DJ they call him “King Kong Buddha”. He looked like he had eaten all of last years rice harvest and to top it off, he had a mustache that looked like two Water Buffalo tails curled up.
Before I would suggest anyone to partake in a trip of adventure like this; I suggest you have fairly good health, an open mind, $4500 and most of all PATIENCE. We had two groups of 15 and we were in the first group. All were Cav except Tom & Kathy and our tour guide Steve Smith (USMC) out of Seattle. Steve would learn that the Cav was still #1 up in the highlands and most places we went the locals would recognize our patch. We had all types of walk in our group. Two Emmy award winners; Smith and Joe Smeck NBC TV / Chicago; A couple of lawyers; Mike Cassidy & John Doherty; A wannabe Senator Roy McDonald; Postal workers Tom & Kathy Gannon; Joel Nelson (Capt. Hook); Retired Col. Speedman and a couple of Wall Street retirees. I’m probably the only one who had to borrow money to make this trip. Some came to party, some to re-live the good old days and some to make peace with their Souls. For myself I felt that I had left my Soul behind. I wanted to come back and find out for myself if I could look into the eyes of those villagers who endured so much pain. I think; “How would I feel if someone came to my country and burned my home to the ground. Would I still have hatred for them if they returned 30 years later like I’m doing now?” If I could not shed this guilt and sorrow of mine I had decided to end my life there.
As we landed in Saigon (The Cav will never call it Ho Chi Minh City) I hold back my tears. My mind is flashing back to “The Hill and Village in Bong Son, the Rice Paddies, the Jungles and Steaming Heat”. Saigon had not changed much. Five million people hustling day and night, unbearable heat, humidity, foul smells, beggars, prostitutes and thieves. Tonight I’ll skip dinner and orientation, which they won’t like but I’ll roam the streets and drink myself into a coma but it won’t help. One of the fellows had his wallet ripped off within ten minutes and they brought it back with no money for a reward. Lucky for him he had a money belt.
In the morning we tour Saigon visiting the former Presidential Palace, Thien Hau Pagoda, Lacquer Ware factory and Cholon. There’s 500,000 Chinese here in Cholon and it smells worse than a sewer. But they do have a Surplus Store that is a block square and it is filled with every type of American military merchandise you want. If you cannot see what you want they will go and get it for you. Everything is original except the Dog Tags. You take your chance on those.
They carry NVA & VC merchandise also. You’ll find this stuff all through Nam and cheaper elsewhere. Our US Embassy, which fell to the Commies on April 30, 1975, sits empty. I can almost hear the choppers and screams of the people of that terrible day. We return to our hotel the Caravelle that is across from the old French Opera House and the Continental Hotel. The Caravelle is where the Anti War Media would cover the war from. They than would proceed over to the Rex Hotel and share their war stories.
After two nights in Saigon we catch a Russian built Vietnam plane, which is piloted by the same pilot who dropped the bomb on the Presidential Palace during the war. We are now heading for Pleiku and will soon be back in Cav Country. In Saigon we were assigned a civilian guide Mr. Tan and a retired NVA Colonel Le Co who had spent his whole life in the military. Their both great guys to be around. We will pick up another guide, three drivers and a local retired NVA Colonel Nguyen Phien (He has no sense of humor whatsoever) who we would find out later he had led the attack on the Special Forces camp at Plei Mei in 1965. As we land in Pleiku the red dirt and dust is visible as far as you can see. This is very rich soil. It’s very quite and the smell is different than that of Saigon. There are no beggar’s or hustler’s here; everyone works or they don’t survive. It is a hard life here in the highlands. I find the children to be three to five years behind in education compared to the children I’d find elsewhere.
The Pleiku Hotel is not bad; it has a bed and mosquito net. I had expected much worse. It’s April and very hot and the mosquitoes are thick. That afternoon we would visit an ethnic Village of Montagnards. I explore the Village on my own which I’m not suppose to; you know stay with the group and all that BS. Most of the villagers don’t mind the photos but many run and hide. The old ones recognize the Cav patch. The young have never seen white people before so they are scared. You must realize we are the first Americans aloud back in this area since the war. Darkness is approaching and the flashbacks would flash thru my mind as if I was once again caught in the Village with the calls of Medic crying out, flares falling, enemy mortars falling nearby, glimpses of black pajamas and the endless sound of gunfire. I’m thinking is this the same village that we once turned into a living Hell? I’m snapped out of my trance of yesteryear by the sound of the bus starting up and someone yelling, “If you don’t want to stay the night than saddle up”. I don’t want to leave for some reason but as we drive away I will look back and keep my eyes on the village as long as possible. My adrenalin is running rampant.
That night in Pleiku we will bus across this town of 60,000 to a restaurant but I had already told them I would ride across town with them where I would proceed to walk back across town (5 Miles) looking for whatever had lured me back to the Nam. For months now the numbers 1, 2, 12, 17 & 20 would appear daily in my life. I would wake up every night at 12:20 and at 2:12 in the am. During the day they were everywhere.
After I arrived here I finally realized the numbers stood for; # 1 the 1st Cav, 2 & 12 was the battalion and regiment I served with. The 20 would be for the Hill in Bong Son, which was 2-20-66. The 66 added up to a 12 also. The 17 I would find out tonight on my walk across Pleiku. When I got off the bus they urged me to stay with them but I refused. They assigned a Policeman to follow me; this guy had the personality of a Vampire or maybe an old VC. I would stop and peek into small shops and people would stop and just stare at me. Some of them would ask if I was Russian and as soon as I told them I was American the smiles were everywhere. I must have had at least fifty people walking with me now and they were still coming from all directions. They were having bike crashes as their eyes would turn on me. I came to a soccer field and it looked like the Roman Coliseum. I bought a couple of warm beers from an old woman: I went in and watched some of the game. By now I had walked half way and I was soaking wet. Kids were come up and would want to feel my skin.
I would now journey with my “Entourage” to old downtown Pleiku. This place is dark with few street lights. It looks the same as when we marched thru it in 1966 and it’s still filthy and smelly. I would see a sign outside a tiny restaurant (one you would not eat in) which read “Kontum Draft Beer”. Kontum is a small hamlet north of here. I walked in and sat down at this tiny table and stool and there was much reluctance to serve me and you must remember my entourage are crowding at the door looking in. Soon a English speaking Vietnamese came in and asked if I was American and what a hug I got and smiles from all. Mr. Long was an ARVN during the war and he spent many years in a Re-Education Camp. Soon the 80-cent pitcher of Kontum beer was flowing for everyone. Tomorrow the granddaddy of hangovers. As Mr. Long and I were talking about the war soon a young Vietnamese girl came in and started working and I commented that she looks 12 years old. Mr. Long knew the family and introduced me to all of them and one was the young girl that I thought was 12. I had always wanted a daughter but I was blessed with two sons. Her name was Van and she was 17 years old. I now knew what the number 17 meant. I got to know the family that night and asked them to meet with Mr. Long and myself the next night and they agreed.
As the sun rose the heat was rising just as fast. We would be leaving early, as the trip to the former Green Beret Special Forces Camp in Plei Mei would be a long and hard trip. We would travel over roads that looked like they were peppered with mortar rounds the previous night. I’ve got a Kontum Beer hangover and DJ knows it and I’ll have no peace and quite today. On the way we pass Camp Holloway (4th or 25th Inf. ?) which is now used by the Vietnam Army. We cannot take any pictures let alone have our cameras out. There are Troops marching towards Cambodia as the Khmer Rouge have been raiding across the border the last few days. We’ll stop at a rubber and tea plantation and the lake. I remember these well. We re-coned thru here many times .The Ia Drang lies just to the South of us and that is the last place on earth I’d want to visit.
Finally after hours and getting lost ten times we arrive at the camp. Or I should say what is left of it. It is overgrown with jungle and there is a partial bunker left. The airstrip is not recognizable. The two NVA Colonels are now pointing out what the camp looked like and how the one led the attack. They have their original battle plan maps. I’m sure there are Berets turning over in their graves as these bastards talk. I could almost hear Barry Sadler singing the Green Beret song. I had a very proud feeling for the men who fought and died here so gallantly. What those two won’t tell you is that the Berets and the Montagnards held and did not fall. I find a couple morphine bottles today and will find a couple more at Mang Yang Pass and Khe Sanh.
We are back at the hotel and once again I’ll skip dinner and fulfill my appointment with Van’s family and Mr. Long. All day and last night I thought to myself “Why don’t I help this girl with her education after High School and maybe she’ll be able to contribute something to the people here in the Highlands”. College at Hue costs about $30 per month. We agree also after two years in Hue I would sponsor her in the USA at a college. She would return afterwards. Her father tells me “She’ll be yours in your heart but she’ll always be mine in heart and blood”. Later in the trip I would meet some very influential people from Hanoi and Harvard University who would help me pull this off. The beer didn’t taste to good tonight I don’t know why.
The next morning we take Hwy. 19 heading for An Khe where Camp Radcliff was the home of the Cav during the war from 1965-67.The bus barely gets up to the top of Mang Yang Pass. I find an old foxhole still visible and a morphine bottle. We look around and you can see the damage from Agent Orange; the mountains are bald. This was an important route for our supplies and the VC were dug into them. As we enter An Khe I don’t recognize any of it. The NVA came thru here and leveled everything except parts of the base they could use in later years like now. Sin City is gone and the Cav patch on Hong Kong Mt. was probably the first thing that went. We are met by a smart-ass policeman who informs us we are not allowed on or near the base on the other side of the mountain. The base actually in-circled the whole mountain during the war so half of it is reachable.
We visit a junk pile that is located in the front yard of a young Amerasian man and his mother. She probably worked at Sin City. He is tearing down M-60 rounds and he already is missing a couple fingers. This junkyard is what is left of the camp. We are now lead by our police escort to the back of Hong Kong Mt. We are allowed to hump thru the rice paddies in this 100-degree plus heat. Col. Speedman (Speedy) would try to explain where we’re standing but everyone has his own idea. I keep humping way ahead and I can hear the yells to stop but I don’t. The mountain is full of landmines but I believe at the foot is the area where I was camped and sure enough I find three concrete slabs which I believe was used by HQ, the Church and the Medic Station of my Battalion the 2/12. For me this is not the An Khe I remember; it is a sad scene. How could I think it would all still be here?
On the way out we stop at some doggie diner with a dirt floor. Even the dogs under the tables have second thoughts about the food; I’ll drink a couple warm beers. DJ is going up and down the road still looking for Sin City and his old girlfriend. He shows the photo to all who will look. We pick him up a couple miles down the road; he has a sad face.
We reach the top of An Khe Pass and below lies Happy Valley. The only reason I could recall us calling it Happy Valley was that we were always happy to get out of it and back to camp alive. The ride between An Khe and Qui Nhon is beautiful. During the war this whole country was ugly to us. How time changes a person. It’s rice harvest and every member of every family are out there. The Water Buffalo is the first and last to work but he is the first to eat and bathe afterwards. He is considered a member of the family. A thousand photos could not capture the beauty of this valley.
Tonight we stay at the Qui Nhon Beach Hotel and its modern. We have beachfront property and I’m too tired to enjoy it. A refrigerator in the room; what is next? This was the home of the 67th & 85th Evac Hospitals. There’s no sign of them left. Someday some of the Nurses will return here and I wonder what will go thru their minds. As a Platoon Medic I’d tend to the wounded or put the dead in a poncho then onto a chopper if we had time. Some of the wounded would return later but what about the others? Did they make it? Did I stop the bleeding well enough till they arrived at the Evac?
DJ, Dave Hill, Speedy and myself are in the van now. We were driving everyone nuts on the bus wanting to stop for a beer or whatever. Dave and DJ; they always have their heads hanging out the window like two dogs in heat yelling “Hello, how are you?” Speedy and I keep our eyes on the beer cooler. We’re now heading for Bong Son and I will now after 28 years cry for the first time. My sister said to my mother on my return in 1966; “This is not my brother. This is a cold SOB”!! The Village and The Hill are here. It was Jan. 28-31 that we made the assault on Cu Nghi Village. We had 121 Cav KIAs and the enemy lost 660. How many Villagers I wonder. I remember the morning of the 31st; I saw a Bull Dozer being brought in and I asked Sgt. Bass why was it being brought in and he turned and pointed to a mound of bodies that had to be in the hundreds. They were the bodies of the 18th NVA, 22nd NVA and 2d VC Regiments. Bong Son would go on for two more months. We would also return twice more later that year.
We reach the airstrip; the locals are using it for drying rice. It looks just like we left it. Not like other airstrips we would visit. I grab my old Medic bag that I have brought along and my Dog Tags and walk toward the Mountains. I want to be left alone with my thoughts. Somewhere up there is “The Hill”. It had neither name nor number. It is where on Feb. 20, 1966 A Co. would be dropped on the top of this small clearing with the understanding that our Re-Con had already been there and was cleared. Wrong Hill.
We were still sitting on the airstrip as A Co. was descending down in between two steep hills where the VC awaited them in ambush. We were the only ones close enough to go to their help. As we approached the hill it’s covered with rockets exploding, VC running back and forth and part of A Co. in hand to hand with them. The Choppers could not land as they are taking heavy hits. We’ll try a second approach and this time we’ll just jump out as they came within hovering distance of 8-10 feet. The battle was so fierce that some were kicking the VC to death. As we took the hill some of A Co.’s men were crawling back up and there was a young LT who demanded we leave the hill and go down and bring the rest of the company up. Sgt. Bass refused and assigned myself and Griffen with his M-60 to stay with the wounded. There were four Medics already down there; but were they alive? Soon the VC tried once again to over run the hill but a gallant stand by the wounded, Griffen and his M-60 and one lone Medic who would feed the M-60 till Griffen yelled “Grenades Doc; Get Out”. I got out Griffen stayed.
That day the call of Medic never ceased. Re-Con and A Co. made it back up the hill. Some Med. Evacs got thru and took out some wounded till The VC set the hill on fire. We had to pick up the wounded and dead and race thru six feet of flames. You could smell the flesh burning and your clothes on fire. By now air strikes of Napalm were hitting all sides of the hill. What was left of A Co. & Re-Con would remain on the hill that night. We’d catch a little sniper fire every once in awhile and that SOB would feel the wrath of a rocket up his ass. Both of my Aid Bags were empty. It would be a long night. Only two of five Medics would walk off that hill and Andy would be a basket case for the rest of his life.
In 1990 I would meet two guys from Co. A that survived that hill. All that was said between us was “Do you remember that hill?” It had no number no name but we’ll always remember it; won’t we Russ , Al , Sgt. Bass and Andy? Yes we will.
As I stand here today starring at those hills I look around and cannot believe the beauty of this area. I’ve had villagers come up to me and hug me who remembers the village (Cu Nghi) and they forgive me and tell me to leave it behind and live for tomorrow. I now feel that I have my Soul back and I’ll leave this war behind me. As we drive away DJ asks me if I had accomplished what I came for. My answer was “You don’t see me looking back do you?” Tonight we reach China Beach for some well-earned R & R.
We arrive at the Non Nuoc Hotel situated on China Beach. We got Geckos on our walls tonight; they will wake us up in the morning with a bird chirping sound. The hotel is very nice and China Beach is everything I’ve heard about it. It is clean and the sea is warm. You can look up and down this beach and see no one. There is a fishing village two miles north. Tomorrow we will be greeted at Marble Mt. by young delightful English speaking Vietnamese girls. Each one of us will have one or two or more to escort us up, down and thru the tunnels and the mountain; as it is very steep and dangerous at times.
The girls are all delightful and they all have nicknames such as Denver, The Boss, Marilyn and many others. They are USA savvy. By the time they get you back down they will try to sell their marble carvings to you. You won’t find this good stuff in Saigon. I wish I had bought more. We’re sitting with some and DJ asks what they would like to be in life after school. One says a doctor and one says a shyster lawyer. We all laugh. After they leave I find out that Mike who was sitting with us ; is a lawyer. They have this saying “You buy from me and I’ll never forget you”. Well I’ll never forget them that’s for sure.
After two great days on China Beach we head for Hue, the ancient capitol of Vietnam. The Hotel Huong Giang over looks the Perfume River and this hotel is first class. We take a boat up the Perfume and arrive at a 500 year old Buddha Monastery. In 1961 a Monk from here drove his car down to Saigon and got out and doused himself with gasoline and sat himself on fire. It was in protest of the way the government was treating his religion. They did not want it. This is the same government we came over to help. That same car now rests back at the Monastery complete with photos of the flaming Monk. We now catch a bus and will visit The Citadel and Flag Tower. It is here where the USMC and the 1st Cav would take not only the Citadel and Flag Tower back but all of Hue. This was one the bloodiest battles of the war. Most of the Citadel maybe 2/3rds of it was leveled by bombing. There is still a lot of it to see and the battle scars are still visible and will be forever. For those that fought here and if they return for a visit they will recognize everything. You remembered; didn’t you John Doherty?
In the AM we head for someplace called Dong Ha. It should be called “Dong of Ox”. We reach the Truong Son Hotel and believe me I’d rather be in a foxhole tonight. They give us 30 minutes to check in; it takes me that long to get the door open. About a mile from here is where Bat 21 was shot down. There’s a group here digging at different sites for MIAs. This is Marine Country (USMC).
We are heading for Khe Sanh and we will pick up a couple local guides and the one riding with us is Mr. Tinh. He is a former ARVN Liaison Officer who was attached to the 3rd Marine Division at Da Nang and Khe Sanh. He served four years in a Re-Education Camp. He tells us in good English that they tried to brainwash him into forgetting English but he gave them a snow job while there. Every other word out of his mouth is the “F” word and he adds “Mother” to it also. Very well versed. I ask; “Where did you learn that foul language?” He smiles and says “The Mother Fucking Marines; they teach me Fucking good, yes?” It is 90 plus in the van and they tell us this is the hottest year ever on record. We’d let Mc Donald the wannabe Senator ride with us but he would want to stop at every house and hand out campaign stickers and kiss all the babies. Yes; he brought stickers, etc. The guy does not drink so that leaves him out of the van for sure.
Mr. Tinh tells us about his stay in the Re-Education Camp and says he has no hard feelings and the camp was not too harsh. He tells us that Hanoi is very sorry now that they let the South Vietnamese flee the country because they left with much knowledge. I noticed the Vietnam returnees got thru airport customs much faster than us. All camps were shut down in 1985.Oh sure! I believe in the tooth fairy to.
On the way we stop for a lunch break and there is a large dog to greet us. We make the comment “There’s Lunch”. Mr. Tinh informs us that Hanoi discourages this and also the chewing of Beetle Nut, which turns their teeth black. They encourage Beef diet, Water Buffalo for working and English taught to all. The trip to Khe Sanh is beautiful. The mountains are laced with Yard villages; some very large. As we reach Khe Sanh only a few farms are visible. There is ammo and whatever else you can think of lying on the ground. We’re warned not to touch.
There’s a farmer in the field with a metal detector and I think what a great photo. As I approach the guy he stops and stares at me with his mouth wide open. Soon I here Mr. Tinh yelling “You stupid Fucking GI: your in a mine field.” I backtracked very quickly over the un-cleared field. I caught hell from everybody. I gather some pieces of barbwire and red dirt for a Marine I know and a little extra for some Cav guy that I might run into someday. Yes the Cav were the ones who ended the siege.
The next morning we leave our beautiful Dong Ha Hotel and no one is late getting to the vehicles. The Dong Ha and the DMZ is the ugliest piece of Vietnam we well see. We stop at Camp Evans, which was the Cav’s base after leaving An Khe. It has been leveled and now is covered with eucalyptus trees. I feel for the men and women who served up in this area. An Khe is paradise compared to all this. When we reach the so-called “McNamara Line” you see craters, which was caused by constant shelling. Some are now fish ponds. There is not a tree to be seen. Up the road we stop and get a few photos of American tanks in the backyards of the locals. Some are being used as garden planters and what ever else you can think of. Nothing is wasted in Vietnam; there is a use for everything.
About forty klicks on the other side of the DMZ we will venture into the NVA tunnels but for myself I had enough of those when I was forced to go in. The north kids are hustling cold beer on the beach and I’ll buy two or three while I gather some of these NVA seashells. It takes them about an hour to get thru and the stories of bats and spiders are plenty. They’re covered with spider webs. They did a lousy job of cleaning out the caves this morning or was it planned that way? We will spend the night in Hue and head for Da Nang tomorrow. A few of the diehards will take another trip to one more Pagoda. For me its R&R time.
In Da Nang we have a great hotel that overlooks the Da Nang River and this is a great place for shopping. Around four we’re looking for the group. DJ & Hill bribed our van driver to take them out to Marble Mt. to say goodbye once more to the girls. We all over packed and they will give them all the extras.
Everybody brought groceries thinking there was no decent food here. We will not be forgotten. I forgot to tell DJ that I invited all the girls to his house for Christmas dinner. If his wife hears about this he’ll be having Spam for dinner. We finally find out where the rest of the group is and hire a couple Cyclo drivers to take us there. After a twenty-block tour we end up two blocks from the hotel. Some things never change. We go inside and I think I’m in Malibu. Its called Christie Harbor Side Restaurant & Bar. It has a large screen TV showing a football game. He has a full supplied bar and filtered water and ice. A hamburger and fries for two bucks. He is an Aussie married to a Vietnamese woman and lives here. In 1994 the law is; only Vietnamese can own a business. As you may already guess some of us guys stayed till closing time.
We arrive the next morning at the Da Nang airport for a flight to Saigon. Its clean, has AC, and the workers are very courteous. Saigon should come up here and take lessons. We arrive just in time at our hotel for a five-course lunch, which the fifth course is a half-pound hamburger and fries. No one lost any weight on this trip including King Kong Buddha. Except for Dong Ha & Pleiku the food was very good.
A few of us venture over to the Revolution Museum and the War Crimes Museum.
The Crimes Museum is 100% Anti American and you better have a strong stomach. This place has deformed babies in jars, photos of tortured victims and much more.
They tell us it will be closed soon to better the relations with America. The next day is an off day for those who have Ho Chi Minh's Revenge. For myself I go shopping and taking of photos. I would take over 800 photos and end up keeping 400.
On our last day, three would stay behind; three would rent a car and go to the Cav’s last camp of the war; and of course when they arrive, there is nothing but bare ground. All I had ever heard about the Mekong was that it is filthy, hot and ugly. Don’t believe it. This is an adventure! From Saigon we take a bus 40 miles south where we catch a boat and start our journey up the Mekong. We stop at Unicorn Isle, which we will hump thru. They grow every type of fruit you can think of. The Delta is rich in soil. We come to a small home and we are invited under the cool shade by a family to partake of tasting mango, banana, coconut, rice cakes and tea. The island even had a barbershop but the island should be called AA not Unicorn; as there is no beer, soda nor bottled water. I think I will put in a resume for Island Mgr. and send for the Marble Mt. Girls and a couple ships full of beer. It takes about an hour to return and pick up our bus, which had traveled along the road and met us half way back. The Mekong holds the record for the largest catfish ever caught. It weighed just over 1,000# and was caught in the early 1950s.
We proceed to the Snake Farm where they do research of poisonous snakes of all types. They treat patients or I should say the ones who were close by when bitten and survived. They create Anti-Venom and are one the biggest suppliers in Asia. We are allowed to photo some of the patients and ask questions. They’re in no mood to answer questions. The Vietnam Army are the workers and caretakers along with a couple Doctors and their staff.
They jump into different pits; where they grab some up so we can take photos. One pit had “One Step Charlie” which is a “Bamboo Viper”. We use to call him that because we heard; once bitten; you take one step and die. Well it wasn’t true says the Doctor. You have 30 minutes of agonizing death. These snakes are very use to the men and not one of the snakes tried to strike. One handler handed me a six-foot python which he put around my neck. This drew a lot of photo seekers. I tried to get Kathy to try him on but while she was running she yelled “Give it to my husband; I have life insurance on him”. I tried to pick up “Mama Python” but she told me I was not her type. I tried to lift her without budging her. DJ and I both tried without success; all along the workers were laughing their ass off. Soon her head came around towards my head and that’s when the worker’s jumped in and said “no more.” I agreed big time. They have monkeys, owls and other type of animals they use in their experiments. I hope the Animal Rights Group doesn’t hear about this place. Its time to leave and everyone is shaking their pant legs when all of a sudden we see Kathy beating the crap out of that python that her husband held and she’s yelling; “You didn’t squeeze hard enough. I paid good money for that insurance policy”. No respect; even in the Nam.
On the way back we stop at BGI French Brewery and Restaurant. It’s new and everything is great. The beer is good tasting and cold. They serve us a fish called Elephant Fish, which stands about eight inches tall and five inches wide. There is none left at the end. We’ll make a mistake by not stocking up with soda and beer; but Saigon is only 40 minutes away. We would have our first breakdown and we will find out there’s not a thing to drink within five miles either way. We’ll be down for nearly three hours and no shade to be had. This is the Nam I remember. We’ll have a nice after dark tour of Saigon on the way back.
Tonight at dinner a TV crew out of Dayton, Ohio will interview us. They’re on their way to the flogging in Singapore. They’re a young group and they remind me of the fucking hippies of the sixties. The kid is being flogged for vandalism to vehicles. They think its cruel and he should be sent home. I told them they should flog his mother too. That was the end of my interview. When you travel to another country; you respect their customs and laws. Don’t want to? Than stay home!
All thru Vietnam I find it a very young country. When I ask where are the old people they tell me they fled to other countries. Yea sure. Where are all the Amerasians we left behind? Did the media lie again? I only saw three. I see progress up and down the country and we traveled from the Mekong all the way up to the DMZ and beyond. New homes, power lines, TV antennas and children going to school night and day learning English. The ethnic villages of the Bru & Chiard Montagnards prefer the old ways but they to are being forced to change and attend school. The country is an adventure to travel in and the people show no hatred towards us. They don’t dwell on the war like we do.
They also have thousands of love ones missing as we do. I asked in private many times about our POWs/MIAs and I got the same answer every time. They know of none and they are aware of our one million dollar reward. I never had to mention that reward, as they would bring it up themselves. I will always believe they were left behind and I will never give up hope till I die. They told us they heard some were sent to North Korea, Russia and China. Outraged villagers killed many of them instantly and buried them never to be found.
What I have seen of Vietnam I feel in my heart the country is much better off united than if it had stayed separated by North and South. In the long run; we won. The old ways are disappearing and a new and smarter generation is on the horizon.
Yes, Vietnam will lure me back someday; it will not be back to the old battlefields.
Note: I wrote this for my children and their children and so forth. My Great Uncle left me his 1876 Sharp Rifle that he used in the Spanish Civil War. We have no photos or information of his experience and feelings of what he endured. I hope someday maybe fifty or hundred years from now this will shed some light for someone.
Gary L. Baxman, April 1994