1 Picture, 2 Sides: The Story of Susan’s Site Visit

Susan’s father, James C. Mitchell Jr., was killed near Cao Lanh City on January 8, 1970, two days after his birthday, and two days before he was scheduled to come home forever. Susan honored her father in a visit to the site where he was killed in December 2015. Jared Groneman was the photographer and videographer that day. Here, they both give their side of the story behind these pictures. You’ll get the full story about this site visit, and the inaugural trip of the 2 Sides Project, in a documentary from Istrico Productions, coming in 2016. 

Photo courtesy Jared Groneman, Istrico Productions

Jared: Almost the entire car ride to the Mekong Delta, Susan didn’t seem very emotional. Once we got on the first ferry crossing one of the rivers, she began to get quieter. I think she knew what was coming. We had all squeezed into an SUV to get to this place, but the ferries that ran these rivers were wide open, with air flowing over them almost as easily as the water. It was beautiful, and everyone seemed to enjoy the calmness of the short trip across. 

Susan: We were going up the river on a ferry, in the area where my father’s helicopter went down. My phone had been pinging all day with well wishes from people who knew where I was going. At this moment, my phone pinged again, but it was a different sound. My fellow traveler Ron Reyes had put a map on my phone with the coordinates of the place where the helicopter crashed in the water, and set it to sound off when we were there. My phone was pinging me that we were at that exact spot. 

Photo courtesy Jared Groneman, Istrico Productions

Susan: I wanted so badly to get into the water, to collect some of it, but it was really dirty at the river’s edge and the only boats available weren’t safe for me to use. The Vietnamese official who came with us said he’d go out and fill a bottle for me. The water he brought back from the middle of the river was clear and clean. I poured some into my hand and talked about how my dad had been there to fight for freedom, that his blood was shed for someone else’s freedom, and I equated that to Christ’s blood shed on the cross. I poured water into my hand and sprinkled it over my head. I felt such spiritual relief, and peace. The hole in my spirit that was left by my father’s death was filling up.

Jared: I remember Susan asking for a towel at the hotel earlier that morning in preparation for baptism. When we came upon the ferry landing where the road ended, one of the first things I noticed is that the water wasn’t easily accessible. I didn’t know how Susan would react. I didn’t know if she would try anyway, ask Mike to wade in, or give up on the idea all together. Once again the kindness and willingness of the Vietnamese people showed through. I don’t think anyone there, American or Vietnamese, would have let her fail to accomplish her goal.

Photo courtesy Jared Groneman, Istrico Productions

Jared: No matter where we went, it seemed that Susan’s generosity was always equal to the Vietnamese’s sense of friendliness and accommodation. Every time we saw children Susan was at the ready with candy, stickers, and other little treasures to brighten someone's day. During our trip, every one of our travelers had their day, their site visit. But Susan’s seemed to fit her so well. There were many adults and children who had gathered respectfully to observe the event. It wasn’t just her day. She included everyone she met into it. It was easy to see on the faces of the children just how much the day meant to everyone there.

Susan: The whole village came out to see what I was doing, including these children. We gave them stickers before we started the ceremony, and they pasted them all over their face and arms and sat there watching. At the end of the service we sang Amazing Grace, and they hummed along. As we were leaving I opened up my backpack. I still had a ton of candy, and I wanted them to have it. I held out the bag and they reached in and just took one piece. I said take it all, it’s for you. The guide told them they could take more, but said thank you, one was enough. That really struck me. 

Redemption

Part of a bomb recovered and now on display at the Mine Action Visitor Center in Dong Ha.

Mike Ives, The New York Times reporter who wrote so eloquently about our trip to Vietnam, used a word in his article that stopped me short. He called the trip an “odyssey of hope and redemption.” It’s the word redemption that I've been mulling over since.

The idea of redemption was certainly in my heart and head when I left for Hanoi. I wanted to meet the other side because I wanted to rid myself—literally save myself—from any lingering resentment I felt toward the Vietnamese. I thought if I connected with another son or daughter who lost their father too, any last whispers of anger echoing in my ears would disappear. That happened. In sharing our pain, we found compassion for, and from, the other side. We were comforted being together. I was finally redeemed, done with the bad thoughts that could have poisoned my mind forever. The whispers have not returned.

But then something else happened. Over the course of 11 days, while I tried seemingly insane ways to cross the busy streets and ate (slightly) more proficiently with chopsticks and listened to the gentle flow of the language, I couldn’t escape one of the war’s deepest yet most visible scars. In every museum exhibit, conversation, and official meeting, Agent Orange was there. The herbicide had seeped so completely into the water supply and the soil, into the country’s very being, that it couldn’t be ignored. I saw people who were born with defects caused by it. I heard U.S. Ambassador Osius talk about how we had to own our responsibilities, and focus on cleaning up the worst hit area, right around the air base where my father was stationed. I heard how AO was used on bombs, bombs that were dropped by a relentless stream of planes, planes like the ones my father flew. I know Vietnam was a different place in my father's time. But I wished he could experience for himself what I saw and heard. He wasn't able to sit across the table and see the pain of war in the eyes of the other side. One Vietnamese veteran said it best: had we talked like this from the start, we may never have fought at all.

So, the idea of redemption evolved during the trip, well beyond my original thought. Or maybe it was there all along. Perhaps it only surfaced in my consciousness when Mike used the word in his article. Either way, I am hopeful that our mission and group left a new mark that will endure across the land, and in the people of this country I have come to so admire, and respect. 

Finding peace, and a lot of love, in a village

In the coming weeks, I’ll feature some of the special places we visited while in Vietnam, and share with you some never-before seen pictures from our ace filmmakers at Istrico Productions. 

We brought candy and pencils and yes, reindeer ears, for the children of the Peace Village. Photo courtesy Istrico Productions/2 Sides Project. 

But today we’re close to the last day of the calendar year in the U.S. It’s a time for reflection. And many of us have been reflecting on our visit to the Peace Village. Based in the Tu Do Hospital in the heart of Ho Chi Minh City, the Peace Village is a rehab center for child victims of Agent Orange. Throughout our trip we’d heard details about the effects of the herbicide used by the U.S. during the war. We’d been briefed on its long term impact by the head of the Mine Action Visitor Center in Dong Ha. So we were prepared to see some pretty horrible things. What we didn’t expect was to see such joy.

We saw it first in the nurses who served the patients. Their charges are children born with severe birth defects. The nurses treated them like any other child. They touched them, tended to them, taught them, talked to them, fed them, all with smiles. Mike Burkett noticed right away how much they cared. Coming to the hospital was a bit of déjà vu for Mike. He and his wife Deanna adopted a daughter, Jazgul, from Kyrgyzstan a few years ago. Jazgul had lived in an orphanage for the first part of her life, and the difference between that place and the Peace Village was stark. “In Vietnam, the doctors and workers showed genuine love and affection for the kids,” Mike said.

This boy had been abandoned by his family. He was found on the street and taken in by the Peace Village. Photo courtesy Istrico Productions/2 Sides Project.

Susan Mitchell-Mattera looked at things as a nurse, because she's been practicing that calling since 1985. Susan has attended hundreds of births and deaths, but nothing shook her like being at the Peace Village. “I thought that in 30 years of nursing, I had seen it all. But the Peace Village children and staff changed all that in a heartbeat. The effects of the war and Agent Orange exposure became real and bigger than my broken heart of losing my dad as a little girl. I don’t have children, but all I wanted to do was hold and love those precious children. “

A singer, and a charmer. Photo courtesy Istrico Productions/2 Sides Project.

Oh, those kids. They smiled, some shyly, but they all approached us as they could. Some reached out to touch us and said hello. One boy maneuvered his chair over to us and yelled “hi!” He laughed and smiled, and then started to sing a song. We clapped when he was done and he giggled. Then Patty Young Loew bent down and started to sing to him. He watched her, enthralled, as her voice filled the hall, and then clapped and laughed wildly when she finished.

The 2 Sides Project group with the current director and the director emeritus of the Peace Village. Photo courtesy Istrico Productions/2 Sides Project. 

We made a group donation to the Peace Village to honor their work and to help it continue. And we left with yet another experience of Vietnam that continues to make us reflect in so many ways today. 

The story of a mission, well told around the world

Hanoi-based New York Times Reporter Mike Ives joined the 2 Sides Project trip in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. His beautiful story about our journey, with photos by Christian Berg, appeared on Christmas Day. It was on the front page of the national U.S. edition, and on the front pages of all New York Times editions around the world. 

See the full story here.

The New York Times US National Edition. The story was in the top 10 of the most emailed, and the most shared on Facebook, on Christmas Day. Photo by Jared Groneman.

The Asia/Pacific Edition of the New York Times on Friday, December 25, 2015. The 2 Sides Project story was the top news in the region and the most emailed article that day. 

The European edition of the New York Times on Christmas Day, 2015. The 2 Sides Project story is in the middle of the front page, under the headline "Fathers lost to Vietnam War..."

The 2 Sides Story: Coverage in Vietnam

The Vietnamese media were very interested in the 2 Sides Project story and our trip. VTV4 aired a piece about our initial meetings with sons and daughters in Hanoi and our visit to the "Hanoi Hilton." They also interviewed Patty and me for a 30 minute talk show called "Vietnam Today." That segment will air in the near future. You can see the Vietnamese version of this report on our Facebook page. And stay tuned, because there's more to come. (please note: the figures for American casualties in this report are inaccurate. There were more than 58,000 American casualties as a result of the Vietnam War.)

The 2 Sides Together in Saigon

Vu Ngoc Xiem with Ron Reyes. Mr. Xiem’s father was killed in a bombing in 1964. Three years later Mr. Xiem himself was nearly killed in a bombing at his school. More than 30 children died that day.. 

I’ve been afraid throughout this trip that we would come across someone who was angry. I was surprised when this didn’t happen in the North or the central part of the country where so much fighting took place. So when we approached our last sons and daughters meeting in Saigon, I thought it would be easier than the rest. Turns out it was the hardest and most honest exchange we had with the other side. It was all because of Vu Ngoc Xiem.

I noticed Mr. Xiem as we took our seats. He laid an open notebook on the table and read the notes within as the others introduced themselves. At times he would rock a little back and forth in the chair, his fingertips digging into his forehead. His eyes were closed when he did this. I wasn’t sure if he was on the verge of crying or yelling. Either way, he seemed to be steeling himself as it came his turn to talk. When it did, he stood.

Mr. Xiem said he was 66 years old and a retired military man. His father died in a bombing when Mr. Xiem was 14 years old. It was the first time he recognized the pain of war and loss, and the first time he thought about revenge. Then on October 10, 1967, Mr. Xiem’s school was hit by a bomb. Of 52 children in class that day, Mr. Xiem was one of only 19 to survive. His mother was so afraid he’d get killed that she forbade him from going to school. He said he continued to think about revenge as he grew up. You must understand, he said, Vietnam is a country that loves its people and loves peace. He stopped and started as he spoke, struggling perhaps to let go of his anger as he acknowledged that he saw and appreciated our tears. He ended by saying we must have a better future and work together to help children and victims of Agent Orange.

When the meeting was over I wanted to place the 2 Sides Project pin on Mr. Xiem’s collar, so I approached him and asked him if I could. He said yes and stood perfectly still while it took me forever to pierce his shirt's thick collar.  I wanted to tell him that I understood his desire for revenge, that that same idea had been with me most of my life, and that it was a tough thing to let go. But there were no translators around. He took out a red flower pin symbolizing victims of Agent Orange and pinned it to my dress. Then he shook my hand. What I had feared would happen did, but we had survived, and hopefully softened for having connected with each other.

The meetings are now over and our trip is done. But my deep hope is that as a budding organization, the 2 Sides Project can schedule more trips in the future. Perhaps the Vietnamese can come to the U.S. to see our world and visit our memorials. And other U.S. sons and daughters can make the journey to Vietnam to meet the other side and visit their fathers’ sites. Whatever the future, it’s clear that coming together and sharing our mutual pain has the power to change us all. For that, all of us who participated in these meetings are very, very grateful.

Mike Burkett with Ho Van Hien. Mr. Hien's father was killed in 1968 when Mr. Hien was four months old. He has no memories, and no pictures, of his father. We asked if anyone told him anything about his dad and he said his mother said he fought bravely, "until his last bullet."

Patty with Le Van Phat. Ms. Phat's son accompanied her to the meeting so he could help her speak. She said her father was killed by a bomb and there were no remains. When we asked her to sign her name on a commemorative scroll, she indicated she couldn’t write. She drew a smiley face instead. 

Margaret with Nguyen Thi Hong. Ms. Hong’s father died in 1970. Two years later her mother, who had become a soldier, was killed. Ms. Hong was raised by her grandparents. She works with a local friendship organization that promotes positive relationships between Vietnam and other countries. She said that she knew other sons and daughters in the Saigon area and wanted to learn from our experience in the U.S. so that she could reach more of them. 

Susan with Le Thi Thu. Ms. Thu’s father was a “war invalid” whose hands and eyes were badly injured in the war. He died in 2006 and was recognized as a war martyr.

SPECIAL GUEST: Margot and Margaret with the esteemed Ms. Tien. Ms. Tien is a retired colonel and the woman who ran much of Vietnam’s POW and MIA initiatives after the war. She also opened the MIA Museum in Vinh and serves as its deputy director. Margaret's and Margot's fathers are listed as MIA. Ms. Tien talked about and showed us pictures of the personal effects she has found from both Vietnamese and American soldiers. She spoke about the duty she feels to return everything so that families can gain closure. She showed us a picture of a letter and photograph that was found with an American soldier's body. She wants our help to find the soldier's survivors so that she can return his effects. Ms. Tien said she has attended many meetings with war veterans on both sides, but was particularly moved by this sons and daughters meeting.

Visiting our Fathers' Sites: Part 2

This week, three more of us had the opportunity to visit the places where our fathers died. If last week’s visits had their logistical challenges, this week’s were marked by how remote they were. We spent hours and hours traveling down bumpy, dusty roads in a bouncy tour bus and a cramped van, but we urgently needed to get to these places and so took every bump and turn as it came.

Mike Burkett at the river's edge. 

Mike’s spot took us four hours to reach. The last two hours were down a dirt road with deep potholes and wild curves. Ron guided the bus driver the whole way, and in the final mile stopped him just short of the road’s end. We were as close to the river as we’d get, about 2.5 miles downstream from where Mike’s father fell in and was swept away in 1971. It was a short walk to a meadow. The river ran over flat rocks and seemed peaceful, just as it did on the day Mike’s father waded in. But even with the water level low, swirls on the surface gave clues to the strong current underneath. It was easy to imagine how fast the water could run in the rainy season. 

Mike started by shuffling his feet and saying he was just a “dumb ole Aggie” so he probably wouldn’t sound profound. He also said he didn’t want to get emotional, but that when you get to a place like this, “it hits you like a ton of bricks.” Through guarded tears he spoke gently and beautifully. He talked about his daughter Jazgul and said he regretted most that his father never had the chance to meet her. He said he wished he could just sit down and smoke a cigar with his dad, and would leave one for him. And he said it would have been great to watch football and argue with his dad about which team, the Razorbacks or Texas A&M, was better. We left him a moment alone and when he got back on the bus, I noticed his eyes were bright. His face was smooth. I asked how he felt. He said it was like a 500 pound gorilla had been lifted from his shoulders. That brightness in his eyes hasn’t faded since.  

Susan playing her dad's harmonica.

The group split in two yesterday to get to Susan’s site and mine. It took Susan’s group five hours to get to the area of the Mekong River near the Cambodian border where her father’s helicopter went down. Two Vietnamese government officials, Mike, Patty and Susan all crammed into a small Toyota SUV along with filmmaker Jared. Luckily the roads were smooth and they made good time, especially when they were able to grab a barge to get to the other side and save 45 minutes of driving. Susan wanted to get as close to the river bank as possible to do her service and the group found a small dock that went right to the river’s edge. As Susan started to lay out her momentos on a banner—coins, keys, patches—people from the village came to see what they were doing. One woman saw the flowers laying on the banner and ran back to get a blue and white vase. She put the flowers in the vase but they kept falling over. She took them out again, wiped away the water, trimmed the stems so the flowers wouldn’t catch the wind, and set the vase upright again. Another villager brought out two glasses so that Susan could pour out a Coke, one of her father’s favorite drinks. Susan drank one and left the other. She poured out dirt from home and said prayers. She also asked the official from the area to collect some water from the river. At the edge the water was brown and covered with lotus blossoms, so the official rowed out in a boat and dipped an empty bottle into the river. He brought it to her and she noticed the water in it was clear, so poured some of it over her head and said a baptismal prayer. She’ll take the rest home.

Margot in the crater. 

My site was comparatively easy to reach, only two hours northwest of Saigon, but I expected obstacles getting to the exact spot where my father’s plane went down. My dad is listed as MIA because his remains were never recovered. The DPAA told me just weeks ago that they hoped to get to the site in 2016, and I worried that if I went too close, I might impede their investigation. Ron, Anthony and I had looked over Google maps based on the latest coordinates, and Anthony noticed two strange things about the area. My father’s plane went down 200-300 meters from a bunker that had been his target. The map showed an odd line of trees along the edge of a road, and exactly 200 meters from that, another set of trees that looked different from the rest. We thought we’d get to that first line of trees and just look toward the second, but when we got there, I wanted to step in a little closer, into the rubber plantation that edged the road. The official asked a local farmer if I could and he said yes so Ron and I walked in a bit and stopped on a path. I asked him which direction to look and he pointed. He said we were already about a third of the way there and suggested we go on. The path was clear, we had permission, and so I started to walk quickly, Ron reporting how close we were every few steps. He stopped me when his map said 200 meters and pointed in front of me. I looked and saw a crater. I asked Ron if its shape and size were natural and he said no, he didn’t think so. So I walked into it and sat in the center. That’s where I held my father’s service. I read messages from my sister and my mother and played a favorite song of my father’s, Greensleeves. Margaret, a fellow airman’s daughter, helped me read the poem High Flight, by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. I climbed out of the crater and left, a little lighter than before.

We’ve attended six funerals in the last ten days. It’s no wonder we’re cried out. But we’ve all come out the other side changed forever.

The 2 Sides Together in Da Nang

The third sons and daughters meeting was the smallest but perhaps the most powerful. Just three daughters came. They were all from Danang. There were also five Vietnamese veterans at the table who had been instrumental in getting the daughters to come to the meeting. At first I worried that the presence of so many military officials would hinder our conversation, but that didn’t happen. First one, then two of the daughters shared their names, background, and information about their fathers. The third, Thi Le Phi, stood up to speak. She had prepared a statement and started to cry as she read.

Ms. Phi was four years old when her father was killed. She said her mother refused to remarry. “She always said my father had a sweet heart.” Ms. Phi said she never thought she would have a chance to meet us. “We live in different countries. We are far apart. I am very happy we children, the sons and daughters of war martyrs, are together.” She directed her attention to Patty, whose father was killed just a few miles from where we sat. “In the past our fathers were enemies. It was a hard time for the Vietnamese and for you. We share the same pain about the impact of war. We lost our fathers. Nothing can recover them. But together we can put the past behind us and look to the future. I hope we have more occasions like this and more understanding.”

The top official closed the meeting by saying “had he met and talked like this with the Americans, we might not have fought each other.“

Margot and Patty with Thi Le Phi. All three daughters said their mothers never remarried because they had found their one love in their fathers.

Ron and Mike with Phan Thi Hien. Ms. Hien was two years old when her father died. She could not add much detail in her comments because she found it too difficult to speak.

Susan and Margaret with Troung Thi Li. Ms. Li's father was killed in 1967 when she was three years old. She said she was nervous about meeting us but glad we were "sharing feelings today."

The 2 Sides Together in Quang Tri Province

Our second sons and daughters meeting took place south of Hanoi in the Quang Tri area. Seven Vietnamese sons and daughters were already sitting on one side of the table when we arrived. A government official opened the meeting with some formal remarks about the historic and important nature of the meeting. Then, as in Hanoi, we went around the room and introduced ourselves. We found striking similarities in our stories, and heard new and heartbreaking details of the experience on the other side. See more at the 2 Sides Project Facebook page. 

Nguyen Duy Dung and Patty Young Loew. These two had so much in common it was eerie. Both of their fathers were killed by a shot to the head. Both were two years old at the time. And both had mothers who died of cancer. Mr. Dung said he had no photos of his father because it was too dangerous to keep them. Patty has only a few pictures of her father. 

Susan Mitchell-Mattera and Duong Thi Loan. Both are nurses, and very proud of their professions. Ms. Loan’s father was killed during the Tet Offensive in 1968. Her mother was pregnant at the time, so Ms. Loan never had a chance to meet her father.

Mike Burkett and Ho Tuan Nghia. Mr. Nghia’s father was killed in 1968 in Cam Lo by a U.S. helicopter. He was surprised to find that we share the same pain, and even interests. These two both love photography.

Margaret Von Lienen and Pham Thi Thuy. They were both five years old when their fathers were killed. Ms. Thuy talked about how vividly she remembers the South Vietnamese coming for her mother, who was imprisoned and tortured for being married to a North Vietnamese soldier. Ms. Thuy was forced to deny her heritage to avoid the same fate. She said “you have a lot of pain, and I do, too.”

Tong Sy Thanh and Susan Mitchell-Mattera. They were five years old when their fathers were killed. Mr. Thanh’s father was killed in 1968 in the Hue battlefield. He said he understands our fathers had to serve their nations but that “getting together with each other gives us a chance to make things better.”

Margot Carlson Delogne and Doan Minh Tham. Mr. Tham was eight years old when his father died in 1968. He was the first to share and said that the real impact of war is clear when you see the two sides and their losses. He said he was very happy to be meet with everyone.

Vo Chi Thuy and Ron Reyes. Their fathers were killed in the Tet Offensive. Both were one month old when their fathers died, and neither met their father. Ms. Thuy’s father had to hide in the woods during the battle, and that’s where he was killed. His body was never recovered. Her grandmother told her about her father. She said he was very handsome. Ron’s grandmother always said the same about his father. 

Visiting Our Fathers’ Sites: Part 1

Nothing really goes smoothly in Vietnam, but somehow everything flows just right. Take the traffic. If you want to cross the street without getting hit, you just charge forward and go. The stream of mopeds carrying everything from water bottles to sewer pipes to pig carcasses will effortlessly maneuver its way around you.

Our first three visits to the places where our fathers died haven’t gone smoothly, but the flow has certainly been just right. Ron Reyes’s work on our coordinates and late night research by people like Jeanette Chevrony have given each of us the x that marks our spot. Getting to that x isn’t easy, though, even if the map is totally accurate and up-to-date. First you have to visit the area officials and compare information. Then you have to persuade the bus driver that you do actually know where you’re going, even though you’ve never been there before. And in the end, the road may be too rough for a big bus. That’s when you just go with the flow.

Margaret burning incense and paper money at her father's site. 

Margaret’s was our first site visit. We pulled up to a small village and realized we still needed to go about six miles down an unpaved road to reach the place where her dad’s plane went down. There was no way the bus was going to make it. It was getting darker by the minute, and we were getting desperate. As we talked about hiring a couple of scooters, a van pulled up. It was big enough for our group and the driver said he’d take us. We crammed in and took off. Six miles later we pulled up next to a steep hill and Ron jumped out to confirm the location. This was it. Margaret performed a beautiful service with letters and prayers. She lit incense and paper money and watched it burn. It was pitch black by then and we needed to head back. As we started down the road, our van was flagged down by a local official. He was pissed off that we hadn’t checked in with him prior to our visit. He asked for our official papers, but we had left everything in the bus, so he escorted us to the police station to talk with the higher ranking officials. We waited in the bus while our guide talked to all the officials, including the area vice president who had been summoned to check us out. After two hours of waiting, they asked me to join them for tea. They wanted us to know that our detention had nothing to do with the war. We just hadn’t followed protocol. They inspected our passports and finally let us go.  

Ron Reyes overlooking his dad's site and drinking a beer in his honor.

Ron’s site visit didn’t have the same official drama, although he did have to argue with the bus driver about where to go. He’d been studying Topo maps and knew the area by heart, so once we were on the right road, finding the dirt path leading to the site was pretty easy. We walked to a beautiful valley and looked on the hill where Ron’s dad was killed and some of the fiercest battles were fought during the Tet Offensive. It was impossible to imagine war happening here. The land was so lush and gorgeous, and the birds were singing. Ron knelt and laid out pictures and coins and other momentos on the ground. He left a beer and drank another in his father’s honor. Then he pulled out a few containers from his pocket. One was filled with soil from his father’s childhood home, another with soil from the high school where Ron’s parents met. He poured it all onto the ground saying he wanted to bring a bit of home to this place. He paid tribute to his parents by playing their favorite tune: James and Bobby Purify’s I’m Your Puppet. It sounded loud and true throughout the valley. We couldn’t help but tap our feet and smile just a bit.

Patty with the Jack of Hearts. 

Patty’s site visit took us halfway around Danang. She’d only just received updated information from Jeanette the night before, so we knew we were headed in the right direction, but Ron had to correct the driver again and point him to the right area. We parked and headed up a dirt road, past newly built houses and a large cemetery. As we walked further we started to see playing cards strewn along the path. I picked one up and turned it over. It was the Jack of Hearts. Patty’s dad’s name was Jack. We gave her the card at the top of the hill and she kept it close during her ceremony. Patty played some music her dad loved, then invited us to sing Amazing Grace with her. From that first note, the rest of us fell silent. Patty’s voice was lovely by itself, and echoed over the cemetery and out towards China Beach.

It is an honor to be with these sons and daughters as they pay tributes to their fathers.

Finally, we meet.

Pham Van Hien with Susan Mitchell-Mattera. See all the pictures of sons and daughters together on the 2 Sides Project Facebook page. 

Today was our first get together with sons and daughters on the other side. After all the planning, all the worrying about what would happen when we came face to face, I have to tell you that it was one of the deepest and truest and finest moments of my life.

I’d been told that the Vietnamese don’t spend time thinking about their personal loss. Instead they bear their grief about the war as a collective. Many said that such a cultural difference would probably make it hard for us to connect at a personal level. So when we opened the meeting and started going around the table to introduce ourselves, I checked my expectations. I told myself that if it didn’t work in the meeting, maybe we could all loosen up over lunch. And then they started to share.

Susan was sitting next to a Vietnamese son and said she could see the muscles in his jaw tighten and flex as it came his turn to talk. He talked about growing up in an orphanage for children of war martyrs. He talked about his own children, about being a father.

A Vietnamese daughter shared that she was an only child and lived with her mother. She said one of the hardest things for her was to see her mother’s pain. She wiped away tears.  

A daughter said her family had received a letter from her father’s comrades explaining how he had died. But there had been a flood and the letter was too smeared to read. Clues as to her father’s whereabouts, wiped out forever. Her tears just fell. Ron was sitting next to her. I saw his lips tighten because he was up next, and he was trying to contain his emotions so he could speak. We had heard that 200,000 – 300,000 Vietnamese are listed as missing in action. We asked everyone whose fathers were still missing to raise their hand. Most of the group at the table did, along with Margaret and me.

Another daughter said her father was one of just three officials memorialized in statues in the middle of the country. She wanted us to know that if we ever came back, she would give us a tour of the area and that shrine.

A son stood up to speak. He was older than the others, in his 70s, and wore a suit. He said his father left home after independence in 1947, and they expected him to come back after the elections. Those elections never took place. His father was forced to stay away and fought in the French and then the American war. He was killed in 1972 or 1973. When he said his father distributed medical supplies, Patty nodded and smiled. Her own father was a medic.

We spent two hours together, talking through an interpreter. Then we gave the Vietnamese sons and daughters a gift. It was a lapel pin with the 2 Sides Project logo. Someone suggested we pin them and we did. We took pictures together. In them, we stand close.

At lunch we relaxed even more. We started to share pictures of our families, our children, our fathers. The son whose jaw had tensed and clenched in the meeting sat next to me. I picked up a piece of shrimp and went to peel it but it was too hot. He took it from my hands, peeled it for me and set it down in my bowl.

They signed a scroll and took a bag of candy for their children. We told each other how much it meant to be together. Many of them said they had been nervous too, but they were surprised and happy to find that we were open to talking to them.

We’ll meet more sons and daughters along the way. But now our expectations will be different. We’ll know that when we open the conversation, we’ll find an instant connection with the other side, and it will help us all.  

And, we’re off!

From left to right: Margaret Von Lienen, Ron Reyes, Margot Carlson Delogne, Mike Burkett, Susan Mitchell-Mattera, Patty Loew. 

It’s here: December 6, 2015. We leave in two hours for Hanoi, and will hit the ground running—literally. We land at 11:25 AM Tuesday and will be met by the Vietnam-USA Society (VUS), the group that has organized our trip. We get a couple of hours to freshen up and then head to the Temple Of Literature and then our first series of meetings and presentations. Our very first meeting with sons and daughters on the other side will be on Wednesday. Keep tabs on the trip with our (hopefully daily, Internet connection depending!) reports from the field, complete with pictures and observations, right here and on the 2 Sides Project Facebook page. 

What a wonderful send off from our family and SDIT brothers and sisters in LA! Thanks to Ron's mom and step dad and to Susan's mom and sisters as well as Tony and Bill Cordero, Terry McGregor and Jeanette Chervony. 

The 2 Sides Backstory: Susan Mitchell-Mattera

Preparing for this trip has led many of us to new discoveries. We’ve talked to family and friends who have shared new stories. We’ve uncovered new information about our fathers’ last moments. We’ve found pictures we never knew existed. Some of the more magical moments have been our encounters with people who have heard about where we’re going and why. I’ve started to call these “Susan Moments,” because they seem to be happening to Susan a lot.

Susan recently found this photo from her parents' wedding. Her father had just joined the Navy. She'll bring this photo with her to share with the Vietnamese sons and daughters. 

You’ve come across total strangers who are interested in your journey. How does that happen?!
I did a fundraiser event and a woman asked me what it was for. When I told her, she began to tear up. She said her dad was killed in World War II in the Battle of the Bulge, and she got to visit the site last year. It was amazing to connect with another Gold Star daughter like that. Then at the same event, a Vietnam Veteran came in off the streets and said he’d heard about the journey. He shook my hand, and I thanked him for his service. When he released my hand, I saw he had slipped me money towards my trip. That was amazing too, but that wasn’t it. I was in the pharmacy the other day picking up my medications for the trip. Two men heard me talking on the phone about the trip, and when I hung up they approached me. They had been in Vietnam, too. They told me about their experience and were so supportive. It’s all been kind of amazing.

How long was your dad in Vietnam?
He joined the Navy and was there from late 1963 until 1970, so about six years total. He was due to get out for good in 1970 and last saw my mom on R&R in November 1969, in Hawaii. When she was waiting in the airport to leave, a woman approached her. She’d seen my mom and dad together at a show on the island. She asked if that was her husband and my mother said yes. “That’s probably the last time you’ll see him,” the woman said. Mom never forgot that. He was killed two months later.

What do you know about your father’s last moments?
Before I decided to go on this journey, I didn’t know anything about where or how he died. I just knew his helicopter went down in a river. And I knew I wanted to stand in the exact spot, not a place that was miles away. So I asked my mom for more information. She said she’d support me going however she could, but the hardest thing for her to do was to open a cedar chest that had all his stuff in it, and look at the paperwork about him again. I didn’t get a lot of details from her, so one night I reached out on Facebook to veterans groups and others to try to find out more. I posted something at 2 AM, and by 6 AM I had 20 responses from people who had more information, or who knew where to look. I’ve got the coordinates now, so I know I’ll be standing in the right place.

Growing up, what was your feeling about the war and the Vietnamese?
My mom asked the doctor what she should tell the children about how their father died. The doctor said if they don’t ask, don’t say anything. My grandparents told us that we shouldn’t ask about our dad because it would make mom cry. So we didn’t talk about him or about Vietnam in our house.

What do you hope to get out of the trip?
My dad was in the area where the helicopter went down for a month before he died. I just want to be able to breathe the air he breathed. I want to walk in the same area where he was. Other than that, I’m hoping for healing, for closure, some kind of closeness to my dad.

Are you afraid at all?
I’m a nurse and I work in hospice where there’s death and dying every day. I’m always processing and helping others process intense emotions. I think my biggest fear is that with all the emotion, I won’t be able to process my feelings fast enough, I won’t be able to absorb everything.  

What are you most looking forward to? What would make the trip a success for you?
Getting to know the people of Vietnam. Some of the sons and daughters faced the same things we did here in the U.S. Getting to know the people and seeing their side about what happened and being able to understand them will be important. They are just us, in so many ways. I’m also hoping that I can help others. Today it’s Vietnam. Tomorrow it may be another war, and the two sides will need to meet to understand and heal.

The 2 Sides Backstory: Ron Reyes

PFC Ronald Reyes, Ron's father, who was part of the Marines unit known as "The Walking Dead." 

Ron is a geography whiz. He’s got a long history of reading maps and coordinates for search and rescue missions in his home state of California. So when our group first got together, he asked us all for our records. He wanted to pinpoint our fathers' sites and send the coordinates to us so we could see them in Google Earth. There’s something eerie but incredible about plugging in that coordinate and zooming in on your dad’s site, knowing it’s that place. For many, it was the first time they had seen the spot. And for that, we’re all grateful to Ron on this Thanksgiving Day. 

You were young when your dad died, right?
I was four weeks old, so I only know him through the memories that others have shared with me. My grandfather, my mother’s father, just passed away, and at his funeral my mother told me something I never knew about what happened at my father’s funeral service. She said she passed me around and let everyone hold me. Then she took me and held me next to my father in the casket. She said she knew that it was important to do, because it would be the closest I would ever get to him. 

With no memories, how did you get to know your Dad?
I periodically researched the war when I was in school. A few years after my daughter was born, and my wife was pregnant with our son, someone came back from the Wall with a rubbing of my father’s name. I got curious again. All I knew was that my Dad died in the battle at Khe Sanh and that he had been trying to help save another man. The Internet was getting big and I found a gunner page from my Dad’s division. I sent an email asking for any information about my Dad. I got no response for several days. What I didn’t know was that my Dad’s unit was having a reunion that weekend. My phone started ringing as soon as they all got back home. The first guy I heard from was Eddie. He’d been in boot camp with my Dad. He told me how when they were in training, my grandparents came over and piled everyone into the car and brought them home for a BBQ. He told me my Dad was very well liked, that he looked out for everyone. The next guy to call was Pete. He told me my Dad was always the first to grab a rifle and go. And that the hill my Dad was on got hit every single night. What I learned later was that my Dad’s unit (first battalion, 9th) has 749 names on the Wall, more names than any other unit. It had a 93% casualty rate. It’s the only unit in USMC history to be named by the enemy. The loose translation of what the Vietnamese called them is “men walking who are already dead.” The Marines took that as an honor. They renamed them “The Walking Dead.”  

Did you know anyone else who had lost a father in Vietnam?
No. I grew up on a kind of island. But a while back, a friend I’d known for 10 years told me her father was still listed as missing. She was the first person I knew with that shared experience. This year I went to the Sons and Daughters in Touch conference. Now I know hundreds of others who lost their dads. We may have grown up in different circumstances, but we have an uncommon bond. 

What are you hoping to get from the trip?
I’m going with a pretty open mind. I know we’re going to visit some places and see things that have a completely different slant vs. what we’ve heard. I understand that. But I’m going with my eyes wide open.

Do you think you’ll get closure? 
Is there ever closure? 

What does your family think about you going?
Everyone is definitely supportive, especially my daughter. She’s a junior in college in Washington DC, and is a few blocks from the Wall. She decided that when I go to my dad’s site, she wants to be standing at the Wall at that very moment, in front of her grandfather’s name. I told her it would be in the middle of the night in DC so I don’t want her doing that when it’s dark. She agreed but then asked me to send her the complete itinerary and everyone’s names and their dad’s names, so she could honor all of them on the days we visit their sites.