RETURNING TO VIETNAM

Part One: Hanoi

Thirty years ago this week, I was preparing for a life-changing journey: Traveling to Vietnam—for the third time—this time as a civilian. The thought of going back never crossed my mind until Larry Rottmann, a writer and Vietnam veteran, announced that he was organizing a trip to Hanoi to attend the opening of the art exhibit, “As Seen From Both Sides: American and Vietnamese artists look at the war.”

I purchased a couple of travel books, one of which contained the intriguing statement, “Vietnam is a country, not a war.” What’s so intriguing about that? you ask. Wars have been fought in France and Germany, but no one ever considered it necessary to explain those are countries, not wars.

Abstractly, I was always aware of the distinction between Vietnam the country, and Vietnam the war, even while I was fighting there. Nevertheless, the statement in that travel book was directed at me. I could never think about Vietnam without thinking of war. The Vietnamese writer, Viet Thanh Nguyen, said it best: “All wars are fought twice, the first on the battlefield, the second time in memory.” Thanks to Larry Rottmann, I gathered new memories, the result of which permanently separated thoughts of Vietnam from thoughts of war.

Our visit occurred at a turning point in relations between the US and the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. The United States imposed a trade embargo on Vietnam in 1975 which Bill Clinton lifted three weeks after our visit. That paved the way for the normalization of diplomatic relations between the two countries, which was finalized the following year.

To understand my apprehension about visiting Hanoi, I ask you to imagine what it must have been like to live in that city in December 1972, just over twenty years before our visit. The Paris peace talks had broken down and President Nixon ordered one of the heaviest bombardments in history. From December 18 to the 29^th, 741 B-52s, along with other fighter-bombers dropped over 20,000 tons of ordnance on Hanoi.

It became known in America as “The Christmas bombings,” and in Vietnam as “11 days and nights.” Yeah, I understood Vietnam is a country, not a war. But I had serious doubts about whether the citizens of Hanoi believed that America was a country, not a war machine. But amazingly, they do. I felt welcomed there. I felt more comfortable there than in Saigon in much the same way that I prefer being in San Francisco to Los Angeles. Hanoi was much less chaotic. That said, crossing the road was not for the faint of heart. There were no stoplights anywhere near our hotel. There was a constant flow of traffic, so making a sudden dash to the other side was not an option. Crossing the road was an act of faith. You had to slowly ease your way across, allowing all the motorbike riders and bicyclists ample time to avoid hitting you.

We stayed at the Hao Binh Hotel in Hanoi. Each morning we enjoyed a scrumptious breakfast in the hotel restaurant. The waiter was a pleasant man named Muoi. One morning I asked Muoi if he fought during the war (which the Vietnamese refer to as the American War). He said he did. After making the treacherous march down the Ho Chi Minh Trail, he ended up in Quang Nam Province, the same place where I served two tours of duty. I said, “I’m glad you didn’t get killed, Muoi.” Smiling, he replied, “I’m glad you didn’t get killed.”

I walked by a school that had just gotten out. The kids were friendly, so I asked an adult to take my picture with them. I was wearing the pith helmet I had just purchased (and given away as a souvenir when I returned home).

I visited the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum.

Ho Chi Minh gave explicit instructions that he wanted to be cremated, and that he did not want his body displayed in a mausoleum like that of Vladimir Lenin in Moscow. He wanted his ashes to be placed in three urns, one each for northern, central, and southern Vietnam. One would think that the last wishes of the founder of the Vietnamese Communist Party who led the struggle for independence against the French and then the American-backed South Vietnamese government would be honored. The Politburo big-shots ignored their leader’s wishes.

Instead of returning to Missouri with the rest of the group on the sixth day, I remained in Vietnam for another eight days. I booked flights from Hanoi to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), from Saigon to Danang, and back to Hanoi for the flight back home. Before departing south, I met with two men at the Veterans’ Association in Hanoi, Colonel Tran Gia Thiet and his interpreter, Huynh Van Trinh. I came to discuss my idea of organizing a reunion of former enemies.

Two days before the meeting, I dropped off an after-action report of an operation, code-named Operation Utah, that took place in March 1966. My idea was to return to Vietnam in 1996 with some of the Marines and Navy corpsmen I served with on that operation and meet survivors from the other side who fought against us. The historic significance of that operation was the fact that it was the first of many bloody battles between the US Marines and the NVA. Up until then, we had only fought the Viet Cong.

The meeting with Colonel Thiet was anything but friendly. It felt more like an interrogation. What were the exact dates and locations of my service in Vietnam? Exactly how many battalions participated in the operation? When I told him I served with the 3^rd Battalion 1^st Marines, he asked if the 1^st Marines was a regiment or a division. It was like being in a time warp. I reminded myself that despite being questioned by a stern Vietnamese colonel, it was not necessary to limit my answers to my name, rank, and serial number.  

“The colonel wants you to know we are a generous people,” Mr. Trinh said in his pleasant manner to which I nodded respectfully to the colonel, who looked quite agitated as his words were being translated.

“The colonel wants you to know why we are a generous people,” Mr. Trinh continued. “You committed crimes against our country, and yet we are willing to be friends.”

I turned to Mr. Trinh and asked, “May I say something?” to which he replied with a smile, “Of course,” as the colonel fumed, his eyes averted.

“I am proud of my service in Vietnam. I am also proud of having protested against the war following my honorable discharge from the Marines.” My words were translated, and the colonel nodded. It seemed to calm him down some.  

Colonel Thiet informed me that I was the second Marine to visit the Veterans Association and that the other man was in a wheelchair. Later that year, I learned the identity of that Marine from a lady named Joy whom I met in Washington at a conference. He was Lewis Puller, Jr., the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Fortunate Son whose father was the legendary Marine Chesty Puller. Lew also served in the Quang Nam Province, where he lost both legs after stepping on a land mine. Joy gave me this picture of Lew’s meeting with Colonel Thiet, pictured on the right, and Mr. Trinh on the far left.

The attentive expression on the colonel’s face was much different than the looks I received. But that was not surprising. Lew’s visit had nothing to do with a battle resulting in the deaths of hundreds of NVA soldiers. Lew Puller returned to Vietnam seeking ideas on how to build a living memorial to honor the Vietnamese men, women, and children who died in that country’s long wars. He decided the most appropriate monument to the past and greatest hope for the future would be schools for Vietnam’s children. Sadly, Lew committed suicide just before the groundbreaking of the first school, dedicated in his name, in Quang Tri Province. Since then, 50 schools have been built, four of which were funded by FedEx, a company founded and operated by Fred Smith, a decorated Marine officer in the Vietnam War.

I suspect Colonel Thiet would have liked to send me to a “re-education camp” like the ones thousands of Vietnamese who had opposed the Communists were subjected to. Instead, he did something that confirmed his willingness to be friends. He arranged a meeting for me with a legendary general living in Saigon, which I will tell you about in Part Two of this story.