An Unexpected Gesture
It was not an unusual day in the summer of 1969 in a country called South Viet Nam. Long My was an Army Transportation Depot in the Central Highlands (Northwest of Qui Nhan, near An Khe).
It included a motor vehicle repair facility for heavy duty trucks of the sort that were typically used for convoys – often a nasty business, particularly through the mountain passes. It was in a large, hot, dusty bowl, surrounded by scraggly hills that provided an excellent vantage point for the Viet Cong to periodically lob in mortar rounds, usually after nightfall.
Like many other military installations in Nam, there were a number of Vietnamese civilians who worked at the base during the day, none were allowed at night. Most in official jobs, the “Mamasans” and “Papasans” who worked in the mess hall, as mechanic helpers, did our laundry and cleaned out the latrines, among other things. Some unofficially, and joined by “Babysans”, provided refreshments of various sorts. This arrangement always seemed curious to me and I often wondered, as did most of the guys, if some of the civilians in our midst during the day were participants in in the nocturnal interludes of excitement. I don’t recall that we overtly mistreated them but we did look down at them and never engaged them in any meaningful way – they were just there.
I multi-tasked several jobs, truck driver, driver training instructor and personnel clerk, In the latter I did nothing of great consequence, mostly making entries to records of troops coming and going to the base and “The World” – as we called the USA. On this particular day, there was a bit of a commotion in the normally listless room that housed several administrative functions. I looked up from my desk and saw a very agitated young Vietnamese man, who spoke no English, trying to get the attention of someone in charge. For reasons I have never fully understood, but apparently since there was no Officer or Senior NCO present, the young man and his interpreter were directed to me. I suspect it may have been that I was a couple of years older than most of the guys (early twenties vs, late teens) and thus presumed to have sufficient gravitas to hear the young man out and pass judgment.
He was asking for the day off. The reason – his younger brother was being drafted into the South Vietnamese Army (ARVN) and the man needed to explain to the authorities why he shouldn’t be. I’m not clear on the reason, but I believe it was something like the boy being the last son in the family and thus was expected to provide for them. The young man was visibly nervous as the interpreter explained the situation to me. I listened quietly and, without a lot of thought and undoubtedly lacking the proper authority, granted him permission to leave the base.
The day passed and the encounter left my mind. About noon the next day, as I was at my desk trying very hard to look busy, one of the guys handed me a can of Coke. I looked up and across the room, was the young Vietnamese man. In his hand was a can of Coke. With a slight nod of his head, he raised the hand it as if to offer a toast but said not a word. In return, I raised the hand with the Coke and, without a word, lowered my head and returned to work. Nothing ever passed between us again.
With nothing said, I don’t know if the young man’s entreaties with the South Vietnamese authorities had proved successful, I’d like to think they were. But as I have thought about the incident over the years it has become more meaningful to me. In the middle of a country and an ugly war almost all of us there wanted no part of, that encounter may have done something that made it a little better, as least for one Vietnamese young man. And so his toast remains a pleasant recollection of that time and place. It shares space with other memories that are much sadder and darker. At any rate – it was a long time ago.