A friend of mine is a retired sailor. I'm not exaggerating when I say that if you look up "officer and a gentleman" in the dictionary his picture would be the center fold.
It's an honor for me to call him my friend. Why don't we call him "The Admiral"?
Years ago during the sad collapse of our efforts in Vietnam The Admiral was head of logistics for the 7th (Pacific) fleet. One day his boss, the head of the whole fleet, was informed of the plight of the "boat people"; Vietnamese, our allies, desperately attempting to flee the winning team as they flooded South Vietnam in a sometimes cruel manner. To the victor go the spoils.
The boss calls in my friend and tells him that he has two (2) days to prepare air drops of life saving supplies, including food and water, to the boat people.
Since we were not at all prepared for this challenge The Admiral pulled together a first class team and quickly went to work. He lined up P3 Orion airplanes to perform the drop. These planes, originally designed for anti-submarine patrols, are equipped and prepared for long flights over vast expanses of ocean. Perfect for spotting boat people and for dropping needed supplies.
The Admiral worked with a medical doctor, a corpsman and a nutritionist, all from our naval base in Subic Bay, to determine just what supplies should be packed and prepared for the drops. They even prepared food stuff that was a Vietnamese friendly menu. Very thoughtful, especially under the time constraint issued by the boss. Cooking pots were included in the supplies just in case. They tried to think of everything.
Then the US Navy tried some practice drops. That worked out as well as the Three Bears.
The first drop used one parachute and that package of supplies just kept right on a goin' when it hit the deep blue Pacific.
The next drop used three parachutes and it .... took .... a .... very .... long .... time ..... to ..... come .... down. By the time that package hit the water the boat people would have found land.
Okay, so the next drop used two parachutes and they worked just fine, landing within fifty feet of the waiting naval boats that were the test targets.
Perfect, let's go to work!
"Ladder searches" were designed to make sure that we scoured the wide ocean to find as many boat people as we could. Approximately 200(!) boats were assisted with the air drops and over 5,000 Vietnamese made it safely to Subic Bay, where they were met by friendly and caring base personnel. For the 5,000 Vietnamese it was a long, arduous journey that had only begun. But at least they made it to safe harbor.
Not every one was as fortunate.
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The lady who cuts my hair was a young Vietnamese child when she became a boat person. Her father was a high ranking member of the South Vietnamese military. Since he was on the losing team his life was at risk, as was the well being of his family. He knew that he had to get his family out of South Vietnam and he had the contacts to help. He arranged for the family to saunter to a local marina where a boat would be waiting to take them, and many others, towards freedom. No guarantees, but what are the choices here?
Upon signal, the family starts towards the marina while attempting to not be obvious in their intent, along with all the others sauntering towards their marinas. The family made it to the boat, except for one brother who never did get out of Vietnam. The boat, with its precious cargo, shoves off and joins the fleet of the damned.
They travel for many weeks trying to find safe harbor. Unlike the 5,000 other more fortunate boat people, their boat takes them south and away from Subic Bay. Whenever they find land and attempt to come ashore they are not permitted to do so. They are sometimes given food and water, but they are always sent away to whatever fate awaits them. Unlike Subic Bay, who welcomed the boat people with intent to assist, other countries knew that if the boat people landed they would just join the thousands of other boat people already surviving in overflowing refugee camps.
Off with you now. Good luck and all that. Buh bye.
Outside of the United States, it can be a pretty cruel world.
Eventually the people on the boat with the gal who cuts my hair knew they were going to die. They found another port but were once again not allowed to land. Same brutal rules of the game. Someone, and I'm not sure who, told the boat people that if they sank their boat the people on the land would be obligated to save them and take them ashore.
Would you buy a used car from that person?
Would you have believed them?
You might, if you were dying anyway.
So ... they sank their boat.
Sure enough, they were saved, placed upon shore and into a refugee camp.
A long time after that, the lady who cuts my hair began to cut my hair.
She is married. She has two spectacular daughters, both in college. She was a firm mother who valued education and made her daughters read several books a week while in summer "break". She has a delightful sense of humor and cuts my (remaining) hair just the way I like it.
Her brother who quite literally missed the boat still lives in Vietnam, but now his mother can visit him. Other close relatives live in France. A few years ago she was in a joyful mood. Asking her what was up, she said that she had just located an aunt now living in Maryland. She had lost contact with her aunt as a result of the exodus from Vietnam and was delighted that they had found her, living, and so close by.
Can you imagine?
I feel honored that I can call her the gal who cuts my hair.
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So here's the thing. How cool would it be if The Admiral could have a cup of coffee with the gal who cuts my hair? Can you imagine?
Two ships in the night, literally, who never crossed paths but shared opposite sides of the same story.
You gotta love it.
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