THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, May 27, 1996 TAG: 9605270033
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY CHARLENE CASON, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: 128 lines
How do you find the father who died before you were born if all you know about him is that he was in the Army, he had crooked teeth and a stutter, and he liked spicy Korean food?
How can anyone help you when you don't even have the correct spelling of your father's last name?
You talk to a sympathetic master chief petty officer in Keflavik, Iceland.
Airman Hoang Pham, a 30-year-old sailor stationed aboard the carrier John C. Stennis, had longed to find out more about his father, a U.S. Army soldier killed in Vietnam six months before Pham was born.
But, because of huge gaps in communication and time, locating his dad's family seemed like a puzzle that might never be solved.
Master Chief Jeffrey Jarosz, a naval reserve command master chief who deploys to Iceland a few weeks each year, was willing to look for pieces of the puzzle until the dearest wish of Pham's heart came true.
``I just didn't give up,'' said Jarosz - a Navy veteran of 28 years - from his home in Minnesota. ``This kid is a special kid, and helping him was one of the proudest things I've ever done in my long Navy career.''
Pham was born in June 1966 in Vietnam. His childhood was an unhappy one - unhappy because he was Amerasian, an unacceptable half-breed in his native country.
When the U.S. military pulled out of South Vietnam in 1975, more than 20,000 Amerasian children were left to deal with prejudice and poverty.
Pham's grandmother raised him when his mother, Giau, married an American airman and moved to this country; she promised the child she would return for him in two years, but she never came back.
``When I was 14 or 15, I was taken to a prison camp and forced to work for the Communists,'' Pham said. ``My grandmother remained in Saigon. In the camp I dig trenches, grow crops for the government, labor only for food.
``But I was with political prisoners who were former South Vietnam officers, scientists and professors, and they teach me. They call me the man of a million questions. They encourage me to look for my American future,'' he said.
That future started to materialize when Congress created a law in 1982 that allowed Amerasian children to come to the United States as immigrants.
Pham said he was one of the first 200 such children to leave Vietnam for America. The FBI, he said, located his mother and her Air Force husband, then stationed in Japan.
Pham went to live with his mother and stepfather first in Japan and later in California.
After graduating from a California high school at age 21 - Pham's formal education in Vietnam had ended abruptly when he was sent to prison camp - he had a series of construction and factory jobs.
For nearly a decade, ``John'' Pham - as he was now known - felt angry and bitter toward both sides of his past: He had been abandoned and mistreated in Vietnam, and he had no future in America until he could claim his father's heritage.
Then, when he was 28, he joined the Navy.
His first assignment was to Keflavik, Iceland, where he met Navy reservist Jeffrey Jarosz in the spring of 1994.
Jarosz was teaching a class in the POW-MIA code of conduct for new arrivals, and Pham was in the class.
``Every year when I went back to Iceland, I'd see him,'' the master chief said. ``This year I asked him if he'd ever tried to find his father's family, and he told me he hadn't, because he didn't know anything about his dad.''
Pham gave Jarosz every detail he was able to piece together from his mother and aunt, who both live in California: His father was an Army soldier; his last name sounded like Ren-AY to Pham's grandmother, who spoke Vietnamese French, and he was killed near the village of Ankhe on Dec. 26, 1965, six months before his son was born.
The young man ``rode in helicopters,'' had crooked teeth and a stutter, and loved spicy Korean food.
Not much to go on.
``I tried to find out the information while I was in Iceland,'' Jarosz said, ``but I was unsuccessful. Then, when I got back to Minnesota, I connected up with the Veteran's Administration on my home computer.''
Jarosz found two names similar to Renne, but the dates and locations of death didn't match. Then he decided to start with just the first three letters, ``Ren.''
He came up with Lynn ``Bud'' Renner, a 22-year-old soldier who was killed on Dec. 26, 1965, in Ankhe.
Renner had been a member of the 5th Calvary Infantry Division.
``I thought, of course, Renner would have sounded like Renne to anyone who was used to French,'' said Jarosz. The answer to Pham's 30-year-old puzzle had come in less than two days.
But what if the family roots Jarosz had found in a small Michigan town weren't part of Pham's family tree? And, if they were, what if the limbs of welcome weren't extended to the young man?
Pham had nothing to worry about.
``He is such a great boy,'' said Nick Renner, Pham's newly found uncle. ``At first we were in shock, but, after many questions, we thought it was a great thing that a part of our brother was still alive.''
Nick Renner, 48, is the youngest of ``Bud'' Renner's four siblings: Neil Hand, 56, Nancee Sipp, 55, Sally Parmer, 52, and Nick. Pham's father, ``Bud,'' was born between Nancee and Sally. Both of their parents are deceased.
The siblings talked extensively with Pham on the phone before they invited him to Howard City, Mich., Nick Renner said. They compared details with what little Pham knew and exchanged photographs.
On May 8, while enroute from California, where he had been on leave, to his new duty station in Norfolk, Pham took a detour to Michigan. He was greeted at the airport by enthusiastic aunts, uncles and cousins waving ``Welcome'' banners.
He stayed four days. The second day of his visit, May 9, would have been his father's 53rd birthday. Eventually, more than 40 relatives came to meet the newest family member, and no one doubted he was his father's son.
``He has a similar laugh, and similar mannerisms, as my brother,'' said Nick Renner, who is a rural postman. ``Their personalities are alike, both caring, joyful, intelligent.
``John has nothing to gain from making all this up. He never tried to change anything he knew, to try to make the facts 100 percent true.
``We've accepted him,'' Renner said, ``and we look forward to seeing him often.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photos by MOTOYA NAKAMURA /The Virginian-Pilot
Airman Hoang Pham holds a picture of his father, Lynn ``Bud''
Renner. With the help of a sympathetic master chief petty officer,
the 30-year-old Pham discovered his roots and met his father's
family, who live in Michigan.
Pham, now stationed aboard the carrier John C. Stennis, came from
Vietnam after Congress passed a law in 1982 that let Amerasian
children come to the United States as immigrants.
PHOTO COURTESY HOANG PHAM AND FAMILY
Hoang Pham, with his newly found family in Howard City, Mich. His
father died in Vietnam, but his family remains.
KEYWORDS: U.S. NAVY REUNION VIETNAM AMERASIAN by CNB