A TALE OF TWO CITIES

           

The French colonies that made up what we know today as Vietnam were actually three separate entities with Cochin China being the southernmost colony. Originally known as Cauchichina, a name given by Portugese explorers and traders, their main Port Of Call was Saigon. The French established their first trading post in 1680 but the attacks on the French Catholic Missionarys led to the intervention of the military. Cochin China was the first to fall under French control because it contained the Mekong Delta or "rice bowl" as Vietnam was divided into three sections. The French also believed that Saigon would become an important commercial center once it was opened to Europeans.

Napoleon III, emperor of France, ordered the French Foreign Office to interview in Chinese affairs and establish a port in Hong Kong. Within a few months the French were driven south to the small fishing village of Saigon which they acquired in 1859. In 1861 Vietnam conceded three of the eastern provinces of Cochin China. More importantly it acquired Saigon allowing for the free practice of Catholic worship and accepted France as their protectorate. France would remain in the region until WWII.

"Never was so much owed by so many to so few"..........

                                                                               Dickens

A tale of two cities played out on the streets of Saigon every day in an endless weights and measures pendulum of human drama. Boasting a Central Park with images of mothers pushing baby carriages and young students studying at the Univerisity of Saigon it was a confluence of French architecture and sidewalk cafés. The Cho Lon District of Saigon became Vietnam's greatest commercial city accommodating the largest minority population. In the early sixties Chinese numbered about one million people making up eight percent of the total population and dominating it's commerce and the Cho Lon district. But all was not visible on the surface, as the war intensified the rich became richer and the poor became poorer and the underside of life began to dominate the streets of this once fashionable city. Recruiting men and missing in action men devastated families and left Vietnamese's young to fend for themselves by any means possible. Young women turned to prostitution with the influx of foreign soldiers and small children were sent into the streets to beg. The sale and use of illegal drugs and the "Black Market" dominated the back streets of Saigon. It was said that whatever item or fetish you wanted could be found if the price was right. By wars end the country of Vietnam, North and South, suffered half a million unaccounted for civilians and an untold number of dead from simple starvation, disease, and drugs not to mention military action. Saigon, once a vanguard city boasting of French fashion and architecture, became a decadent city in ruins.

Prostitutes and soldiers were a common site and an endless negotiation. Babies born of American fathers and Vietnamese mothers added to the despare of the country and by wars end a population of Amerasian children were brought to world attention by the play "Miss Saigon".

A common site on the streets of Saigon were children begging for food and money.

We met in basic training and his big smile was instantly contagious as we both struggled with the day in and day out drama of humiliation and abuse. As a Brooklyn native he had one of the most genuine passive  personalities I'd ever met and we became instant friends.

Willy Tinsley was one of those men that should have never been a fighting man, he was to nice. When the Army desides who should fight and who should sit behind a desk they must have left out the personality questionnaire and only looked at physical abilities. His demeanor was that of a religious man with only kindness in his heart but a drafted man goes where he is told and does what he is asked. I saw Willy more as a contientious objector or a medic but not a fighting man, I was a fighting man or at least a man with a fighting chance. I knew Willy wouldn't make it. 

After basic and infantry training we travelled to Oakland California together and eventually Vietnam. Out of the thousands of soldiers drawing orders for Vietnam we left on the same day and sat side by side on the twenty four hour flight. After arriving in Vietnam we were separated and Willy joined Delta's sister unit so we crossed paths now and again. When word came that he was hit I felt the pain. Willy was not in country very long when his unit set off a land mine while on patrol and he got hit hand possibly lossing his legs. He was in the 24th Evac (evacuation) Hospital in Saigon undergoing life saving surgery.

Willy Tinsley flanked by Peter and I our first day in Vietnam.

I was working the Mekong Delta just off Highway 1 in a place called The Fish Net. The action was slow when I heard about Willy and so I decided to try and see him. AWOL (absent without leave), I left my unit and set out on my own. Being in war was hard enough but going it alone was suicide. Being in close proximity to highway 1 leading to Saigon made my decision easier so I set out alone. I started walking in full gear when a Duce and a Half  (2 and a half ton) dump truck posing as a garbage truck picked me up. I explained my intentions and he agreed to give me a ride to Saigon but only after he made a garbage run to the dump. 

A garbage dump is an unpleasant experience in real life but in wartime it's a biblical scene of famine and despare. I watched in utter horror as homeless women and children rummaged through our waist of uneaten food, rotten meat, and slime covered fruits and vegetables. I saw children wipe the maggots off bread and eat American soldiers waist. This was the face of war, this was the face of war the world doesn't see and countries ignore just to make a point for their own agenda. With all my training and skills there were no classes for accepting this scenario of life or to prepare a soldier for the site of hell. I was tough and I could fight with the best of them but I could not take the site of starving children pillaging through my garbage. I cried, I cried not for them but for all of us that allow such horror to exist as we go about our daily lives. This was worse than killing a man I thought and yet I had no control to change either situation and no control to erase what I'd seen. That sight will be a part of me and forever imprinted in my mind. Whenever I prepare a dish or sit down to a banquet I will remember the site of starvation and I won't ever waist a morsel of food again. 

The streets of Saigon in 1969 viewed from a garbage truck. I found it odd that people during war continue some semblance of order and routine and try to go about their dailey lives. I suppose they have no choice. There were more bikes then cars in Saigon.

How could they exist and how could a city function in the middle of this chaos we call a war. Saigon had a vibe, an energy all it's own and I was feeling its's pulse as I walked the streets invisible to the passerby. Soldiers in Saigon were as commonplace as Vietnamese citizens with comings and goings and places to go and people to see. It appeared like any other city in the world except this city was occupied. It was occupied by Americans and we acted as if we owned the place and in some ways we did. No one questioned who I was or what I was doing in full gear with a loaded weapon and it was eerie. 

Vietnam to me was a small village with grass huts on the edge of a river in the Mekong Delta or a triple canopy jungle with no visible means of sunlight penetrating the undergrowth. The places familiar to me now couldn't be further from from my present location. Not knowing the city my means of getting around would be on foot but that was fine with me, I was a foot soldier. I asked directions and started to walk.

The 24th Evac was a glorified trauma unit on a Gigantic scale. As soon as one chopper took off another one landed with green uniforms running full speed unloading one stretcher after another. There was no front desk to check in with just armed soldiers on guard protecting the perimeter looking just like me. I asked and they answered giving me an idea where to look. There were no visiting hours to adhere to because there were no visitors and so I wondered from one ward to another. Sobbing, cursing, and crying my head from young men in pain. Waiting for relief and another shot of morphine until they could be shipped out their anguish filled the makeshift wards. 

He was uncontious when I found him lying perfectly still bandaged from the waist down. The white sheets were made into a little pop up tent over his lower half hiding any indication of the extent of the damage. I spoke and he listened or so I convinced myself and so we had a one way conversation about going home. You are lucky I said, a million dollar wound was worth the effort and you should be grateful. The soldier that should have never fired a gun was relieved of duty and had paid his dues. Goodbye Willy I love you. 

Given a second chance, the only word I can describe the precious days in Vietnam is remarkable. I set out early to explore the Old City and get a feel for the history and culture of Vietnam and the people. The Old City is just that, a time and place before 19th and 20th century man invaded and overshadowed the raw beauty of an innocent time. 

My first stop was a demolition site of an old temple or what appeared to be an old temple being restored to its previous glory. The rubble was everywhere as the old was carted out and replaced by the new waiting it's turn for display. The workers were on break so I entered the construction site and poked around. In the pile of rubble a gleam caught my eye and I reached down and picked up a small urn filled with dirt and brushed it off. Imitation or real, it didn't matter as I continued my exploration with my new found treasure. 

Stop number two was at the entrance to the Old City itself and the local police asked everyone for the pass which I purchased a day before. Qualifying for entry I continued my journey carrying my new found treasure in visible site still covered in dirt when another policeman grabbed my arm. Pointing to the urn he began talking in Vietnamese and escorting me to another area. I just knew I was in trouble for taking something out of the Old City that didn't belong to me. The area he took me to was the worshipping alter for Buddism at the entrance. He pointed to the incense burning in an urn then pointed to mine and with a sigh of relief I realized he was trying to describe my find. 

Stop number three was a 250 year old riverfront home in the heart of the Old City. Guides at the entrance escorted visitors in with both a knowledge of history and culture and the English language. Originally six people lived in this two story structure boasting a cultural treasure of furniture and art with an upper class style of a period gone by. What appears to be dark teakwood the pieces throughout the house matched in color and style.

The beams of the lower floor were tied in to the plank wood floors with ties of dowels also made of the same wood. It was a split level sort of construction with offset levels.

Entertainment area similar to our liveingroom.

Looking up from lower level the main living area had a cathedral ceiling.

Looking into the front entranceway.

Stop number four was a walk along the waterfront as I pass both old and new boats for hire.

"Hey you", a voice yelled at me as I walked past an old man, "have a cup of tea with me" he said.

Now I know I stand out but what could this old man want, I wasn't hiring his boat. His name was Captain Dan and he was a tour guide boat operator so I sat down and we began to talk.

Captain Dan told me his Vietnamese name but I couldnt pronounce it so I just called him Dan. We sat and talked for hours. Dan was an ARVN (Army of Republic of Vietnam or South Vietnam Army) as an interpreter during the war. He was in Saigon the same time I was and worked for MACV (Military Advisory Command Vietnam) in General Westmoreland's office. He worked as the middle man between American and South Vietnamese forces and was an officer in the South Vietnamese Army. He was the only one in his family to work for the Allied Forces, the rest of his family were Communists. 

After the Fall of Saigon Dan went north and got married and runs a boat tour company with his wife and daughter. We sat riverside exchanging war stories as old soldiers do. When I asked about the outcome of his life he simply said, "same same but different."

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