Finding Pete: Rediscovering the Brother I Lost in Vietnam

SIXTEEN: “A Wind-Blurred Far Away”

237 S I X T E E N “A Wind-Blurred Far Away” Carey Coulter wasn’t supposed to be on an airplane bound for Phu Quoc on the morning of November 12, 1965, but he was. What choice did he have? The school for refugees there needed supplies. If he didn’t show up, the Special Forces guys wouldn’t be happy. Pete wouldn’t be happy, though, with this last-minute change of plans. But wasn’t it the job of an ivs education volunteer to help schools in refugee compounds ? And wouldn’t his team leader approve of his taking initiative? They were supposed to look at the new apartment Carey had found in Can Tho. There was no way, however, to reach Pete and ask if they could postpone it. Pete would be back in Can Tho again soon. They could see the place another day. The pilot of the small plane had already taxied onto the runway when Carey saw Pete’s Scout pull up. Pete stepped out. He was alone. He didn’t look happy. As the plane gathered speed and left the ground, Carey saw Pete raise his fist and shake it at him. It was too late. They were airborne. He would just have to explain later. Les Small, a former ivser who was now employed as the agriculture representative of the U.S. Operations Mission in the Mekong Delta, was also at the airport that morning. From his base in Can Tho he traveled extensively in sixteen 238 | FINDING PETE provinces, working with provincial reps, including several ex-ivsers. He went by car if he was headed somewhere relatively safe or a military convoy had secured the road. Otherwise, he hopped a small plane contracted to usom or one of the military transports making daily milk runs around the provinces. Today, he was on his way to see a prov rep in one of the less secure parts of the delta. Seeing Les waiting, Pete went over to say hello. He was about to leave for Ba Xuyen Province, he said. Les had never driven that road. He considered it too dangerous. He knew, however, that ivsers were more casual about security than most Americans. In fact, he had driven in some questionable areas himself as a volunteer in Kien Giang Province. Still, he was so surprised to hear Pete say where he was going that he uttered a single word: “Really!” Pete left the airport and headed southwest on Route 4. In Soc Trang, he needed to arrange for a language teacher for Paul Lukitsch. A member of the ag team, Paul was learning two languages. The farmers in Ba Xuyen were predominantly Cambodian and Chinese-Cambodian, so he needed to speak some Khmer. He also needed to know Vietnamese, and the tones didn’t come easily to him. A young woman Pete had met recently might make a good tutor, and besides , he had been hoping for an opportunity to get to know her better. He and Paul would meet with her, then go to the Cambodian dragon-boat races on the main canal that ran through town. All of a sudden he remembered the money Paul had given him to pick up a pair of trousers at a dry cleaner’s in Vinh Long. Should he turn back and get them? Vinh Long was more than twenty miles in the opposite direction. Turning around would mean crossing the Mekong on the ferry at Can Tho and recrossing it just to get this far again. It would put him well behind schedule. On the other hand, maybe he should just continue on his way and bring Paul’s pants to him next time. But a promise was a promise. He wheeled around and headed for Vinh Long. Since late August, he had been living in a house flanked by a café and a Vespa shop. Jim Linn, an agriculture extension technician on his team, had the room next to his. Jim had done a good job of smoothing things out between local officials and young Vietnamese volunteers who, with his help, were setting up garden plots for refugees to plant fast-growing vegetables. “A Wind-Blurred Far Away” | 239 At the house, Pete went into his room, found Paul’s money, and put it in his wallet. On the way out the door he saw Jim...