The Last Hair Raising Days in Saigon

In Rory Kennedy’s new documentary film, Last Days In Vietnam, a jowly Henry Kissinger pontificates about how the 1973 Paris Peace Accords provided the best agreement the US could negotiate – what Richard Nixon called “peace with honor.” It’s the same language Chamberlain used in 1938, and the follow up results were not dissimilar.

This is the same devious, Rasputin-like, Kissinger who engineered the 1969 carpet-bombing of Cambodia and then had the balls to accept the 1973 Nobel Peace Prize for his work on the Paris Peace Accords. The North Vietnamese negotiator, Le Duc Tho, who was also awarded the prize refused to accept it. He at least had some integrity. He knew it was a sham and wasn’t going to pretend that it was something it wasn’t.

Rory Kennedy film

You can see for yourself how effective the Accords were and how it all played out in Kennedy’s film. It details the last days of the war, the chaos in and around Saigon, and the evacuation of the last Americans and many of their Vietnamese supporters. The film was made using archival footage, much of it never before seen, and commentary by several people who were in and around the US Embassy in April 1975.

It’s reasonable to ask if we need another film about America’s failure in Vietnam. In the interest of full disclosure, having spent much of the last five years there, I have an abiding interest in Vietnam and its people. I think the film is worth seeing and that it adds to the historical record. Like all good stories, there are good guys, bad guys, plot twists, heroics, nail-biting suspense, and some astonishing details that are not part of the conventional Vietnam canon. There may even be some revisionist history. Judge for yourself.

ABC’s Jonathan Karl talked to the filmmaker recently and that interview is also worth watching. http://abcnews.go.com/ThisWeek/video/lens-days-vietnam-25657454. After 39 years we are still learning from our experience. The “peace with honor” part of the Accords provided for the immediate withdrawal of US combat troops, leaving only advisors and civilian contractors after 1973. In the film a CIA agent stationed at the US Embassy in Saigon tells us that the North Vietnamese were held in check by their fear of retaliation at the hands of the “evil” Nixon but that when he resigned in disgrace they were willing to test the Americans with military probes into South Vietnam. When they saw that the Americans had no stomach for more war they violated the Accords and kept on rolling toward Saigon.

Add to this mix an Ambassador who was a clueless Cold War patriot who refused to consider an evacuation plan even when the NVA was bearing down on Saigon and you have the elements of a real thriller.

With the Ambassador steadfastly refusing to do anything, US diplomats and military officers, disobeyed him and started working on a ‘black ops” plan to evacuate. When the Ambassador got the final order from Washington to evacuate the Americans, the same people disobeyed again and refused to leave without their Vietnamese co-workers and their families. There are heroes and goats in this drama.

Though he is not mentioned in Kennedy’s documentary there was another American hero whose story in the last days is equally heroic and suspenseful. John Riordan was the assistant bank manager at Citibank in Saigon. I met John in 2011 and heard the story from him over a bowl of French Onion soup. I wrote about it in my Saigon Diary blog, but I wasn’t the only one who thought it was a great story. CBS picked it up and did a segment on 60 Minutes, calling John “The Oskar Schindler of Vietnam.” John, with the Saigon CEO out of the country and unable to return, defied the orders of Citibank headquarters and acted in much the same way as the “black ops” guys at the Embassy. He engineered the evacuation of all the Citibank Vietnamese employees and their families – 105 people – in the last days.

John Riordan

This is a picture of John today and this is a link to his hair-raising story: http://www.cbsnews.com/news/the-oskar-schindler-of-vietnam-war Unfortunately, the entire interview is not available but you can hear part of it and read the rest on the CBS website. I talked to John after the 60 Minutes segment and he was surprised that there was still interest in the story. He told me “I was just doing what I thought was right.”

I wish there were more John Riordan’s in the world. Currently, we are leaving Iraqi and Afghani staff and interpreters behind as we scurry to extricate ourselves for these failed ventures, abandoning those whose help we desperately needed who desperately need us now.

More tomorrow…

Chef, Food Trucks, and Cuban Sandwiches

The sun crossed the equator nine days ago on its way to the Tropic of Capricorn. Summer turning to fall. The days are shorter now – about equal night and day signaling a change in orientation for me. The outdoor pool closed, temperatures cooler, and rain is on its way. For the past three months I’ve spent more time outdoors than in. For the next nine months it will be the other way around. I’m back in my “Surviving Seattle” mode.

That means more plays, more movies, more reading, more museums and galleries, and more concerts. It means fewer bike rides and some long drives in search of powder snow. We’ll still get out for an occasional ride, as we did yesterday when the lower sun angle caught the beginning of the changing colors.  It’s still beautiful but I know it’s fleeting.

Yesterday’s ride had a purpose. On Saturday night M and I went to a $3 movie at the Crest. The Crest is the last stop before a film goes from public release to DVD. This one was Chef, the Jon Favreau story about Carl Casper a high-end chef who quits his job at an upscale LA restaurant rather than defer to the owner (Dustin Hoffman) who wants him to cook tired old classics for a food critic coming to the restaurant that night.

Chef-Movie

It’s a great romp as Chef Carl falls from grace, learns the downside of a viral Twitter feed, rehabilitates himself and reconnects with his tech-savvy pre-teen son and drop dead beautiful ex-wife (Sofia Vergara). He returns to Miami, the scene of his initial success, as the “nanny” for his son while his ex-wife does business there. The rehabilitation takes an odd turn when he decides to renovate a dilapidated food truck and specialize in Cubanos, those scrumptious Cuban sandwiches.

Renovated and road worthy, Carl, his line cook, Martin, and Carl’s son, Percy, drive El Jefe, the food truck, across the country to LA with stops in New Orleans and Austin TX. Along the way the crowds go crazy for their Cubanos.

CHEF_09298.NEF

 

It’s a rollicking, feel-good road trip. I loved it. The stop in New Orleans was on Frenchmen Street where M and I listened to street music two weeks ago, and the stop in Austin was in front of a club on 6th Street, where I heard bluesman Albert Collins several years ago. When they arrive in LA they set up in small parking lot on Abbot Kinney Blvd in Venice, where we M and I ate Korean food from another food truck a couple years ago. It was a fun trip down memory lane for us.

But, I digress – back to our bike ride… The day after the movie we rode to Woodinville to try a restaurant we had ridden by literally hundreds of times. I always said we should stop for lunch, but when we’re riding it never seems like a good idea to stop for a big meal. This time it was the destination.

The Twisted Cuban Café and Bar in Woodinville is away from the main business district, but not far from “winery row,” that hot strip of wineries that has become hugely popular in recent years. It’s still full of warehouses and storage units, but it has its own charm.

The Twisted is open from 11am to 9pm. On Sunday it was totally empty when we arrived at 3pm. I’m always uncomfortable when a restaurant is empty. It’s not a good sign and I usually turn away, but it was the reason we had come so we went on in.

Twisted CafeThe waiter was a friendly, young guy from the Dominican Republic who was very professional. On his recommendation we opted for the Twisted Cuban Sandwich with sides of yuca fries and garbanzo bean salad instead of the Monster Cuban. I washed mine down with a dark amber draft and M chose lemonade because we were on our bikes. Everything was sensational and we each took half a sandwich home with us.

We will definitely go back. I can’t wait to try the pounded Cuban steak. I haven’t had one since the last time I ate at Lila’s on SW 8th Street in Miami. I doubt that the Twisted will cover its steak with a mountain of shoestring potatoes like Lila does, but man those yuca fries would definitely be an acceptable alternative.

I was so impressed with the Twisted Cuban Café and Bar that I emailed Providence Cicero, the food writer for the Seattle Times. I’ve been complaining to her for a couple of years about the lack of good eats in our part of town and wanted to share this find with her. She wrote back saying that she, like us, had passed Twisted a number of times but never tried it. It’s on her list now.

Bon appetit, Providence…

 

NOLA

This is the first in a series of 30 minute essays – part of the 30/30 Writing Challenge put forward by Richard Hugo House asking writers to commit to writing for 30 minutes each day for 30 days. The idea is to get friends and family to pledge money in support of the effort.

Here goes:

Just back from New Orleans: Marilynn had never been there and I hadn’t been there in 15 years. It was as I remembered – hot, muggy, noisy, falling apart and fabulous. This time we had 5 days to eat our way through a Cajun and Creole checklist – file gumbo, jambalaya, alligator sausage, boiled, grilled and fried shrimp, catfish, chicory coffee, beigniets, etouffee, and muffuletta sandwiches. All so good.

Muffuletta

We didn’t have a lot of time but managed to catch the Uptown Jazz Orchestra led by Delfeayo Marsalis, Winton’s brother, at Snug Harbor.

Snug Harbor

And some street musicians outside on Frenchmen Street.

Frenchmen Street

On the last day we checked out Emeril’s upscale lunch. It was fabulous. This is the chocolate peanut butter pie.

Emeril's Pie

Home again, home again. Not bad either.

More tomorrow.

Guilty Pleasure

In the past two weeks Israel has bombed Gaza to smithereens, leaving more than 2000 Gazans dead, more than 10,000 wounded, and the territory a pile of rubble. Further north the Russians and their rebel Ukrainian thugs managed to shoot down a commercial airliner over eastern Ukraine and occupy the divided country. ISIL (or ISIS, if you prefer) is dangerously close to dynamiting Mosul Dam and releasing a 60-foot wall of water all the way to Baghdad, and thousands of people in the US continue to die every year from gunshot wounds while cowardly, intimidated State legislatures sit on their hands and refuse to enact reasonable rules to govern the sale of guns.

Chaos, violence, and outright evil threatens our very survival and these threats are real.  Good people around the world are struggling to find solutions, but if I let world news determine my psychic state I’d be mainlining Zoloft. I don’t know what it is, but there seems to be something in the human spirit that helps us resist nihilism and darker solutions unless our chemistry gets out of balance. We somehow manage to develop personal strategies to help us cope with bad news and support a cautious optimism. The strategies that sustain me turn on music, books and exercise, but if there is one that dominates it’s got to be music.

Jack's Guitars

I love it. I like to see it performed live. I like to listen to it. I even like to play it. It can be classical, opera, pop, folk, country, blues or Broadway show tunes. I like it all, but truth to tell there is a dark corner of the genre that is my secret. Lurking in that dark corner is my –

_______________________

“guilty pleasure”  (Wikipedia)

“Something, such as a movie, television program, or piece of music, that one enjoys despite feeling that it is not generally held in high regard: everybody has a guilty pleasure—the average disaster movie falls into the ‘guilty pleasure’ category, so do soap operas, Big Macs, Dancing With The Stars, and ironed sheets … “

____________________

Mine is Jimmy Buffett – the music, the lyrics, the lifestyle, the Margaritaville bars and even the novels (yes, three novels). I’ve been listening, laughing and singing along since 1973 when I heard his 3rd album (vinyl, of course) White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean. I’ve worn out vinyl, 8 track, cassette and CD versions of his catalog, and last week I ordered a boxed, four CD, set of songs called Bars, Beaches, Boats, and Ballads. What can I do? All of these songs are deeply imprinted on my lifetime playlist. Cheeseburger in Paradise. I can’t help it.

I saw him first in Miami in 1982 and again last year in Seattle. Both were sellouts and 30 years later and 30 years grayer the audience was still having just as much fun. In recent years the cult has grown (larger and grayer). I haven’t bought into the whole Parrothead shtick, but I’m sure there are Green Bay fans who are devoted but still haven’t crossed the line into being Cheeseheads. I simply like the lyrics, the melodies, and the attitude – yes, “Changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes, nothing remains quite the same.”

Jimmy time two

Wikipedia describes his music as “island escapism,” but like Billy Collins’ poetry there is depth in the seemingly simple words of his songs. I’m particularly drawn to songs like He Went To Paris, the last verse of which is:

Now he lives in the islands
Fishes the pilings
And drinks his green label each day
Writing his memoirs
Losin’ his hearin’
But he don’t care what most people
Through eighty-six years of perpetual motion
If he likes you he’ll smile, and he’ll say,
“Jimmy, some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic
But I had a good life all of the way.”

Jimmy has definitely had a good life but he’s shared its joys with his followers and the world. He’s been married to the same woman for almost 40 years and their three children travel with the band when they’re not working or in school because they want their children to see the world and become global in their outlook. He has a great self-deprecating sense of humor, a thirst for adventure, and an appreciation for others who seek it. When he got his first big paycheck he asked the record company to cut two checks. He gave one to the accountant and bought a sailboat with the other. He named it Euphoria and it’s part of the balanced life he advocates. I think his current boat is Euphoria II or III, and along the way he added a seaplane to take him to other more distant harbors.

By my calculation he’s released upwards of 40 albums, written 3 novels, and created 2 restaurant chains – Margaritaville Bar and Café and Cheeseburger in Paradise. He’s a hard working guy who hasn’t lost sight of how fortunate he is or how much joy he can deliver to a world sorely in need of more fun – not frivolous, farcical fun, but good-time, foot-stomping, sing-along, endorphin-releasing fun. It’s definitely middlebrow and I own it.

This is a capsule-sized version of the philosophy I find so engaging:

You can sing along with Jimmy and follow along with the words below.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1bbkyjCb2c&feature=player_embedded

I went down to Captain Tony’s to get out of the heat
When I heard a voice call out to me, “Son, come have a seat”
I had to search my memory as I looked into those eyes
Our lives change like the weather but a legend never dies

He said, “I ate the last mango in Paris
Took the last plane out of Saigon
Took the first fast boat to China
And Jimmy, there’s still so much to be done.

I had a third world girl in Buzios

With a pistol in each hand
She always kept me covered
As we moved from land to land

I had a damn good run on Wall Street
With my high fashion model wife
I woke up dry beneath the African sky
Just me and my Swiss army knife

I ate the last mango in Paris
Took the last plane out of Saigon
I took the first fast boat to China
And Jimmy, there’s still so much to be done

We shot the breeze for hours
As the sun fell from the sky
And like the sun he disappeared
Before my very eyes

It was somewhere past dark-thirty
As we went back to the head
I read upon the dingy wall
The words the old man said

He said, “I ate the last mango in Paris
Took the last plane out of Saigon
I took the first fast boat to China
And Jimmy, there’s still so much to be done”

I ate the last mango in Paris
Took the last plane out of Saigon
I took the first fast boat to China
And Jimmy, there’s still so much to be done

That’s why we wander and follow La Vie Dansante

Last Mango in Paris from the studio album of the same name released in 1985.

Adventure, romance, travel, experience, nostalgia, and shared wisdom.  It’s my guilty pleasure and I’m happy to share it

 

PS: This post is dedicated to Doug and Diana who, in 1981, survived four weeks in the back of a VW camper traveling north of the Arctic Circle in Scandinavia, buying reindeer souvenirs from Lapps in a Toyota van, staying up all night with a bunch of Swedes in a campground on Midsummer, and listening to Jimmy Buffett cassettes with dual Walkman headsets as we rolled along. It’s all part of life’s rich pageant as my friend Darryl might say.

“I am not afraid of death. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” Woody Allen

Death

When I saw this Roz Chast cartoon in the New Yorker it reminded me that I never discussed it with my children either. I don’t even know how to think about discussing it – especially when it’s my death and the audience is my own family. Still, it did remind me that there are some practical details and arrangements that need to be made, and discussing them might ease minds on both sides of the equation. It also occurred to me that the conversation might be an opportunity to talk about how good life continues to be. But, that may be wishful thinking.

The cartoon is from the March 10, 2014 New Yorker, part of a longer black humor piece by this prolific and sardonic New Yorker cartoonist. The longer version is called Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant, a 12-page cartoon that is part of her memoir of the same name. It looks, in an off-center way, at the reluctance of parents to talk to their children about money and end of life issues.

I’ve been giving these things a little thought lately, and as part of working it out I Googled an online site that has a life expectancy calculator to see what my prospects looked like. According to the calculator, if everything goes without a hitch… If I don’t get hit by a cement truck at the crosswalk on Bothell Way, come down with a deadly infectious disease or get knocked off my bike by a weekend peloton – the calculator predicts that I should live to be 91, the same age my mother died at. That gives me 15 years to play with.

It’s not surprising that at 76 years old some of my lifelong friends are dying “natural” deaths. We’re in the zone. Last week an old fighter pilot friend died and I’ve been to three memorial “celebrations” in the last three months. It has my attention, and it might sound odd or self-absorbed but it’s not so much their passing that pricks the consciousness, as it is the realization that life is finite and prods me to recommit to finding quality in my remaining years. I will miss my friends and grieve for their families, but I’m trying to find grace, acceptance, and a positive outlook as I look forward at the great mandala.

How We Die I really began thinking about all this in 1993 when Sherwin Nuland, a surgeon, won the National Book Award for Non-Fiction for his book How We Die: Reflections on Life’s Final Chapter. Nuland wasn’t trying to shock or upset readers; he wanted to help dispel the fantasy most of us harbor of a dying a dignified death – peaceful, quiet, pain-free, and surrounded by family. He chose to do that by describing in detail the pathologies “that will take the majority of us” and perhaps startle us into a realistic view of how we might plan for the eventuality of our own ends.
I read the book in 1993 with curiosity but with some distance from the subject matter. I was 55 at the time. Dr. Nuland died of prostate cancer this spring. He was 83, and cancer was one of the six categories he described in his book. I have no doubt that he was as prepared for the end as it is possible to be, but I wonder if it’s possible to prepare for the finality of death in an emotional way. I can be aware of the timeline, settle my business affairs, and try not to leave a mess behind, but my mind rejects the finality of my own death. Whether it’s denial or the power of positive thinking I’d rather focus on a strategy for maintaining a quality experience in my remaining years.

So the take away for me is about mindfulness. It’s trite to say that I should always be mindful, but when I was young I was focused on living in the present. Later on, when I had children I began to think about the future and as I approach the end I look back on my choices and think about my legacy. My kids are in good shape and on their own journeys. I’m proud of them and see them embracing the future with hope and good intentions. I don’t worry about them.

What I do think about are the practical steps Marilynn and I can take to keep the end-mess to a minimum.

Questions:
1. Do we have enough retirement savings and income to go the distance? I hope so.
2. Have we prepared the documents that will make it easy for our family members to move forward?
a. Wills? – yes
b. Medical directives? – yes
c. Medical powers of attorney? – yes
d. Durable powers of attorney? – yes
3. Have we made a list of personal items that designates who will inherit them? – No. Put that one on the to-do list.
4. Have we told our children how we want to be disposed of – burial, cremation, funeral arrangements? – No, also on the to-do list.

For now, we are in good health and barring unforeseen events, I’m cautiously optimistic that we will care for ourselves until we’re in our 90’s. We hope this is true, and it’s reassuring to feel that way. Neither one of us wants or expects help. We both have children entering middle age and on their own trajectory with college expenses and their own retirements to plan for. We think we have done our part, but “unforeseen events” have a way of changing the landscape.

It wasn’t a lot of fun doing the grunt work on the end-of-life documents but we needed to do it. Everyone needs to do it. What has been fun is having that behind us and thinking about how to maintain and even enrich the remaining years.

Paris in line Casablanca? Rick and Elsa? “We’ll always have Paris.” Well, so will we. To start our new phase we flew to Paris this spring, rented an apartment, and hung out for two months. It was sensational and energizing to be in a place where there is so much that is new (and old) and every day gives up something fresh – museums, cafés, restaurants, people watching, new neighborhoods, markets, music, fashion, new friends. I don’t know if we’ll return to Paris next year. We might choose Rome, London or Tokyo. Wherever we go it will be interesting and exciting.

In between our long distance adventures, we have grandchildren to enjoy, a bike trail to ride on, a swimming pool for morning swims, an enclosed garden to rest in, three guitars to play, a wall full of unread books, and two MacBook Pro’s that link us to the Internet and friends all over the world. When we can no longer travel we still have a rich and varied world here at home.

At this point we’re following Satchel Paige’s advice: “Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you” and guided by GK Chesterton’s dictum that “When it comes to life the critical thing is, whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.” We’re working on that.