The Foreign Service Journal, April 2015

THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL | APRIL 2015 41 here and there. I received plenty of congratulations and pats on the back. After that, given the DCM’s ukase to let no more people in, I could see nothing more to do but wait. Eventually, a CH-53 Sea Stallion arrived on the landing pad on top of the building. A few Americans were needed to fill out an otherwise overwhelmingly Vietnamese passenger list. At the foot of the stairs to the roof, immediately in front of me, stood an impeccably dressed Europeanist doing his obligatory excursion tour to Asia, complete with perfectly pressed suit, neatly combed hair, starched handkerchief adorning his jacket pocket, polished attaché case and overnight bag. Right then and there, I decided I would never become one of them. As we started upward, Amb. Martin came out of his private office to pull me aside. Putting his hand on my shoulder, he intoned in a low, southern patrician voice that he knew what I had been doing out on the streets, and he wanted to thank me. Truthfully, I felt honored to be there at the end, to have done all that I could do. For all his foibles, the ambassador had extended a gracious gesture that I had no right to expect. It was pitch dark as the chopper lifted off the roof, but the tail ramp was down enough to make out scattered fires burning in the distance. Lit by an eerie blue light inside, all I could make out were Vietnamese around me. Some other Americans were aboard for sure, but not many. Contrary to some accounts, I detected no enemy ground fire reaching up to us. The NVA wanted us gone in time to celebrate The mission leadership was overwhelmed dealing withWashington and, by all accounts, out of contact with what was going on outside.