Remembering Ming

By

Jerry Boe

Prologue

Dear Ming:

I was cleaning up some old paperwork this morning and found a picture of you and me at the Cam Ranh Orphanage in 1970. The memories of my many visits to the orphanage to be with you and to comfort you came cascading back. I wrote a poem trying to express my thoughts about you and the many others at the orphanage.

Orphans of War

The innocent children of a terrible war

Are a sight and sound sent from God.

As you look into their faces,

They are still full of hope and love.

They cling to your arms as you hold them,

The look in their eyes is not what you see.

What you see and what you hear is “Love me.”

They are so shattered by war that they forget how to play.

Yet, even with this as you look on each face,

You can see God at work in this wonderful place.

You hold them; you rock them, you watch as they sleep,

You pray you can ensure their safe keep.

You bathe them, you clothe them, you feed hem a meal,

Hoping against hope that some happiness they steal.

Yet, when it is all over and done, you look and you see,

Their loving expression saying, “Please love me.”

Getting There

Being an Army Officer during the Vietnam War, I was certain a tour in Vietnam would be coming my way. Sure enough, I received orders to the 9^th Medical Laboratory at Long Binh. It was early December 1969 when I received my orders with a departure date in March 1970. My actual duty assignment was to be Officer-in-Charge of the US Army, Vietnam, Central Blood Bank, located as a tenant unit on the 6^th Convalescent Center Compound at Cam Ranh Bay

I began my preparations for leaving. First came immunizations for yellow fever, cholera, malaria, and tetanus. Then all the work began, a power of attorney, and an updated will and of course the typical mass of Army papers.

My family appeared to take my departure in stride. They were somewhat prepared. We had discussed the possibility of my leaving some time back. Being a 35-year-old career officer required being competitive and this meant a tour in Vietnam.

Finally, the day for me to leave came and I said good-bye to my family. Tears filled my eyes as I hugged my nine-year-old daughter and told her to continue to do well in school. My son was trying to be strong as we hugged and said our “see you later” and my wife didn’t want to let go until the last minute when I had to board the plane. I left not knowing what awaited me in a small country on the other side of world.

After about an 18-hour flight, we landed in Saigon. The heat was excruciating and compounded by the fact that we were shuffled into a large Quonset hut with no air conditioning. There were only a few fans to push the air around. After a long wait, one of many yet to come, a Major showed up and gave us our “in-country” brief. The main emphasis was on the importance of taking our malaria prevention pills each week. The Major failed to emphasize that side effects of the medication could be debilitating. Many of us had severe stomach cramps and diarrhea. The side effects were bad enough to put some soldiers in bed for a day.

Once the paperwork was completed, I was given the OK to travel to Long Binh to my parent unit, the 9^th Med Lab. There were buses leaving at varying intervals so I waited for the next one to come along. I waited and I looked around. It hit me.

This is a war zone!

The windows on the bus were covered with heavy mesh wire to keep out hand grenades. Two guards armed with M-14’s stood at the front of the bus. But the wire mesh and the two guards could not keep out the heat and the smells. The odor of humanity overwhelmed: urine, feces, human sweat, and animal odors mixed with gasoline engine exhaust in a city of nine million people.

Looking out the window I was surprised at the numbers of motorcycles weaving in and out of traffic, almost hitting the slower bicycle rickshaws, and just missing the hundreds of people on bikes. How they kept from crashing into each other I couldn’t understand. I never became used to the mass of humanity, the noise, and the odors, that hung in the air of the city.

After arriving at the 9th Med Lab, I met the Commander and was given a clean room and enough time to take a nice cool shower. I was surprised at the facilities. I had been expecting something out of “MASH,” but they the barracks modern. After a short rest, I went out to meet Lieutenant John Murphy, a Parasitologist, and CAPT Arron Davis, a microbiologist, both of them had been in country for a few months. We walked across the compound to the 95^th EVAC Hospital mess hall and had dinner. I know I was hungry, but this was the best meat loaf and mashed potatoes I had tasted in a long time.

I spent two days at the 9^th Med Lab being briefed and becoming a little more acclimated. Then I was off to my assignment up country. Before my departure, I checked out a .45 cal pistol, a carbine, and some extra magazines. I was ready to go. Apprehensive but ready!

I was able to catch a ride out of Ton San Nuet Air Force Base on an Army aircraft going to Cam Ranh. A quick jeep ride would then carry me to the 6^th CC compound. The flight was uneventful and I arrived safely. I stopped in to meet the Hospital Commander, Colonel Joseph Kmieck and then headed for my unit.

My unit, the USARV Central Blood Bank, was located in a new building and was just a large open area building. Each night, the huge space was utilized to prepare blood shipments. My responsibility was the packing and shipment of all the whole blood used by the military throughout the country. This meant we handled hundreds of units of blood each night for shipment and use the next day. Each day we would receive utilization rate information from the various medical units throughout South Vietnam. We then ordered the blood from the States (actually the Armed Services Whole Blood Processing Laboratory in Hawaii, ASWBL) to replace what was shipped out. The rest of my unit equipment and personnel consisted of a jeep, a 5-ton truck, some large blood storage refrigerators, three fresh frozen plasma freezers, and 4 enlisted soldiers.

After a short adjustment period, I settled into the job and found that I had plenty of time to get involved with some of the hospital programs. The two programs I chose were the Medical Civic Action Programs (MEDCAPS) and visitations to a local orphanage.

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Chapter Two

Winning over the hearts and minds

….US military slogan

Even though the slogan of winning the hearts and minds was something started in the 1960’s with President Kennedy ‘s pacification program, the medical units in Vietnam continued to provide humanitarian help to the people of South Vietnam in the 1970’s. The medical personnel of the 6^th Convalescent Center worked out a schedule to visit a number of small local Vietnamese clinics. The visits of course were done randomly, never on schedule for obvious reasons

On a Wednesday morning, I was told that there was a MEDCAP group leaving for one of the clinics, and I was welcome to go along. As I walked to the Headquarters building, I could see a dozen people loading up a jeep and a 5- ton truck with various medical equipment and supplies. My first trip out of the compound would prove to be an educational experience.

As we pulled away, I noticed a jeep with two armed guards in front of us. Another jeep followed carrying two more guards. The nurses rode in the back of the truck with the corpsmen and I rode in a jeep with our dentist Captain Tom Osborne.

After a 30-minute ride, we arrived at a small village. People stood in line in front of one of the buildings. 60 - 70 villagers lined up to wait for treatment or medicines. After 15 minutes we were set up and the doctor and nurses began to examinations. I went with Tom as he started on those needing dental treatment.

I was amazed ! The elderly were there for extractions. They showed up with bleeding gums, foul smelling breath, and teeth loose enough to pull out without effort. The inside of their mouths were black from chewing Betel nuts. Tom was running behind. He began to examine patients. Those with very loose teeth he directed to me. I donned rubber gloves, picked up the extractor, and began pulling teeth. He would identify the tooth, I would pull it, give the patient some antibiotics, and stick a couple of gauze pads into the space where the tooth was before moving on to the next patient.

This was certainly a productive and interesting visit. I felt good about the people we had helped and could only guess at the joy I would get when we visited the orphanage the next day.

It was Thursday and, although we were scheduled to visit the orphanage, there was some concern for our safety and a little fear about what we would find since there had been VC action near the orphanage the night before. I woke up early and began to gather my blood utilization data so I could communicate it to ASWBPL in Hawaii. The trips to the orphanage were a different approach to “winning the minds and hearts,” of the people, as the slogan went. Most of the people visiting the orphanage were nurses or female medics, although a few males did go, mostly to act as security.

Lieutenant Helen Holden was the nurse in charge on this particular visit. She briefed me on the way. “Most of these children have lost one or both of their parents,” she said. “Some of their parents are still alive but are seriously wounded and in the hospital with no way to take care of their children. So, they have been sent to the orphanage with the hope that someday they can get back together as a family”

As we passed through the gates to the orphanage, she continued, “Don’t be surprised at anything you see or hear, remember these kids have been traumatized to a far greater extent than you or I can possibly imagine.”

Two nuns were waiting for us. They helped us to bring our things to the kitchen. Children of all ages, from infants to teenagers, fill the orphanage. The lack of laughter and playfulness was surprising. The children seem to be playing, but there was no laughter.

“What do I do now,” I asked Lieutenant Holden.

“Find someone to talk and play with,” she answered.

Walking out of the kitchen and into the yard, I entered a room in another building. The room appeared to be a nursery. A little girl, about two-years-old, sat in a crib. She was alone, playing with her doll. She drew me to her, although she was cautious and shy. A nun informed me that this child had lost both parents. The girl’s name was Ming. My heart went out to her and I knew I would visit her again.

Born in Washington, DC, Jerry Boe was raised on the East coast in a military family. Boe graduated from W.V. Wesleyan College with BS degree, from Ohio State University with a MS and Texas A&M University with Ph.D. He served a tour in the USMC as an Air Intelligence Officer, and then transferred to the US Army. Boe retired after 21 years service in US Army. Following retirement, Boe worked at Medical College of Georgia and owned and operated a management consulting business. He sold the business to accept a position as Executive Director, American Medical Technologist in Chicago. Boe retired from AMT to Beaufort, and has been writing poetry and nonfiction for several years.