Thang Nguyen 555

Arriving at night, on a seatless transcontinental UNHCR flight to Harrisburg Airport, I remember the streets were dark and damp. Welcome to America, Northeast of it. Then after a winding bus trip (about two hours), we got to our assigned barracks.

To the best of my recollection, there were a chapel and a volleyball court nearby. Of course, we took for granted the mess hall. How are you gonna survive without the fish sticks and french fries.

The next day, from the bulletin board, I volunteered for an interpreter job with the Bureau of Child Welfare, perhaps near Lebanon County vinycities

Co-workers from Lancaster, Harrisburg, Reading and Elizabethtown all co-joined there for 9-5. Only me with the shortest walking commute to the mess hall, back to my assigned bunk bed and evening spectator volleyball game.

People knew they were near final settlement. Just on the other side of the MP guarded fence. As long as the paperwork was in, sponsorship lined up and voila. My brother got luckiest among us nine: he landed a real full-time job in Mt Holly Hospital as a pharmacist tech. Then my sis’ family of six to Falls Church, VA. Thirdly, my turn. A rep from IRC (International Rescue Committee) with curly hair and from San Francisco asked me to sit side by side on the grass. He wanted to “chat”. Then at the end of the conversation (interview), I got a stamp to head for State College under the expressed sponsorship of the Sycamore House Church at Penn State.

Then the map of PA, then the winding drive, back toward Harrisburg onto Happy Valley.

To the best of my recollection, I shopped at Weis, later bagged at Weis and the only expense I could recall was a Epiphone guitar. Greyhound buses to Falls Church, and summer camp job at Mt Poconos.

Then the bi-Centennial firework in Philadelphia (thanks to my camp counselor colleague Bob).

I will never forget those firsts. I will always be grateful to the ideal and practice of America, 200-250. To the best of my recollection, we fell short, of helicopters in the desert, solar panel on the WH roof top (now wrestling tent), and countless fumbling (covid and AIDS).

Somehow, it’s the Art of the Deal more then the Art of the Start. The new imperialists now rule and reign. And the Scranton-Wilkes Barre waste dump, I wonder, still I wonder, are still with scrap metal viewed from the exit. Back then, even Bob Dylan got religious “Got to serve somebody”, while everyone else “knocks on Heaven’s door”.

At some point I will start to forget. But to the best of my recollection, the bi-Centennial fireworks was one for keeps. We put Vietnam behind, and had yet faced the humiliation of 444 days in hostage.

Carter was soon walking on Pennsylvania, and America once again (at the time) believed in future (now past) self. The year of the Cat…Morning has broken…Jealous Guy…It might be you. Arts and music rose to prominence, perhaps out of perpetual pain and underdelivered promise.

I carried my Epiphone everywhere on campus, and on Monday nights, all three guitarists played:

” Com on people now, smile on your brother everybody get together …right now”.

I had reasons to rejoice then: my mom finally got sponsorship to join my sis’ family in N VA, where I can sign up for rides to join them every time campus cafeteria closed on holidays.