Category: Vietnamese-American Community
I was a eight, just a few months shy of nine at the time my oldest brother was killed and my parents’ hearts were intractably broken. I am the youngest of their seven children, my only sister was the oldest, with five brothers in-between. Don was born on my sister’s first birthday, March 6, 1948.
The legacy of Gerald R. Ford transcends the succession of political trends and social revolutions, and will live forever in the bloodlines of rescued children who comprise the roots of a new American family tree that will grow and flower for untold generations to come. There is no price that can be put on a legacy that made life possible where otherwise death would have been inevitable.
Because of our loss in Vietnam, the number of communist “wars of liberation” in Africa, Asia, and South America more than tripled in the 15 years after the fall of Saigon, and millions died as a result.
The unit went about another 1000 yards and came upon a complex of caves. While exploring these, we found a complete hospital unit and the medicines that were stockpiled where from Berkeley College in California!
For most Americans who read this they will only see the numbers that the Vietnam War created. To those of us who survived the war, and to the families of those who did not, we see the faces, we feel the pain that these numbers created. We are, until we too pass away, haunted with these numbers, because they were our friends, fathers, husbands, wives, sons and daughters. There are no noble wars, just noble warriors.
I was born on September 24th, 1975 in the city of DaNang, Vietnam five months after the Fall of Saigon to the North Vietnamese Communists. My daddy, a Republic Vietnam soldier, was taken prisoner by the Communists in May 1975 and held for seven years in a POW/Re-education camp.
Then the broke and ran at the same moment in opposite directions, Esker back to where his rifle was, and the NVA all the way to Hanoi, probably. For a few minutes, that which goes on in the killing fields was forgotten, and we learned to laugh again for awhile. God bless you, my brothers and sisters. Take care of one another.
I was born a disabled boy in a poor and crowded family in Vietnam. More sadly, I was also born to hastily grow up in the circumstances of one of the most bloody and merciless civil wars in the twentieth century, a “century of sorrow.”
Bung Ly, the heroic pilot of the little Cessna O-1 Bird Dog, stood once again on the deck of the USS Midway and recounted the tale of his escape from Con Son Island and rescue by Captain Chambers and his exhausted crew.