Les Arbuckle - Saigon Kids: An American Military Brat Comes of Age in 1960s Vietnam

Saigon Kids

An American Military Brat Comes of Age in 1960s Vietnam

by

Les Arbuckle

Copyright 2017 Les Arbuckle.

Published by Mango Publishing Group, a division of Mango Media Inc.

Cover Design: Georgiana Goodwin

Layout & Design: Roberto Nez

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Saigon Kids: An American Military Brat Comes of Age in 1960s Vietnam

Library of Congress Catalog number 2017950545.

ISBN: (paperback) 978-1-63353-633-3, (ebook) 978-1-63353-634-0

BISAC category code HIS027070 HISTORY / Military / Vietnam War

Printed in the United States of America

Praise

Saigon Kids is a vivid, beautifully written coming-of-age memoir set in Saigon during the tumultuous year that led to full-scale fighting by U.S. troops. Its also a hilarious white-knuckle tour of misadventures that, had they any idea, would have done in Les Arbuckles parents.
Laura Delp Writer, Editor, and Saigon Kid

I was totally enthralled with Saigon Kids and found it to be a wonderful account of Southeast Asia. It is a timely, warm, and at times, humorous account of two completely at-odds cultures. You wont be disappointed. Les cleverly captures the sights, sounds, language and smells of Saigon during a unique period of turmoil for both the South Vietnamese and in-country Americans. I highly recommend this read for an enjoyable and fascinating journey. Saigon Kids is an accurate overview of what it was like to live in this Vietnamese City. I know because I was there.
Lee Hansen AFRS Saigon Radio Disc-jockey, 1963-65

Preface

People have often asked me what it was like to live in Saigon during this volatile period in history, so to them I now say, This is what it was like. I began writing Saigon Kids forty years after leaving Vietnam. I wanted to create a gritty and realistic account of what I experienced in Saigon, so be prepared for rough and crude language, unusual sexual situations, violence, suffering, inter-species animal rape, and much self-deprecating humor.

My brothers, Lynn and Lowell, helped a lot with their memories of our family life, but the memories of my social life are necessarily mine alone. Where my memory is hazy, details and dialogue have been gently recreated or reimagined. Some of the dialogue, especially some of the more ordinary conversation, is composed of phrases I remember very well for reasons Ill never understand. The more mundane aspects of my everyday life in Saigon are sometimes stark and clear in my mind, while the circumstances surrounding the life-changing events reside in fog. Im sure Ive gotten a lot wrong, but memory is a fickle friend.

In order to protect the guilty, I have changed most of the names in the book except for the people in my immediate family. Also, Sister Kenneth Regan, Mrs. Elizabeth Tyson, David Phu, and Mrs. Jacqueline Shaffer and her son, Harrison, and his band, The Esquires, are known here by their real names.

Beverly Whealton (not her real name) is a combination of two girls I had eyes for as a teenager (the other was one Bonnie G.), both of whom scorned my clumsy advances in equally clumsy ways. I have combined the events surrounding my failed attempts at romance with these two girls (and Bonnies best friend), which also includes a fair amount of actual dialogue, dredged from the depths of my memory of those angst-ridden moments.

Les Arbuckle, September 2017

Dedication

This memoir is dedicated to Sister Kenneth Regan, who taught me to read and write, and my parents, Bryant Joseph Arbuckle and Margaret Mooreen Arbuckle, who gave me something to write about.

Acknowledgments

Let me begin at the beginning. This book would not have been possible except for the help of a lot of people, and to them I say thank you, from the bottom of my heart:

To my brothers, Lynn Arbuckle, Lowell Arbuckle, and Leland Arbuckle, who shared their memories, photos, and stories.

To Zachary Klein, my first mentor and an excellent mystery writer, who first set me on the path to publication with his kind words and selfless encouragement.

To Anne Mini, also an excellent writer and editor, who took great pains to educate me about the ins and outs of the Memoir genre and all things literary.

To Therese DeAngelis, a wonderful editor, patient, kind, and precise.

To my friends in the Encinitas Library Writing group, and the Walpole Writers Group: Ed, Dave, Ray, Joe, Glenda, Alex, Jennifer, Gail, Frank, Gunther, Harry, Pam, Donna, Maureen, and George, who gave me their concise and insightful opinions, and suggestions, week after week.

Many thanks are also owed to Brenda Knight and all the fine people at Mango Publishing, who saw the value in Saigon Kids and brought it to market.

If not for the relentless efforts of my wonderful agent, Roger S. Williams of the Roger Williams Agency, this memoir may not have seen the light of day. Roger believed in my story and remained optimistic during my darkest hours, and for that I owe him eternal gratitude.

My love and appreciation goes out to my wife, Joyce Lucia, for her encouragement and support over the long road to publication, and for putting up with my obsession(s).

And to the all of the Saigon Kids who made life interesting for me, I say, Thanks for the memories!

Table of Contents

Chapter One
Coup: November, 1963

Chapter Two
Orders: 1962

Chapter Three
Military Brat

Chapter Five
Chi Lang Street

Chapter Six
The My Canh Restaurant

Chapter Nine
The American Community School

Chapter Twelve
Blast-Off

Chapter Thirteen
Maries Party

Chapter Fourteen
Sax Education

Chapter Fifteen
A Cinder in a Bonfire

Chapter Sixteen
Catholics and Buddhists

Chapter Seventeen
Go-Carts

Chapter Eighteen
More Sex Education

Chapter Nineteen
Mrs. Tyson

Chapter Twenty
Flying Sandwiches

Chapter Twenty-Two
Masters of the Night

Chapter Twenty-Three
New Years Eve

Chapter Twenty-Four
The Substitute

Chapter Twenty-Five
The Capitol Kinh Doh Theater

Chapter Twenty-Six
Monkey Love

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Down by the River

Chapter Twenty-Nine
California Bound

S aigon is boiling hot. Next to me, dozens of spinning wheels and the metallic grinding of tank treads have set Le Qui Don Street sizzling with energy. A half-track belches a black cloud of fumes, so I grab a clean breath and slice through the diesel haze with one hand covering my nose. A juggernaut of Vietnamese military vehicles rumbles noisily down the street, stretching for a half-dozen blocks as the army approaches the palace of Ngo Dinh Diem, the president of the Republic of South Vietnam. The autumn air is dead still, thick with heat and sweat and the promise of violence.

My fathers warningto get off the street if tanks are rollingrings in my head like a fire alarm, so I pick up my pace, rushing to get home before the shooting starts. Right now, the streets of Saigon are no place for a fourteen-year-old American boy. Im the only person in sight who isnt armed.