Saigon - Phu Lam 

Guard tower, ASA base, Saigon

          Then one hot August night in '63, Jeff and a small group of lingys were ordered to pack their gear and appear at the flight line the next morning.  They were flown to Saigon for a special mission. South Vietnamese generals had given up on President Diem as a war leader and were planning a coup.
           Jeff and the team set up at a base outside the capital, Saigon, near the ville of Phu Lam - their job to secretly monitor the plotters' electronic communications.  Washington wanted to be sure it was aware of what was going on behind the scenes. Although the team worked in shifts around the clock, there were still many occasions for good times in the city known as the Paris of the Orient. 
           The successful coup went off on November 1st, and a junta of generals took over. Jeff and the lingys, having completed their temporary duty assignment, returned to the Philippines.


The Vietnam Coup Capers

"Saigon Was no Rear Area"


#1        Suddenly in late August ’63, Jeff and a small group of linguists (lingys) were transferred from the Philippines to Saigon. A coup was in the offing, and Washington, which had greenlighted the South Vietnamese generals planning the overthrow, wanted to be quite sure what it was getting into.
          The lingys were billeted at the Army Security Agency base at the airport and worked out of Phu Lam, a very secret location to the west of the capital, their job – to electronically eavesdrop on communication between the coup plotters.
        Some weeks later, Jeff’s good friend from Army Language School, John Buquoi, was deployed to Vietnam to work with the Phu Lam crew. On John’s arrival, Jeff helped him settle in before he introduced him to Saigon night life. Jeff knew the town well.
          Although most of the fighting was in the Mekong Delta to the south and in the highlands to the north, Viet Cong (VC) clandestine cells operating under various covers in Saigon occasionally carried out terror attacks in the capital. As a sailor observed, “Saigon was no rear area.” Favorite targets were places where American military advisors gathered off-duty.
        John Buquoi describes his introduction:

Terror in Saigon

            One evening during my first two weeks, Jeff and I and several buddies were walking down Tu Do Street heading for the Impériale, a little French open air bar -- a corner bar, classic French, tile floor, zinc-top bar, uncomfortable stools, a bistro menu, a dozen tiny tables open to the street on two sides, ancient Vietnamese waiters in khakis, white shirts, and flip flops, no girls, the perfect venue for a Pernod or Pastis on a warm night. Quelle ambiance! 
We were walking toward the bar five abreast, a short block away, maybe 50-75 yards, when a grenade was thrown from a motorbike into our intended destination.
          Our first sense of the explosion was seeing waiters running out into the street from the bar followed in slow motion by a flash of light and a huge horizontal column of billowing dirty gray smoke that appeared to be chasing the waiters – only then came the sound of the blast itself which caused us to momentarily duck our heads before running toward the explosion, a foolish impulse, but ….
            The bar was a shambles of overturned tables, shattered glass and waiters’ flip flops. We all laughed about the closeness of the call, satisfied ourselves that our favorite waiters had come through unscathed (there were no life threatening injuries), and then headed on down the street to another bar.
           The next night we all made the Impériale our first stop and had a good laugh with the waiters, all now wearing brand new tennis shoes, the better to run with they told us.


#2        Early in the Vietnam War, Viet Cong (VC) terror attacks in Saigon became a familiar occurrence. There weren’t that many Americans in-country at the time,  mostly concentrated in the capital, so for the VC there were ample targets of opportunity.

‘The List of Adrian Messenger’

         SAIGON (AP), February 16 ’64 – A Viet Cong terrorist shot and killed a US military policeman outside the American movie theater here Sunday night, and seconds later a powerful bomb in the lobby killed two other Americans and wounded at least 49.

         The terrorist struck while a crowd of about 500 American officials, servicemen, wives, and children in the exclusively American theater were watching ‘The List of Adrian Messenger’.


#3        During the war, most mainstream foreign correspondents in Vietnam filed combat stories to their papers and magazines back in the States. That was what they considered the newsworthy action. And not incidentally, many a reputation was made back home by daring journalists allowed to report the war up close.

  With one notable exception, almost none of them sent back stories about how the troops themselves were faring in the hellacious combat zone. Yet it was in the heads of those troopers that the seeds of their later inchoate but massive defection from the war were germinating.                     

Disillusioned, Disoriented, and Disturbed 

   Michael Herr, a correspondent for Esquire, visited Army and Marine Corps units during 1967 and early 1968. Perhaps it was because Herr stayed with units for several days at a time and observed them during combat and non-combat situations, but his surreal vision of Americans at war painted an entirely different portrait than that seen in Newsweek, Time, and U.S. News and World Report. 

   Herr described disillusioned, disoriented, and disturbed young men whose fatalism and cynicism should have startled, if not worried, any visitor. None of the other mainstream media presented such revealing psychological profiles.     


#4       Jeff-2 interviewed John Buquoi. First part was on JB’s arrival in Saigon to be taken in tow by Jeff-1 as the welcome wagon. The image of Jeff-1 that comes through is as a Saigon cowboy, very confident, cocky guy, maybe wearing a flowered shirt like Maggio and Monty Clift in Honolulu.

        Coincidentally, someone had just written me remembering ‘a particular pose and the way Jeff would stand, smiling and smoking a cigarette’.

I Never Heard of Anyone Getting Anything

           Taxi, five miles to downtown. Hot Hot Hot. Hot wind in a little Renault, close to 7 and dusk falling, the lights rising, down into Saigon. The Papillon Bar on Tu Do Street, to change some money. Army gave you 75 piastres on the dollar. Papillon gave you 135, 150.

  They drank a beer. This one’s on Jeff. Then to another bar, to drink another beer, this one’s on Buquoi, and then another. The bars are for Americans mostly, American men and Vietnamese girls.

  Long, narrow caverns, none of them crowded, twenty feet across and sixty deep, a bar and a mirror and in between the girls, all wearing just about the same white blouses.

  There were three kinds of girls, Jeff explained. Pure as driven snow. The ones you sweet talk out of the bar. And the ones you could buy out of the bar.

‘But’, says Buquoi, ‘VD?’

‘It’s a crapshoot’, Jeff agreed. ‘But I never heard of anyone getting anything’.


#5      Jeff-2 describes Jeff and John B continuing the pub crawl.

They’re Spying on Us?

       Hot Hot Hot. Let’s get some AC. A nightclub, Thu Za, cool as a Monterey morning, smart as Paris, with real tables for two and Vietnamese singers, a little piano and room for dancing. ‘Look at this place’, marvels Buquoi.

        ‘Look at this guy’, says Jeff. One man at a table for two, you can’t see him behind his big newspaper. Vietnamese paper. He peeks. Nothing subtle. ‘Another piece of the orientation’, Jeff says. Buquoi’s confused. ‘He’s police’, Jeff explains, ‘Diem’s not-so-secret police, detailed to Americans like us – nobodies that is’.

        ‘They’re spying on us?’

        ‘Why not?’ Jeff says. ‘We’re spying on them too’.


#6        Jeff-2 continues describing John B’s first night on the town.

Sometimes They Take Pictures

           They talk in loopy conversations with white-bloused girls, about Vietnam crumbling in English; American boys score in Vietnamese, scoring what there is to score, too drunk to take anyone but themselves out of the bar to the Peacock Restaurant for a steak, ‘a filet supposedly’, says Buquoi, because he was already getting savvy, not even midnight and he was learning.

           ‘Jeff was such a good guide – a steak and a salad and fries and a beer for fifty cents’. And the man in the corner, Jeff points to, cluing Buquoi into their tail. Guy in dark glasses reading a newspaper at night in a restaurant. That was the low key approach. ‘Sometimes’, Jeff said, ‘they take pictures’.


#7        Jeff went off to war to some extent in the spirit of adventure. The military charter flying in from Travis Air Base to the PI made a stop in Honolulu, from where he sent his parents an upbeat postcard. Apparently that outlook didn’t last long, didn’t survive his first encounter with VN.

Against the War Pretty Early

        One might say he was gung ho at the outset or ,in reality, probably naïve. He didn’t know anything about the military. He said he turned against the war pretty early over there. Jeff was really affected – we didn’t talk about it a lot.


#8      Reminiscing about the late Leonard Cohen, someone recalled that he had spent five years in a Zen monastery and was ordained a full monk. 

They Held a Funeral for Him

        Reminds me of Steve Schlafer, whose Orthodox Jewish parents learned from an article in the NYT that Steve had become a Buddhist monk. Steve used to laugh that they held a funeral for him when they heard of it.



#9      Rufus Phillips, a newly arrived CIA agent at Saigon station, remembered first encountering Lucien Conein. 

A Kind of John Dillinger on Our Side

           There I met dashing US Army Major Lucien Conein. Conein impressed me as a dangerous man, a kind of John Dillinger on our side. There was a hint of barely restrained violence about him that his alert blue eyes under bushy eyebrows, as well as his abrupt, blustery manner and short temper, did nothing to belie.