I Left My Heart in San Francisco”. That was the name of a popular song from the middle and late 1960’s…..in the midst of the war in Vietnam. It was particularly beloved by American soldiers who were serving in South Vietnam during those years. It was almost impossible to go into a bar in Saigon and not hear that song being performed…..either on a juke box or by a live entertainer. San Francisco, of course, was the city from which most soldiers departed to make their long journey to the Southeast Asian war zone…..and it was there to which they counted the days until their return. But,,,,me? I didn’t leave my heart in San Francisco. I left my heart in…..Saigon.

Considering how much I did NOT want to go to South Vietnam when I received my orders in 1962….and how nervous and apprehensive I was when I arrived at Tan Son Nhut Airport, I look back with amazement how quickly I adapted to the city…..and how quickly I learned to love it.

My initial introduction to Saigon was a ride in an Army bus, whose windows were covered with a heavy mesh screen…..just in case somebody tried to throw a grenade in the window, I suppose. I stepped off the airplane into sweltering heat….into a place that was like nothing I had ever seen before. Soldiers were everywhere. Maybe that was because we were at war. The buildings looked different; the people looked different; the landscape looked different; the traffic was unbelievable.

We took a short ride to our military compound…..my new home for the next year. The bus was deathly quiet. I am not sure exactly what I had expected. Maybe something similar to the army posts at Ft. Leonard Wood? Or Ft. Benjamin Harrison? Where I had previously been stationed. Maybe an orderly collection of barracks, office buildings, parade grounds and mess halls? When we pulled into the front gate of our compound, I got my answer. Mostly there was a collection of barracks, offices, and mess halls. But, they looked nothing like those of my two former army bases.

All the “barracks” were really nothing more than glorified tents….canvas buildings…..almost completely surrounded by sandbags which extended up to the windows. And…the windows? They extended completely around the building, too. They were covered with screen, in an attempt to keep out the mosquitoes. They were build with long, over-extending eves…..an attempt to keep out the rain…..which there was a lot of. On the inside of the barracks….or sleeping quarters is probably a better name for them….. or as we called them: huts…..there were shades or awnings, made of bamboo. These shades could be rolled down when the rain was so heavy and driving that even the overhanging eve couldn’t keep out the water.

The office where I was ultimately assigned, the Adjutant’s General’s office…..was of similar construction and design. It was almost like camping out!

No doubt about it. If I would had have a choice, I would have climbed on an airplane and headed back to the U.S.A. But, of course, I didn’t have that choice. And, looking back, I am happy and almost thankful that I didn’t. I would have missed out on some of the greatest and most memorable years of my life.

I really don’t remember how long it was before I was brave enough to venture into downtown Saigon…..about three or four miles from the airbase. Probably not very long. I met another soldier who worked in another of the sections….and we became friends almost immediately. Armed with an ally, it was much easier to be brave….and strike out to discover what downtown Saigon was all about.

In the military, the only way to get downtown was to take a cab….little blue and yellow Volkswagens…..or a human powered cyclo…..or a motorized, open air petti-cab. No matter which one we chose…..we could be assured of an exciting, hair-raising ride. Taxi drivers were fearless. It is amazing that half the population wasn’t killed off as a result of wildly careening taxis.

Our first visit to downtown Saigon was an awesome experience. A tapestry of sights and sounds and smells that almost overwhelmed our senses. The streets were packed with wall-to-wall traffic…..with every kind of transportation imaginable: cars, army trucks, taxis, delivery vans; jeeps, cyclos, petti cabs, carts pulled by water buffalo, motor scooters and bicycles. Oh….those motor scooters and those bicycles! They were ubiquitous…..everywhere. Most Vietnamese couldn’t afford to own an automobile. The motor scooter was the family transportation….the family car. Entire families could manage to ride on one motor scooter. For those who couldn’t afford a motor scooter, a bicycle would take its place.

Just as the streets were crowed with a jumble of diverse and disparate vehicles, the sidewalks were packed with an equally dense mass of varied humanity…..sometimes shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow. People dressed in the traditional Vietnamese garb were intermixed with soldiers in their uniforms, Westerners, assorted foreigners in their native dress…..and always the children, many small ones who were naked or only scantily dressed.

The street scenes were something that I had never seen before: colorful, exotic, sensual. The streets are lined with open front stores and shops, selling…..well, almost anything you would want to buy. The sidewalks were a jumble of little kiosks…or tables….or simply with merchandise which was laid out on the sidewalk. The vendors were calling out to the passers-by, imploring and enticing them to buy their wares. We were always puzzled at the amount of American-made goods which were available for sale. Merchandise which had obviously been stolen…..which was one of the common economic endeavor of some Vietnamese people.

There were streets devoted to selling flowers…..a beautiful sight. Streets devoted to selling food…chickens, ducks, pigs hanging from hooks. Other streets specialized in selling live animals. Or cloth. Or clothing.

The first few times my friend and I went into downtown, it was strange and exciting. And, there was also the ever-present, underlying feeling of uneasiness…..the need to be cautious. The need to always be aware. We always kept our money and wallet in our front pocket. It was far too easy to lose these to a pickpocket….and never know it until it was too late.

Underneath all the hustle and bustle, all of the seeming confusion….Saigon was really a very relaxed, laid-back city. Actually, contrary to outward appearances, nobody was really in a hurry. Sooner or later, everything would get done…..maybe. Saigon shut down during the early afternoon hours…..sort of a siesta time. Shops and offices closed and the people disappeared from the streets for two or three hours during the hottest part of the day, only to come back to life again….like lifting a flood gate.

After a while, the newness wore off, and everything started to take on an air of familiarity. The newness wore off…..the excitement diminished. But the charm of the city became stronger…..like a magnetic field that never weakened.

When my enlistment time came to an end….yes, I have to admit, I was somewhat eager to return home. Not because I wanted to leave Saigon…..or even that I was tired of being in the Army. A former boss of mine, who was now the military attache in Turkey offered me a job….a good job. I turned it down, too. I looked forward to going back home again to reunite with family and friends.

No sooner had I gotten home….and I started to become restless. I enrolled in Sterling College in order to become certified as an elementary teacher. It was during my student teaching days….a complete joke because I had already taught for two and a half years…..I was sitting in the back of the classroom thumbing through a magazine to relieve the boredom…..a magazine called “Redbook”, I think. As I was casually flipping through the pages, I came upon a story about the International Voluntary Services….how it was made up of young volunteers who were committed to working in under developed places like South Vietnam to raise their standard of living.

Ah, ha! I knew immediately that this would be the way I could….and would….return to South Vietnam.

And I did return….and spent the next three years living in South Vietnam….first in the coastal town of Phan Rang…..and then in Saigon. I was appointed as the Associate Chief of Party for Education, a position that placed me in nominal charge of about 72 teachers who were scattered about the country teaching English.

It was during these three years that I really became to know and love Saigon….and indeed, South Vietnam. After an unpleasant bout of hepatitis, I settled into what would become a familiar and comfortable pattern of living. Five days a week,,,,,during the day time…..I worked in my office in downtown Saigon. But….at night and on the weekend, I was free to roam about the city….and to become a part of it.

I know it probably sounds bad….but I spent almost every night in a bar. Yeah….it sounds bad, but aside from staying in my room, where there was no air-conditioning and where the electric power was sporadic, it was more comfortable to simply go sit in a comfortable, air-conditioned bar. There was a constant stream of volunteers who came through Saigon…..each of whom expected to be entertained. And, about the only constant source of entertainment was going to a bar.

Contrary to the culture of many people here in the U.S.A……Yes, you can go into a bar, sit all evening…..and leave the bar sober! And, that is basically what we did. The bars of Saigon….at least the ones we frequented….were safe, friendly places. Well…..for the most part. We took special care to stay out of bars where Australian soldiers or South Vietnamese soldiers were likely to be found. They were crazy…..or could be…..after they had had a few too many drinks. They obviously were fond of fighting….brawls. Chairs would be broken; mirrors smashed; tables overturned; lips bloodied; eyes blackened. The MP’s would be called…..they would arrive and break up the fight. I really have no idea what happened to these soldiers. I know that the South Korean MP’s….or whatever they were called….could be vicious. It was simply better to avoid places like this.

By the time I had returned to Saigon, I was already familiar with a few bars that we had discovered while I was there in the Army. We chose our bars mostly based on the kind of music that was being played. For example, one bar….our main bar….had an awesome guitar player….and also a terrific drummer. Not to mention an American singer who performed there almost every night. She worked in a government office somewhere in Saigon. Another bar….our second main bar…..had a clarinet player who could easily have played for a major symphony orchestra.

We visited these bars so often that we became acquainted with most of the musicians and waitresses. Why shouldn’t we know them? We were there almost every night of the week. It wasn’t long before we had a “reserved” table in both of these bars…..and right up close to the stage. As soon as we would walk into the door, a waitress usually spotted us, and it wasn’t very long before we had a gin and tonic sitting in front of us.

Another of our “traditions” was to sit and sip coffee on the veranda of the Continental Palace Hotel on Sunday morning. Here we could sit in the relative coolness of the veranda with ceiling fans turning leisurely above us, stirring the air just enough to keep it comfortable. From our table we could relax and watch the Sunday morning traffic as it converged on two of the fashionable Saigon avenues….To Do Street and Nyugen Hue Street. Immediately in front of us was the old Opera House, which was used for a variety of purposes….National Assembly Building (when this was allowed), or as an art gallery. Or an exhibition space. It was not at all unusual for the purpose of buildings to change almost overnight. Straight ahead of us, across the wide plaza, was the Rex Hotel….home of many of the news gathering and reporting organizations.

Actual “culture” was hard to find in this city in the midst of a war taking place in the countryside. And, this was true especially for Americans. There were no English-speaking movie theaters. No symphony orchestra. No live theater performances. No performances by popular rock bands. No educational opportunities. No lectures or forums.

Yes….there were art galleries…..most of which featured Vietnamese artists…..and most of the subject matter centered around paintings of Saigon….or the immediate area around Saigon…..or of the war. Looking back, I wish that I had bought some of the paintings to bring home with me. But, somehow I never thought of that at the time. And….yes, there was always live music to be found in the bars. But this was local talent….some good and some not so good. Then, there was the local, exclusive tennis club and the house racing track. I never went to either of these places, so I don’t if they were frequented by American or not…..although I suspect that they were both hangouts for the more affluent.

The major American attraction that we could count on every year was the Bob Hope Christmas Show. Every Christmas season, Hope and his entourage of popular American singers, dancers and comedians would perform at several military installations around South Vietnam. These shows were carried out under tight security….and were always popular with the troops…..and civilians, too. I saw all of them….all four years that I was in South Vietnam….and I enjoyed them. They were a touch of home…..a touch of the familiar. (Even though I found out later that for Bob Hope, they were mainly a lucrative source of revenue because they were filmed and always aired on TV back in the U.S.A. at a handsome profit for him. Oh well…..)

I remember one day we found out that an American ballet company was coming to Saigon for a performance. It was hyped as a major cultural event. And, tickets were difficult to obtain. Somehow our organization was able to come up with eight or ten of these coveted tickets. The ballet was being performed in the late afternoon in one of the downtown (Vietnamese) movie theaters. We all took off work early, got dressed up in our best clothing….and set out for the theater….ready to welcome a bit of American culture to our lives. Wow! What a shock. What a let down. The ballet troop consisted of several overweight women along with some middle age men dressed in tight fitting leotards…..that they should not have been wearing! The entire performance was almost comical. Looking back….maybe it was supposed to be. No….I don’t think so. We left the theater feeling let down, dismayed, bewildered……and very annoyed. I am sure their intentions were good and noble. But, if they had day jobs……they should have stuck with them.

Being a guest in the home of a Vietnamese family was a pure delight. The Vietnamese people have a special capacity for making a guest…..in my case, an American guest…..feel welcome. They possess a certain flair for making a person feel special….the center of the universe at that particular time and place. There is much bowing and gesturing….never-ending smiles….and much scurrying around to assure the comfort of the guest. And….there is always tea! You can count on it. You can set your watch by it. And, not big glasses of ice team with a slice of lemon. Oh, horrors! No…..you will always be served hot tea, poured out of a tea pot into delicate little tea cups. And…..it is polite….almost mandatory…..for the guest to sip the tea. Not to take at least one little sip of tea would be a serious social mistake….and mark you as somebody who does not appreciate their hospitality….or their home….or maybe even them. It would be a great disappointment to the Vietnamese host or hostess…..and maybe even an insult. But, be forewarned: As long as you empty the tea cup…..another cup will be poured immediately. Your cup will never remain empty for very long. So…..unless you are really thirsty…..and you really want to keep drinking tea…..always leave some tea in the cup. That will indicate to your host that you are satisfied…..and no more tea will be offered. Actually, the same is true of food, if you are invited for a meal.

I am not the only person who found the allure and charm of Saigon and its people to be appealing and magnetic. Hundreds of American military and civilian personnel stayed behind in Saigon….or returned to Saigon (just like I did) after their tour of service had ended or after their civilian contracts had expired. Hundreds of them married Vietnamese girls and either brought them to the U.S.A. to live or stayed behind to try and make a life for themselves in South Vietnam…..mostly in Saigon. When the South Vietnamese government collapsed and the communists took over, their dream of staying in Saigon also collapsed when they were forced to flee the country…..which most of them did, along with their wife….and most of their wife’s family. But….who knows how many opted to stay behind and take their chances with the newly victorious communist regime.

Saigon has a way of seducing a person…..of working its beguiling magic on those who have lived there….always enticing them to return. For me, it a feeling that never seems to go away.