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FOURTEEN: Darkening Skies
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217 F O U R T E E N Darkening Skies In my hands was Pete’s last letter, the one Margo received a few days after his death. Written sometime early in November 1965, it began, “This job grows on me, although I can’t think of any specific reason why.” An old man had expressed approval of his work with youth, and Pete felt good about it. He had been lending a hand to a high school friendship club from the city of Can Tho. The students were young and new to construction work, but they built a road in the hamlet of An Quoi. Their inspiration and stamina for the job had made the project a resounding success. The road passed by the home of the old man, an artist named Tay-Do, and his wife. They were grateful that their route to town would no longer be muddy. They served lemonade to the hard-working crew. During a rest break, Tay-Do overheard Pete deliver a pep talk about the students’ important role in their country’s future: I was telling them how they were the hope of Vietnam—that they probably didn’t realize it, but they were part of the Cach Man Hoa Binh (Peaceful Revolution) of Vietnamese youth. I pointed out that they didn’t like manual labor, that they were the elite, the rich, but the country is doomed if they don’t have an appreciation for the needs of the general society, etc., etc. 218 | FINDING PETE It was the first time they’d heard anything practical and personally relevant to themselves. Tay-Do was listening. He was with the Viet Minh in his younger days, but dropped it and now hates Communists as “betrayers of the revolution .” He’s really an old Mandarin type. I felt good all over for two or three days after that morning. First they are surprised because you’re an American and actually working. Second you speak Vietnamese and they start giggling as they try to test your fluency . Then they are triply surprised that you can say such things. As Pete was about to leave, Tay-Do handed him a sketch, inscribed, “For whom has rendered service for the Vietnamese.” An Quoi was not the first hamlet where Pete had talked with young people about their country’s future. Six months earlier, just before he left Vietnam for home leave, he had been a guest at a celebration in Ba Thap, where he had installed a windmill. The date was May 1, a holiday when Vietcong soldiers could return to their homes. Pete drank beer with two young men whom he had never seen before . Several months later, a writer named George Chuljean recounted their conversation: Pete wrote in recalling the incident: “As we drank, the two young men (named Chou and An) were very friendly and asked more than the usual amount of pointed questions, wanting to know about my job, my relation to the Vietnamese and American governments, my opinion of province officials, and, as usual, my appraisal of Vietnamese womanhood. I’d never before had such a thorough grilling at the hands of two young Vietnamese peasants.” When he returned to Ba Thap a few days later Chou and An had gone. Commenting in a report on his activities Pete wrote: “I’ll never know for whose side Chou and An will give their support in the final crucial struggle, but I will always consider myself lucky to have been able to contribute directly and indirectly to Vietnamese understanding of our U.S. role, and of the issues they themselves must decide upon.”1 [54.205.116.187] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 00:12 GMT) Darkening Skies | 219 Sent to my parents after Pete was killed on November 12, the story stated that Pete’s body had been found “slumped alongside his jeep,” contradicting Mr. O’Connor’s story that he had been walked down the road. On November 11, Pete drove to Long Xuyen, in An Giang Province, to see how Fred Stone’s work was coming along. Fred was helping farmers increase rice and soybean yields, and demonstrating the use of fertilizer and insecticides. The life of an ivser could be lonesome, Pete knew. Part of his new job as a regional team leader was to boost his team members’ morale. Sometimes, a volunteer just needed someone to talk to. He spent the night at Fred...