Forgotten South Vietnamese Allies

My friend Richard DelVecchio, all call him Del, is in South Vietnam right now and is encountering the common fate of the common soldiers of our ally. Del was a Marine combat photographer during the Vietnam war, and is quite knowledgeable about Vietnam. He is also one of the most caring human beings you could ever hope to meet. I'm so proud of his friendship.

Below is his latest email from Saigon (now officially titled Ho Chi Minh City, but everyone knows it's Saigon).

Read this, and then -- regardless of how you may have felt about the war then -- please send some contribution to helping. The address is: Vietnam Healing Foundation; 5228 Beckwyck Dr.; Fuquay-Varina, NC 27528.
Whether you can afford to contribute, at least something, you can send encouragement to Del at his email: techconsultserv@juno.com

Email from Del:
Today we got up and went visiting. First, since they'd heard I like a
spicy regional dish called bun bo hue, there was a steaming bowl of it
ready for my breakfast. Not exactly the Wheaties and milk start to the day, but since they got it special for me, there was little choice but to smile and suck in the noodles, spicy soup, bits of leafy green herbs, and the various special cuts of the pig (knuckles, internal organs, etc.)that are the centerpoint of the dish. I know my gut has recovered from the jet lag, because I got it down and was pretty much OK.

Then we went on our way, in a taxi, since I begged to not take the
motorbikes while carrying a camera and big lens.

We wound up in what we'd call shantytowns, shelters put together with
bits of corrugated iron and scrap sheets of plastic. Some had been
houses of a sort once, still had some concrete walls, others were real
cobbled-together specials. Dirt streets, lots of garbage, very poor
people.

Stop #1 was a man with one leg, still had the knee, and had made himself an artificial leg so he can get around halfway well. He and his wife and kids ranging from probably 25 to 15 were in a two room shack with a porch. He'd stepped on a mine while diving for cover in a battle back in '71 or so. Has never been able to work much since, is torn by the fact his wife and kids have to work hard to keep the household going, and the shack itself is falling apart. They showed me where it floods to six inches deep when it rains, and how the roof has pulled away from one wall so that the rain soaks their back room. They desperately want to get help just to get the shack fixed up so it's not open to the elements so much. He spoke of the total lack of support from the government, and how his kids would have to pay higher fees to go to school just because of his having fought for the South. (Part of the systematic discrimination
against and penalization of the Southern vets.)

I was upset a little, gave him the gift envelope of money (500,000 VN
dong, about $36) which is only enough help get them through the next
couple of months a little better off. But with 15 gifts to hand out for starters, and other expenses, it's all I can do right now. (Thought I could cash some checks here at American Express, but it turns out that VN is the only major country in the world with no AMEX office, due to the restrictive banking laws here.)

Stop #2 was a smaller guy, totally missing one leg, whose wife is
completely blind. They live in a rented concrete box house, maybe 1.5
times the size of my garden shed. He ekes out a living selling lottery tickets, their rent and utilities are 500,000 dong per month. He was a VN Marine, wounded other times beside when he lost the leg, fought in the big battles of the '72 invasion. Had a special tattoo on his arm, but the words below the symbol had been covered in black ink. They were originally Sat Cong (kill communists) and had to be covered or he'd be even worse off. He has no artificial leg, can't get one, needs a cart to sell his lottery tickets. I gave him the gift envelope and left, much
more upset.

Then came #3. We walked through the worst maze of junk and shacks to get to the edge of the mud flats, where a small shanty on stilts stuck out of the muck. On the center floor of the main room (of two) was an older man, at least 65 or so, with both legs gone almost at the hip joints. And one arm half paralyzed, originally damaged by bullet wounds, but now worsened by his general deterioration. It was difficult for him to talk, so his wife and daughter did much of the speaking for him. He spoke sometimes, but when the question of his life and its problems and his special needs was asked, he could no longer hold himself in, and he shook and wept and tried to turn himself away from me, shuffling on his buttocks.

People talk in similes and metaphors about having their hearts torn.
That is no longer just an expression for me, seeing that brave,
longsuffering, proud old man try to turn away on his scarred and
shattered lower torso was too much, much too much. I wept then, I weep now as I type and see it again in my mind. We asked no more questions of him. His wife told us he wants more than anything just a wheelchair of the type they make here from bicycle parts, so that it can be powered by the hands of the person pulling and pushing a lever. They cost somewhere near $100.

He will have one on Monday.

(He doesn't know it is coming, but it will be there on Monday so help me God.)

It's been a tough day, and I have 12 more people to see. We go to Mass early tomorrow before starting the visits, and I will be praying very hard that I have seen the worst now, because any more like today will push me to my limits. I will be staying the my VN hosts instead of going to a hotel, there will be no tours or souvenirs. Every dime I don't have to spend on anything else will be extremely well spent on these tragic, super-long-term victims. It's not much, but it's what I can do for now.

Del