MISSING IN ACTION MYSTERY

US made armored vehicles in Hue, captured from the South Vietnamese Army at the war's end

Today I'm in the old capital Hue inside the Citadel. I'm outside the Imperial Enclosure, and as I'm strolling along Thang Street, I chance upon what is known as 'The Conflict Museum’. It's easy to find, since big American made tanks and armored vehicles are parked right out front. Although armor was used by the US military to retake the Citadel in 1968, plaques beneath these heavy vehicles state that most were captured at Tan My Port in 1975, as the war ended. The plaques don’t mention they were abandoned by ARVN troops, who were trying to board ships and escape south.

Buying a ticket, I find the section on the American war, and prepare myself to sort through what is truth, and what is propaganda. There is plenty of both, but I’ll be shocked at what else I find here.

At first, the museum is heavy on weapons, documents, and old photos. There's an emphasis on the torture of captured communists by the ‘puppet’ soldiers, and by the US. Like in the ‘War Remnants Museum’, these atrocities were documented elsewhere. Of course

US made bombs on display in the museum

there's no mention of torture inflicted by the communists themselves. For all their focus on atrocities, one of the most horrific events of the war here in Hue, is not mentioned in the museum at all. In 1968 when the communists took the city, they rounded up and massacred 3,000 of Hue’s citizens. It was the worst massacre of the war. Most killed were civil servants and government officials. These included teachers, lawyers, firemen, doctors, policemen and administrators. But the communists didn’t stop there. The dead included women, children, Catholic priests, nuns, Buddhist monks, and a French medical team. 

These unfortunate civilians were marked for death by Viet Cong (VC) spies who had been living among them until the takeover. In the first days of the takeover they were quickly rounded up, executed and buried in mass graves, many near the Perfume River. These mass graves were discovered as US troops were retaking the city. During that deadly month of occupation, the VC had murdered an entire generation of Hue’s civilian leadership.

US Army Cobra gunship, type flown by Capt. McDonnell. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Continuing on, I find many weapons here, all were manufactured in the US, Russia, or China. I ponder over this: all the weapons are of foreign origin. So what if North and South Vietnam were left to fight the war alone, using only their domestically made weapons? What would they have used to fight each other? Knives and bamboo spears?

For the average North Vietnamese Army and Viet Cong fighter, this war was mainly a fight for reunification, and to kick out foreign invaders. For the Americans, Russians and Chinese, the implications of the Vietnam War were much broader. This was also a proxy war, part of the larger Cold War dividing the world at the time. Most Vietnamese today still don't understand this.

Another group of photos show anti-war demonstrations within Vietnam in the 1960’s. They glorifly the demonstrations from those years, but they won’t allow any demonstrations against the government today.

The last room has exhibits from when the communists recaptured the city as the

ARVN and US Army ID's on display

war ended. A display caption reads, “SOME ID CARDS OF THE AMERICAN AND PUPPET SOLDIERS, TAKEN BY THELIBERATION TROOP IN MARCH 1975”. Lined up like playing cards, there are many genuine military ID's from ARVN troops, along with 11 Army ID cards from American soldiers. This is another mislabeled caption. Nearly all American troops were long gone out of Vietnam after the peace was signed in 1973, so these 11 soldiers couldn’t have been captured in Hue in 1975. This is just more propaganda, but the ID cards themselves are genuine. I wonder, were these men killed in action earlier in the war?

On a hunch, I decide to research the US soldiers on these ID cards. I knew that there was a story for each one of these young men. I decide to search beyond the propaganda, and try to find out what really happened to them.

Getting to a computer later, I begin tracking down their information searching through various public databases.. Of the 11 ID cards, the text of one name isn’t visible, leaving me 10 to research. Four of the ID cards don’t have any relevant information that I can find. Their names are not listed on Vietnam War Memorial, so these four men weren’t killed in Vietnam. They aren't on the list of the prisoners of war (POWs) released at the war’s end either. For these four men, perhaps their ID cards were lost or stolen.

For the ID of one Staff Sargeant, I’m pleased to learn through a networking search that he survived the war. A former Army Ranger in Vietnam, he’s now a civilian manager of a contracting company. Like the other four, I’m curious to know how his ID card ended up here. I wonder if he is even aware that his old Army ID is on display in a Vietnamese museum.

US soldier's ID cards. I searched to find out what happened to these men.

More searches find results for four other ID cards. I’m sad to learn that these men were killed in action (KIA). Mark Bush, Milton Swain, Max Johnson and Richard Staab. From the Vietnam War Memorial database, I learn that all four were with the 101st Airborne, an elite Army unit. All were killed in fighting in Thua Tien Province, of which Hue is a part. None of them died here during the Tet Offensive though. All four were killed later on different dates, between 1969 - 1970. These ID’s may have been removed from their bodies by the VC or NVA after they fell on the battlefield.

Then there is the last name, the only officer in the group. I type in his name for a web search, and hit return.

My mouth drops open. I’m shocked at what I find.

Captain John T. McDonnell. There is far more information about him, then there is on any of the others that I looked up before. That’s because he was not killed in action. He is still listed today as MIA, Missing In Action in Vietnam. He disappeared on March 6, 1969, and he hasn’t been seen or heard from since!

On that day Capt. McDonnell was flying a combat mission south of Hue in a Cobra helicopter gunship. The chopper was hit by ground fire and crashed. The injured pilot of the helicopter was found and evacuated. Unfortunately, due to the nature of his injuries, he couldn’t recall what had happened to McDonnell.
 
US forces searching for the chopper, found the wreckage. McDonnell’s helmet was found, with no traces of blood. His seatbelt was found unlocked, so it’s likely he fled on foot. The search team found abandoned enemy positions nearby, and since McDonnell’s body wasn't found, it’s likely he was taken prisoner. The presence of his ID in this museum practically confirms it.

Later information collected from investigators, indicated he was likely being held prisoner by the NVA. Incredibly, he may even have still been alive after the war's end in 1973, when all other

More IDs. Capt. John T. McDonnell, at the bottom, is Missing In Action.

American prisoners of war (POW’s) were supposedly sent home.

I’ve learned that there is something even worse than being killed in a war. There is the great misfortune of disappearing in combat, and never being found. Ever. Capt. McDonnell’s disappearance created a pain for his family that is never ending. For years they were unable to mourn for him, since they didn’t know if he was either dead or alive. Years later, the Army finally declared him officially dead, but how did his death happen, and when? What really happened to him may remain a mystery that will never be solved.

Unfortunately, John McDonnell’s family is not alone. After the US war ended in 1973, and all prisoners were exchanged, more than 2,500 Americans remained listed as Missing In Action in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. Since the North Vietnamese soon resumed the war, the US government never paid them the $4.5 billion in war reparations agreed to in the Paris Peace Accords. For years afterward, many believed the North Vietnamese were still holding live American prisoners of war, perhaps hostages for the war reparations. Some American POW’s may have remained in prison camps, held for political ransom.

For their part the communists denied this, claiming all live Americans had already been returned. In at least one case, their claims were disproved. Robert Garwood, a US Marine who had been missing since 1965, was finally released by the Vietnamese in 1979, six years after the US war ended. He was later convicted of aiding and abetting the enemy, but for years the North Vietnamese had never admitted that he was in their possession.

John McDonnell also may have been alive after the war, and he remains listed as Missing In Action today. But the presence of his ID card in this military museum leaves many unanswered questions. For this card to have ended up here, somebody in the NVA or VC must have taken this ID card from McDonnell while he was still alive, or removed it from his uniform after his death. The US military is aware of his ID card in this museum, but his fate remains unknown. After Capt. McDonnell’s chopper went down, he didn’t just disappear into thin air. Somebody here in Vietnam knew what happened to him. 

There are still mysteries to solve in Vietnam. 

THE UNLIKELY HERO

Thi Lien was saved by a helicopter crew

I'm continuing my visit to the My Lai massacre site in Vietnam. It's a sad memorial place, a rural village in central Vietnam where hundreds of civilians were killed by US soldiers in a 1968 operation. I've already met one woman that survived that massacre, an older lady in her 80's who is still there today. She had told me her moving story of survival.  

Among the landscaping near the My Lai memorial statue, I see another woman in her 40's tending to the greenery. Like so many Vietnamese women who work the rice paddies, she’s wearing long gloves to protect her skin from the sun. From beneath her conical hat she looks my way, and pauses from her work. She smiles at me, and gives me a friendly wave. It turns out that she is also a survivor of the massacre that occurred here!

With the help of my translator, I learn her amazing story. 

Her name is Nguyen Thi Lien, and she was only seven when the attack happened. Today she’s tending a garden of shrubs here in My Lai, next to the long ditch where more than 100 civilians were shot to death on that horrible day in 1968. My translator says that she was at this same ditch when the shooting happened. Her mother covered her, and when the shooting stopped, they both played dead among the other bodies. Then the American soldiers walked away. The dead were all around them, so they gathered with other survivors in a nearby bunker. They started yelling, hoping someone from a nearby village would come and help them. A squad of US soldiers heard their screaming, and returned to finish them off.

Before the soldiers reached their bunker, a small US helicopter swooped down from the sky, and landed in between them. The pilot and his armed crew got out, and placed themselves between the civilians and the other American soldiers. There was talking and shouting, but Thi Lien couldn’t understand what they were saying. She couldn’t know it, but in between the profanities, the American pilot had told his crew that if the approaching soldiers opened fire on those civilians, than his helicopter crew was to return fire on the soldiers.

The pilot approached the terrified Vietnamese in the bunker, and motioned to Thi Lien and the others inside that they should come out. His aim was to take them to safety. Since they already feared the Americans from the killings that they had witnessed earlier, Thi Lien and her mother fled on foot to a nearby village. At the request of the pilot, another larger helicopter landed, and took the other surviving villagers to safety. 

An OH-23 helicopter. Colburn and his crew saved Thi Lien, and 9 other civilians. (Photo: US Army)

With all the killing of civilians at My Lai, Thi Lien was fortunate that this one group of US soldiers had intervened to stop the massacre. He had saved 10 village civilians from certain death.

The pilot who had saved them, was US Army Warrant Officer Hugh Thompson. He had been flying a reconnaissance mission over My Lai in his OH-23 Raven. He and his door gunner Larry Colburn, and crew chief Glenn Andreotta saw the corpses, and the killing that was happening beneath them. Horrified by what they saw, they landed to stop the further murder of civilians. 

Besides Thi Lien and others in the bunker, another boy was saved by this crew with a conscience. As they were flying overhead, they saw movement in the dozens of corpses lying in the bloody ditch. After landing the helicopter, crew chief Andreotta waded into the tangle of bodies, and pulled out an eight year old boy named Do Hoa. Andreotta and Colburn brought him onto the chopper, and Thompson flew him to the nearest hospital in Quang Ngai. He hadn't been seriously injured, and the boy survived. 

Thompson as a young pilot (Photo: US Army)

As horrible as the massacre was here, the Vietnamese still recognized that these three US soldiers performed their duty with honor, by saving 10 civilians. Photos of them and their story, are posted in the memorial museum. 

As for what happened to this hero helicopter crew, two of them survived the war. Only one of them still survives today.

Glenn Andreotta, the helicopter crew chief who had pulled the young boy Do Hoa from the corpse filled ditch, never made it home to the USA. He was killed in action in Vietnam only three weeks later.

The hero pilot whose actions had saved the civilians, Warrant Officer Hugh Thompson, managed to survive the war, even though his helicopter was shot down several times. The last time he was shot down, he had broken his spine. Although he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his actions at My Lai, Thompson threw the medal away, seeing it as an attempt to buy his silence. But Thompson’s silence could not be bought. He later testified about the massacre at military inquiries, at the court martial of Lt. Calley, and even before the US Congress, so that the awful truth about My Lai could be known.

Thompson was quickly ostracized by other pilots and army officers. He received hate mail and death threats. Thompson left the army for good in 1983. Afterwards, he continued to fly civilian helicopters, ferrying workers out to gulf oil rigs. 

L to R: Thompson, Colburn, Do Hoa, and Colburn's son in 2001 (Photo: Kummer)

It wasn’t until many years later, that Thompson was finally recognized publicly for doing the right thing. In 1998, the Pentagon awarded him the soldier’s medal. Thompson initially refused to accept the medal, arguing that his two crewman deserved the citation as well. On this point, Thompson won, and they all received the award. Later in 2004, Thompson was inducted into the Army Aviation Hall of Fame. 

Sadly, two years later Thompson died of cancer in Louisiana at the age of 62. His former door gunner, Larry Colburn, came to visit him on his death bed. The two had reconnected in the years afterwards. Today, Colburn is the only survivor from their original helicopter crew. Like Thompson, he had testified for the inquiries, and he has given many interviews for articles and documentaries about My Lai. Colburn now owns a medical supply business, and lives outside of Atlanta with his wife and son.

On a better note, in 2001 Thompson and Colburn traveled back to Vietnam, back to My Lai. Working with the Wisconsin Quakers, the former soldiers returned to dedicate a new elementary school for the children of My Lai village. These two honored veterans were even able to meet with some of the survivors that they had saved, including Do Hoa, the traumatized little boy that they had flown to Quang Ngai Hospital. 

It was a reunion that had been a long time coming. In the following years, the young Vietnamese boy that they had saved, had grown into a man. Do Hoa had become an electrician. 

Even though he was now an adult, Do Hoa addressed both Colburn and Thompson as, ‘Poppa’.

VIETNAM BEACHES AND DEPARTED ARMIES

Scenic Nha Trang, Vietnam's favorite beach town

When looking at the layout of Vietnam, one can’t help but notice that this entire country is one long, skinny stretch of land, whose entire eastern border is one continuous coastline.  And what does everyone love about coasts?

Beaches.

With picturesque beaches, offshore islands and turquoise waters, the southeastern town of Nha Trang is Vietnam’s most popular beach destination. Once a sleepy coastal town, the haven was a getaway for Bao Dai, Vietnam’s last emperor.

When the Americans came to town, for a while Nha Trang became a rest and relaxation (RNR) center for US soldiers during the war. Surprisingly, the beach town was also popular with the Viet Cong for the same reason.

“We didn’t have any big attacks. Charlie (a nickname for the Viet Cong) liked to go there for RNR too,” said Jay, a retired soldier I know. As a US Army Lieutenant, he was based in Nha Trang in 1969. During the time Jay was there, the town was quiet. “You could be at the beach, and the guy swimming there next to you could be Charlie. It was like an understanding. If you don’t give me any problem, I won’t give you any problem either.”

As strange as that sounds during wartime, there were a couple vacation places in South Vietnam that saw less fighting, since soldiers from both sides used them for RNR. While Rick was there, Nha Trang was one of them. “Americans didn’t bother the Viet Cong, Viet Cong didn’t bother the Americans,” Jay said.

There were periods of heavy fighting around Nha Trang, but for a while, it was an RNR destination for US soldiers. That brought with it the usual vices that soldiers pursue in war zones, namely bars and brothels. “We would go downtown to get drunk, and to get laid,” Jay said of those days. “We had curfew at nine pm. Some guys would just stay out all night, sleep with their girlfriends, and come back the next morning. There was no bedcheck for officers.”

The Nha Trang skyline today, with the ocean at upper left

As I walk through downtown Nha Trang, I see it’s still popular with tourists, with fewer bars. There are plenty of restaurants, art galleries and travel agencies. Most of the hotels are smaller family owned places, but there are also new mega-hotels. It’s a major change in development from Jay’s days here. “There were no buildings over four stories then,” he said of that time. Jay would hardly recognize Nha Trang now.

Heading back to my hotel, I came upon something that Jay would recognize. My eyes widen at the sight of a 1960’s era American military jeep. Parked in front of a bar, it had the logo of the USMC, the United States Marine Corps. The workmanship looked all the same, the instruments, the military antennae, everything. This jeep was known as a '151' and though common during wartime, very few are left in Vietnam. 

I’ve been told that back in the 1990’s, an Australian had bought up hundreds of the old American jeeps still in possession of the Vietnamese Army. He then packed them all up, and shipped them off to Australia. I had seen only one genuine 1960’s era American jeep during my entire time in Vietnam, and it was used by the Ho Chi Minh City fire department. Although in good condition, it looked like no other jeep in the world. It was painted bright red, with whitewall tires.

But what about this one in mint condition? I couldn’t believe my eyes, this dark green jeep before me in downtown Nha Trang looked like new. How did this jeep survive so many decades, in such excellent condition? Examining the jeep closely, I walk around it for a better look. Then there on the back of the jeep, in small lettering, was the reason it looked so new: “Made in Vietnam”!

A counterfeit US jeep near the beach, made in Vietnam!

This was a counterfeit jeep. As it turns out, somebody had copied the design locally and began manufacturing them a few years back. This was not the only time I would see such a jeep in Vietnam, I would see more of these copies in other cities.  This is part of the Vietnam’s strange nostalgia for the war years, which includes the popularity of  American military items.

On my second day, it’s sunny out, so I take an afternoon to venture further around town on foot. I end up atop a hill near the edge of town, and I happen upon a small old military base. This post was first built first by the French, then inhabited by the Americans, then the Russians, and finally the Vietnamese. These days, it’s mostly empty. With the sun beating down on me, I stop at a small restaurant across the street for something to drink. Since there were few customers, the owner had plenty of time to chat with me. As it turned out, the restaurant had been open here for many years, under the ownership of the same family. The old owner had hosted many soldiers as customers over the decades, from many different foreign armies. 

I wondered who he preferred serving here over the years, so I asked him, “Who did you like as guests at your restaurant?”

“Like Americans, he answered. “Americans good customer.”

I thought of the flip side of that question, and inquired, “who did you not like in your restaurant?”

He was quick with his answer: “No like Russians. No money.”

Statue on a Nha Trang military base, once inhabited by French, American, Russian, and now Vietnamese troops

 
Obviously he was speaking of the Russian sailors who stayed here in the 1980’s, who had little money to spare from their meager military wages. The USSR Navy had taken over Cam Ranh Bay after the American departure. But even the Soviet sailors have gone. When the cold war was ending, the Russian economy took a dive. So the Soviets vacated their base here, even before their lease agreement had expired.

Oddly enough, the Russians have invaded Nha Trang again, only this time it’s sun worshipers. With the improvement of the Russian economy in the last decade, the number of tourists in Nha Trang from Russia is on the rise. Their presence has become so profitable, that many local businesses have posted Russian language signs to attract them. As more Russians have money for vacations these days, Nha Trang has become one of their preferred holiday beach destinations. It sure beats Siberia.

BUDDHIST FUNERAL AND THE DRAFT DODGERS

A Buddhist shrine has a revered place in the home

My Vietnamese translator Nga has invited me to her parent’s house for a memorial service, so I’m off to see the real life in the Mekong Delta, in a remote village. As I leave Can Tho town, on the back of a motorbike, we pass a few army installations and a naval base. Some of these used to be inhabited by the US military during the war. One of my older cousins served in the US Army here then, and I wonder which of these bases was his. He hardly left Can Tho though, except by aircraft. I’ve been seeing more of the Mekong Delta in one week (from ground level at least,) then my cousin was probably able to see in a year.

After a long rainy trip with a few wrong turns, we turn off the paved road onto narrow dirt roads. I can see why this territory was so difficult  for the US military to patrol years ago. This road isn't even wide enough for jeeps. Nga's village is so remote, it didn't see any action during the war. Now I understand why I couldn’t come in a taxi, as no vehicles larger than motorbikes can reach here.

Finally, we arrive at Nga's village, a small delta community of only 300 people. I size up the delta home where I’ll be spending the night, a simple white house with exterior pillars. The décor within has a woman’s touch. Furnishings are simple, and like most delta houses, there are no glass windows, or screening, fresh air flows throughout. Unfortunately, so do mosquitos. Malaria is still a problem in the delta, as can be seen from the mosquito nets hanging over all of the beds. I’m hoping I won’t get bitten while I’m here.

Reaching up from the floor, stains over a foot high mark the bottom of every wall in the house. “Years ago, it flood,” Nga informs me. The whole Mekong Delta is prone to flooding, so all the electrical outlets in the house are three feet off the floor. Since this home is made of brick and concrete, it will survive repeated floods, as opposed to the other delta houses made of wood or thatch.

Many delta homes still cook with charcoal

I’m introduced to Nga’s mother and relatives, and they make me feel right at home. Soon I’m feeling more relaxed. Since I’m far away from the hustle and bustle of Saigon,  the calm and quiet country life of the delta is rubbing off on me. Tomorrow is a busy day, and the family has a big memorial service planned. Nga shows me my bed, and I turn in early. After I tuck in the mosquito netting, I lay and listen to the buzzing and humming of the delta’s insects. It makes an appropriate lullaby, as I drift off to sleep.

The next morning I awaken to a busy house, as the family prepares for the memorial service visitors. Entering the kitchen, I find the women of the house busily cooking for the coming guests. Even though electricity arrived in the village a few years ago, Nga’s family still does all their cooking on a wood burning stove. Plumbing isn’t common yet either, as I see from the old farm style water pump out back.

In the living room atop a dresser, the family has a Buddhist shrine common to  Vietnamese homes. There are offerings left for departed spirits, including fruit and cups of tea. A bowl and urn are for burning incense. The most recent addition to the altar, is a photo of the departed family patriarch. Today’s memorial service is for Nga’s father, who died a month ago after a long illness at the age of 73.

The service isn’t starting for a couple of hours. Since I’m feeling rather useless around the house, I depart for a walk around the village. Heading along a canal in front of the house, I pass piers and wooden boats on the banks below. Some of these small boats are used for fishing, which was the former occupation of Nga’s father.

Children at recess at lively Mekong Delta school

Walking along the dirt path, I reach a recently built primary school. For many years, there was no school in Nga’s village at all. “I only go to school for four year, because of war,” Nga once told me. “I wanted go more.” With so much  conflict in the delta back then, the education of children suffered. The new village school is nothing fancy, but well attended. It’s recess time, and the children are outside playing in the dirt yard. Most of them have on blue and white uniforms, and play barefoot. A few of them see me passing, and they run to the fence. “Hello! Hello!” they call to me. My return hello brings giggles from the smiling students.

Rice paddies in the dry season. White monuments at left mark family graves.

I continue on the path leading out of the village, and soon I’m surrounded by green rice paddies. Off in the distance local farmers work their fertile land, which is the real treasure here. The Mekong Delta is well known for its bountiful rice crop. As rice is the staple food for the whole country, the delta is Vietnam’s giant rice bowl. In most of the country, Vietnam’s farmers take in two rice crops a year. Here in the delta, farmers get three. Vietnam is a major rice exporter these days. Since Vietnam returned to a market economy, the standard of living in the delta has improved over the years. Delta farmers earned enough profits to build better homes for their families. While some of Nga’s neighbors still live in corrugated metal shacks, more live in modern brick and cement houses with tiled rooftops. Thatched roof homes are now only a memory.

Canals run through the village

Having walked for a while, I decide I’d better turn back before I get lost. I arrive back at the house, and preparations are almost ready for the mourners to arrive. I look for Nga, and find her talking away on her cell phone. Even in this remote delta village, they still have cell phone coverage way out here. Cell phones are common in this remote delta community. This is amazing, considering that electricity arrived in this village only five years ago. Up to then they were still using oil lamps. Today there are plenty of poor rural Vietnamese families who don’t own a car, don’t own an electric stove, and don’t have hot water. But they own a mobile phone.

Stepping outside in the yard, workmen put the final touches on her fathers crypt. In rural Vietnam, it’s fairly common to bury relatives on family land, as they feel closer to their departed loved ones. Nga’s family isn’t rich by western standards, but this crypt is far more elaborate than those common to western cemeteries. The crypt’s shape follows the outline of a coffin, but the exterior design is more artistic than I’ve seen anywhere. Covered in painted tiles of various sizes, which are painted in pastel colors. Dragons are painted along the sides, with lotus flowers on top. As I watch the workmen install the finishing plaque which has not only the dates of his birth and death, but also has a photo of Nga’s father. 

I wonder why Americans never had this tradition. A photo of the dearly departed would add a more personal touch to any headstone. 

The mourners begin arriving, and Nga’s sister stays busy making iced coffee for everyone in the tree covered yard. The visitors include family, friends and neighbors. Since Nga’s father died on a Tuesday, they will host a gathering like this here at the house every Tuesday, for two months after his death.

As they walk in, they leave their conical hats near the gate, with their belongings placed inside. Most don brown Buddhist prayer robes, and many family members wear white headbands. Then everyone gathers at a table made into a temporary altar in the front yard. 

Prayers for the departed

Tablecloths and plastic sheeting are spread across the ground. They all remove their sandals, and step onto the groundcloths. Each takes incense between their praying hands, and the prayers begin. Incense fills the air. Since there isn’t a monk present, one attendee recites a prayer for all to hear. Then in unison, everyone does a series of standing bows, then kneeling bows, going all the way to the ground. 

With the prayers for the departed completed, they eat a light lunch. The mourners depart, and a new group arrives, and the whole process is repeated. I’m surprised to see that there are three waves of visitors, and the praying and eating continues well into the afternoon. With the last mourner’s arrival, more than 100 people have come to pay their respects today. With so many mourners coming, I tell Nga her father must have been a very popular man. Nga says that he was loved by many, but there's also another reason for the high turnout. 

Most of the community wear brown robes for this somber occasion

“It’s boring in the Mekong Delta,” she says. Apparently there are few social activities in these remote farming villages, so this service is the social highlight of the week. With the service over, the older men take seats at a table to eat. As they chat and socialize, I can see many of them are missing teeth. A few have ridden bicycles for four hours to come pay their respects, so they’re not in a hurry to leave. As I walk by the table, one of them takes me by the arm, and stands up next to me. Using his hand, he compares our height difference. I’m a full head taller than he is. I crouch down to match his height, and say to him, "Cam Sao" (no problem!) The whole table erupts in laughter.

Nga translates for me, and I’m told that I’m the first foreigner they’ve seen in this village in 20 years. I also learn that some of these men were Viet Cong in the war. I try to get some of them to talk about those years, but understandably, they turn quiet. One of them changes the subject, and says something that makes all the men laugh again. Once again everyone is at ease. I ask Nga what he said, and she replies, “he say you very handsome.”

Nga’s tiny CD player is playing Buddhist chant in the background, and some older villagers pick it up to examine it. They look at it very carefully, peering at all sides of it. I realize that they’ve never seen a music player like this before. If they’ve never seen a portable CD player, they would be truly amazed by an Ipod.

As the day becomes late, the crowd thins, and the mourners depart for home. One older mourner leaving manages to say a few words to me in English: “Thank you. Bye bye.”

The mourners depart for home, many by bicycle.

As he shakes my hand, I can’t help but notice that he’s missing half his right index finger. I’m guessing that he lost it in a farming accident, but I’m mistaken. Nga explains to me that the loss of his finger was intentional. “He cut it off,” she said, “so he don’t have to go in army.” Then Nga made the motion of a trigger finger, the finger that he no longer has. I'm shocked, and Nga tells me her uncle wasn’t the only visitor here today, that had gone to extremes to avoid the military.

“You see the man with the eye?” she asks. I nod yes, remembering another older guest who had a very milky looking eye. Back then, he had himself purposely blinded in that eye, also to avoid the draft. “If you go (went) in the army, you die,” she explained of the war years.

There were no easy paths for young Vietnamese men back in those days. I recall that back in America, there were also many young men who refused to fight in the Vietnam War. Their path was far different; American draft dodgers went to Canada. In this village, they cut off their trigger finger, or lost half their sight to avoid the draft. In Vietnam, draft dodging was done through self-mutilation.

Finally the last visitor departs. He mounts his bike, waves to me, then turns to peddle away down the dirt path. He has a long trip ahead of him. He’s wearing traditional clothes, and as I watch him ride away deeper into the Mekong Delta, I think he looks rather timeless, like a scene from decades long gone. As he rides off into the distance, I can’t remember if he was one of the former Viet Cong, or not. Then again, it doesn’t really matter anymore.

DESTROYED TOWN OF BEN TRE IS REBUILT

Buzzing downtown of Ben Tre. Few cars, many motorbikes.

I’m out for a stroll, wandering through the center of an old river town. Now that I’m out of Saigon, I’m feeling the slower pace of life in the Mekong Delta.

Dried fish and fresh produce await customers in shop doorways. Motorbikes  putter past me on the downtown street. On the next street corner, an older Vietnamese woman in pajamas sells freshly baked loaves French bread. The colonials may be gone, but the Vietnamese still enjoy French pastries.

As compared to other old towns in the Mekong Delta, this provincial hub is more modern. The buildings that surround me have an appearance of urban renewal. For an old provincial capital, it bears a look not very common to Vietnam. I notice that for an old colonial town, there are far fewer French colonial buildings around. That’s because most of them have been destroyed years before.

Various groups of townsfolk greet me as I pass. “Hello! How are you? Where you from?” they ask energetically. I get the idea that I’m something of a rarity here. Few tourists come to this part of the Mekong Delta, and even fewer of them are American. Given the history of this town, I’m not surprised.

Old town cinema. Bullet holes can still be seen on the sign.

I’m in the delta town of Ben Tre, which was well known as a rebel stronghold, even long before the American military arrived in the 1960’s. The new look that it has today, is due to the enormity of war’s destruction.

In 1968 when the Tet Offensive hit South Vietnam, the Viet Cong managed to briefly capture this town. Soon after American forces counter-attacked to take Ben Tre back from the VC. Taking the town by house to house fighting was brutal and difficult, so the American military opted for artillery and aerial attacks. They won the battle and regained the town, but not before much of Ben Tre was destroyed by American firepower.

When the fighting stopped, more than half the town was in ruins. Over 400 VC were killed in the battle, but the civilian death toll was even higher. In the aftermath, many bodies were dumped into the Ben Tre River.

The manager of my hotel is a Ben Tre native, and his father was involved in the fighting. “My father VC (Viet Cong),” he told me. His father had survived the battle, and his son relayed his simpler version of those fateful days. “The VC attack. America bomb. Many, many people die.”

The fighting and destruction in Ben Tre produced the most infamous quote of the entire Vietnam War. After the battle was over, a US Army Major was quoted by Associated Press reporter Peter Arnett as saying, “We had to destroy Ben Tre in order to save it.”

Market destroyed in '68 fighting Photo: P Sharkey

There is little evidence left today of the massive destruction of those days. As I wander around the downtown, most of the buildings are new, but a number of old buildings that survived the fighting still bear scars from the assault. Looking carefully at the buildings that survived the shelling, I can still make out physical evidence of the heavy fighting that took place here decades before. As I walk around town I see one residence has bullet holes around the doorway. Another building has shrapnel marks scattered high across the walls. A tall sign that reads, “Cine Theatre” has eight bullet holes peppered up the façade. Those scars are certainly ugly, but with so much new architecture surrounding these old buildings, the damage isn’t very noticeable. Any major damage done to this neighborhood has already been repaired.

Passing an old government building, I come to the only sign of old fortifications in Ben Tre. Two abandoned, ground level bunkers sit at the corners of a government compound. Still showing pockmarks from gunfire, one bunker had a section of concrete knocked out, probably from a rocket propelled grenade.

Rebuilt market in Ben Tre today

Fortunately these old scars of war are the exception, since most of the buildings in town are from the 1970’s era or later. Much as Berlin rebuilt from the rubble of World War II to become the modern city it is today, Ben Tre has also risen from the ashes.

Arriving at the downtown’s center by the river, I reach Cho Ben Tre, the Ben Tre Market. This was also hit by fighting during the Tet takeover. “The market (was) gone,” the hotel manager told me of that time. “Fire… the buildings, fire.”

I look at the market now, and it appears brand new. It was rebuilt years ago of course, and once again it’s the center of commerce in Ben Tre. A lot of folks are eating at food stalls outside, so I stop in for something to drink. It’s a hot day,  the perfect time for a cold green tea.

Sitting down at an empty table, I’m not unnoticed. At the next table is a group of local ladies in their 30’s and 40’s. They don’t speak English, but from their giggling and curious looks, I can tell that they don’t see many white westerners here in the market. As I'm getting further south away from Saigon, I'm getting deeper into the delta where few foreigners venture. 

The market buzzes with commerce

The ladies motion for me to join them at their table, which I do, though I can tell communication will be difficult. A teenage waitress brings my order of green tea. One of the ladies at the table points to the waitress, then to herself. “She, daughter,” she says. It doesn’t take long before the woman tries to convince me to marry her daughter. Although flattered, I politely decline. One thing that hasn’t changed here in the delta, is that marriage to an American is a quick ticket out of poverty.

Another woman at the table seems to be in her forties. Through the use of hand motions, she informs me she is actually 60. Compared to white westerners, Asians often appear much younger than their age. Asian women seem to age gracefully.

I try speaking to them with a few basic words of English. There is little  comprehension, but lots of laughter. Another lady at the table joins in, and offers me another marriage proposal. “We marry,” she says, pointing to her ring finger. I decline again. More laughter.

I’m surprised at the jovial nature and friendliness of these local women. Most of them were old enough to survive the fighting that occurred here, and the US military once heavily bombed this town. As an American, the last thing I was expecting was marriage proposals, even if only in jest.

I pay my bill, and say farewell as I get up to leave. I receive a chorus of bye-byes from the friendly women, as a two year old approaches the table. Her mother takes her daughter by the hand, trying to get her to say bye-bye to me. The child cringes back in fear from the tall white foreigner. All the ladies laugh. The child is the only one at the whole table that is wary of me.

Memorial to the 1960 Ben Tre uprising

I make my way up Dong Khoi street, and head back to the hotel where I’m staying. Like the Dong Khoi Street in Saigon, this refers to the ‘uprising’ of 1960 here in Ben Tre against the dictator Diem, not a reference to the 1968 battle here with the Americans.

That earlier Viet Cong uprising is memorialized in town in Monument Park, where there are murals and towering Soviet style statues. There is a reference there to ‘fighting Americans’, but most US soldiers here in 1960 were only advisors. Full American combat units didn’t arrive in Vietnam until five years later.

Like the museums in Ho Chi Minh City, there are few people in the memorial park, it doesn’t appear popular at all. My hotel manager explained: “The people forget. The war in the past. Far.” He says his former Viet Cong father feels the same as everyone else. I’m sure his father hasn’t forgotten the war, but given the warm welcomes and friendliness I’ve experienced here, I’m pleased to find that I'm not seeing any bitterness.