Jason Trieu - Operation BabyLift

 

It was only 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're 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 7-year-old parent, I worried a lot. For the seven years that 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 Sherry 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 was indeed a dream coming true. I was so lost in my own excitement and thoughts that I didn't notice there was a South Vietnamese police officer on 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 his 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 $100 bill to let me and 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 Sherry 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 made big 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. 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 distinct 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 Sherry. I said, “Sherry, anything you can do, whatever you can do, help me out.”

 

A few days later, Sherry 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 shrouded with fears and anxiety. I knew that I was defying the government order. I felt like I was on an escape mission. At the airport, they rushed me onto a military airplane. I took my seat, tried to lay low, tried 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 seems 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 to fight 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, I'm hearing things. My mind must be in overdrive. And then the plane started moving. Questions were rested 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 Vietnamese government seeing that were leaving, that 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 Soviet missile would send planes off, send military jets 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 overrun by communist North. Sherry Clark helped united my brothers and I. She also gave me half of the ripped hundred-dollar bill that Daly had given to her, told me to keep it as memento of an attempt to battle for my life.

 

When we met up with my brothers again before they rushed in for a big embrace, they were looking at me in this bewildered, “I can't believe it” look that reminded me almost similar to the look that they looked at me when we were on that plane. But this time it was not fierce 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.