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Greyson Garcia's Letter about the Fall of SaigonMy name is Greyson Garcia and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was one of the last evacuees off the US Embassy roof in Saigon in April of 1975.
April 30th, 1975
Dear SMHS U.S. History class:
Today I writing to you from a birth aboard the USS Blue Ridge. I'm writing to tell you about one of the of the most life changing moments of my life for it was today that I became one of the last evacuees off the U.S. Embassy roof in Saigon, Vietnam.
Seeing the faces of the hundreds of people we left on the roof there desperately trying to get into the helicopter. The wind from the rotors increased and dust came off of the ground. Everyone on the roof braced themselves from the gust. The gates had been blown open by explosives with the Viet Cong pouring in. The screams and sounds of gunfire and explosives going off in the distance cannot get out of my memory. As we took off from the roof many things occurred. Hovering higher and seeing more Vietnamese people abandoned - more targets for the Viet Cong - made me cringe. The higher we went, the more people we could see; it was not a pretty sight. People desperately trying to jump off the roof to the helicopter fell to their deaths.
Flying through Southeast Vietnam to the USS Midway, we could see the Viet Cong taking over and fires flooding the city. They raided houses and took people’s possessions. The Viet Cong did not care if they killed women or children, just as long as what they killed was a living thing. The voices from people burning, shot at, and raped had all been muffled by the sound of the helicopter rotor and because we traveled away from them. Everyone on the helicopter was very lucky and grateful to be taken from the embassy. Many children and women were sobbing in leaving their country, but they were grateful not to be there when the bombs, explosions, and firefights broke out. I remember looking out of the helicopter and seeing the vast, dark ocean while we headed to the USS Midway.
When I got to the aircraft carrier, we saw many people that had been evacuated already on board, both Vietnamese and Americans. The helicopter landed and we were greeted by the men and women in the United States Marine Corps, along with the Airforce and Navy Seals. They gave us blankets and water and we sat with the rest of the evacuees, all 1,000 Americans and 6,000 Vietnamese. It was still dark out but it was not a quiet night. As we sat in shock and family members consoled their loved ones, they gave us canned food. I can not remember what I ate because I could not help to think how lucky I was to be one of the last evacuees from the embassy. Rumors quickly began to spread and one that interested me in particular was one about how the military aboard the ship had to push helicopters off the aircraft carrier to make room for more helicopters to land.
So I went up to check things out for myself and sure enough that’s what was happening.
I am so glad that I was saved by the helicopter that day. I am also grateful that some Vietnamese were saved as well. This was truly the luck of the draw that I am very grateful for.
Greyson Garcia
Keenan Taw's Letter about the Battle of Khe Sahn
My name is Keenan Taw and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was a US Marine who had lost an arm during the Battle of Khe Sahn, a battle that took place between January 21 and July 9, 1968.
May 4, 1973
I was deployed to Bravo Company, First Battalion of the 9th Marine Regiment, so right off the bat I knew I was in trouble. War is tough on everyone, but it’s especially tough on those in the battalion nicknamed ‘The Walking Dead’ due to their extremely high amount of casualties. However, despite our knowledge of the dangers of our battalion and war in general, we were close… like brothers. When I joined Bravo the first thing we did was take the place of the First Battalion 3rd Regiment at the KSCB, the Khe Sanh Combat Base. Yeah, that’s right, one company took the place of an entire battalion
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| Helicopter Being Pushed Off Deck of USS Blue Ridge |
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My name is Keenan Taw and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was a US Marine who had lost an arm during the Battle of Khe Sahn, a battle that took place between January 21 and July 9, 1968.
May 4, 1973
Dear SMHS U.S. History class:
I’ve returned from the war burdened with a knowledge I was not trying to find - the blunt truth of the human existence. I’ve discovered that honestly nothing we do on this damned earth really means a thing, and I strongly believe that after hearing my story you will come to the very same conclusion.
I’ve returned from the war burdened with a knowledge I was not trying to find - the blunt truth of the human existence. I’ve discovered that honestly nothing we do on this damned earth really means a thing, and I strongly believe that after hearing my story you will come to the very same conclusion.
I was deployed to Bravo Company, First Battalion of the 9th Marine Regiment, so right off the bat I knew I was in trouble. War is tough on everyone, but it’s especially tough on those in the battalion nicknamed ‘The Walking Dead’ due to their extremely high amount of casualties. However, despite our knowledge of the dangers of our battalion and war in general, we were close… like brothers. When I joined Bravo the first thing we did was take the place of the First Battalion 3rd Regiment at the KSCB, the Khe Sanh Combat Base. Yeah, that’s right, one company took the place of an entire battalion
Life was disgustingly monotonous yet extremely frightening at the same time. Wake up, eat your rations, patrol the hills. Wake up, eat your rations, patrol the hills. No one noticed anything funny going on during those first few weeks. Nobody even suspected the siege, not until the incident just north of hill 861.
It started out just like every other day, we got up and ate some breakfast and then set out to patrol the hills. First we scouted hill 558, we didn’t find any sign of NVA so we moved on towards hill 861, which was clear of NVA as well. How ironic it was that our battalion was infamous for our high number of casualties, and yet we hadn’t even seen a drop of action when we ran into about 50 NVA just north of hill 861. I was awakened from my shock-inflicted daze by the sound of screaming men and firing guns. As I watched bullets tear through enemies and allies alike I dove for cover behind a nearby rock, but before I could get complete cover two bullets tore through my right bicep and chest, and a searing pain spread. I passed out.
I woke up in one of Khe Sanh’s makeshift infirmaries with a bandage wrapped tightly around my chest and a funny feeling in my right arm. I couldn’t move my neck so I tried to assess the wound in my right arm with my peripheral vision but I couldn’t get a good look at it. Then I realized I could see my left arm just fine and it was in the same exact position as the right one. Terror ran through my veins. It’s gone. My right arm is gone. I passed out.
I woke up once again, this time to the seemingly never ending sounds of explosions. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. I noticed that there were a lot of wounded men around me now and that the ‘infirmary’ had grown exponentially since the last time I was conscious. I asked the soldier beside me, a large strong man who had lost his leg, what was going on. He told me about the siege and operation Niagara. That the KCSB had been surrounded by the NVA and that they were relentlessly attacking and sieging us, but that the US wasn’t going to give up on us. He heard that our guys were dropping 1,300 tons of bombs on the area around Khe Sanh daily, and in addition, we were sheling them to hell. Later I would learn that this was true. The US dropped over 100,000 tons of bombs on the surrounding area, as well as 158,000 large caliber shells - endless death.
The First question I asked the docs was what happened to my buddies from Bravo. They had not wanted to tell me the awful truth; I was the only survivor from that patrol. Apparently another patrol had stumbled upon the remnants of the battle and discovered me, barely breathing. They took me back to Khe Sanh and I had been passed out for a few days before I woke up. We had lived up to our title, ‘The Walking Dead.’
After the US had ‘successfully’ penetrated and fought off the siege with many efforts including operations Niagara and Pegasus, they decided to abandon the KSCB. The loss of my arm was for nothing. The death of my brothers had been for nothing. All the death, all of it, had been for absolutely nothing. Operation Charlie began, the abandonment of the KSCB.
I woke up in one of Khe Sanh’s makeshift infirmaries with a bandage wrapped tightly around my chest and a funny feeling in my right arm. I couldn’t move my neck so I tried to assess the wound in my right arm with my peripheral vision but I couldn’t get a good look at it. Then I realized I could see my left arm just fine and it was in the same exact position as the right one. Terror ran through my veins. It’s gone. My right arm is gone. I passed out.
I woke up once again, this time to the seemingly never ending sounds of explosions. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. I noticed that there were a lot of wounded men around me now and that the ‘infirmary’ had grown exponentially since the last time I was conscious. I asked the soldier beside me, a large strong man who had lost his leg, what was going on. He told me about the siege and operation Niagara. That the KCSB had been surrounded by the NVA and that they were relentlessly attacking and sieging us, but that the US wasn’t going to give up on us. He heard that our guys were dropping 1,300 tons of bombs on the area around Khe Sanh daily, and in addition, we were sheling them to hell. Later I would learn that this was true. The US dropped over 100,000 tons of bombs on the surrounding area, as well as 158,000 large caliber shells - endless death.
The First question I asked the docs was what happened to my buddies from Bravo. They had not wanted to tell me the awful truth; I was the only survivor from that patrol. Apparently another patrol had stumbled upon the remnants of the battle and discovered me, barely breathing. They took me back to Khe Sanh and I had been passed out for a few days before I woke up. We had lived up to our title, ‘The Walking Dead.’
After the US had ‘successfully’ penetrated and fought off the siege with many efforts including operations Niagara and Pegasus, they decided to abandon the KSCB. The loss of my arm was for nothing. The death of my brothers had been for nothing. All the death, all of it, had been for absolutely nothing. Operation Charlie began, the abandonment of the KSCB.
Regards,
Keenan Taw
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Blake Castleman's Letter about the Kent State Shootings
My name is Blake Castleman and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I had witnessed the 1970 Kent State shootings.
May 7, 1970
Dear SMHS US History class:
It is 7 P.M. I am in a hotel room about ten minutes away from Kent, Ohio, and I am writing to share my experiences on a college visit to Kent State University a few days ago on May 4, 1970. I witnessed a dramatic event that I’m unsure I can even recover from.
A few days ago I was visiting Kent State University for a college tour. I was with my Mom and we had just arrived at night after a long flight, at about 9:30 P.M. I was eager to look around the campus before my official visit the next day, so my mom and I took a taxi to the college campus to look around for a half hour or so. To my horror, the first thing I noticed when I arrived onto the campus was a destroyed building. I asked one of the students nearby what happened, and he explained that a day ago there was an anti-war protest by the some of the college students as a result of a new Vietnam War Campaign. He also told us that during this protest the campus’ ROTC building was burnt to the ground, and how we had just missed another one of their war protests an hour and a half ago. Afterwards, I walked around the campus for about fifteen minutes before deciding I was too tired from my flight to continue my campus exploration, so my mom and I went to our hotel.
The next morning was a cold and windy day, so I wore one of my jackets and a pair of jeans. A campus tour was scheduled for 10:00 A.M. for any potential students, so I decided to take that tour and planned to explore the city afterwards. I then arrived at the school, and with a group of thirty, I energetically explored the campus. Although the campus tour was very intriguing, it wasn’t until after the tour where my life was changed forever. The campus tour was disbanded at about 12:15 P.M. at Prentice Hall, a dormitory on campus, and I was about to leave when I heard a bell ringing. I then walked towards the sound of the bell, and I soon saw at least two thousand students gathered in front of the college, an area known as The Commons. They were all protesting the Vietnam War, just as how the student from the night before told me they were, and the National Guard of Ohio was there too, trying to disperse the crowd.
I watched from a tree nearby, hidden away from most of the action, and watched as a member of the Guard asked the students to end their protest and disperse. After about a minute, when no one had budged, the National Guard then began to tear gas the crowd; however, all of the gas was blown away from the crowd, by the wind. This seemed to agitate the crowd further, and the protesters then began to throw rocks and the gas canisters at the guards until the guards took out their rifles and pointed them at the students.
My mom then began to urgently pull me backwards, for she did not want me to get hurt, but I assured her that we were out of the line of fire if anything did happen. I then turned around and saw that all of the protesters had ran in different directions; most of them running up a hill, and some running into a parking lot. The guards then proceeded to follow the majority of the students up the hill, and that was when I, curious as ever, decided to creep a bit closer to see all the action.
My mother at the time continued to freak out, pulling me away, and then demanding that I come to the car and get away from all the chaos. I then assured her again that I would be fine, and that the guards would never fire upon a group of unarmed protesters. She then told me that she was going to the parking lot, and that I was to meet her there in ten minutes. That was when I ran towards the hill to see what was happening. I thought at the time, “What if I missed the whole thing already?”, and was worried, that the whole event may have ended again, and not for my own safety. That was when I finally saw the group of guards, huddled together and fixing their guns towards a mob of students near them.
Some of the students near me began to freak out too, just as my mother had, and I somehow found myself telling them, “Don’t worry, they’re not going to shoot, and if they do it’ll be blanks. They’re just trying to scare the protesters”. Oh how I regret that statement to this day.
The guards then began to fire at the mob of students. I heard screams everywhere, and I instinctively fell to the ground, terrified of a bullet hitting me. After about ten seconds the shooting stopped, and my ears were ringing nonstop, as if an explosion had just gone off. I stood up again and looked around; Panic seemed to have crept into everyone. People were crying on the ground; some were wounded, some were crying for other victims, and some were tending for others. I immediately thought, “How could they do something like this?!” Terror flooded my mind, and I started to run.
Without thought. I ran towards the parking lot where my mom said she was going to be. I wanted to be away from all this, and the chaos it caused. I was worried for my life, and I didn’t think of anything. The only thing on my mind was, “Run!”, as I entered the parking lot.
Once I arrived there, frantically looked around, and only saw more people, terrified and crying, and my mom was nowhere in site. I yelled, “MOM, HELP ME!” in fear. With my call being unanswered, I continued to run through the parking lot, past the students caring for other fallen ones, and past all the chaos. That’s when I saw my mom hiding behind a car. I called for my mom once again, and the second she turned her head and saw me, I ran to her, with tears falling down my cheeks, and hugged her. In her embrace, I then began to mutter, “They shot them, they shot them…”
Thank you class for listening to my story. I hope this can help with all the curriculum I know I’ve been missing, and hopefully someday with all the history that this event may create.
Sincerely,
Blake Castleman
Blake Castleman
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Graeme French's Letter about the Hanoi Hilton POW Camp
My name is Graeme French and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was a US Air Force pilot who had been shot down over Vietnam and imprisoned in the famous Hanoi Hilton prisoner of war camp.
June 10, 197??
My name is Graeme French and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was a US Air Force pilot who had been shot down over Vietnam and imprisoned in the famous Hanoi Hilton prisoner of war camp.
June 10, 197??
Dear SMHS US History class:
It's 3:35 PM. I have recently arrived home from Vietnam and have decided to reflect on my experiences and figured, what better way to share my experiences than with a class of high school students. I feel the events that I experienced during my imprisonment need to be shared with as many people as possible. These kinds of stories are not taught in every classroom, so for these kids it is really an opportunity to hear a part of the war they would not have previously heard.
Myself and one other A-1 Skyraider pilot were shot down along the coast of Northern Vietnam by anti aircraft artillery while on a standard patrol. On impact I was knocked unconscious and woke up to several Vietnamese men striping me of my clothing. I was beaten for what felt like hours, then placed on the back of a horse drawn carriage with all of my military related belongings and taken to what was better known as Hanoi Hilton or Hỏa Lò Prison. When I arrived, I was given a shirt, pants, underwear, and few other necessary items to bathe with. The guards there quickly pushed me into a cell with another pilot who had also been captured. One of their first requests was to know my rank. With that, they then decide how much I am worth to them and therefore how much a may be tortured.
The words Hỏa Lò mean “fiery furnace” or “hell’s hole” so you can understand the intimidation factor this place had. I was frequently tortured and beaten by many of my interrogators some of them worse than others. They wanted to know the locations of our munitions cache, Naval ships, and names and locations of some of my superiors. A few of us even came up with lies when they asked us if there were any upcoming missions that we knew about, anything to keep them from torturing us. The guards despised of us communicating with each other and we were placed into a “solitary” like room and were reprimanded for our actions. Some of us were able to create our own sort of language that the guards did not pick up on which allowed us to steadily communicate using these techniques.
Many of the captured Air Force and Navy pilots had sustained moderate to severe injuries such as broken and fractured bones, torn ligaments, dislocated joints and so on. Without the proper medical care, their conditions continued to worsen. It seemed like the men running the prisons could not have cared less about our injuries and often used medical attention as a type of reward for giving them information. Towards the end of my stay, the living conditions improved and our rations of food increased. I believe this was to make us look, at last, somewhat healthy when we were released. The guards would not beat on us as much and did not bother to stop our attempts to communicate.
The events that took place not only here but at many other prison camps claimed the lives of many and the pains in which we were put through can never be forgotten. It is up to us survivors to tell our stories because once when we die, we take these stories with us. To have the chance to share my experience with you for education purposes makes me think that at least one good thing came from this experience.
Sincerely,
Graeme French
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Chris Yang's Letter about the Chinook Landing
My name is Chris Yang and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was an officer aboard the USS Kirk on the day that Mikki Nyguen's father attempted to land his Chinook helicopter on the back deck of the Kirk.
June 10, 1976
My name is Chris Yang and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was an officer aboard the USS Kirk on the day that Mikki Nyguen's father attempted to land his Chinook helicopter on the back deck of the Kirk.
June 10, 1976
Dear SMHS US History class:
It is currently 10:30 A.M. I want to tell you about one of the most memorable experiences I’ve had during the Vietnam War. I was one of the crew members aboard the USS Kirk, when Pilot Ba Van Nguyen heroically rescued his family and friends, while risking his life in the process. The USS Kirk is a knox-class destroyer escort, named after Admiral Alan Goodrich Kirk. The Kirk was one of the many warships that rescued the South Vietnamese Navy, tens of thousands of Vietnamese refugees, and lead them to the Philippines. Ba Van Nguyen was piloting the final refugees, who were literally tossed out of a hovering Boeing CH-47 Chinook. A chinook is an American twin-engine, tandem rotor heavy-lift helicopter. Its primary roles during war were troop movement, artillery placement and battlefield resupply.
As the war was nearing an end, Southern Vietnamese people were still trying to escape Vietnam. On April 29, 1975, Pilot Ba Van Nguyen steered the chinook towards our ship, keeping the helicopter's rotors clear of the ship's superstructure. The chinook contained refugees, including his wife, two sons, daughter, and some friends. Some of our crew members noticed that Ba was trying to execute a landing on our helipad, but the helipad was way too small for the chinook. Landing on the pad would have led to a disastrous ending for those on the ship: crew members and other refugees, who had arrived earlier. The crew began shouting and waving for Ba to find another ship to land on. Although this may have dissuaded other pilots, Ba was running low on fuel and was determined to get his passengers to safety. Suddenly, he moved slightly closer to where we stood. Ba’s co-pilot instructed each passenger to jump out of the hovering chinook and fall into the grasp of our men.
The first jumper was Ba’s older son, Miki, then came Miki’s younger brother. What happened next astonished most the crew. Ba’s wife, carrying a baby with her left hand and grasping the side of the chinook to maintain balance with her right hand, dropped the baby, who was wrapped in a bundle of blankets. We were going to get everyone off the chinook, no matter what happened.
After every single passenger was caught, Ba remained in the aircraft to keep it steady so it wouldn’t destroy the ship. He flew the helicopter a safe distance from the Kirk and hovered for about 10 minutes as his wheels dipped in and out of the water. None of us knew what he was up to, until Chipman realized that Ba was taking off his flight suit and his shoulder holster. Till today, we still don’t understand how Ba managed to take everything off while working various sticks and controls to keep the massive helicopter stationary. Finally, Ba was ready to jump out of the aircraft. A moment of silence creeped over the entire crew and refugees, as we watched him carefully. Ba put his hand on the cyclic stick. Rolled left. And dived into the ocean. The loud impact caused jagged shrapnels from the helicopter blade to fly and whistle by the Kirk. The chinook slowly flipped upside down and began to sink. We saw Ba jump out and dive into the sea, but something red spread across the area where he dove. Again, there was an ominous silence as we watched in dismay. Suddenly, someone spotted Ba’s head emerge and bob at the surface of the water. The Kirk crew exploded with applause, whistles and cheers. A rescue boat sped out to Ba to pick him up. As he boarded the ship, he wore only a shirt and boxers that his wife had made him. His prized possessions, including a few bars of gold, had sunk with the chinook.
Although we forgot his name after he transferred onto another ship, we did not forget his stunning airmanship. It’s been about 35 years, and we planned to honor Ba Nguyen by inviting his family to a reunion. His journey has been long, but I hope that he’ll be able to attend this reunion.
It is currently 10:30 A.M. I want to tell you about one of the most memorable experiences I’ve had during the Vietnam War. I was one of the crew members aboard the USS Kirk, when Pilot Ba Van Nguyen heroically rescued his family and friends, while risking his life in the process. The USS Kirk is a knox-class destroyer escort, named after Admiral Alan Goodrich Kirk. The Kirk was one of the many warships that rescued the South Vietnamese Navy, tens of thousands of Vietnamese refugees, and lead them to the Philippines. Ba Van Nguyen was piloting the final refugees, who were literally tossed out of a hovering Boeing CH-47 Chinook. A chinook is an American twin-engine, tandem rotor heavy-lift helicopter. Its primary roles during war were troop movement, artillery placement and battlefield resupply.
As the war was nearing an end, Southern Vietnamese people were still trying to escape Vietnam. On April 29, 1975, Pilot Ba Van Nguyen steered the chinook towards our ship, keeping the helicopter's rotors clear of the ship's superstructure. The chinook contained refugees, including his wife, two sons, daughter, and some friends. Some of our crew members noticed that Ba was trying to execute a landing on our helipad, but the helipad was way too small for the chinook. Landing on the pad would have led to a disastrous ending for those on the ship: crew members and other refugees, who had arrived earlier. The crew began shouting and waving for Ba to find another ship to land on. Although this may have dissuaded other pilots, Ba was running low on fuel and was determined to get his passengers to safety. Suddenly, he moved slightly closer to where we stood. Ba’s co-pilot instructed each passenger to jump out of the hovering chinook and fall into the grasp of our men.
The first jumper was Ba’s older son, Miki, then came Miki’s younger brother. What happened next astonished most the crew. Ba’s wife, carrying a baby with her left hand and grasping the side of the chinook to maintain balance with her right hand, dropped the baby, who was wrapped in a bundle of blankets. We were going to get everyone off the chinook, no matter what happened.
After every single passenger was caught, Ba remained in the aircraft to keep it steady so it wouldn’t destroy the ship. He flew the helicopter a safe distance from the Kirk and hovered for about 10 minutes as his wheels dipped in and out of the water. None of us knew what he was up to, until Chipman realized that Ba was taking off his flight suit and his shoulder holster. Till today, we still don’t understand how Ba managed to take everything off while working various sticks and controls to keep the massive helicopter stationary. Finally, Ba was ready to jump out of the aircraft. A moment of silence creeped over the entire crew and refugees, as we watched him carefully. Ba put his hand on the cyclic stick. Rolled left. And dived into the ocean. The loud impact caused jagged shrapnels from the helicopter blade to fly and whistle by the Kirk. The chinook slowly flipped upside down and began to sink. We saw Ba jump out and dive into the sea, but something red spread across the area where he dove. Again, there was an ominous silence as we watched in dismay. Suddenly, someone spotted Ba’s head emerge and bob at the surface of the water. The Kirk crew exploded with applause, whistles and cheers. A rescue boat sped out to Ba to pick him up. As he boarded the ship, he wore only a shirt and boxers that his wife had made him. His prized possessions, including a few bars of gold, had sunk with the chinook.
Although we forgot his name after he transferred onto another ship, we did not forget his stunning airmanship. It’s been about 35 years, and we planned to honor Ba Nguyen by inviting his family to a reunion. His journey has been long, but I hope that he’ll be able to attend this reunion.
Sincerely
Chris Yang
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My name is Monique Duong and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was a volunteer for Operation Baby Lift on the day of the doomed flight.
Dear SMHS U.S. History Class:
I am a volunteer for Operation Baby Lift and writing to you from my hotel room just down the road from Tan Son Nhut Airport. It's just before midnight and I'm writing to tell you about an airplane crash that took place around 5:00 PM today.
The destruction of the rice paddies, how the plane was destroyed by the impact of the crash landing, and the cries of the mothers whose children had passed have been engraved in my mind forever.
The plan was originally arranged by President Gerald Ford, who had directed a sum of 2 million dollars to help fund the operation from a special foreign aid children's fund. From this fund they were able to transport 2,000 South Vietnamese orphans to the United States, hoping to provide them a better environment and life.The first flight for the Operation took weeks to happen. It was the first day of operation Baby Lift and I was helping orphaned children board the plane in hopes for them to have a better life in America, but that hope soon ended 7 minutes into the departure from Saigon. Shortly into the departure, the plane malfunctioned and crash landed into a rice paddy, killing 138 South Vietnamese children.
After the disaster, many government officials questioned the plan, but others argued that this would be the best way to give the children a better environment. The argument led to controversy between the citizens who wanted Operation Babylift to still be ensued after the malfunction. In my opinion the Operation was risky but for a good cause. We were helping the orphans escape to live a better life. It was not until the end of the Vietnam War and succession of the Northern Vietnamese troops, who had captured Saigon assisted to catalyze Operation Babylift. After their success, the long war in Vietnam was finally coming to an end. I remembered everyone celebrating the end of the war, I did too. I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulder. There was now nothing the fear or worry about. The war brought nothing but mass destruction to the villages, to the innocent civilians who had once lived peacefully. Not only was I jubilant for the end of the tremendous wars, I was in tears for the beginning of the operation. On April 26, 1975, I had decided to board a plane with 200 Vietnamese children and 14 other caretakers. The reason for me to board the plane was to help other orphanages because they were suffering from food shortages caused by the opposing side before the war had ended.
During my journey, the plane stopped in the Philippines to get the sickest children to a hospital, and after more than a week in a refugee camp, the rest of the children continued their journey in a seated cargo plane. The babies were placed in small cardboard boxes lined with blankets. The two hundred children landed in Seattle at the end of a long and strange journey. When the Vietnam War had started to come to a closure, the U.S. government began boarding Vietnamese children onto military transport planes that were bounding for orphanages so that the children could be adopted by American, Canadian, European and Australian families.
Over the next several weeks, Operation Baby Lift brought more than 3300 children out of Vietnam. I am extremely thankful to have been given the opportunity to help with this event. Operation Babylift should always be remembered.
The plan was originally arranged by President Gerald Ford, who had directed a sum of 2 million dollars to help fund the operation from a special foreign aid children's fund. From this fund they were able to transport 2,000 South Vietnamese orphans to the United States, hoping to provide them a better environment and life.The first flight for the Operation took weeks to happen. It was the first day of operation Baby Lift and I was helping orphaned children board the plane in hopes for them to have a better life in America, but that hope soon ended 7 minutes into the departure from Saigon. Shortly into the departure, the plane malfunctioned and crash landed into a rice paddy, killing 138 South Vietnamese children.
After the disaster, many government officials questioned the plan, but others argued that this would be the best way to give the children a better environment. The argument led to controversy between the citizens who wanted Operation Babylift to still be ensued after the malfunction. In my opinion the Operation was risky but for a good cause. We were helping the orphans escape to live a better life. It was not until the end of the Vietnam War and succession of the Northern Vietnamese troops, who had captured Saigon assisted to catalyze Operation Babylift. After their success, the long war in Vietnam was finally coming to an end. I remembered everyone celebrating the end of the war, I did too. I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulder. There was now nothing the fear or worry about. The war brought nothing but mass destruction to the villages, to the innocent civilians who had once lived peacefully. Not only was I jubilant for the end of the tremendous wars, I was in tears for the beginning of the operation. On April 26, 1975, I had decided to board a plane with 200 Vietnamese children and 14 other caretakers. The reason for me to board the plane was to help other orphanages because they were suffering from food shortages caused by the opposing side before the war had ended.
During my journey, the plane stopped in the Philippines to get the sickest children to a hospital, and after more than a week in a refugee camp, the rest of the children continued their journey in a seated cargo plane. The babies were placed in small cardboard boxes lined with blankets. The two hundred children landed in Seattle at the end of a long and strange journey. When the Vietnam War had started to come to a closure, the U.S. government began boarding Vietnamese children onto military transport planes that were bounding for orphanages so that the children could be adopted by American, Canadian, European and Australian families.
Over the next several weeks, Operation Baby Lift brought more than 3300 children out of Vietnam. I am extremely thankful to have been given the opportunity to help with this event. Operation Babylift should always be remembered.
Sincerely,
Monique Duong
Anna Pearson's Letter about the Release of American POW's
My name is Anna Pearson and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was at Clark Air Base, the Philippines, on Tuesday, Feb. 13, 1973, the day that the first released American prisoners of the Vietnam War stepped off military evacuation jets and onto American territory.
February 13, 1973
Dear San Marino U.S. History class:
I am writing to you from Clark Air Base, the Philippines. It’s is now nearly midnight and what a day it has been. This is the day that the first released American prisoners of the Vietnam War stepped off military evacuation jets and onto American territory.
The American POWs were released as part of something called Operation Homecoming, the result of diplomatic negotiations concluding U.S. military involvement in Vietnam.
One by one they came off the plane and I actually got to interview some of them. From these interviews, I learned a lot.
I learned, for example, that as part of a regular routine to force POWs to break, the guards tied their hands and feet together and hung them from large meat hooks for days at a time.
In addition, I learned that many of the POWs would be forced to endure various types of beatings, sometimes to the point of causing them to lose consciousness.
And I learned that some of the POWs were even subjected to a really harsh form of torture - isolation. This meant that the POWs were separated and confined, sometimes cells apart from each other. Yet, many learned to communicate through a series of tapping.
I even learned that one night, one of the POWs’, Cmdr. Jerry Denton, was hauled in front of T.V. cameras by the Vietnamese. What first seemed to be some type of spasm was actually his way of saying “T-O-R-T-U-R-E” in Morse Code through blinking.
Captain Jim Mulligan spoke of the long nights which seemed to never end. With no light bulbs in solitary, daytime and nighttime blended together. In addition, rats and roaches infested his cell, but for what reason he wondered? There was hardly a morsel of food to be found. They were served a watery gruel, often with small bits of feces or pebbles in it. There was little to no ventilation in the prison and the temperatures often reached 110 degrees. The stench of human excrement, heat, combined with body odors from not bathing, created almost unbearable conditions for human existence, much less for a person to take a normal breath of air. Life in the cell was no place for any form of life.
Today, February 13, 1973, they are going home. Our POWs are leaving Vietnam behind. Despite their years of tortuous abuse, many plan to continue serving our country in active duty service. These men, though they do not consider themselves heroes, but rather American soldiers serving their country, are truly heroic.
Sincerely,
Anna Pearson
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My name is Anna Pearson and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was at Clark Air Base, the Philippines, on Tuesday, Feb. 13, 1973, the day that the first released American prisoners of the Vietnam War stepped off military evacuation jets and onto American territory.
Dear San Marino U.S. History class:
I am writing to you from Clark Air Base, the Philippines. It’s is now nearly midnight and what a day it has been. This is the day that the first released American prisoners of the Vietnam War stepped off military evacuation jets and onto American territory.
The American POWs were released as part of something called Operation Homecoming, the result of diplomatic negotiations concluding U.S. military involvement in Vietnam.
One by one they came off the plane and I actually got to interview some of them. From these interviews, I learned a lot.
I learned, for example, that as part of a regular routine to force POWs to break, the guards tied their hands and feet together and hung them from large meat hooks for days at a time.
In addition, I learned that many of the POWs would be forced to endure various types of beatings, sometimes to the point of causing them to lose consciousness.
And I learned that some of the POWs were even subjected to a really harsh form of torture - isolation. This meant that the POWs were separated and confined, sometimes cells apart from each other. Yet, many learned to communicate through a series of tapping.
I even learned that one night, one of the POWs’, Cmdr. Jerry Denton, was hauled in front of T.V. cameras by the Vietnamese. What first seemed to be some type of spasm was actually his way of saying “T-O-R-T-U-R-E” in Morse Code through blinking.
Captain Jim Mulligan spoke of the long nights which seemed to never end. With no light bulbs in solitary, daytime and nighttime blended together. In addition, rats and roaches infested his cell, but for what reason he wondered? There was hardly a morsel of food to be found. They were served a watery gruel, often with small bits of feces or pebbles in it. There was little to no ventilation in the prison and the temperatures often reached 110 degrees. The stench of human excrement, heat, combined with body odors from not bathing, created almost unbearable conditions for human existence, much less for a person to take a normal breath of air. Life in the cell was no place for any form of life.
Today, February 13, 1973, they are going home. Our POWs are leaving Vietnam behind. Despite their years of tortuous abuse, many plan to continue serving our country in active duty service. These men, though they do not consider themselves heroes, but rather American soldiers serving their country, are truly heroic.
Sincerely,
Anna Pearson
Video clip (1:04) of POW's arriving at Clarke Air Base, the Philippines
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Leinard Hwang's Letter about the Battle of Khe Sahn
My name is Leinard Hwang and in my US History class this summer, I wrote a letter to the students in my class that assumed I was a journalist who had been wounded during the Battle of Khe Sahn, a battle that took place between January 21 and July 9 1968.
May 3, 1973
Dear SMHS U.S. History class:
Today is May 3, 1968, it's been 3 Months and 13 days since the start of the battle of Khe Sanh which started on January 21, 1968. I am a wounded journalist that got shot in the arm while in search for information regarding the battle of Khe Sanh. The battle is being conducted in Khe Sanh of the northwestern Quang Tri Province, in the Republic of Vietnam. This place sits at the 17th Parallel, which divides North and South Vietnam. The border was established by the Geneva accords of 1954. I saw that the people that lived along the southern part of the border were greatly affected, due to the constant fighting in Khe Sanh. I felt very depressed at the sight of villagers evacuating to survive. The U.S. feels this location is important to hold, as it will prevent present and future infiltration of the North Vietnamese army forces into South Vietnam. I believe another point of seizing the border is that we can patrol the Ho Chi Minh trail. The Ho Chi Minh trail is believed to be a communication and transportation site for the North Vietnamese.
The two opposing Generals that are leading the battle are General William C. Westmoreland of the U.S. and General Vo Nguyen Giap of the NVA. From how hard they fought, I believe they both had plans to use the Khe Sanh combat base and the surrounding area for their own purposes. For General Westmoreland, it was to stop the North Vietnamese army from coming to the South. General Westmoreland also believed that North Vietnamese forces had targeted Khe Sanh as part of an effort to seize South Vietnam’s northernmost regions and put themselves in a stronger position, prior to any future peace negotiations. For General Giap, I believe that his plans are to use the base as a staging ground for an optional play to be used in the future. I believe that General Westmoreland and General Giap both knew each other's plans for the area, and at times I think that each thought they had manipulated the other.
During the battle, an attack was launched by the United States Air Force. The attack consisted of a massive aerial bombardment campaign called Operation Niagara. Over 100,000 tons of bombs were dropped between January 21, 1968, and March 16, 1968. This was equivalent to the destructive force of five Hiroshima-size atomic bombs. The U.S. Navy, Air Force, and United States Marine Corps would roughly drop 1,300 tons of bomb daily. In addition to the bombings, the U.S. Forces had fired an estimated 158,000 large-caliber shells on the hills surrounding the base. Operation Niagara has taken the lives of thousands of NVA men while we suffered less casualty.
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