In January of 1963, I was sent from Fort Lee, Virginia to Vietnam, shortly after our second child was born. On arrival, I learned that there were twelve physicians shipped over at the same time, all of us to be assigned to segments of South Vietnam, from north to south.
I drew Thua Thien province and was attached to Special Forces units in the area, in charge of a medical team deployed for their care. I wound up in Hue, Vietnam, the old capital of the Annam empire and a strikingly beautiful city located on the Perfume River. We were part of the MAAG (Military Assistance Advisory Group) deployment in the country, which had been in place as far back as the 1950s, supporting the French and eventually renamed MAAG Vietnam sometime later to indicate the United States support of the South Vietnamese.
While there, I encountered no combat, even though I flew out to visit detachments in the Highlands, such as Khe Sanh and some Montagnard villages. Most of our cases where minor injuries, lacerations and venereal disease. On occasion, a more serious problem, such as a suspected spinal fracture from a fall were MedEvaced to Nha Trang, the major field hospital for our region, located south on or near the beach on the South China Sea. On occasion, I would need to drive south to Danang, over the Hai Von Pass. to pick up medical supplies. Although a South Vietnamese soldier was assigned as my driver, I elected to put him in the passenger seat, since I drove a lot faster than he did. We were concerned about being stopped by the Viet Cong, but nothing materialized. As usual, I carried firearms and stashed two hand grenades in my dopp kit just behind the gearshift.
Most of the time in Hue, our medical team would take trips to villages in the area to treat the inhabitants. It was purely a propaganda mission, for we could not really treat anyone significantly, as return trips were few and far between. If any person looked or sounded sick, while listening to their chest, our only remedy was a few doses of Chloramphenicol, the only antibiotic that we had. As these visits were not medically productive, I volunteered to teach in the local hospital, joining a German medical team, and send my medics out in the field, to the dismay of our CO. We clashed over this issue a number of times over my sense that teaching Vietnamese physicians would be a better use of my time. When I left, he awarded me an Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal.
Shortly after my arrival, the Mother Superior from a local orphanage came to visit me and asked if I would care for their infants. How she found me is forever a mystery, but one of my Catholic friends just said, Mother Superiors always know where to find you, if you are needed. At any rate, my senior corpsman and I made rounds on the infants once a week during my tour. Each visit was followed by tea in the Mother Superior’s office, where we would hold limited conversation. One particular event sticks in my mind. On rounds one day, we were directed to this very young child, can’t totally remember his age, who was really sick, febrile, listless, shallow breathing, etc. I determined that he had a chest abscess and would probably die without intervention. Being gungho then, having finished a year as a surgical intern in Cleveland, and with six months of ophthalmology training under my belt, I decided to go for it. Using only local anesthesia with my corpsman assisting, I opened this kid’s chest on the left side and drained the abscess. While exploring the cavity, gloved of course, I could feel his heart beat. At the time, I thought I may have killed him, but we packed the wound, gave one of the nurses there our only antibiotic with instructions for reduced doses for the child and left. The next week we returned to find this child up and playing. With no antibiotic exposure in that population, all bugs were susceptible, so he lived.
During one of my visits to a Montagnard village up near the border of Laos, I climbed up a ladder to see the chief’s wife. Their huts were all on stilts to prevent animals attacking them. The floor of the hut consisted of loose logs. This 6 foot 3 lug slipped and nearly feel through the logs. The woman we examined had pneumonia, so again our trusty and only antibiotic was given. After seeing a few other villagers and handing out tablets, we left and never saw them again. At that time, the military was mostly interested in how many people we treated, not in how they fared, as the numbers game had already begun.
Part of my role as a physician was to care for personnel at the U.S. Consul in Hue, where I quickly became good friends with many of our citizens working there and in particular, the Consul General and his family. John Helble and I frequently toured that area of Vietnam together in a Jeep while he visited his contacts. At nights, generally once a week, we met in their home to play bridge, drink Cognac and smoke Philippine cigars. Two years ago, on the exact date of their 50th anniversary, we met again, the first time since 1963, in Virginia over lunch and toasted them with champagne.
Although I spent a short time in country, it profoundly impacted the rest of my life. In February of this year, my wife and I returned to Vietnam, with an opportunity to visit Hue on our itinerary. All was changed, of course, except such areas as Tu Duc’s tomb and the Citadel, which I did recognize. It was a special visit.