Finding Pete: Rediscovering the Brother I Lost in Vietnam

EIGHT: “At War in Another Year”

118 E I G H T “At War in Another Year” Bangkok is a dream world—telephones, television, transportation, skyscrapers , ice cream and coffee shops, banks—egad.” Pete was writing from Thailand, where he had flown in May 1964 for a week of vacation. He stayed in a guesthouse run by Christian missionaries. It was inexpensive, quiet, and peaceful. “Didn’t realize how much I’d relaxed,” he wrote, “until a helicopter flew over the house and I tensed up suddenly like one of Pavlov’s dogs.” He liked the familial atmosphere and civility of the guesthouse. “I never was overly religious, particularly as regards the ritual, but it’s so nice to have grace before the meal and to talk to dedicated and curious people,” he said. “Sure beats a hotel. I feel so renewed, refreshed.” One evening, he attended church. “I could almost feel your presence there beside me,” he told Sue. Pete had not realized how stressful life was in Vietnam until he reached Thailand. No one was throwing grenades or waging war against anyone else. He could be “uncontroversial” for a change. Saigon and Bangkok were as different as night and day: “a foggy night and a sunny day.” Bangkok was so modern, it seemed like a city back home. It made Saigon look “dirty French provincial,” he noted. “A fellow could really get to dislike the French after a tour in Vietnam.” “At War in Another Year” | 119 It was not only the cities that were different, but also the students. The Thai youth he met went out of their way to show him Buddhist temples and other sights. Compared with the Vietnamese, they were hard working, aggressive, and unpretentious. One young man was studying law while also waiting on tables, selling fertilizer, and collecting bills. If a counterpart in South Vietnam existed, Pete didn’t know about it. Even the frogs, with their loud chorusing, were a revelation. “They must be bigger than flowerpots,” he wrote. “One gave me a good start last night, perched on the tree limb somewhere outside my window.” He spent his last night of vacation in a hotel, courtesy of World Airways. His flight had been delayed when the airplane was found to have landing gear problems . He took a long soak in the bathtub and watched the movie Tom Jones. Pete would not have sprung for a hotel room. He had pinched pennies the entire week, forgoing cabs and riding local buses. “It was touch and go at first, not speaking the language, not knowing my location, not too clear on my destination, nor aware of where the bus was going,” he wrote. After several hours of haphazard sightseeing, he stopped for a draught in a pub and someone gave him a city map. An attack of miserliness overtook him and he left Bangkok early. He had spent a lot of money on a set of bronze flatware for twelve. He bought it against the distant day when he would get married. “It ought to be good and black by then,” he said. Ever since his undergraduate days, Pete had worried about money. Our family was middle class, and he had attended college without a scholarship. He felt guilty about using so much of the family’s resources. His letters from Wesleyan frequently mentioned expenditures such as the high cost of eating or replacing his worn-out shoes. He wanted to apply for financial aid, but Mom refused to disclose the personal information required on the application form. His letters from Vietnam continued the financial-pinch theme. Early in 1964, he began asking my parents to withdraw part of his salary from a bank in the States and send it to him via the ivs office in Washington. In addition to receiving a modest living allowance paid in piasters, ivsers earned a salary that was deposited to an account back home. The sum was so meager that it fell below Internal Revenue Service reporting requirements. Pete referred to it as “my (guffaw) ‘salary.’” 120 | FINDING PETE He had been with ivs about seven months when he asked for seventy dollars. “It’s a contribution to my own work,” he explained to my parents. “I’ve found the best way to get something done around here is to do it yourself with your own fund to draw from. It won’t become a habit, however. I...