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"A MYSTICAL MOMENT IN THE RAIN"
ON THE STREETS OF DA NANG, 1970
As told by Ms. Janice Hermerding to Bill McDonald
This is an edited adaptation from several emails and conversations
from Jan to Bill and presented in the first person voice in order to honor and
capture her spiritual and emotional experience.
INTRODUCTION : In the
fall of 2001 I got a message from a women who had been in Vietnam, back in 1970.
She had been an ASCP (American Society of Clinical Pathologists) Medical
Technologist there; and she was a specialist in blood banking. While
residing in Minneapolis, Minnesota, she had volunteered to go directly to
Vietnam after her training, to participate in the AMA (American
Medical Association) Education Project. The AMA adopted the
Saigon Medical School; (for
medical jobs) and various Universities throughout the U.S.
participated. The University of Missouri, of which she was an alumni, sponsored
Pathology - so that is what she was doing while in Vietnam. She told me that she
was an instructor in Medical Laboratory Procedures in Saigon, She had also been
assigned to four weeks of duty up in Da Nang, at the
lab school there. That is
what this story deals with.
Note:
The AMA wrote a book on their project; it gives the then and now look into
Vietnam and its' health care. The Title of this book is "Saigon
Medical School an Experiment in International Education" authored
by C.H. William Ruhe, MD.
I need explain why I was out on the
streets of Da Nang at noon, on a rainy afternoon in 1970. First off, I knew this
was not a good idea, being a women all alone in a city, where one was never
really too sure of who was on your side and who was an enemy. I had been warned
many times before about what could happen if I were to wander off alone around
this city alone. But the classes at the lab school, where I was teaching, had
adjourned for lunch (two hours). I had looked "a mess," so I decided
on the way back to my housing unit, to stop at a beauty shop and get my hair
done. While at the shop the rain really began to pour down. It was one of those
Vietnam rains that came down so hard, that the sounds from the metal roofs being
hit by rain drops, drowned out every other sound in the world all you could
hear was those metal roofs being pounded. The streets filled with gushing rivers
of water that cleaned out all the trash from the gutters and off the streets -
as the garbage and water rolled down hill and off to some river, or ocean
someplace else.
When my hair was finished, the beautician and I tried to communicate, but had
very little success. I needed to get myself back to the safety of my housing
unit but I had no transportation and worse yet, no skill at speaking
Vietnamese. I really had some concerns about being the only American in this
part of town; and as a woman I also had little in the way to defend myself
I carried no weapons and knew little to nothing, about self-defense. So, I
kept gesturing to her trying to show her what part of Da Nang I was working in.
I showed her some of the students' lesson material hoping that she could put
my crude jesters together and figure out where I need to go. I softly whispered
a prayer within my own head hoping that maybe some divine road map, or
guide, would appear and help me. I was becoming very concerned about being
stranded in this part of the city cut off from all the people I knew and
trusted. Thoughts about getting kidnapped, or killed, did run through the back
of my mind. I was frighten and very concerned. I actually worried that my
parents might never see me again. I was almost panicked but I decided I had
no choice but to trust what would follow next.
The heavy monsoon rain arrived a little before noon; so all the shops had closed
and all the cabbies had disappeared. One lone pedi-cab driver had pulled up to
the shop and glanced in. He waited outside for the beautician to finish me. He
was dressed all in black. Wearing the traditional pajamas that I also knew that
the local VC wore. I was not a combat veteran, so to me, I could not be sure who
this guy was, or what his intentions were. So, I was rather reluctant to go
outside and get into his cab. But the beautician gently took me by the arm and
ushered me out the door, said a few words to the cab driver, then pulled the
accordion doors, to her shop, closed behind me. I stood there not knowing if
this was where I wanted to be, or not.
I admit to having some real fears. I was not sure who I could trust. It was
going to have be a leap of faith, but I decided to allow this man to take me in
his cab. The driver beckoned me into the seat of his cab and then zipped it
shut. I had hoped and prayed that God was with me, but I was not very sure if He
was or not, when I got in and sat back. The rains pounded the canvas cover of
the pedi-cab. It was like the rain was trying to attack me, as I hide sheltered
behind the canvas cover of the cab, trying to stay dry. My fears were not
completely vanished, as I listen to the rhythm of the pounding of the rain.
However, I decided to sit back and trust my driver to get me safely back to my
housing unit. As I surrendered to the moment, I felt a gentle wave of peace
slowly growing within I then began to have some hope that God was going to
get me home safe! I really wasn't confident of that, it was more like
"where am I going now." When the pedi-cab driver unzipped the pedi-cab,
I was astonished that I was at my housing unit. While riding in the pedi-cab, I
actually began to think of how much my parents would be affected if something
happened to me.
The most significant fact, I think, is that the cab driver refused to accept the
piasters I offered him. Instead he smiled, thanked me three times (in
Vietnamese) folded his hands together as in prayer and bowed three times. Then
his face became ashen white, his big, brown, kind eyes became dim, the broad
smile faded and his face looked as if it had been carved from stone. He picked
up his pedi-cab, turned it around and climbed back onto the driver's seat. He
lowered his head and began to pedal away.
As he disappeared into the cold rain, I saw that the water circled the rim of
his metal helmet, as if it was coming from a gutter, down his back, running off
the seat of his pedi-cab and leaving a trail of white water behind him.
To me, ending it this way, emphasizes the COLD rain, the fact that he accepted
no money, and that something very grim had preceded his great effort, so grim,
that he was determined not to have it occur to someone else. (I think this must
be certain because of the sudden change of his expressions to sorrow. I was left
with the impression the VC had murdered someone in his family; perhaps his
daughter. He was not young, he had a very weathered, wrinkled face with a gold
tooth in the front.)
I felt so sorry for him and his situation. I really think that is when I got a
true feeling for this war; the hostility of it all, what it must be like to have
an enemy murder a family member. I also felt so sorry for all the Americans
fighting this enemy and losing "buddies", or getting wounded. I think
that is when I felt the most useless in all my life.
I hope this helps, to emphasize the voluntary effort of the pedi-cab driver to
guarantee my safety by returning me to my housing, in spite of this cold
downpour. I shall always remember his face but most especially his eyes. At
times, whenever it rains real hard, I swear I can still feel him looking right
through me, in a very haunting way, that chills me, even today. It brings all
the memories back of that special moment in the rain. I often wonder what ever
happened to him, or if he ever understood how he had rescued me from my own
fears that day.
Copyright © Bill McDonald 2001
Footnotes: Janice was very reluctant
to have this experience told. She felt that it was nothing compared to what real
combat veterans, of the war, went through. She felt that so many men had experienced so much worse than these small fears that she
had. I assured her that it in no way, showed any disrespect to them. What she felt
was very real for her. It was an emotional part of her Vietnam Experience.
The time she spent away from home in Vietnam, took its toll on her, just as it
had for many of us coming back from our own tours. What she saw and felt for
that time period of her life has changed her life forever. I wanted her to share
her story - and I know that many others will be able to identify with it.
Janice in 1970 - Vietnam
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