Hud's Corner

This is quite a holiday in Vietnam. It’s Liberation Day. In our Country, most people can tell you where they were when President Kennedy was assasinated and when the jets crashed into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. I’m guessing that most Vietnam vets remember where they watched the day that the tanks came into Saigon forever more to be called Ho Chi Minh City. April 30, 1975. It’s a safe bet that many, like myself, watched the preceeding weeks as “it” all went down. I remember feeling so angry with no answers to my cry’s of “why.”

This morning I left Hue at about 0800. Huong had taken me across the river last night to another lovely restaurant named, Hoa Vien. I felt very sad saying goodbye to this man who introduced me to his family and gave me new memories.

It was almost 38 years exactly since my platoon provided security for one of the first convoys from Da Nang to Phu Bai. I remembered winding roads up and down large mountains. I remembered it right. Maybe it’s just the holiday, but instead of feeling excited, I found myself starting to feel anxious. So, I stayed in my room for a couple of hours after I arrived in DaNang.

For me, Quang Tri was snoopville. Quang Nam was gruntville. I never really got back into Da Nang much after I landed at the airbase. Two or three gear runs from Hill 55, a couple of R&R’s and a “1 day r&r” to the giant PX, A/C theater (I watched Elsa twice) and a day of beer and burgers at China Beach. Unlike the TV show, I can only remember one gray concrete building that could’ve been transplanted right out of Pendleton.

Right across from the hotel is the old Cathedral which was the Diocesan See of the 51st ARVN Regiment that I worked with as part of a Marine Liaison Team. Except for the transcripts, the majority were Catholics from Hanoi who came South after the ‘54 partition. There was comfort walking into the Cathedral again. Like Hue, the traffic here is much calmer than Hanoi and it seems, “laid back.” I’ve been riding around with a cyclo driver. I asked him to take me to this cybercafe, then I’ll walk the market by the hotel and try to make arrangements to get out to Hill 55 tomorrow. I used up my second camera, so I’ll get some pics developed for tomorrow’s sitrep.

You know, I’m feeling homesick. The trip to Thien Mu Pagoda yesterday has my inners still emoting like the vibrations of the dongs. My past was laid out upon the altar in that temple. These next 8 days are for the Marines and Corpsmen of 1/9, 2/9, and 3/9 and 1/7, especially my best friend, Fred. I think it will be better when I get back out into the bush. I always did feel out of place in DaNang.

S’lan,

Tom

The day started with a few reflections on yesterday. The Dong Ha interpreter, Truong, showed me an old, laminated Marine map of Quang Tri province that brought back memories of “snoop and poop.” He also showed me a book that was given to him, he says, by John Baca, an American vet who has come to Vietnam many times and is involved with the “East Meets West” Project. Americans vets work with the Vietnamese in reparation and reconstruction projects to build peace. The last time that I saw John was in my apartment in Santa Monica either in 1978 or early ‘79. He said that he’d be there when I got off work. But when I returned, he was gone. He was in big pain back then. My own pain would not find such force for a few more years. I’m happy that this gallant soldier and man has found such a constructive peace.

The next reflection is a thought for my own country’s government. Sort of a followup to the efforts of American veterans such as John Baca. I can see that the diplomatic doors of trade and exchange have been happening. You see the old wealth of colonial power rearing up again under the new power, but how about something for the common folks. What’s being continued is that old “trickle-down” rationale, kind of like our tax breaks in America. The problem is it “don’t trickle down” to the poor folks just like in the USA. What would be great in Hue, DaNang and the like, is an institution that would provide capital for these industrious people to feed and raise their families. No interest loans for a man to buy a cyclo or a cottage industry in a shop. All third world countries, and even America, needs a middle class growth. Bottom up has always worked better for people in need.

Today, I tried to sent some pics at a cyber cafe. I had chosen 8, but it took forever and crashed four times. So, I sent two. Then Huong took me to the Forbidden City inside of the Citadel. The last of the dynasty, having evolved into only a pretense, gave way in 1946. I remember scenes of Marines inside here in 1968 from the luxury of the rec room at Camp Horno at Pendleton. Then Huong took me to meet the monks at the Thien Mu Pagoda. My time in the temple should remain private. Leave it to say, “God is good!” Then, I came back to the hotel for a swim and a nap.

Tonight, I will wear one of the two new shirts that I had made for me and Huong will take me to another wonderful restaurant. I’ve always admired Ho’s motiff, so now I have two tunics like he always wore. My material would have made ten for him. I catch the bus to Da Nang tomorrow morning at 0800. Sleep well. I am.

S’lan,

Tom

I started today off with a car and driver, thank God, and we headed off to the DMZ. First stop was Dong Ha where we picked up an interpreter who has escorted many vets. I stayed for a while at Camp Carroll and smoked the pipe and made an offering of oriental sage. All that’s left is one single slab of black top. The rusty dust is now pepper and rubber trees and quite lovely. You look up to Dong Ha Mountain and it looks a little like Pendleton. Than you look to the left to the Mountains of yesterday and you remember.

The next stop was the rise above Con Thien. I slept there with 2/26 one long night years ago. We were seranaded with bamboo knocks and an early am visit. Now, it’s a forest of rubber trees and full of vegetation. The guide told me that two years ago, a group of 3/3 vets came and they spent the night in tents. He said that they smoked cigars and drank wine, telling him it was an old Marine tradition. I didn’t tell him that tradition was that we’d smoke and drink anything and anywhere if it was available.

We then had lunch in Dong Ha before stopping at Quang Tri. What we knew of this town is now gone. Bombed for two years by both sides of Vietnam following the Eastern Offensive of 1972. On both the trip up and back, along the sides of the roads were deep craters. The guide told me that over 5,000 Quamg Tri Province Vietnamese have been killed from old ordinance and mines since 1975. My driver’s mother-in-law lost her leg reaching for a piece of fruit in Phu Bai in 1982.

I didn’t know how I would react to all of this. There have been a few tears from the losses then and their losses after. Maybe tomorrow will be different but right now I feel very much into the present and it’s allright. Not numb, just okay. To all of the Marines who fought here, the Vietnamese y want to say hello again and the greeting smiles are for real. Ooga, I got a shot of the old Quang Tri school. It was pretty much destroyed in 1972, but right next to it is a brand new bigger one with happy kids. I got a pic of that too. I’ve found a cyber cafe that can scan pics so I’ll get the camera developed tonight. Hopefully, I can finally send some photos.

S’lan,

Tom

One thing that I know for sure is that Buddha has an Irish sense of humor. Yesterday, he plunked me into a river and today, he placed me into a dream, but first things first. I began the day by running out and buying a disposable camera and snapping pics during a 1/2 hour cyclo ride in Hanoi I had to hurry because my ride to the airport for the trip to Hue was waiting. It turned out that there was no rush because they don’t even want you to check in for domestic flights any earlier than one hour.

But being early turned out to be to my advantage. There were a couple hundred Vietnam veterans of Dien Ben Phu (and the American War I suspect). They were flying back there to begin a week of celebrations leading up to May 7th, the 50th anniversary of the victory and the end of the French War. While sitting across from them, one man got up and came towards me and saluted. I stood up and returned his salute. I was able to get a picture of his group before they got on the plane and we parted company bowing to each other. That said a lot to my heart and mind.

My flight to Hue only took one hour and we landed at the airport in Phu Bai. Yep! Our old base. I looked out and remembered laying on that runway when it was tarmac, leaning against a pack-board, awfully glad to be back out of our intro to the DMZ. That’s when I heard the Sgt. Major yell out, “Hud! Up and at ‘em, Marine. Hop in. We’re going for a ride.” I jumped into the back seat of the mighty-mite and we headed up to Hue. Now, 38 years later, I was in a taxi, doing it again.

From three days of overcast, humidity and drizzling rain in Hanoi, here was the Vietnam sun I remembered. And the environment was much more familiar. Going from Hanoi to Hue is like going from New York to LA. Then we pulled into the Citadel and my hotel that looked like it belonged in Palm Springs. It even has a pool right outside my room’s veranda door. Tough duty, marine.

After getting settled, I jumped into Huan’s cyclo and we were off to see the sites and to begin a friendship. He took me by the American War Museum and asked if I wanted to see it. Told him no thanks, “Been there! Done that!” I liked Huan in that first hour because he took me by his children’s school so I could meet them. That made us both feel good and equal when I showed him and his children my family’s photo.

He then took me to a beautiful home surrounded by a wondrous garden. A nice Vietnamese lady came out and welcomed me in perfect English with a French accent. I was invited to come to have my supper there that evening. They have a one item menu, with 8 courses. I said that I would be back at 1930. Huan was waiting for me at 1915 and off we went.

I stepped into the past. The house was deep into a residential area of old and far enough away that you couldn’t hear the sounds of the city. I was ushered out back to a veranda with a table set for one and a chair facing the botanical garden with lighting and shadows and the soft sounds of jazz in the air: For the next hour and a half, I was in a paradise of an older colonial time. A place that I had never known. It’s called Y Thao Garden at 3 Thach Han Street, Hue. Treat yourself soon and come to Hue. I slept great and so will you.

S’lan,

Tom

Everything nice and gentle went splash today. Let me start with the factual. “Perfume Pagoda…AM departure at 7h00. 2 hour road trip. One and a half hour boat on Yen stream to Thien Tru habor. 2 hour trekking up to the main cave pagoda. One hour down. Lunch at Thien Tru PM: 2 hour road trip to Hanoi and arrive at about 18h00. Price: 10 U$/person”

That’s straight out of the brochure. As we drove out of Hanoi into the country, I started to feel anxious and sensed that I was entering more familiar territory. Thousands of motorbikes turned into hundreds of bikes. The 4 lane roads got smaller and closer. The most used implement in Hanoi and surrounding area is the horn. The city began to evolve into occasional hamlets with cottage industries and farmers’ foodmarts. It looked like former Army bases have now become schools. As I began to see familiar sights, my recalls began to trigger alert points.

Then we came to the boat docks. There I met a young 17 year old girl named Hua and a 18 year old boy named Ten. They were off from school today so the teachers could hold meetings and were trying to make a few bucks by rowing along side of the tourists and taking pictures to have developed and ready after we came down from the pagoda mountain. The group included some locals making pilgimages, Vietnamese emigre’s returning for visits, some Asian tourists, some Argentinians, a young French couple and two college girls from Winnepeg on vacation. The old boats of wood that I remembered are now iron and the wooden slats for seats are hard on an old man’s sagging butt, especially one without a tailbone.

As we moved up river, the scenery suddenly became all too real. The mountains of Quang Tri toward Laos began to emerge. You remember how their jungle mountains seemed like they rose up from the earth independent of each other in rows that faded in a mist. The reeds on the banks, the call of the birds, the grunt of the water-boo’s in the paddys all clicked recall. I tried to hide what was happening in my chest and gut with humor and “Gentle-Ben” wisdom. But I really wanted to be quiet and separate from this group. We approached the harbor and the guides asked me to stay in the boat and they would help me. It was obvious that my size was making them nervous about my pending exit from iron to shore. When they reached out to pull me onto the pier, one guide let go of the boat. I took one step. Guess what happens when you’ve one foot on the dock and one in the boat and the boat’s moving away. Splash!

I went down about two feet below the surface. I grabbed for my glasses and camera but the extra shirt and fanny pack sank to the bottom. Suddenly arms were reaching from everywhere; about fifty Vietnamese women who had watched my dive were laughing; tourists were quietly thinking, “Thank God it wasn’t me?”, and the guides were very nervous. Young Hua dove in and retrieved the shirt and fanny pack that held my wallet and other valuables, including about $100 dollars. Everything was soaked. Hua took the wet shirts to dry on a line. I looked like a whipped sumo. I felt very humbled. They had T shirts for sale, but Vietnamese have no understanding of 3X. So, I remained shirtless and hit the ground walking with only wet shorts, a wet fanny pack and my sandals. Hua and Ten stayed right by my side and while the others went off for their ascent of 2 hours to visit the Perfoume Pagoda. My two young guides took me to a one hour ascent to the Goddess of Mercy cave pagoda.

While they began to try to dry out the contents of my fanny pack, I went into the pagoda barefoot and soaking. I prayed for mercy and quickly began to sob. When I went back outside to sit by the children, the attending, shaved-headed woman-monk came down to me with tears on her face and a plate of fruit in her hands. The kids explained that she was very sad about my accident and wanted me to have this gift of food to make me feel better. I felt the tear stream begin to flow again as I said, “Thank you.” Theun I just sat on a wall and ate the fruit with the kids.

After a while, I returned into the cave pagoda and sat down. I just breathed slowly and enjoyed the peaceful quiet and let the morning go. We eventually went back half way down the mountain to the village. Hua had found a piece of wood for me to use as a cane. We met up with the others and ate a fine meal. I was damp, but the food tasted good. After lunch, we continued the descent to the dock and Hua and Ten stayed behind with their families in one of the nearby villages. Trying to reach out for me when I was falling, Hua had lost her camera. As we said good bye, I gave her and Ten the wet money for a new camera and a good day.

We got into the boats and headed back down the river. Right now, please excuse me, but I need to talk to Ooga, a friend from Menlo. Maybe all of you will identify. You were very much on my mind today, brother Don. On the way back in the boats and the bus, I remembered.

I remembered sitting in my living room watching Saigon fall and saying “Bullshit! I never want to see that place again.” Then I remember sitting with my friend Ron, stoned to the max one day, saying “Maybe, we should go back to Vietnam for a visit.” Then we burst out laughing when we imagined that NVA officials probably meet us getting off the plane, put us in chains and say, “We’ve been waiting for you two.” I remembered sitting in Psych ward rooms thinking “Maybe if I went back to say I’m sorry, it might help.” At Menlo Park, I thought if I went back I could maybe remember who I was back then. What did I want to do in life?. At Boise, I thought that if I went back, I could pick up Fred’s spirit and bring him home. I can do all of those things, but I think I now know, Don why I’ve come back. I’m here to say “Goodbye!”

Not like the the AA directions of “Let God, let go!” and “Good Bye, Vietnam!” But to say goodbye to the phoney realities of life in the USA. Ooga, I think I know why we have that hole inside and a lifetime of fuzzy thoughts. We loved these people like we loved each other. That’s the only reality that worked for us. Without fitting in and being “tight,” we’re lost. We’ve held job after job and kept falling on our asses because we don’t fit in the real-world BS reality. That’s the reality of LBJ, McNamara, Nixon, the Pentagon Papers, Kent and Jackson State, both Bushes, Chaney, Reagan, Clinton, WTO, Governor Arnold, General Motors and Globalization. That’s all crap.

They call us whacked and give us pills like candy. But over here, I think we’re the “normies” and they’re all nuttier than a fruit cake because they don’t know the lessons we learned in the “Brotherhood of the Paddies.” They don’t know our source of honor. They’ve never been in the moment when you know you are ready to “Go down together.” They don’t know if they could give it up for another. There isn’t an unconditional sentiment in them, except maybe greed or ego.

We’ve been trying to over and over to adjust to a world that doesn’t make any sense. Why in war do we love, and in peace, we hate or ignore? Why is it that only third world countries recycle? How much longer do we have to quadruple the National debt while corporate America sells out workers and leaps to earth in a golden parachute? On and on. I think I’ve come back here to remember that love I knew and cherished here and to say goodbye to the “feaux” forever. Well, I guess that’s all I felt like saying today.

I like the countryside better than the city. I still love the people here as much as I did 39 years ago. I love all of you today. Tomorrow morning, I’m flying to Hue. I’m sorry about the camera, dear wife. I think it’s shot. I’ll buy some post cards of Hanoi and the Pagoda trip and a disposable replacement and maybe in Hue, I can find a scanner and send some pics along.

S’lan,
Tom

Today, I went to see Ho Chi Minh. The mausoleum was impressive and it felt good to pay my respects. The tour that I took put me in the company of four Europeans: a huge Viking from Sweden; a businessman from Switzerland (isn’t that redundant)and a mother and daughter from the North of Italy. They didn’t like Bush or Chaney, at least that was the impression often stated from the Swede who works in Thailand. I didn’t tell him or them that I wasn’t real fond of either of them also, I just thanked the Swede for Dublin’s canals. They really didn’t bother me and they gave me plenty of room. You fellows from Menlo will understand this. Remember how I always had to carry around a wash cloth in Palo Alto because of how much I sweat. Well, over here, I need a beach towel. We also visited the ethnic museum, some temples and nearby villages and the cottage industries. Tomorrow, I’m off on a day-long excursion over land and sea to visit the Perfume Pagoda’s.

There’s nationalistic music everywhere and national offices on almost every block. That’s because they’re voting and those are polling places. You have to be eighteen to vote and they do it over three days. There seems to be rather competitive races for local district races. It’s been quite a kick to watch the people turnout. From young to old, they seem emthusiastic and proud. I’ll sign off now and hope that this goes through and then I’ll try to send some pictures.

S’lan,
Tom

Today was set for orientation. So after breakfast and moving back to the other hotel, I set off to get the lay of the land. Big problem for a country boy in a foreign city of 4 million people. Disoriented was more likely. I did find Lenin Lake and have some pictures I’ll try to forward. Then I found a cyclo driver who gave me a one hour tour of the Old Quarter and delivered me back to the barn. I went out for another walk in the pm and felt more confident. I got back to the room at 1600 and decided to stretch out and enjoy the A/C. The next thing I knew, it was 0400 the next morning. I guess my body had some priorities from the dateline crossing. Although amid the noises of a busy city, I slept deep.

The people have been so welcoming. Not just congenial, but also gentle. The young are enthusiastic, but it’s with my age and older that’s been the most surprising. There’s been like an unspoken communication when our eyes meet or we sit together quietly on a bench. A feeling of tired resignation and respect. You can almost hear us sigh.

It’s about 11:30 pm here in Hanoi and I’m sweating like I did 39 years ago. It’s been really good, at least for the first hour and a half. They drive just like me over here. It’s about a forty minute drive from the airport into the Old Quarter of Hanoi where I’m staying and it’s really Vietnam. I’ve made it. I was on the plane for 18 hours today. Dr. Pradhan, my VA psychiatrist, wrote a letter to Korean Air telling them about my disabilities and suggested keeping the normies away by blocking out some seats around me. At first, after I read it, I was afraid they wouldn’t let me on the plane, but she knows her stuff. The Airline was very kind and accomodating and gave me some room. I had a whole row for the flight from LA to Seoul. That’s a hump! My hotel had a mixup. The couple that was in my room was supposed to head to Hue today, but they couldn’t make a connection. So I’m at the Prince Hotel II for the night. The rack’s comfy and that’s all I need right now.

Yesterday in Oceanside was eerie. Driving along the freeway past San Clemente, San Onofre Beach, Camp Pendleton, Del Mar and into Oceanside brought back a flood of memories. ITR at the old tent camp Onofre was remembered. Digging holes into the sand at the beach at Onofre for recon IBS training came back. My hands even starting burning. First Sgt. Maurice Jacques telling me he was going to make me a recon marine and before you knew it I was doing leg kicks for the Seal Instructors at 11th Street Naval Station in San Diego and shutting my eyes while I leaped and prayed for silk with the old T-10’s at Bennings. Dodging the agressors by running the platoon over the freeway at midnight brought a chuckle. Fred thought I’d lost my marbles. No he didn’t. He knew. Before then, right about noon, I was parked in front of the Sullivan home.

To start this journey with a day with lost family is fitting. To see Reggie standing tall and his son Stephen the spitting image made a lot of confusion make sense. To be held by Jennifer is much better than a 60 day supply of Welbutron. The girls are beautiful women, strong , handsome and real. Regina’s kids are proof the world can be right and Kiki still can steal your heart. It was a full afternoon and I didn’t want to go, but I had to get back nearer to LAX to get where I am right now.

See ya, for now.

It’s hard to believe, but this is really going to happen. I’m going back to Vietnam. This is a dream that’s been long in the making.

My heartfelt thanks to three people who created this tool to share my journey with all of you. Thanks to Marty, Kathleen and Jim. I’m glad the Father introduced us.

Thanks to my family for nothing but support for doing what I have to. I love you, Nanette, Amber, Tara, Erin, Alyna and River (you to Rich).

Thanks to my friends for putting up with me and encouraging me.

Thanks to all of the brothers who have shared the cup for giving my life good meaning.

Greetings to all of you who I may meet later because we will share this experience together.

Here we go. Talk to you tomorrow.

Greetings, My Friends,

It’s hard for it all to sink in this thick noodle of mine, but a dream that has been in the making for a very long time becomes true at 0600, April 21st, 2004. All of you have played a part in teaching me that it was possible and that I could do it by just putting up with me. For that, I thank you with all of my heart.

Tomorrow morning, I start the first leg of my journey to Los Angeles. From LAX, I’ll head to Oceanside to visit the family that adopted me so many years ago. I’ll spend the day with the Sullivan Family. Reggie was my mentor and my friend and his wife Jennifer was my mentor and my sister. Their children are my children. When I got back from Vietnam and discharged from the Corps, the Sullivans taught me how to live, laugh and grab every second right through the pain of discrimination and war. I haven’t seen them for twenty-five years. Today, Reggie’s a minister and I’m sure that Jennifer is still everybody’s sister. So it’s a good idea to begin my walk back to the past by first seeking my family’s comfort and advice. It will be a lovely day for tears of real.

Thursday, at noon, I’ll board a Korean Air flight that after a short lay-over in Seoul, will deposit me into Hanoi. For the next 19 days, I’ll walk the walk that began almost 40 years ago. After a couple of days in Hanoi, I’ll catch the train to Hue, DaNang, and Hoi An. While staying at these familiar haunts, I’ll visit locations from my past and I know, from many of yours as well. I’ll go to Dong Ha, Con Thien, Khe Sanh, Camp Carroll, Quang Tri, Hill 55, An Hoa, Dai Loc and float the Thu Bon to a certain bank. I’ll set down my chair, light up the spirit pipe, visit the memories of long ago, and talk to old friends and enemies.

Some good people here in Helena have created a web site that will allow everyone to travel along with me. It should be up and running tomorrow and I’ll be able to send daily sitreps with photos. You’ll be able to send me messages at tnnhud@fastmail.us. Please fill free to pass this on to anyone that you feel may like to go along. There will be three days that there won’t be a report. Those are the days immediately following my visits to old haunts. I intend to spend those days sitting quietly with the memories.

Thank you all for helping me to get to this good point.

S’lan go foil,
Tom