The other 78

I was a bit surprised by the reactions I got to #23 on my birthday list.  In response to several inquires in the comments section of that post I wrote a bit about four people who lived another day simply because I happened to be standing nearby with a free hand.  Our paths crossed for less than a moment in time and then the moment was over... without drama... and without fanfare.

But on May 26th, 1982 I was given a slightly more prolonged encounter with 78 precious lives.

At the time I was stationed on board a frigate home-ported in Pearl Harbor, HI, and we were in the middle of a 6 month 'WestPac' cruise that took us throughout Asia, Africa and even down to Australia. 

On May 26th we were in the South China Sea when our helicopter crew radioed back to the ship to report that they had spotted a small boat adrift miles from the shipping lanes, and apparently in distress. 

When our ship reached the boat we confirmed that it was full of Vietnamese refugees and that their boat was severely overloaded and in danger of being swamped by even the gentle swells that broke over the gunwales.  We immediately began organizing a rescue party.  I was one of the people who volunteered to go over the side and help bring them aboard.

In all there were 78 people stuffed into that tiny wooden boat; 34 men, 26 women and 18 children.  They had left Vietnam more than two weeks earlier with enough fuel and supplies for a week, but after their fuel had run out they had drifted out of the shipping lanes and into an area where they were not likely to be found.   Many of the elderly were suffering from dehydration and heat stroke, and several of the parents were semi-conscious from malnutrition and dehydration because they had been giving their meager rations to their children.

Once everyone was aboard (along with their few belongings), we scuttled their boat (so it wouldn't be a hazard to navigation) and began taking care of the refugees.

Our two corpsmen (medics) took the most serious cases down to sick bay for infusions of fluid and antibiotics, and we took the rest down to an isolated area in the after portion of the ship.  Each of our guests was given a shower, a new set of clothes (we all donated our civilian clothes until their clothing could be laundered), some bedding and a hot meal. 

Those of us who had come into direct contact with the refugees were quarantined along with them because we had no way of knowing if they had any communicable diseases.  Living in such close quarters we got to know these special people quite well (yes, that's a 21 year old me with a few new smiling friends).

Each of the refugees had paid the equivalent of between 2-3 thousand dollars for a place in the little wooden boat, and for many this was their 6th or 7th escape attempt.  There were stories of torture and reeducation camps... and of the many friends and relatives who had drowned in storms, been killed by pirates during previous attempts (yes kids, piracy is still a big problem), or simply drifted out of the shipping channels and never been heard from again.  Most of the adults were well educated, and the children were extremely well mannered and polite.

By the time we dropped our new friends off at a refugee processing center in Singapore, the United States government had sent guarantees through diplomatic channels that all 78 would be allowed to settle in the US.

For a while I used to get the occasional holiday card from some of the families.  These notes had postmarks from places like Texas, California and Florida.  I loved hearing that they had started new lives for themselves and that some were reunited with relatives who had escaped before or after them.  But I always squirmed a little when the very formal notes drifted around to thanking me for saving their lives.  I hadn't put my life in jeopardy to save these people any more than I had when fate or luck or whatever put me in the right place to have a hand in saving 4 other lives.

I can't explain exactly why, but I never answered any of the cards or letters.   I do think of them often though... especially the little girl who is sitting on my lap in the picture above (she is also in the next picture in the middle row all the way on the left).  She is probably in her late twenties by now and maybe married with a family of her own.  When I played endless games of rock paper scissors with her she spoke only a few words of English.  I'm sure she doesn't even have a trace of an accent when she speaks today.

I have no idea why I was given the opportunity to play a part in saving so many lives.  I certainly didn't earn the privilege by going to medical school, or by becoming a nurse or EMT.   But as I said in my birthday post, the thought of these 82 lives has been an emotional 'Get Out Of Jail' card for some of the darkest moments of my life.  So in a sense, one might say that they saved me too.

[The photos are from my photo album and from my ship's 'cruisebook', a compilation of photos and memorabilia that many of the crew put together at the end of the 6 month voyage.  Thanks to my sweetie for scanning them for me.]