Memoirs of a Worker

Guy on a Scaffold

I hope this little glimpse into my life can make your day a little better.

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I missed the Viet Nam war by “the luck of the draw.” My draft lottery number was way high, and my number never even got close to being called. I did end up in Viet Nam, but my experience came about sixteen years after the war ended.

My overseas construction career of remodeling U.S. embassies was the reason I ended up in Hanoi, Viet Nam. I was asked by the State Department to lead a crew of 4 workers, 5 counting me, to install the security systems in a building in Hanoi. Once the work was completed, Warren Christopher (United States Secretary of State) came to Hanoi, opened the new embassy, and formally established diplomatic relations with the Vietnamese.

Before I went to Hanoi, I had listened to reports on the radio that talked about the POW (prisoner of war) camps that were still in operation in Viet Nam. The radio program talked about how ruthless the communist government was to not only the POW’s, but also to their own people.  

Our pre-trip briefing didn’t help matters any. The briefing went something like this; “We aren’t exactly sure what you will find when you get there. As you are aware, Viet Nam has been a closed society. We think you’ll be safe, but we can’t be certain. Use caution, always stay together as there’s safety in numbers. Please review the assigned tasks and complete your work as fast as possible. Any questions?”

Needless to say, I was somewhat apprehensive and basically just plain nervous before embarking on the journey, and the briefing hadn’t helped any. I wasn’t exactly sure what I would encounter and how this handful of Americans would be viewed and treated by our former enemies.

What I found when I got to Viet Nam, were some of the warmest and friendliest people I have ever been in contact with. I asked some who spoke English about their feelings with the war, and the response was always the same, “That long times ago. This new time. That old history, we look forward, not backward.” I found that attitude very refreshing.

The government officials who met us were also friendly. They told us, “Our country is open. You may go anywhere you want, down any road and in any village, we have nothing to hide.” Apparently they had also listened to similar radio and news programs that I had listened to. Their comments put my mind at ease and I was able to relax and enjoy my working time in their country.

On our walk to work every day I spotted a park that was about two blocks away from the building we were working on. The park was full of young men from their late teens to mid-twenties. I noticed that trucks would stop and someone would get out and say something and some of the men would get in the trucks and leave. It didn’t take long to figure out that this park was the meeting place for the local labor pool.

With the amount pf work we were tasked to do and the time allotted to us, it was clear there was a lot more work than the five of us could handle. One morning I went to the park and wandered through the crowd of hopeful laborers. As I walked through the group, I heard all sorts of whispering. I didn’t speak Vietnamese, but I could tell they were wondering if I would hire them. I glanced about to see if any of them had tools, such as screw drivers, hammers etc. When I saw someone that did, I would motion to them to follow. When I had the number I felt like we needed for the day, they came with me to the job site. Most of them were great workers and because of them, we met our deadlines.

At the end of each day I paid the men in cash. By their reactions, I paid them very well. After a few days of walking down to the park I would hear things like, “Hey boss,” and “Take me,” and “Looky this.” The last statement was made by a guy flexing his muscles. When he flexed the others all laughed and then started flexing their muscles. I wanted to hire them all, but of course that wasn’t possible. With sign language and a lot of laughs, we were able to communicate and get the work done.

The five of us stayed at a small French hotel several blocks away from our construction site. The beds were comfortable and the food was . . . interesting, but that will be in another story. Every morning and evening we walked the seven blocks to and from work.

Each day as we wound through the narrow winding streets of Hanoi the people would come out on the streets from their homes and smile and say “welcome” to us in Vietnamese, and a few in English.

We were quite the sight I’m sure. Robert stood six feet seven inches tall and towered over everyone. Holly (Robert’s wife) had long blond hair and was six feet one inch tall. When they strolled down the street holding hands, people gave them a wide berth. Chuck was thin and gangly, and Bert was like me, six feet one inch and built lean and strong.

Some people would hold their little children and point at us as we walked by. I loved the warm smiles.  Some of the kids smiled, but most felt awkward or shy. It was like we were on parade.

Each day we passed a large construction site on our way to work. The building was five or six stories tall and engulfed with bamboo scaffolding. It’s interesting to see bamboo scaffolding and how it’s all lashed together with thin strips of peeled bamboo. I noticed the scaffolding swayed when the workers walked on the platforms or climbed up the sides. It didn’t seem to bother them, but it did me.

Sometime after the second week of walking the same route to work each day, one of the construction workers shouted and waved at me, and then yelled something in Vietnamese. After that, whenever I saw him, he always did the same. Almost always he seemed to be on the top section of the bamboo scaffolding which was probably sixty plus feet in the air. Being the friendly chap that I am, I would smile and wave back.

Then one day, in a daring bold move on his part, he shimmied down several sections of wobbly scaffolding and ran up to me. He said something in Vietnamese, bowed his head and then stuck out his hand. I thought he was being friendly so I extended my hand. His hand bypassed mine and landed on my stomach! He gave it a hearty rub, laughed hard, and then scampered back up the scaffolding. The other workers who watched all laughed and hooted at his actions.

This same thing happened day after day. I had never had anyone want to rub my belly before, let alone a stranger that I had never formally met. As the days rolled along, I began to get annoyed by this gesture, and tried to avoid that street. When we tried to go a different route though, we always got lost, so I endured the belly rub.

One of the people who worked at the hotel spoke good English, and so one night after I got back to the hotel, I told him what was happening every morning and wondered what it meant. I told him how everyone would laugh when the construction worker rubbed my belly and it was beginning to irritate me.

“You don’t know what this means?” the clerk said.

“I don’t have any idea.”        

The man smiled at me and said; “I don’t know how to say this delicately.”

“Just go ahead and tell me.”

“Alright then . . . it is good luck . . . to rub a fat man’s belly!”

I was shocked! I’ve been a lot of things to a lot of people, but this was the only time I’ve been a “fat” good luck charm!

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