THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, April 29, 1995 TAG: 9504280066
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: Long : 101 lines
EXACTLY 20 YEARS ago, Nguyen Van Tin helicoptered from the roof of the U.S. Embassy in Saigon, headed for the the deck of an American ship.
Below him, somewhere in the city, were his wife and most of his family.
As the chopper blades raised the craft from the roof and whirled through the haze of dusk, he did not know when, or if, he would see them again.
The eyes of the Vietnamese gentleman glisten with tears even now when he speaks of April 29, 1975.
``That day went against my heart,'' he said, thumping a fist on his chest. ``It half-killed me leaving them behind.''
On that day, Tin and his children walked out of their handsome home with sweeping green lawn in Saigon. They left never to return, abandoning all worldly possessions except his briefcase and the clothes on their backs.
There had been a signal to U.S. families and the Vietnamese who had worked for the Americans.
``On the American radio they played Christmas songs. That was the sign that it was the time for departure,'' he said.
The briefcase Tin carried was stuffed with identification certificates attesting that he had been a valuable ally as a national policeman and as security chief for U.S.-based contractors in Vietnam.
When they arrived at the U.S. Embassy, Vietnamese, fearing death at the hands of the Viet Cong, clung to the struts and skids of helicopters carrying out the evacuation.
``It was all anarchy and chaos,'' Tin recalled. Vietnamese rushed to the embassy from all sections of the city, small streams of them, merging into rivers and then a tide.
``We were standing outside a gate when the gates were pushed open by the mob pressing behind us.'' he said. ``My son and I were pushed forward and my wife and the other children were shut out when they closed the gates again. There was no way to get out the gates to them. The gates were locked.''
At 7 that evening, Tin and the son who had come with him boarded a helicopter, accompanied by another son who had somehow managed to enter the embassy building. They left the city with heavy hearts and an uncertain future.
After arriving in Norfolk, Tin and his sons refinished floors for a living, sending most of the money earned to Tin's wife so she could purchase her freedom.
He would not be reunited with his entire family for 11 years. In March 1986, his wife, Oanh, and her two daughters stepped off a jet in Norfolk, after an exhausting trip from Ho Chi Minh City.
The reunion was so tearful and emotional that Tin, then 67, was driven home by one of his children.
Now living with his wife on Lucile Avenue in Norfolk, Tin has proved to be a model citizen. He received a commendation from Gov. Mills E. Godwin Jr. for translating the state driver's manual into Vietnamese. And he has tutored Vietnamese children (without pay) in English at local schools.
On a recent visit to his home, I was shown the briefcase he had carried into the embassy compound 20 years ago. The identification papers are still there, along with training certificates received from U.S. government agencies and universities.
His wife peeped from behind a curtain in the kitchen as we munched on spring rolls and Peking duck made for the occasion.
Tin, a scholarly looking man with a broad smile and extremely polite manner, said he never regretted leaving his native land.
``My sister's children and my brother's children are still there,'' he said. ``And they are miserable. There's no work for them. They earn very little, and prices are so high.''
He waved away any suggestion that the United States might have made a mistake by entering the Vietnam War or by pulling out troops after they were committed.
``Your country was stopping communism,'' he said, ``so that it would not spread to India, Burma or Thailand. What's wrong with that? It was never a nationalistic struggle. You were fighting commun-ism.''
And the American pullout in 1975?
``All countries act out of self-interest,'' he said. ``Most countries would never have tried to save Vietnam from the communists. But the United States did. And spent many lives and $50 billion to do it. America has done its best to help the whole world. And it has certainly been good to me. It has nothing to apologize for.''
Tin's family has spread across the United States: to California, Houston, Atlanta, Annandale and Virginia Beach. There are so many grandchildren that he has lost count, he said.
``The grandchildren have picked up American ways,'' he said. ``They do not respect old people as they do in Vietnam, where age means wisdom and experience.''
Oanh, however, clings to the old ways.
I asked my host to thank his absent wife for the delicious meal. He left the table and entered the kitchen, returning after a brief conversation in Vietnamese.
``I tell her your compliments,'' he said. ``She put her hands before her face when I told her. So shy, you know.'' He bent at the waist in amusement, hiding a giggle behind his cupped hand.
Later, I saw a quick finger pull aside the curtain and an observant eye surveying the table as we spooned dessert. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo by Christopher Reddick, Staff
Nguyen Van Tin was separated from his wife for 11 years.
by CNB