4.22.2005
Last flight From Saigon Relived After 30 Years
Last flight from Saigon relived after 30 years
THE WASHINGTON TIMES
Stephanie Mansfield
22 Apr 1975
The Washington Times The memories are still vivid: a steaming bus ride through the humid morning, the acrid odor of jet fuel, the clouds of smoke from distant gunfire, getting closer. Then about 450 people boarded the last commercial flight out of Saigon, headed for the United States.
That was April 24, 1975, six days before the North Vietnamese tanks rolled into Saigon. A Pan American World Airways Boeing 747 -- crammed with Pan Am and U.S. Embassy staff, frightened refugees, crying orphans and volunteer crew members -- lifted off the potholed tarmac at Tan Son Nhut International Airport on the outskirts of the chaotic city, and took flight while distant rockets took aim.
"It was a heroic rescue mission," recalls David Lamb, who was a Los Angeles Times correspondent who joined the flight when it landed at Clark Air Base in the Philippines. "That was truly a dangerous moment."
The Federal Aviation Administration had ordered all U.S. commercial flights barred from flying in or out of Vietnam, but Pan Am received permission for one final flight. Twenty days earlier, another jetliner, a C-5A Galaxy assigned to Operation Baby Lift, exploded and crashed after an explosion tore off a rear door. More than half of the 300 children and adults aboard died.
But this weekend, the crew of "Clipper Unity," Pan Am's familiar Flight 842 and their Vietnamese baby refugees -- most of whom are now in their 30s -- will reunite at the Crystal Gateway Marriott Hotel in Arlington for a tearful anniversary of the celebrated evacuation, dubbed "Wings of Freedom."
"It represents the drama of the final hours of Saigon. It's the link to the past," says Mr. Lamb, who will participate in the four-day symposium that will call up reminiscences from the Operation Baby Lift survivors.
Sponsored by the Pan Am Historical Foundation, the reunion marks the kickoff of a fundraising campaign to support an orphanage in Vietnam.
Lien Ta, a Pan Am passenger agent who was on the last flight, says the group has worked on the project for more than a year. "We want to meet everyone after 30 years. It will be very emotional."
Mrs. Ta lives in the Washington area with her husband and two children and works now for Delta Air Lines. Pan Am suspended operations in 1991.
Al Topping, who was the Pan Am director of operations for Vietnam and Cambodia, orchestrated the cloak-and-dagger rescue mission. He tracked down hundreds of the airline's former employees and orphans over the years for the reunion. He, too, expects the weekend to be dramatic for many.
"It's emotional for me," Mr. Topping says. "When you think of some of these babies who were only 6 months old."
In 1975, Mr. Topping put together the list of the 350 names of employees and immediate family members and completed the paperwork enabling them to leave the country. He described it as "adopting them."
On the morning of April 24, four buses moved slowly down Tu Do Street in the heart of Saigon to the Pan Am ticket office, where the employees, sleeping on the floor, awoke to scurry aboard the buses. At the gates of Tan Son Nhut, Mr. Topping waved a signed affidavit with 350 names on it, saying he was personally responsible for the Vietnamese employees he had "adopted."
Others, desperate for freedom, milled about the tarmac. Several members of the flight crew tossed baby-blue stewardess uniforms over a fence to Vietnamese women. Three maintenance workers crawled through the electrical bay.
The flight that day was overloaded -- 463 passengers in the aircraft configured for 375 -- and the plane sat on the runway for 45 minutes after Capt. Robert Berg was told by the control tower that there was "activity" in the area. Mr. Topping, who was seated in the jump seat of the cockpit, recalled what he thought during takeoff: "I was scared to death that we would just get blown out of the sky."
Matt Steiner, who is now an emergency room physician in Indiana, was one of the children rescued that day. "It was chaotic," he says. "There were over 300 babies. Kids were screaming. It was over 100 degrees."
Dr. Steiner was the subject of the book, "Escape From Saigon: How a Vietnamese War Orphan Became an American Boy." He had been adopted by an American family before the flight, and clutched the picture of his adoptive parent during the takeoff roll.
24 Apr 75 the US turns and doesn't look back
Crew members put the babies in seats and strapped them in together. Several were placed in boxes. "I was next to two children, trying to comfort them," Dr. Steiner recalls.
Another participant in the reunion is Roger Castillo, a physician's assistant in Missoula, Mont. "I just want to say thank you," Mr. Castillo says. "These people from Pan Am gave us their lives to guarantee our safety."
He was just 6 years old when the workers at the orphanage roused him out of bed, hurriedly fed him breakfast and put him on the bus to the airport.
"A lot of us were scared and anxious. I remember it was very hot, very humid," Mr. Castillo says. From the bus window, he saw the crumpled fuselage of the crashed C-5 aircraft. "I just remember how hectic it was. They loaded us on the plane. The top bubble part had been transformed into a makeshift hospital. I remember eating a lot of candy, Wrigley's gum and soda pop."
Mr. Castillo -- one of 108 Vietnamese children older than 8 -- eventually was adopted and grew up in California. He is married and has two daughters.
"I keep asking myself, 'Why me? ... Why was I chosen when thousands were left?" Mr. Castillo says. "I think I was given some wonderful chance. This weekend I hope to learn more about what happened to me."
Dr. Steiner is also reflective about that fateful day. "I believe there are no coincidences," he says. "God had a purpose for me."
THE WASHINGTON TIMES
Stephanie Mansfield
22 Apr 1975
The Washington Times The memories are still vivid: a steaming bus ride through the humid morning, the acrid odor of jet fuel, the clouds of smoke from distant gunfire, getting closer. Then about 450 people boarded the last commercial flight out of Saigon, headed for the United States.
That was April 24, 1975, six days before the North Vietnamese tanks rolled into Saigon. A Pan American World Airways Boeing 747 -- crammed with Pan Am and U.S. Embassy staff, frightened refugees, crying orphans and volunteer crew members -- lifted off the potholed tarmac at Tan Son Nhut International Airport on the outskirts of the chaotic city, and took flight while distant rockets took aim.
"It was a heroic rescue mission," recalls David Lamb, who was a Los Angeles Times correspondent who joined the flight when it landed at Clark Air Base in the Philippines. "That was truly a dangerous moment."
The Federal Aviation Administration had ordered all U.S. commercial flights barred from flying in or out of Vietnam, but Pan Am received permission for one final flight. Twenty days earlier, another jetliner, a C-5A Galaxy assigned to Operation Baby Lift, exploded and crashed after an explosion tore off a rear door. More than half of the 300 children and adults aboard died.
But this weekend, the crew of "Clipper Unity," Pan Am's familiar Flight 842 and their Vietnamese baby refugees -- most of whom are now in their 30s -- will reunite at the Crystal Gateway Marriott Hotel in Arlington for a tearful anniversary of the celebrated evacuation, dubbed "Wings of Freedom."
"It represents the drama of the final hours of Saigon. It's the link to the past," says Mr. Lamb, who will participate in the four-day symposium that will call up reminiscences from the Operation Baby Lift survivors.
Sponsored by the Pan Am Historical Foundation, the reunion marks the kickoff of a fundraising campaign to support an orphanage in Vietnam.
Lien Ta, a Pan Am passenger agent who was on the last flight, says the group has worked on the project for more than a year. "We want to meet everyone after 30 years. It will be very emotional."
Mrs. Ta lives in the Washington area with her husband and two children and works now for Delta Air Lines. Pan Am suspended operations in 1991.
Al Topping, who was the Pan Am director of operations for Vietnam and Cambodia, orchestrated the cloak-and-dagger rescue mission. He tracked down hundreds of the airline's former employees and orphans over the years for the reunion. He, too, expects the weekend to be dramatic for many.
"It's emotional for me," Mr. Topping says. "When you think of some of these babies who were only 6 months old."
In 1975, Mr. Topping put together the list of the 350 names of employees and immediate family members and completed the paperwork enabling them to leave the country. He described it as "adopting them."
On the morning of April 24, four buses moved slowly down Tu Do Street in the heart of Saigon to the Pan Am ticket office, where the employees, sleeping on the floor, awoke to scurry aboard the buses. At the gates of Tan Son Nhut, Mr. Topping waved a signed affidavit with 350 names on it, saying he was personally responsible for the Vietnamese employees he had "adopted."
Others, desperate for freedom, milled about the tarmac. Several members of the flight crew tossed baby-blue stewardess uniforms over a fence to Vietnamese women. Three maintenance workers crawled through the electrical bay.
The flight that day was overloaded -- 463 passengers in the aircraft configured for 375 -- and the plane sat on the runway for 45 minutes after Capt. Robert Berg was told by the control tower that there was "activity" in the area. Mr. Topping, who was seated in the jump seat of the cockpit, recalled what he thought during takeoff: "I was scared to death that we would just get blown out of the sky."
Matt Steiner, who is now an emergency room physician in Indiana, was one of the children rescued that day. "It was chaotic," he says. "There were over 300 babies. Kids were screaming. It was over 100 degrees."
Dr. Steiner was the subject of the book, "Escape From Saigon: How a Vietnamese War Orphan Became an American Boy." He had been adopted by an American family before the flight, and clutched the picture of his adoptive parent during the takeoff roll.
24 Apr 75 the US turns and doesn't look back
Crew members put the babies in seats and strapped them in together. Several were placed in boxes. "I was next to two children, trying to comfort them," Dr. Steiner recalls.
Another participant in the reunion is Roger Castillo, a physician's assistant in Missoula, Mont. "I just want to say thank you," Mr. Castillo says. "These people from Pan Am gave us their lives to guarantee our safety."
He was just 6 years old when the workers at the orphanage roused him out of bed, hurriedly fed him breakfast and put him on the bus to the airport.
"A lot of us were scared and anxious. I remember it was very hot, very humid," Mr. Castillo says. From the bus window, he saw the crumpled fuselage of the crashed C-5 aircraft. "I just remember how hectic it was. They loaded us on the plane. The top bubble part had been transformed into a makeshift hospital. I remember eating a lot of candy, Wrigley's gum and soda pop."
Mr. Castillo -- one of 108 Vietnamese children older than 8 -- eventually was adopted and grew up in California. He is married and has two daughters.
"I keep asking myself, 'Why me? ... Why was I chosen when thousands were left?" Mr. Castillo says. "I think I was given some wonderful chance. This weekend I hope to learn more about what happened to me."
Dr. Steiner is also reflective about that fateful day. "I believe there are no coincidences," he says. "God had a purpose for me."
# posted by Frank_D @ 09:12 
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My farthers neighbr is the son of the polit who flew the Pan Am plane that day. I was fortunate to meet him as he visits his son on a regular basis.
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