Under the Wings of a Good Luck Phoenix: Memoir of an American Girl in Saigon 1963

By Kathy Connor Dobronyi

Under the Wings of a Good Luck Phoenix began as an eight-part newspaper series in 2007 and was first published in February 2016. The memoir was well-received, but the author wanted to improve the look of the book. The First Revision with suggested changes was published in December 2016 with a new cover and better editing. After working with a New York editor who mentored the author, this final edition is the Second Revision.

Under the Wings of a Good Luck Phoenix is the testament of the friendship between a young girl and a Vietnamese who taught her that life should never be taken for granted.

Kathy Connor will need more than luck to get out of Viet Nam alive, but it's a good place to start. Under the Wings of a Good Luck Phoenix is a compelling story about a twelve-year-old American girl living in Saigon, Viet Nam from 1963 to 1964. It is a time of change in the world and for Kathy as she begins adolescence.

The Connor family arrived in Saigon two weeks before the Buddhist monk, Thich Quang Duc, lit himself on fire. She was in Saigon when Ngo Dinh Diem was overthrown and murdered in the November 1 coup. She was shocked and dismayed to hear on the radio of the death of President Kennedy.

Kathy's first-person narration captures her coming-of-age with the counsel of a Vietnamese family servant and a good luck pendant embossed with a Vietnamese phoenix, the sign of peace and a symbol of understanding.

Out of the ashes of war rose a young woman who learned the value of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathy Connor Dobronyi
• Release date: Nov 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386520702

Book preview

Chapter 1

February 1963

Where was Viet Nam? Didn’t have a clue, but as an Army brat, I knew all about orders and moving. It was SOP — Standard Operating Procedure — to get assignments every two or three years. In twelve years, I’d lived in eight different homes in five different states. I was born in New Jersey and returned three times to the Garden State where I was now living. I didn’t have a hometown, just a home country. Now I was going to my ninth home and first foreign country — Viet Nam.

On 4 February 1963, Major Bobby D. Connor came home with new orders for Viet Nam. My father was to report to his new post in four months to begin a two-year tour in Saigon, capital of South Viet Nam. We were going with him: Mother, Michael and me. If I had any fears, I kept them to myself like a good soldier. Goodbye New Jersey. Hello Saigon.

The next day Mother searched through her extensive collection of National Geographic magazines. She finally found information about the country in the October 1961 issue.

Supper was finished quickly and we remained at the table. Time for a little confab about Viet Nam.

You guys can look at that stuff, my older brother Michael said leaving the table. I’m not interested. My favorite TV program is on. See ya later.

Michael could be exasperating. He wasn’t interested in learning where we would be heading for our new assignment. He was only interested in watching the boob tube in the living room.

One minute, young man, Father said. Just turn yourself around and march right back here. Your mother wants to share information about Viet Nam she discovered today. You will be respectful and take your seat at the table as expected.

Michael sighed, shrugged his shoulders and plodded back to the table. He wanted to watch cartoons. Sometimes he was so immature. It was hard to believe Michael was thirteen, eighteen months older than me.

Looking at a young woman in a traditional Mexican dress on the magazine cover, he asked, Why are we looking at stuff about Mexico?

Not Mexico, Viet Nam, Mother said turning to the first article, South Viet Nam Fights the Red Tide.

That didn’t sound very good to me. I wasn’t too keen about going anywhere near Communists. They must have it wrong because I was sure all Communists in Asia lived in China or Indonesia, a country that I thought was near China. Why were the South Vietnamese fighting the Red Tide of Communism in Viet Nam?

She pointed to a picture of two Vietnamese women dressed in ao dais (ow-zie), the national women’s clothing. The women were strolling with three children under trees shading Tu Do Street in downtown Saigon.

These outfits are very different and are a modification of their traditional dress, Mother said. This design was created about twenty-five years ago in 1936 by the artist Nguyen Cat Tuong.

I loved the long-sleeved, high-necked dresses that were slit to the hips and flowing over wispy trousers. They were pretty, but I wanted to know more about the country that was fighting the Red Tide.

Where’s Viet Nam? I asked.

Here, Father said pointing to the map on the next page. Viet Nam is really two countries — North and South. Next to them are Laos and Cambodia. These four countries used to be the colony of French Indochina.

Thailand is over here, Mother said, west of Laos.

So what, Michael sneered, aren’t we supposed to be learning about Viet Nam? Who cares about Thailand?

I do, Mother said. "I want to visit Bangkok, the capital of Thailand. Kathy and I enjoyed the movie The King and I. The story took place in Siam, the country now called Thailand. Maybe we can take a weekend trip to see the sights. It’s not very far from Saigon."

I’m sure that can be arranged, Martha, Father said. My orders are for two years, so let’s see Viet Nam first.

Page after page of fascinating pictures showed the wonders of Saigon. Scenes of delicate spirals of incense smoldering in exotic pagodas were filled with Vietnamese at prayer. There were many forms of cycles for travel — bicycles, motorbikes, motor scooters, and pedicabs. These were like rickshaws, but were bicycle-driven instead of man-pulled. The freighters dockside were busy with laborers unloading food, textiles and manufactured goods. I was also very surprised to see a miniature golf course near a floating restaurant on the Saigon River.

Wow! I said, It says here that before the French invaded in the late eighteen hundreds, Saigon was a sleepy fishing village. It certainly doesn’t look like that now.

No one seemed interested.

I want to go there, Mother said pointing to a beautifully ornate temple. She was curious about different religions.

What’s that? I asked looking at colorful dragon pillars in the photo.

It’s the Cao Dai Temple in Tay Ninh province north of Saigon. Listen to this, she said turning the page. "Caodaism embodies a hierarchy of a pope, cardinals, and bishops, reflecting the organization of Roman Catholicism. Founded only thirty-five years ago, the sect claims two million members."

I wonder how it is different from the Catholic Church.

Mother continued reading. Their creed is based on Buddhist, Taoist, and Confucius teachings.

Guess they plan on covering all the basic religions, Michael said, or else they’re really confused.

Ignoring his comment she continued, "God speaks to believers through the medium of a moving pencil."

Cool, Michael said, I wonder who sharpens it.

That’s enough, Michael, Father said. We don’t need to hear your comments if they’re not constructive.

I’m all for Michael shutting up, I said, but it does seem strange. I think God speaks to us in many ways, but I never considered pencils to be something sacred to Him.

Mother continued reading, "Guiding spirits of the Cao Dai include Shakespeare, French novelist Victor Hugo and Sun Yat-sen, the father of the Chinese Republic."

Let’s see if there’s anything about the Vietnamese leaders, Father said. He took the magazine from Mother and started leafing through the pages.

Here’s President Ngo Dinh Diem and his brother, Archbishop Ngo Dình Thuc.

The brothers were smiling strangely, attempting to look nice, but they appeared evil to me.

What’s this? I asked pointing to a group of Vietnamese soldiers. The caption read Mock Battle With Live Ammunition Lends Realism to Ranger Training.

Nothing, Father said, quickly turning the page to an aerial view of the broad Mekong River flowing south from the Himalayan Mountains to the South China Sea. Pictures of farms, canals and roads followed. It didn’t take long before we were finished. Viet Nam seemed foreign and a little mysterious. I wanted to take the time to read more about where we were going and what we were getting into.

I’m done. Time for me to finish in the kitchen, Mother announced.

Michael headed for the living room and the television. Father picked up the newspaper. I remained at the table. Mother never wanted help in the kitchen.

May I continue reading about Viet Nam? I asked her. When she wasn’t around, Mother didn’t like anyone looking at her National Geographic magazines. I was surprised when she said, Just leave it on the table when you’re finished.

Okay, I said, flipping back to the introduction about Tet, the Vietnamese New Year in January or February depending on the lunar year. It was a major national holiday, family celebration and religious rite for the dead. Tet was also everyone’s birthday. We would miss this year’s celebration. Father reported for duty in June.

The Vietnamese truly believed in luck, and it was especially important during Tet — If you started the morning of Tet auspiciously, your luck would be good all year. The Vietnamese went through a lot of trouble to make sure everything was done to ensure a lucky year. Your first visitor should be the luckiest man you know. I wondered how he was chosen. Whatever happened during the rest of the year depended on this important seven-day celebration. Sure hoped Tet begins well this year.

Although celebrating Tet was a centuries-old tradition begun by the Chinese, Viet Nam was a new country, less than a decade old. The region had been at war for a very long time. After World War II and eight years of fighting by a coalition of Vietnamese Nationalists and Communists, the French were finally defeated. The 1954 Geneva Treaty divided Viet Nam in two. The Democratic Republic of Viet Nam was the Communist state in the north. The southern state, more open to European and American influences, dropped the word Democratic and became the Republic of Viet Nam. The United States called the countries North and South Viet Nam. Around the same time, a treaty ended the Korean War and split that country into North and South Korea. More clarification was needed. Time to disturb Father who was still reading the newspaper.

Excuse me, I said, Viet Nam is divided into the north and south just like Korea, right? If the Korean War is over, why do we still have troops there?

To prevent Communists from invading our ally, South Korea.

Is that what’s happening in Viet Nam? Is that why Vietnamese soldiers are armed for battle?

He slowly lowered his paper. Looking hard at me, he said, "The United States is just assisting the South Vietnamese. American civilians aren’t in any danger because we are not fighting this war."

But the article says the Vietnamese Communists, the Viet Cong, rule nearly half of South Viet Nam during the night.

That may be true, but we’ll be safe in Saigon.

It also says there was a lady from Florida who sent a cablegram back home telling her family that her husband’s eye was injured when a cyclist tossed a grenade at her house. That doesn’t sound very safe to me.

"There is no war. Period, he insisted, struggling to control his temper. I don’t know why you’re worried. Our government would never put you in danger. Major Bobby D. Connor had spoken. Now let me get back to my paper."

Viet Nam didn’t seem very safe to me no matter what Father said. While U.S. soldiers had been fighting Communists in Korea, the French and their allies had died in Viet Nam in a war with few major battles and constant ambushes.

Thousands of Vietnamese soldiers also died fighting beside the French or against them. Soldiers weren’t the only casualties. Tens of thousands of Vietnamese villagers died. That was a lot of death.

What was going on in Viet Nam? Why were Viet Cong guerrilla fighters assassinating officials, blowing up bridges, and blocking roads in the South? Why was the United States spending billions to strengthen South Viet Nam?

The author of the article asked his Vietnamese guide, What will happen to Viet Nam?

I hope for a miracle to save us, he said. Otherwise the Viet Cong will get stronger. Will the Americans go home? Maybe they’ll let their own soldiers fight. But how could they do better in the swamps and jungles than the French?

In a country that depended on luck, this Vietnamese said they needed a miracle. That’s certainly reason to worry.

Chapter 2

Tuesday began early when Father drove our tiny French Renault Dauphin to Brooklyn Naval Yard for overseas shipment to Saigon. A staff car dropped him off at our motel before lunch. What a boring day with nothing to do. With no transportation, we were stuck in one room watching television. I read.

Now it was 2100 hours or 9:00 in the evening. When telling time in my family, the military way was preferred to civilian. Military time was measured in 24-hours. Civilian time is divided into two 12-hour segments. At 2100 hours, our wait was finally over, and we were expecting a ride to Newark Airport. Final stop? Saigon, Viet Nam courtesy of the U.S. Army.

He’s here, Michael said, leaving his lookout post at the motel window. Staff car’s just pulled up.

Okay, Mother said, head ‘em up, move ‘em out.

I’ll get everything squared away with the office, Father said scanning the room one more time.

Michael grabbed his bag and said, Want me to take your stuff? Mine’s all ready.

No, I have it. Father opened the door just as the private knocked.

Major, said the driver saluting. Let me take your bag, sir. He held out his hand for the luggage. Father passed it to him and headed to the motel office for check out.

Michael followed the driver and tossed his suitcase into the open trunk. He was raring to go and couldn’t wait for the private to stow his gear.

My suitcase was also ready. Everything needed for two weeks was packed, along with a carry-on bag loaded with books and stationery for the long flight across the United States and beyond. I could always sleep if I didn’t have enough stuff to keep me busy.

As I was dragging my suitcase off the bed, the private took charge. He grabbed my case before turning to address Mother.

Ma’am?

Mother studied him for a moment before surrendering her luggage. He tucked her traveling case under one arm and picked up her suitcase. The first held a first aid kit, her toiletries, and a small sewing kit. The suitcase had the clothing she would need for two weeks.

Let’s see. Do I have everything? Mother frowned.

Passports? I asked.

She took them from her purse. Check.

Visa documents to get back into the States?

Check.

Shot records?

Check. Need to show that we have all our shots: bubonic plague, tetanus, hepatitis, and cholera.

She returned the important documents to her purse as Father came through the door.

Bob, Mother said, Kathy and I did a last-minute check. Are we ready to vacate the premises?

Checked out, paid up, and good to go. Father handed her the room receipt. One night. Four people. Five dollars.

Our luggage was loaded into the staff car, and Father slid in next to the driver. In the back, Mother and my brother took the window seats – Mother behind the driver and Michael behind Father. I was squished in the middle.

It was a very long night following our departure from Newark Airport flying on United Airlines. Cleveland was our first stop, then onto Chicago, before we finally touched down at the San Francisco airport at 0400 hours. In the wee morning hour of four o’clock, who wants to eat breakfast? Not me. Couldn’t face a plate of fried eggs and ordered a bowl of rice pudding.

In San Francisco we boarded a Pan American flight for Hawaii. Luckily, the plane was almost empty. There was plenty of room to stretch out across the row and we weren’t stuck in our assigned seats!

We were looking forward to landing in Hawaii, even if it was just a fuel stop. Father was stationed with CINCPAC Fleet three years ago when major changes were happening with the military in the Pacific. Protecting sea communications was jointly shared by the Army, Air Force, and Marines who were working with the Navy. No more Pearl Harbor attacks.

Lots of people talk about Hawaii as a tropical paradise, but I never understood how New England missionaries could destroy the people and culture of the island. I cried when I saw the first missionary church that corrupted paradise. Even though I was only six years old, Hawaiian culture drew me. I was fascinated with hearing traditional stories and hula dancing. Three years had passed since we left Hawaii, and I cherished my memories of paradise with the people and their traditions. Mother remembered paradise of beautiful beaches, lush vegetation, and a relaxed way of life.

Can’t wait to get to Hawaii, Mother said.

I know, Martha. It’s too bad I had such terrible duty hours at Pearl Harbor. Never worked a solid day shift the whole time we were there. Every two weeks my schedule changed. It’s hard to work evening and graveyard hours. The shift changes darn near killed me. Without the weird duty times, I would have been happy to extend my tour. We could have seen more of the islands.

Well, we’re returning, even if it’s only for a little while. She settled back in her seat.

Do you think you’ll like Saigon as much as you loved Hawaii?

I don’t know, she said hesitating, but it will certainly be an adventure.

Our plane was forced to stay over during Memorial Day weekend after mechanical trouble was discovered. Her wish for a little more time in Hawaii came true. We stayed at the Waikikian Hotel courtesy of Pan Am World Air Ways.

While we were relaxing in the hotel pool later that evening, Mother suddenly stiffened.

What’s wrong? I asked.

The pool, she began, the pool ... She slowly drew a deep breath before saying, I remember this pool. Last week I dreamt we were all swimming in a kidney-shaped pool in Honolulu. This pool was in my dream.

Martha, I wish you wouldn’t do this, Father said. Her dreams always upset him. People weren’t supposed to know the future unless they got the information through secured channels. That’s what military intelligence was all about, not rumors, hunches or dreams.

You know my dreams often come true, Bob.

I know, I know, but why the heck are you dreaming about swimming pools?

Should I dream about cactus and Fort Huachuca?

Mother chuckled. Father looked uncomfortable. He definitely did not want to talk about his painful experience in the Arizona desert.

Why didn’t you tell me the dream you had where I’d parachute and land on the only cactus in the area?

I never got a chance, Mother replied. What does it matter? You think my dreams are silly and never want to hear them. That morning, you were running late.

Well, it would have been nice to know about what might have happened in advance. It wasn’t much fun picking cactus spines out of my butt.

Live and learn, Mother said. I’m just glad my dream about this pool was better. No pain, just the fun of spending time together in Hawaii.

Too bad she hadn’t had any dreams about Saigon, I thought. It would have been nice to