Part X

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE MILITARY

The children and I eagerly awaited Roy's return from Hawaii. As the weeks dragged by, I had a lot of time to think while he was away. I kept wondering why I liked Saigon so much. Thinking back to my childhood, a memory returned, one I had almost forgotten. This place reminded me of our six lieutenants!

During the early forties, my family had a delicatessen on Highland Avenue in Birmingham. We lived just a couple of blocks away on South 29th street on a high hill. On a crisp November morning in 1942, word was spreading quickly in our neighborhood. There were six Army Signal Corps lieutenants scouring our neighborhood looking for a place to live with a home-like atmosphere while they served at the new Birmingham Army Air Base out by the airport.

I don't know who convinced our mom and dad to invite them to live at our house...was it me or my older sister, Frances? Frances was a beautiful young woman who at age 21 looked a lot like Barbara Stanwick, the movie star who was in her heyday at that time.

Who convinced our parents is not so important, but the fact that our family rearranged our large home in order to give these six lieutenants a place to live while they were stationed in Birmingham was the real story. As I recall, my mother and father had my two brothers vacate two rooms on the second floor of our home. Our dad also had a room up there with mom. My sister and I had rooms on the first floor.

News got around fast, and I, then age seven, had the honor of answering all the phone calls. Suddenly, my sister, Frances, was the most popular girlfriend to have in the whole city! A lot of girls came calling. Our home was an exciting place to be during World War II. What was a city almost devoid of datable men became the exciting "Magic City."

Enough about the older girls. I must confess I was smitten with these six lieutenants all gussied up in those beautiful "pinks and greens." To me, they brought news of other towns in the USA that I had never seen before. I found a few of our lieutenants had those strange yankee accents. They introduced me to the Army!

I would relish doing any errand as long as I had a reason to talk with them. A few spent Christmas with us, and I remember their helping my sister and her friends decorate this huge tree. I thought this had to be the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. Then, without warning, the whole tree toppled down the length of our living room. Luckily, we had lots of hands to get it fixed.

My sister and her friends used to "lip-sync" songs sung by the Andrews sister. They were so very good that they were asked to do this routine at the USO and other parties in downtown Birmingham. I really relished watching them practice, often with our six lieutenants egging them on.

Our lieutenants were very kind to me, and I never forgot it. To me, those World War II uniforms were the most gorgeous things I had ever seen. It was fun every day that they lived with us. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I think I learned that "military life" could be ever so exciting. I think I fell in love with the military at age seven.

All that fun had to come to an end. It was a sad day in May 1943 when I learned that our second lieutenants were going off to war. Actually, the way they departed was exciting to a seven year old. With many of their Birmingham friends waving good-bye, they left on a train to New York, where they sailed on the Queen Elizabeth, which was a troop ship at that time. They landed at Greenock, Scotland. Letters came to our home from them and I relished hearing about our lieutenants and worried over their safety when I saw those newsreels about the war at the picture show each Saturday afternoon.

Another letter we received said they were living in an old castle at Aldermaster, England. Later, their group separated and most went to France. As the war grew longer, I got older. Our lieutenants came home safely, but I never saw them again. Let's speed up this story a few years to see what an impact these great guys had on me.

In 1954, I transferred from a college in Birmingham to Alabama Polytechnic Institute which is now Auburn University. When I went down to Auburn to check the place out, I was sitting in a student hangout called Atheys. They were student-friendly and would sell you one-half a cup of coffee for only a nickel, and you could nurse that cup for quite a long time. Atheys had large picture windows and booths overlooking a sidewalk leading to a movie house. I saw quite a few students in their ROTC khaki uniforms as they had just come back from Fort Gordon, GA, that evening from summer camp. Along with them, I saw two especially handsome young men. One was in a uniform. The other guy I recognized as a customer of my family's new restaurant in Birmingham.

My husband, Roy, was that young man dressed in the Army summer uniform. Today, 44 years later, he tells anyone who will listen, "There Ann was ...standing on the table banging on the window...I didn't know who she was and neither did my friend...but due to that insistent pounding on the window, we went in the restaurant." My side of the story is quite different.

Roy's friend, Don, finally figured out who I was and they came in and sat down in the booth by the window with me. We talked for a couple of hours and later, they walked me back to the women's dorm where I was staying.

My heart was pounding. Roy had no way of knowing the history of my World War II memories with our second lieutenants. This man was sunk----he just didn't know it yet.

Just twelve months later, in 1955, we married and headed to Heidelberg, Germany for our first tour. Those handsome pinks and greens were still the uniform of the day. Fate even laughed at us a bit, because like our six lieutenants, Roy was a Signal Corps officer!

Now, seven years later, here I was in Vietnam with my three pre- school children. In thinking about the days of my youth, I now knew why I loved being in Vietnam. All these troops reminded me of our six lieutenants!

No one can foresee when they take time to be kind to a child how that kindness could affect the child's life for years afterward. I knew that like my mom and dad, I wanted our home in Saigon to be a home away from home for some of those who found themselves in this far-off country without family.

Part XI

GRENADES WITH OUR CORN FLAKES

Thank God for the military commissary and exchange. They always followed our military family to the end of the earth, even to Vietnam! I often hear people complain about their special military stores...but not me. Would any chain based on a strictly profit motive serve my family around the world? Would they subject their employees to the risk in Vietnam? Well, our exchange and commissary service never forgot us.

The children and I were excited about going to visit the commissary and exchange after a few weeks in Vietnam. We got their phone numbers in our new phone book, called and found out they were located on Phan Dinh Phung Street, just a mile or so from our house.

We had begun to use the local taxi service for trips where the four of us would be going together. It was easier than trying to keep two cyclos together in Saigon traffic. I also got a bit paranoid with visions of a cyclo driver being a Viet Cong and running off with two of my children!

Learning more words in Vietnamese became essential to get us where we wanted to go, especially words like "straight," "left" or "right." Hand motions worked as well. The Vietnamese language is very tonal and if you say a word the wrong way, the results could be funny or even disastrous.

I began to look for taxi drivers who understood French, as I had studied that language in high school. Since the French had been in Vietnam for years, my high school French became a real asset. Many Vietnamese among the working class spoke pigeon French. That's exactly what I spoke as well! The laboring class Vietnamese and I murdered the language together.

When we went to the Navy-run commissary and exchange for the first time, the kids were ecstatic. At last, they had a touch of home. They wanted to buy everything in the store! The commissary was not large but it did have such things as cereal, peanut butter and jelly, milk, a sampling of frozen meats and veggies, and other household essentials. We were so grateful for this opportunity to shop American style.

From my childhood days, I have always wanted to document everything with photos, notebooks and clippings. Yes, I was definitely a pack rat. I had my small camera with me at all times. This visit to the commissary was no exception. As the children and I walked around the store, we saw some soldiers shopping, perhaps for their units. There was something really different about a couple of them, however. No where in America had we gone shopping with other people carrying hand grenades on their belts. I made a mental note to make future trips to the commissary by myself whenever possible. My feeling was that Roy, Jr. Jack and Kathy would be safer at home behind the walls than going shopping with me!

 

Part XII

THE SEARCH FOR HOWARD JOHNSONS

Time was passing slowly for me and the children. Roy was expected to be back from Honolulu in another week. I decided to take the children to the Navy Library where we had gotten to know a very nice librarian, Ruth Rapperport. She took a special interest in the kids.

While at the library one afternoon, I met a GI. He asked me, "Have you and the kids tried Howard Johnsons yet?" I told him no, but we surely would like to. I asked him how I would find this Howard Johnsons. "Oh, he said, there is one on almost every street."

The kids and I were excited that we might find a touch of home. I could almost taste those fried clam strips. No matter where we went, I saw no sign of any Howard Johnsons.

One day the kids stayed home with our Vietnamese lady and I went to a meeting of the American women living in Saigon. I decided to ask an old-timer if she could help me find Howard Johnsons! She laughed and laughed. What's so funny, I wondered.

When she quit laughing, she told me that Howard Johnsons were those rolling soup kitchens that passed our house every day! Leave it to our Americans to have a name for the rolling soup kitchens which reflected back home America. To this day, I don't know why they called them Howard Johnsons! They certainly did not have an orange roof.

Our youngest child, Kathy, became Howard Johnson's best customer on our street. When one was coming, they clacked wood sticks together to make a certain sound depending on the type of soup they were offering that day. She would hear it, grab a soup bowl, ask for a few piastres and run to the gate and stick her bowl through the fence. They served a soup which was called PHO. Whenever we go to a Vietnamese restaurant in Washington these days, I recall our time in Vietnam and the wonderful Pho. Thank goodness for Howard Johnstons.

Part XIII

The Cercle Sportiff Saigonaise

The weeks went by slowly. The kids and I were running out of things we could do in this land that was new to us but fraught with uncertainty. I began to really miss getting in my own car and heading for the hinterlands.

Another wife I met at a ladies social function at the Ambassador's home suggested that the children and I come as her guests to the Cercle Sportiff Saigonaise the following day. She said we could let the children swim while we talked and have a bite of lunch at a table adjacent to the swimming pool. When I got home and told the kids, they were ecstatic.

I had heard a lot about the Cercle Sportiff. You had to be sponsored by another member and have at least two recommendations from other active members. There were rules! One must wear only white on the tennis courts. One must be somewhat cultured and polite. Children must come out of the pool immediately to make a potty run when the lifeguard blew his whistle, etc. There were other written and unwritten rules to abide by.

In fact, when requested by a member, they would invite a potential member to come to the club for a couple of weeks and observe and be observed. After that time, the potential member would come before a board accompanied by their sponsors and endorsers and meet with the president and other officers that governed the facility. You were asked to answer their questions about your background, talk about yourself and your family, and how you had enjoyed your trial period at the club. The board would then ask you to leave the room while they took a vote. If you were selected for membership, they would invite you back to receive their congratulations.

This procedure was very serious as top officials of the Vietnamese government as well as ambassadors and state department personnel from numerous countries spent some of their leisure time at the Cercle Sportiff. On any given day, you would see a covey of security guards and drivers waiting outside the club.

The club offered not only swimming and tennis, but there was also a gym, racquet and handball courts, croquette and more. Card games such as bridge and canasta were going on every day. In addition, there was a garden where the "amahs" could take care of babies and small children and amuse them while their parents enjoyed a quiet respite at lunch.

The children and I went with our new friend and her two children to the club the next day. We tried to be on our best behavior. Now that I had found this wonderful place, I surely did not want to spoil our chances at membership! Saigon was so humid and hot that being able to go to the club for a cooling swim was almost a necessity for those with children. When Roy came home from Hawaii, he got the necessary sponsor and endorsers and applied for membership.

Later, after we became members ourselves, I decided to go and take an exercise class which was offered during the early morning hours. The instructor was a hard -nosed Frenchman named Monsieur Vantan. He was a tall, fairly large man who, in his youth, may have turned a lady's head as he walked by. He was still rather striking even though he was in his early seventies.

Mr. Vantan spoke only French in his classes. Since I had taken French in high school, I could understand at least one out of every three words he barked at us like a drill sergeant taming his troops. I thought that he was going to kill me for sure. Not a drop of sympathy was evident as he put us through our routine. The one I recall most vividly was Mr.Vantan shouting out "une, deux, trois, quatre," etc to about forty of us women of various nationalities as we were bumping our fannies on the gym floor in a move that would propel us across the room. Our arms were crossed and we were only allowed to use our backsides to take us to our goal.

It was this day that I met two special ladies who would become my best friends among the Americans in Saigon. One was Jane Mickey and the other Marie Siwick. Both of their husband's worked for what we called "the company." Naive as we were, we felt like we were always being spied on by South Vietnamese government agents, so "the company" was our way of having a code name for the CIA.

I've lost track of Marie, but Jane Mickey has continued to be my friend until this day. She recently retired from United Airlines, and we both live in nearby towns in the Washington, DC area. Both Marie and Jane had children with them living in Saigon. We, and our children, had many fun times together that I will tell you about in subsequent installments of Vietnam Light.

Over thirty years later while attending a DMZ to Delta dance in Washington on a Veteran's Day Weekend, many of us sat around telling stories about the past. A male nurse who served in Saigon told this one.

"A military officer went before the Board of the Cercle Sportiff after spending two weeks taking part in every activity that he could. The Board did not welcome him wholeheartedly and asked a few questions and then politely asked him to await their decision.

When he was called back in before the group, they very hesitantly told him that they were very disappointed but they could not offer him membership in the Cercle Sportiff.

Why? he asked. "I did everything by the book. I only wore white shorts, a white shirt and white socks plus white tennis shoes on the tennis court; I swam and played all the games you offer in this club." "I ate lunch at the club every day, minded my manners and was polite to everyone." "I even learned to eat an artichoke correctly," he exclaimed! "

"If you insist, VE vill tell you," said the Cercle Sportiff's spokesman. "It was reported, sir, that YOU urinated in the swimming pool."

"What?" he asked...."Why I think a lot of people do that....!!"

At this point, the spokesman said, "BUT MONSIEUR, OFF OF ZIE DIVING BOARD???"

Remember, guys, that was just a joke!

Part XIV

DADDY'S HOME!

The children and I were thrilled that Roy was coming back to Vietnam. Being on our own had worn thin for all of us. The children could not understand why they came all the way to Vietnam only to have their dad leave.

While Roy was gone, we had learned so much about this country of South Vietnam. We were no longer "newbies" and if we had been pulling a regular short tour, we would only have ten months left in country.

The appointed day finally came, but Roy did not arrive. We knew he had left Honolulu but little else. Turns out the the aircraft, on which he was a passenger, ran into a mechanical problem. The repair part had to come from the United States. Nevertheless, within just a few more days, he was home. We were all happy campers again. Daddy was home!!

The next morning, he was back to work at HQ MAAG, the Military Assistance Advisory Group in Vietnam. His office was located in Cholon, the Chinese area of Saigon. The work days were long, but we often saw him during the lunchtime siesta, and we were as happy as could be.

One of his first days back, Roy bought a 50 cc motor bike to get him back and forth to the MAAG compound. My husband was a big guy, over six feet tall, and he worked with a Staff Sergeant named John Neary on the military assistance program.

Sgt. Neary was a rather small, fiery guy from New York. He probably weighed no more than 125 pounds. It became a rather common scene to see Sgt. Neary on the back of Roy's scooter, both dressed in the Army short uniform, working their way through Saigon traffic. He hitched a ride many an evening after work to his home on Rue Pasteur in downtown Saigon where he lived with his wife, Dottie, and their five children. Sgt. Neary and Roy were probably the lowest ranking military personnel in country having their family with them on a command-sponsored tour of duty. The Vietnamese got quite a kick out of seeing the big American "Dai-Uy" (Captain in Vietnamese) and the Trung Si (Staff Sgt.) riding together on the shiny new motor bike.

I remember that Sgt Neary did not have "government quarters" but paid for his own place with his housing allowance while Roy forfeited his quarters' allowance for our home. Sgt. John Neary had to pay for his own utilities in the apartment as they were separately metered.

He was having a hard time making ends meet, mainly because of his electric bill being even more expensive than his rent. Roy looked over the bill and said something had to be wrong.

I can't recall how Sgt. Neary was able to find the problem. Perhaps an Army engineer helped him by checking how the electricity was wired for his apartment. They learned, however, that the elevator that everyone used 24 hours a day in this high-rise building was wired to the Neary's apartment! I've never seen a more angry New Yorker!

MORAL OF THE STORY - If you live in a third-world country, things may not always be as they seem. Even, if you live in the United States, if your electricity bill seems too high, get the power company to check your lines.

 

Part XV

The Roquefort Cheese of Vietnam

The children and I woke up one morning to an awful smell. We had smelled many strange things in Vietnam, but this was a smell with a vengeance. Surely, something had died and the oppressive heat was now taking its toll.

Our house at the time had a very small courtyard. I wandered out of the house to hear a lot of chattering in front of our gate. Obviously, the people were happy as they were gathering in large numbers. What could it be? I soon learned that a specialty fruit was in season. The Vietnamese adored it. This was our introduction to Durian, known as the King of fruit! The smell of the Durian is so terrible that some places in Asia ban its sale in places where tourists might gather. Still, it is a gourmet item which is more costly than many other fruits in Vietnam.

One piece of the fruit was about as big as a football, but it had thorns. Once opened, however, a very pale yellow flesh was revealed. The natives loved it. I heard that some even considered it to be an aphrodisiac. The fruit is grown on tall trees in many Southeast Asian countries. The fruit has to be cultivated very carefully.

Even though I tried to not be an ugly American and to be a part of the life of the Vietnamese people in my neighborhood, I could never bring myself to try the sweet, creamy meat of the Durian. In fact, we almost had to leave home to eat our evening meal that first day we experienced Durian being sold in front of our house. We were happy, indeed, when Durian once again went out of season.

Like Roquefort cheese, perhaps Durian has to be eaten for a while before you learn to enjoy it. I know I was over 25 when I first came around to liking that very special cheese. I am a bit ashamed to say that I never gave Durian a chance to grow on me. I was very young back in those days; I think I should give Durian another chance. If I am ever able to go back to Vietnam, perhaps I'll at least try Durian ice-cream. Some troopers told me they really liked it. :-)

To learn more about Durian, visit two web sites provided by Destination Vietnam. Thank heavens we don't have odors along with the text. While there, take a look at other fruits which are prevalent in Vietnam.

 

1. Fruit Trees in Vietnam by Steven Bailey
   
2. Fruit Trees of Vietnam, Vietnamese Cuisine

AFTERTHOUGHT - While Durian was not something I wanted to learn to like, the Vietnamese had many wonderful fruits that are seldom seen in the United States. We loved eating the papayas which grew in our own yard, the mangoes and, most especially, the mangosteins which had a delightful sweet-sour taste. These, too, were more expensive than many of the other fruits.

Part XVI

WHO WERE THE FIRST AMERICANS IN VIETNAM?

Every day was a new experience. It was exciting to me to live in Vietnam and have my husband and my children right with me. There were very few American military in Vietnam who had their family with them. As a result, I felt a little bit like a pioneer. By studying a bit of history, however, I learned that there were other Americans who made trips to Vietnam a couple of hundred years before I ever got there.

The first American to venture to Vietnam, or at least the first one I could find anything about, was John White of Marblehead, Massachusetts. He arrived in Vietnam in 1819 on a ship named The Franklin. White had hoped to set up trade deals with the Vietnamese but was delayed by what he called "the countless idiosyncrasies of the Vietnamese." He was repulsed by the people's habits, which he considered to be barbarian. Despite his lack of understanding of the Vietnamese, he did leave a legacy, a book entitled, History of a Voyage to the China Sea.

THE FIRST AMERICAN DIPLOMAT IN VIETNAM

President Andrew Jackson chose Edmund Roberts, a navigator from New England for the first official mission to Vietnam. Roberts had experience in traveling in the far east and made this official trip in March 1832.

Despite a few technical errors, the visit went well and the Emperor Minh Mang wrote, "If their country wishes to establish commercial relations, we do not see any objections to it provided they respect our laws." This paved the way for more formal negotiations four years later.

When Roberts returned on the next visit, all did not go well. Upon the American's request for an audience, the emperor said to the Vice-president of the Ministry of Finance, Dao Tri Phu, "Considering their courteous and peaceable attitude, would it not be advisable to accede to their request?" Dao Tri Phu suggested that they should entertain the visitors for a while and try to learn their real intentions.

There was a dissenter, however. The Vice-president of the cabinet, Hoang Quynh, warned, "Their country is cunning and crafty, and we should not comply with their requests. If we commit ourselves without due consideration, we shall have much trouble in the future. Our ancestors used to close off the frontiers and refuse contact with the West; it was a good policy."

Nevertheless, the emperor declared, "They have come from many leagues beyond the seas, thus proving their admiration for our virtue and the prestige of our court. How can we reject them? If we do, we would display a lack of magnanimity."

Unfortunately for both sides, when the high ranking mission went to see the Americans aboard ship, they were told that there was illness on board ship and they could not be received. Later, the Americans left suddenly without advising the court. Dao Tri Phu, the Vice-president of the Ministry of Finance, reported back to the emperor stating, "These fugitives have proved how uncivil they are."

The Emperor Minh Mang, wrote in his report, "They came to us without our rejecting them; they left without our sending them; we have conducted ourselves in accordance with Chinese courtesy. We do not need to take offense when we are dealing with foreign barbarians."

We got off to a bad start. It was definitely unfortunate that the Vietnamese were not acquainted with the reason for the sudden departure of the Americans. Roberts, the first diplomat to be sent to Vietnam, had been taken acutely ill and was deteriorating rapidly. His assistant, a US Navy surgeon, made a hasty departure to find additional medical help for Roberts. It was in vain as Roberts died in Macao on June 12th, 1836.

Despite the fact that both the Vietnamese and the Americans had good intentions, a misunderstanding caused the second mission from the United States to Vietnam to end in a sad manner for both countries.

Perhaps it was an omen of things to come.

Part XVII

THE UGLY AMERICAN GETS COMEUPPANCE

The new American Lieutenant in Cholon, South Vietnam was not a very friendly type and a bit arrogant. The first week he had the local laundry woman wash and iron his fatigues, they were not up to his expectations. "Too little starch he yelled!"The modest Vietnamese laundry lady was very apologetic and gave him a discount.

Later, he had to get his military rank placed on a strip above the shirt pocket on the uniform in English and Vietnamese. When the battle fatigues came back, they were starched stiff as a board. He did not like that either

However, that was not the end of the saga. The next time he took his uniforms to a new laundry and they came back with NO starch whatsoever. It seems that the first laundry lady got even with the arrogant Lieutenant. Instead of his name on the name tags, the previous laundry lady had inscribed in Vietnamese DO NOT STARCH!

NOTE FROM ANN - Have you been out of Vietnam so long that you can now laugh about some things? Please share your funny stories with us. Send them to militaryliving@gmail.com.

Copyright © 1999-2007 Ann Caddell Crawford. All rights reserved.