THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, June 18, 1995 TAG: 9506140057
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY DAVE ADDIS, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 143 lines
Sooner or later, in a talk with Binh Nguyen about life, school, work, dreams for the future or nightmares past, the conversation turns back to his father.
Binh - it's pronounced ``Ben,'' decidedly American - followed his father onto a painfully fragile boat at a cove up the coast from Saigon on a dank August night 14 years ago.
The Virginia Beach man's clearest memories of that night are of an emotional goodbye to his mother and sister. His mother wrote his name and address on his shirt. Through her tears, she told him, ``Honey, if you ever get lost, beg the first person you meet to take you to this address. I am willing to give them anything just as long as you're safely home beside me.''
Binh remembers a frightened dash through the darkened city streets, then to the countryside, where a cousin hoisted him onto taller shoulders for a slog across a mud flat to a little fishing boat that would take them to the main boat. In the confusion he lost things that meant so much to a 6-year-old: his beloved chess pieces, his shoes, his toy gun.
But he never lost his little-boy courage, because he was with his father.
``As long as I could see my father,'' he said, telling of being crammed into the airless space under the deck with nearly 80 other Vietnamese as they ventured out to the South China Sea, to freedom, ``as long as I could be beside my father, I was never afraid.''
People died on that boat, slow, agonizing deaths, before the survivors were rescued by a Dutch freighter and dropped off in Thailand. A year later, Binh, who spoke precious little English, entered school in Norfolk.
He smiles at that now, telling how he ``didn't even know how to ask to go to the bathroom. I had to wait until I got home. That was embarrassing. I remember the pain.''
Binh's father had no relatives in the United States. Binh speaks obliquely of those ``difficult times,'' has to be prodded to talk some about it. His father, a pharmacist in Vietnam, had his business and his home taken by the Viet Cong. His family was forced to live in a shack, to sell rice in the streets to make a meager living. Safe in the States, but flat broke, Binh's father worked menial jobs in restaurants to keep them afloat. They doubled up in cramped apartments with friends and plotted a decade-long struggle to get Binh's mother and sister out of Vietnam.
This all comes out rather matter-of-factly. There is no whining about what they endured together. It is simply a period in Binh's life that strengthened his desire to give something back, to honor his father.
``My father has always been determined to make the best of himself so his children would not starve or be under extreme poverty. It doesn't matter, he can work two, three jobs, just to do his best for his family.
``I don't think he ever gave up hope. And because of that I want to do all I can. I come home and I see him working so hard every day. Because of that I want to make him happy. I want to make him proud.
``He's so incredible, he is the one who has inspired me to do everything. We came here, just me and him. He sacrificed, he risked his life, career, his wife, for me and my sister. The least I can do is make him proud, take advantage of that opportunity.''
After 10 years apart, Bihn's mother, Dan-Than, and his sister, My-Phung, made it to the United States in 1991. They're both in college now, his 22-year-old sister working at her second degree. ``We're all in school,'' Binh said, ``every single one of us.''
Ironically, it's schooling that has separated Binh and his father. Long Nguyen is now 51 years old, at a point in his life where many men would start backing down, maybe sharpen the golf game and play the mutual funds market with retirement in mind. Instead, he is in Philadelphia, studying at Temple University to regain his pharmacist credentials.
They speak often by telephone - ``Oh, the phone bills,'' Binh said, chuckling and rolling his eyes. ``We call at all the off hours, weekends, to save money.''
``You know, he has never pushed me,'' Bihn said, turning a discussion of his own academic achievements and community volunteer work back toward his father. ``He trusts me, he thinks I should gain experience on my own. I've learned a lot from him, learned to be wiser in certain ways. Learned guidance. Patience. He gives me advice, but he's really never pushy.
``When times got difficult he told me one thing I will always remember. There were two ways to make a living: One way, you can use your hands like he was doing, or to use your mind to accomplish what you want to do.''
By the time Binh graduated at the top of his Green Run High School class, skipping his junior year and doubling up with courses at Tidewater Community College, he had sheaves of academic awards. He graduated from Old Dominion University last month and this fall will enter Eastern Virginia Medical School in Norfolk.
That, too, has its roots in those awful weeks adrift at sea, their engine broken, the food and water gone, and people beginning to die. An old woman, of dehydration. Two children, of starvation and heatstroke. The sores and boils that plagued Binh and his father.
``The things I saw when I was escaping from Vietnam made me want to become a doctor. People I saw dying on the boat. I saw that old woman, she just couldn't make it . . . .
``I felt very powerless,'' Binh said, a little quietly now. ``I couldn't do anything. I thought to myself I must do something to help. But I was a child, and I didn't even know what a doctor was at that time.''
With his academic record he could have studied anywhere. The best schools wanted him.
``Yes,'' he said, ``I had those offers and I turned them all down. I like ODU. I really like their kindness, the way they teach. Reputation doesn't matter; it's how hard you work at what you're doing. And EVMS is an excellent school. A good research school. I can't complain a bit.''
There are other reasons, though, for staying put. One is a love of a region that took a refugee to heart and gave him all the opportunity his father had risked their lives to find.
``This community,'' Binh said, ``has given me so much . . . all my teachers, the friends. I don't think I can ever leave this area. It's my home.''
But at the base of those beliefs is his family. ``My family now is reunited and I really don't want to be separated from them any more. We were separated for 10 years. I think that's long enough.''
Binh remembers the day he and his father stood side by side and took their oath of American citizenship. ``It was so emotional, I had a lot of feelings, very patriotic. I felt very proud to be here.
``My father was quiet, he didn't say anything. He told me, `That's it, you are an American citizen now. Do what you can, be loyal to your country. Take the opportunities, don't give anything up. Make it the best you can.
`` `You'll be OK. This is your home now.' ''
His father's words are never far from his thoughts. Binh Nguyen will make it the very best he can. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos
Bihn and his father, Long Nguyen, fled Vietnam when he was only 6.
Once in the United States, Long worked menial restaurant jobs to
keep them afloat.
JIM WALKER/Staff
Bihn Nguyen just graduated from Old Dominion University and plans to
attend Easter Virginia Medical School this fall.
Photos
Binh's mother, Dan-Thanh, and father, Long Nguyen, ran a pharmacy in
Vietnam. Today, Long is studying at Temple University to regain his
credentials.
Binh Nguyen and his father escaped from Vietnam on this boat in
1981. Eighty people crammed into the craft before they were rescued
by a Dutch freighter.
by CNB