Tag: Thich Quang Duc

Number is up!

Mr Tarr, head of the Vietnam draft lottery, has died at age of 88 in Walnut Creek, CA.

A Nixon appointee, he headed Selective Service in 1970. He heard a lot of “Hell No, We Won’t Go”.

And now, his number is up.

I wonder how those who survive him, still lingering in the Canadian woods, think.

(Read “the things they carry”, the chapter about Tim O’ Brien got near the shore, and turned around to face the draft).

It’s been 50 years since that fateful 1963 year. It marked the assassination of practically everybody, from Kennedy to Diem, from Thich Quang Duc self-immolation to the exile of Madam Nhu.

Back then, my big brother got drafted too, out of pharmacy school. His baby died after having lived for a few days in the battle zone of Qui Nhon. So my mom and I flew up to be with them. Not a Bob Hope and Susie Q type of landing at the front. But at night, the two sides were at it (bullets flying everywhere).

My first taste of a real hot war.

Meanwhile, a little girl, our own flesh and blood, was buried somewhere out there, unvisited and untraceable.

Her number was up.

Saw Gatsby this week.

The writer’s comment “of all of New York, the multitude who crashed Gatsby’s great party, not a single soul showed up for his funeral”.

Thought you would like me to quote that as it relates to “Number is up” type of blog.

This morning, over coffee, a friend joked that he would like to have his ashes scattered. I said I would do it, if he stated it in his will (who wants to fight with his families as to his future whereabouts).

I know one thing: my niece is out there somewhere in Qui Nhon. Among many whose numbers were also up.

Selective service or not. I still held that draft deferred card. It says ” Draft deferred. Reason, sole male in a family whose  other son(s) was already active in duty”. Like it or not, my pharmacist brother number was up during that time.

Mine wasn’t. And we were interlinked, by DNA and draft numbering system. I attended my niece’s funeral. I hope to be there when it’s her father’s turn to join her. My brother deserves more than what Gatsby gets at the end of life.

Make your end, a standing-room only type of funeral. I will request to have “Whiter Shade of Gray” play at mine.

RIP Mr Tarr.

Little space lots of room

Saigon wasn’t built or planned for 10 million (back in the 50’s, its population was 1 million).

And certainly not when scooters are on fire as happened lately.

Raging hot. World in flame. Flashback of Monk Thich Quang Duc protesting dictatorship (Tunesian’s style).

I fight for my jogging lane, negotiating between the sidewalk and the drainage.

It’s a busy street (CMTT). Any time of the day. Even at 3 am when seafoods merchants divide their catch.

Even in the alleys, you will find more shops: alteration, general stores, beauty salon etc…

People live in boxy homes. But not cardboard boxes (rainy season has just started ).

No evidence of homelessness as much as in Skid Row or S. Central LA.

More room in the alley, little space in the streets.

Mexicans would feel at home here, hearing loud music from retail stores.

Fashion stores, sweet-cake and coffee shops (western-style cappuccino, espresso, smoothies).

The Filippino band found their new home at the Hard Rock Cafe. The Pitch Black got a bright future . Not bad for kids from Barangay, near Bataan (where Vietnamese and Cambodian made their stop on the way to America back in the early 80’s). As of this edit, I heard they were disbanded.

When I am back to the US, jogging on the trail of a deserted golf course, I will miss all this.

Little elbow room, yet lots of heart.

Nuong nhau ma song (relying on each other to make it through).

There was always one more bowl and a pair of chopsticks back when I was growing up. Anh xoi com chua a? Have you eaten today?