VIETNAM AND MY SANITY
I had not been in Vietnam a week when I realized my life for the next year would be like playing Russian Roulette. No matter how cautious I was, there would always be that potential random act of terminal violence to contend with, and nothing but leaving Vietnam could change that.
With death and destruction a daily occurrence, I knew early on that if I wanted to keep my mind, I had to stimulate my brain with interests that had nothing to do with war.
The countryside from Saigon to Tay Ninh was my area of operation, and the terrain varied from rice paddies to jungle the closer I got to the Cambodian border. Palm trees, banana trees, and endless wild orchids added to the beauty, but it was the countless shades of green I remember most. Never in my life had I seen so many breathtaking colors in nature, and I did my best to capture that beauty, taking as many pictures of the foliage as I could.
But it was the people who truly captured my heart. People-watching became my favorite pastime, and nothing made my day like coaxing a smile or a laugh out of a stranger. Whenever I had free time, I grabbed my Nikon and headed for the market in Tay Ninh East. It was there, even in my uniform, that I felt myself melt into the rhythm of daily Vietnamese life.
I took hundreds of photographs, and on a later visit I would return to give my subjects a picture of themselves. Their reactions, wide grins, hands pressed together in thanks, children tugging their mothers over to see, told me everything about the warmth of these people. I especially loved photographing the children. Word spread quickly that I cared about the locals, not just as subjects but as people, and I was rewarded with food, conversation, and an easy, genuine friendliness that I never expected to find in the middle of a war.
The young girls on their way to school in their traditional white áo dài were a remarkable sight, gliding along dusty roads in dresses so spotless I never did figure out how they managed it. I liked to think they took the same quiet pride in their appearance that their whole culture took in hospitality and grace.
Watching the orange-robed monks wander through the market always caught my attention. I took to trading them my junk food for a blessing, a small exchange that meant far more to me than the candy bars I gave up.
Every so often I would spot one of the striking, round-eyed Vietnamese women with French blood in her veins, a legacy of the French occupation, when thousands of children were born out of wedlock. In 1969 their beauty outshone that of the prettiest Caucasian women I had known, and their looks often earned them the most coveted jobs in the major cities. I only saw them on my trips to Saigon.
Looking back, I can say without hesitation that the Vietnamese people are among the warmest, most generous people I have ever known. They welcomed a foreign soldier into their markets, their homes, and their lives with a kindness I did not expect and have never forgotten. It remains a tragedy that so many innocent people had to die before peace finally came to their country.
