A sobering revelation to a newcomer coming to any country ravaged by war is the social disorganization and not infrequent compromise of human values. Many people struggle to basically survive. For Vietnam, the presence of orphanages was a stark image of national deprivation and loss.

I had the initial good fortune of being assigned to a radio research company by the coastal city of Nha Trang, a popular tourist mecca. It was generally spared large- scale assault by Communist forces, as it fortunately did not have a high strategic value. With the beckoning beach front, tree-lined boulevards and constant processions of local residents, mostly on bicycles, it almost seduced a visitor to conclude all was in harmony and at peace.

Starting to get an impression of the geography and people after work, I donned my running gear and took to the roads. A daily one-hour run introduced life on a more serious level.

Finishing a particular run in the pronounced heat and humidity, I made a quick detour into the ocean to cool off. Preparing to run the final few miles back to my unit, I looked up at the entry gate of the military beach section to see a few dozen ladies in garish makeup clinging to the gate. Like the mythological Sirens, they were shouting in broken English to gain the amorous favors and finances of any interested soldiers. This nearly “naked ape” in mere shorts and running shoes was also included as “fair game.”

One evening I attended a church service in a trailer. Upon departing, I had barely set foot on the ground before I was approached and propositioned. This experience was balanced by a cordial meal with a local schoolteacher. It was becoming clear that dark and light flourished on the same stage.

Curious about more of the cultural life and geography of the area, I allied with the youthful “hotshot” driver of the company commander. Specialist Cole had liberal access to a motor pool jeep. After hearing about an orphanage by the bay, we set out on a discovery romp the following Sunday.

Being welcomed into an expansive, sandy yard by the attending Catholic sisters, we were not prepared for the next experience. Within moments, we were rushed by a tide of young orphans. Some of the little folk literally clung onto our pant legs. One would think that Santa Claus and Elvis Presley had come to town at the same time. It quickly dawned on us that these young folk were emotionally starved.
The managing sisters were only a small handful in this large community. The senior sister explained that many of the orphans’ parents were dead. Some were from families that could not afford to raise them. The young people had the right to remain until 18 years old.

Nearly all of the financial help came from donations. The children survived on a very basic diet. The orphanage bordered a picturesque sector of Nha Trang Bay. As we played ball with the children, their basic burlap and raggedy clothing presented a shocking and perplexing image in contrast to the flora and sparkling beauty of the bay. After taking many pictures of the vast smiling audience, I promised the sisters that my friend and I would return the following week and bring some bakery goods.

The next Sunday, my jeep ally and I made our way into town to the most promising bakery (boulangerie) we could locate. We ordered an impressive variety of cookies and items which were all compiled in a bag nearly the size of a Nebraska hay bale. Loading the goodies in the jeep, my friend and I ran back into the shop to make final payment. Suddenly, we heard a shout from out in the street. We ran back to discover some highly mobile thieves had spirited away our orphanage treats.

Stunned and incensed, I made a complete repurchase. Unable to hold back, I launched on a moralistic soliloquy in very clear Vietnamese that the poor shop owner had to endure.

Reinforced and reorganized, we were enthusiastically received at the orphanage. My driver buddy and I also had the pleasure of interacting with some Navy Seals who had stopped by to play catch with the kids. Upon departure, I told the sisters I would see if our company could host the children for a Christmas banquet.

Back at the company, I met with the administrative officers and promoted the idea of a special meal for the orphans on Christmas Day. By good fortune, I had become acquainted with the command staff of the company. Following discussions about the logistics and security issues for hosting such an event, we reached agreement that it could be conducted in the mess hall. The meal was to be like a Thanksgiving banquet, sparing nothing. The company’s soldiers were invited to participate and make modest donations for gifts to the children. I felt a special pride that my unit was enthusiastically supporting the event.
On Christmas morning, two covered deuce-and-a-half trucks rumbled out in the direction of the orphanage. The ride itself, with the chaperoning sisters, proved to be a treat for the kids.

When the children arrived at the company, we were surprised and delighted to see the children transformed from their common pajama type clothing to striking identical outfits like Girl Scouts uniforms.

As the Christmas lunch got under way, it was amusing to observe how wide-eyed the orphans were, looking at the vast array of choice and quantity of the food. I stayed totally busy as a host linguist.

When it was time for gifts, it was great to see the company staff and other volunteers having fun distributing the presents. It was as if we were all having a nostalgic deja vu with our own family Christmas experiences. Even our rather stodgy Georgia unit colonel got in the mix.

To everyone’s surprise, the children lined up afterward and sang a medley of carefully practiced Christmas carols. The harmony was perfect and the pitch fully first soprano. The enthusiasm and energy were electric. It felt as if everyone had played a part of Santa Claus while also receiving tangible and intrinsic gifts.

The afternoon became an indelible experience for all of us – lifetime validation of the timeless scripture, “For it is in giving that we truly receive.”