NAM OF DI AN/THE DI AN DIARY/MEMOIRS FROM THE VIETNAM WAR

Nam, March 1969

Her name was Nam (Nom).  She told me once that that it meant nine or ninth, and referred to her order of birth to her parents in the little village of Di An in the Bien Hoa district of South Vietnam. Her home was in the tiny cluster of huts just east of our Di An ( pronounced as Zee-on) forward base camp and west of the Song Dong Nai River. I never knew her age, but always figured her to be in her early to mid-thirties.

Nam was already there when I was assigned my hooch and mosquito netted bunk in late spring/early summer of 1968.  She was what was referred to as a “hooch momma-san”.  Her main chores were to keep the floors, always dusty in the dry season and always filthy with mud in the monsoon season, as pristine as possible.  General housekeeping was also part of her expected chores and, depending on whether you were courteous and considerate to her, she might keep your personal space tidy and neat. She picked up a few extra dollars above her military allowance by doing some of the hooch occupants' ironing.

Nam was one of dozen or so women brought into the base camp headquarters compound from the village each morning and returned before curfew. They were thoroughly vetted by ARVN ( Army of the Republic of South Vietnam) security before chosen for the chance to secure the financial windfall that allowed their households to avoid the poverty levels indigenous to the region in general.  They were always attired in their silk “PJs” and straw hats.

Momma-Sans preparing for the days work beside the Tactical Command Headquarters enlisted men's hooch.  They usually congregated around the sand-bagged bunkers outside of the hooches before beginning their day and again at lunch time.  Basecamp in Di An 1968. 

I slept in a back room of the hooch with a door and wall separating me from the rows of bunks lined down each side of the barracks proper.  All of those men were generally on day duty assignments in headquarters support.  They worked from light to dark in security, radio communications, and everything in the headquarters Tactical Command Center from headquarters clerk to the map maker.

My place of sleep and refuge 1968-1969.

Upon my arrival in country I was interviewed by the Command Sergeant-Major Demarinus for a job as Tactical Command Duty Sergeant on the staff of Colonel (later General) John Terrell Carley, 2nd Brigade Commander of the 1st Infantry Division.  Sergeant Major Demarinus was a brown boot soldier, a veteran of both world War II and Korea. Both men commanded respect and I was both overjoyed and overwhelmed that my "service jacket" led them to believe I could be of service at Brigade Operations Command level. But the interview went well, and I mentally prepared myself for this next phase of military service.

Because my job involved Top Secret duties and access and responsibilities to tactical operations for all of the troops in the 2nd Brigade arena of the 1st Infantry Division---at levels fluctuating between 3000-4000 soldiers---I was instructed to separate myself as much as possible from the general populace other than my comrades in the Tactical Command Headquarters.  Since my hours on my original day shift often stretched into late evenings, the seclusion in the hooch worked out well for me.  Later as I spent time in the field on extended missions and even later on  my reassignment to duty as the Night Tactical Command Duty Sergeant, the ability to sleep during daylight hours while others were about their duties, kept me as refreshed and energized as was possible through the heat and humidity.

Nam was always considerate of the time I needed to “recharge my batteries” and my place of repose was always the first she took care of in the early mornings so she would not disturb me during the rest of the day.  She was as quiet as a mouse as she went about her sweeping and mopping and dusting in the rest of the central barracks.  I was always kind and thoughtful in my day to day interaction with Nam, respectful and appreciative as my upbringing had taught me. She reciprocated in kind.

But, Nam was not not always treated with the respect she deserved from some of the men, in particular one fat sergeant that will go unnamed.  That sergeant and I had words on more than one occasion. Nam was hired help of the most base level for a couple of the men, in some part due to their disrespect  for the populace in general, in some part due to time and unpleasant memories in the field. She was a “momma” to most of us though, or a big sister, and even though she had fractured and limited command of the English language communicated and functioned well with the rest of us.

Quiet, demure, petite little Nam had a temper.  When she felt she had had been taken advantage of or abused or disrespected, she would point her finger and you could hear her beyond the razor-wired perimeters of the base camp as she screamed “You number ten”!  If you were in her favor or pleased her you would get the much desired “You number one”!

The hooch mamma-sans were famous thieves.  Even petty thief is too harsh for they never took anything they felt was of consequence to us.  Usually something from a soldier’s care package from home, cookies, candy, or something of the sort that they could easily conceal when undergoing the security check before getting on the truck back to the village.The most common thefts were of camp puppies for the home stew pot. They brought the puppies into the compound when they were tiny little things, and knowing the softness of heart for the wet noses and bundles of warm fur by the American G.I.s, counted on us to get them fattened up.  We never disappointed.

The routine must have been common knowledge since the pups would be impossible to conceal at the security checkpoint.  There must have been an attitude of “they brought them in, they can take them out”. But, it happened all the time, and even to our hooch mascot.  I would like to believe Nam was not the perpetrator. Indeed I am not aware of any complaints filed in general in our hooch regarding missing goods of any kind.

Our hooch mascot chewing on one of Bunky's shoestrings---his favorite activity.  Shortly thereafter he disappeared, no doubt to a village stewpot!

I will never forget Nam.  She played a much bigger part than she ever knew in making my time in Vietnam and especially in the tin-clad roofed hooch of my abode as stress free as possible.  She was especially sweet and kind during my times of physical recuperations and emotional lows.

I had a hooch mate that  went by the nickname “Spanky”.  When he headed off to Bangkok, Thailand for R&R he informed me he was going to buy a princess ring for his girl back home.  The ring featured a cluster of semi-precious stones in the center on a silver band.  In Thailand the ring, worth hundreds back home in the day, could be purchased from a craftsman for around $30.  I wanted one for my new bride back in Kentucky and he graciously consented to acquiring it for me.

Upon delivery by Spanky the ring was as described, beautiful with every color and type of semi-precious stone commanding center stage.  While preparing for my departure home some months later, I vacillated between carrying the prize home in my dress greens, or in my checked luggage, and unable to make a decision placed it---or so I thought---on the top shelf of my locker to be decisioned the next day.

The next day, preparing to hop on a jeep to Bien Hoa air field for departure to the U.S., I discovered the ring was not there.  I felt I must have included it with my checked baggage and duffel, especially since I wanted to get home and did not favor the prospect of unpacking everything to search for the ring.  I felt it had to be there.

When I arrived back home I wanted to surprise Sandy with the ring. Neither a search of my dress greens that I wore home or my checked belongings uncovered the princess ring. I searched and looked a hundred times.  The only thing that could have happened to the ring is, it was taken in the hooch by either Nam or one of the men, it was stolen by one of luggage inspectors (Vietnamese) when it was revealed on the x-ray for checked baggage, or I lost it...which was virtually impossible.

It was natural over these years to wonder if Nam took the ring.  I honestly don't believe she did. But, there is a possibility she may have felt it was just compensation.  As I’ve gotten older, and hopefully wiser, I don’t really care. There is a part of me that hopes she did.

I, as were all American G.I.s, in hooches all over Vietnam, able to reward the care of all the “Nams” with a monetary stipend to thank them for their care of us.  I was 22 years old, and in my rush and excitement of getting home to see bride and family, I did not.  Not because of frugality or selfishness, but because I was just thoughtless.  I would love to have the wisdom the years have brought to me, to revisit that time, and give Nam more than a hug good-bye and a “thank you” for the considerate care she took of me.  It would make me happy to think if she has the ring she looks at it from time to time and thinks of all the American men in the spring of their lives that she took care of, and was absentia mother to….or that the sale or barter of the ring made her life and that of her family a little better.

Thank you Nam, for your presence in that chapter of my life. Wherever you are, I wish you happiness, health, and love.  You, unknowingly, had a profound influence on my life.

I sit here on the morning of my 70th birthday, an old man now, and smile when I think of you.  It has been almost 50 years since I collapsed in my bunk after exhaustion in the field or from stress of a night of duty in Command Ops fraught with the pressures of providing dust-off communications and guidance to wounded men in fire-fights, coordinating gunship approaches, and assisting with precise artillery co-ordinates to  support all troops in need in the 2nd Brigade Arena of conflict.

Sweet, kind, and gentle little Nam, “Thank You”.  You were "number one".

Sergeant Keith Wayne Ragan
2nd Brigade, 1st Infantry Division

June 23, 2016