- It was early in spring of 1975,
that my two younger brothers and I,
along with about 50 other orphans waiting on this
cargo airplane to go to America.
It was in Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam
at the end of The Vietnam War.
I was 14 at the time, old enough to understand that
South Vietnam was facing a grim situation.
South Vietnam was collapsing rapidly
under the advancing force of North Vietnam.
I could sense the panic and the urgency
and the airport was buzzing with military airplanes,
vehicles, personnel, but for my two brothers and I,
the only thing that was on our mind at the time was that
we are going to America.
This was a dream coming true for us.
Nine years before that our dad had died fighting in the war.
And a year later our mom died in a traffic accident.
So the neighbors brought the three of us to an orphanage.
It was while living in the orphanage that I came to
the realization that my brothers and I
were not in a normal situation,
that we didn't have parents like regular kids to provide for
us to support us, to give us our futures.
But our futures were unknown, uncertain.
As the oldest child of the three,
I took over the parental responsibilities
following the Vietnamese tradition.
So as a seven year old parent, I worried a lot.
For the seven years that we were living in the orphanage,
I constantly worried about
how I'm going to take care of my brothers.
How we are going to survive in a land that even ordinary
people were having a tough time because of the war.
And then we met a woman named Cherie Clark,
an American woman
who was heading a charity organization
called Friends of Children of Vietnam.
She was living in Vietnam at the time and was traveling
around helping orphanages.
And so now she was helping my brothers and I,
and the other orphans to go to America as part of
the Operation Babylift.
So now sitting on this airplane waiting just moments before
we take off for America,
it wasn't indeed a dream coming true.
I was so lost in my own excitement and thought that I didn't
notice there was a South Vietnamese police officer on the
board of the airplane until he was right in front of me.
The officer looked me over
and asked me a couple of questions.
Then he told me, "No, you can't leave the country.
You are too old."
I was dumbfounded.
I could only imagine that he wanted me to stay just in case
South Vietnam amasses all of its available resources,
a last-ditch to defend the country against the enemy.
I was devastated, didn't know what to do.
The officer then proceeded to take me and another boy
about the same age off the plane.
I felt like I was being dragged through a deep dark tunnel.
I looked over to my brothers, they looked shocked.
I could see the fears and confusion in their eyes.
And I wanted to say a lot to them.
I wanted to tell them to take care of themselves and take
care of each other in the new land,
but I couldn't say anything,
so I just left the plane silently.
I learned later though, the pilot of the airplane,
his name was Ed Daly,
who was also the President of World Airways at the time
and was spearheading the Operation Babylift.
He tried to bribe the police officer with
a hundred dollar bill to let me in the other boy go.
But the police officer refused and ripped
the hundred dollar bill in half.
So the plane took off with my brothers
and I went back to the shelter.
That night was a long night for me
and the following nights and days.
I was trying to come to terms with what just happened.
I was filled with disappointment and hopelessness,
but at the same time, I was feeling a sense of relief
knowing that my brothers would be okay and that I don't have
to worry about taking care of them anymore.
So now it's just me, myself.
I convinced myself that I can survive in any situation
and I can handle anything that might come to me.
But that conviction only lasted only a couple of days until
Cherie Clark, the lady that was helping us,
handed me a newspaper from the US.
My brothers had left on the first flight
of the Operation Babylift,
so it may make news when they landed.
And the newspaper has this photo of my two brothers playing
in the snow.
As soon as I saw that photo, it hit me like a freight train.
I realized then that I just lost all of my family.
That we lost our parents, after we lost our parents,
my brothers were my only family, and now I just lost them.
And facing with this thing
possibility that the north Vietnamese communists
would overrun the south at any time
with communications cut off to the US,
so the idea of being left behind would
perhaps never see or hear from my brother again,
was too much for me to bear.
I was overwhelmed with the desire to leave Vietnam,
come to the US be with my brothers again.
So I begged Cherie, I said,
"Cherie, anything you can do, whatever you can do,
help me out."
A few days later, Cherie came to me and said,
"Get into the van. We're going to the airport.
There might be a plane that you may be able to get on."
So I went, but this time,
the trip to the airport was very different than the first.
Instead of excitement, it was stroud with fears and anxiety.
I knew that I was defying the government's order.
I felt like I was on an escape mission.
At the airport, they rushed me onto a military airplane.
I took my seat, try to lay low, trying to be invisible,
hoping for a quick departure.
But as I looked up from my seat,
I saw a police officer coming my way.
The officer asked me a couple of questions then told me,
"No, you cannot leave."
I felt like the sky was falling,
but instead of taking me off the airplane
like the first officer did this officer told me to wait
there for him and then proceeded to talk to the pilot
and then went inside the building nearby.
So I waited. Time was passing very slowly.
Minutes seemed like days.
At any time,
I was expecting to see the officer coming back out with
soldiers and drag me off to some unpleasant place because I
have defied order and tried to escape.
But after what seems to me like an eternity,
I started hearing doors closing and engine roaring.
So I was thinking to myself, well, I'm hearing things.
My mind must be in overdrive.
And then the planes started moving.
Question were racing in my mind,
I was wondering what's going on?
Is the pilot leaving without permission?
Is he going to gun it?
I held my breath,
started to pray for the plane to move faster because it was
moving way too slow for me.
And at any time I was expecting that the South Vietnamese
government seeing that we were leaving they would send
vehicles, troops to stop us.
But after what seems like another eternity,
the plane began to lift off.
I felt a huge relief and started breathing easier,
but still very fearful that anytime
the South Vietnamese government would send planes off,
send military just to intercept us and force us back.
It wasn't until we landed in the Philippines hours later
that I felt completely safe.
I flew to the US the next day.
Two weeks before South Vietnam was completely overwhelmed
by the Communist North.
Cherie Clark help unite my brothers and I,
she also gave me half of the ripped
hundred dollar bill that Daly had given to her,
to me to keep it as memento
of an attempt to battle for my life.
When I met up with my brothers again,
before they rushed in for a big embrace,
they were looking at me in this sort of bewilder,
I can't believe it look, that reminded me almost similar
to the look that I had on the look at me on when we were
on that plane.
But this time it was not fears in their eyes,
but it was happiness and excitement.
And for me,
I felt the intensity of great happiness and peace with me
knowing that things are going to be okay,
knowing that from now on,
I no longer have to worry
how my brothers and I are going to survive.
Thank you.