THE CHAU FAMILY

This is the story of the Chau's by Linda Leavitt

We drove slowly down a street of tidy Spanish-style houses in San Jose,looking for the one that 
belonged to Nguyen Minh Chau. It was April, 1998, 23 years almost to the day after the fall of 
Saigon. My husband wondered if he'd recognize the Vietnamese, district chief he last saw 30 years 
ago in a war-torn country on the other side of the world.

As an army intelligence officer and advisor to the South Vietnamese Army, Liam worked directly 
with Chau and other Vietnamese officials in the village of Di An in Bien Hoa Province. He found
it somewhat absurd that a 26-year-old college graduate with one year of military training should 
advise anybody on anything, but intelligence had sounded more interesting and less dangerous than 
the infantry, and like most young single American men, Liam had little choice. It was 1966 and 
caps and gowns were quickly replaced by army boots and rifles.

In the year he spent in Vietnam, Liam learned to appreciate the strange beauty of the jungle, 
tolerate extreme heat, live with fear and become accustomed to death. He also found a good friend 
in Chau, a brave and honest man who loved his country and was determined to save it from 
communism, a man profoundly grateful for our support, however ambivalent Americans were at home.
Liam had often told me about his affection and regard for Chau and wondered what became of him. 
One day in 1998, browsing in a book store in Stamford, he came across a war memoir written by the 
army advisor who replaced him in Di An. With mounting excitement, he turned the pages to see 
photos of his living quarters and the village he remembered so well, and, best of all, of his
old comrade-in-arms. Nguyen Minh Chau, he learned, had received a silver star after being wounded 
a fourth time and had escaped to California a few years after the fall of Saigon in April, 1975. 
Liam called the author of the book, Lt. Col. John Cook, in Maryland, who shared his high opinion 
of the district chief and gave him Chau's telephone number in California. Chau was surprised and
delighted to hear from Liam. His family had prospered and multiplied, the lieutenant must come 
and see for himself.

Mrs. Chau, a pretty woman with a brilliant smile who radiated self-confidence, welcomed us into 
her home. Chau, a colonel by the time he left Vietnam, limped to the door on a cane, dragging
his paralyzed right side, the result of wounds he'd suffered before Liam met him later compounded 
by a bullet in his lung and two grueling years in a North Vietnamese prison camp. Despite their 
love for their patriarch, we never saw anyone in the family help Chau get around, as if that 
would compromise his dignified self-reliance. The only time we saw his disability acknowledged
was when his grandchild, a roly-poly tot with spiky hair, imitated (to everyones' amusement) the 
way his grandpa walked.

Liam and Chau called each other by the names they'd used 30 years ago: "Dai Uy" ("Captain") and 
"Trung Uy" ("Lieutenant"). Ba Dai Uy ("Mrs.Captain") called Liam simply "Murphy." In the corner 
of the living room was a Buddhist shrine, and on the walls ample testimony to the achievement of 
the American Dream -- six wedding photos and six graduation photos. Five of the six Chau children 
had married Vietnamese and all had graduated from college. Each had lived at home while in college, 
Mrs. Chau explained, to save money so that the next could go. Now they were all Silicon Valley 
engineers. After a difficult time at first, Chau had gone to work for a refugee resettlement 
organization and had his own immigration consultant business. Mrs. Chau is a medical translator 
at Santa Clara Valley Medical Center.

We talked as Mrs. Chau prepared spring rolls, and served us salty dried shrimp with nuoc nam 
(fish sauce) and a kind of Vietnamese bouillabaisse. Chau poured cognac after cognac reminiscing 
about the old days and Liam struggled manfully to keep up. After dinner, the Chaus' sons and 
daughters came over with their spouses and children, as they do every Saturday night. One son 
recalled riding on Liam's motorcycle when he was about 4 years old and Mrs. Chau chastised Liam 
all over again for giving her such a scare.

The sons-in-law had fascinating tales of escape from Vietnam; one, whose father was a diplomat, 
had been on the last flight out before Saigon fell; another had stolen a police boat and escaped
to Thailand and eventually the Philippines. But most spellbinding of all was Mrs. Chau's account 
of how she spirited her husband out of a hospital where she feared his enemies would find and 
kill him, moved him from one hiding place to another for nearly a year while they tried to 
arrange his escape to Thailand. Chau had been an extremely effective router of communists; now 
that they had won the war, there was little chance they would forgive and forget. Finally, in 
1978 Chau escaped by boat to Thailand.

With her husband safe, Mrs. Chau could focus her considerable wits on getting the rest of the 
family out of the country. First, after months of watching and making discrete inquiries to 
figure out whom she could trust, she bought a fishing boat, but did not take possession of it. 
She carefully studied the routines of the fishermen and the police and gradually rounded up 
smaller vessels to accommodate the increasing number of family members and close friends who 
wanted to leave Vietnam. The refugees would make their way from their inland homes down the river 
to the harbor in groups of six or seven so as not to arouse suspicion. Ultimately the group 
numbered 27 adults and 35 children, including six Chaus.

Being married to an army officer had taught Mrs. Chau a few things about strategy: Each person 
was only told the number of his or her group, and where their boat was hidden and when they were 
to start their journey down the river. That way if one group was caught, they couldn't give any 
information on the plans of the others. Finally in December, 1979, she was ready. The refugees
brought nothing with them except food. Of the expedition's dozen boats, only one was stopped and 
its occupants questioned before being allowed to continue on down the river, ostensibly to go to 
market. Before daybreak, the small boats made their way to the fishing boat in the harbor and 
everyone quickly climbed aboard. The previous owner's instructions were succinct: Follow the long 
end of a constellation shaped like a cross and it will take you to Thailand.

The first night at sea, high winds rose and the boat began to toss and pitch. Everyone was 
violently sick. The children clung to Mrs. Chau saying they wanted to be near their mother when 
they died. She was the only one who wasn't sick, so she didn't dare rest.

In the middle of the night the engine sputtered and died. They were adrift. All they could do was 
hope that the wind was taking them farther and farther away from Vietnam. But when dawn came,
Mrs. Chau's heart sank. Emerging from the morning mist was the familiar silhouette of an island 
right outside the harbor they had left 24 hours earlier. Some of the others wanted to give up 
then, but Mrs. Chau was firm. "We have no choice," she said. "We cannot go back. We must
keep going." Finally her nephew, the only person on the board with any mechanical training, got 
the engine going again. For three days and nights they followed the cross in the sky, accompanied 
by two whales, which Mrs. Chau interpreted as a good omen.

Finally they saw land. When they got within shouting distance of a beach, they called out in 
English and found out they had made it to Thailand. But they could not land - Thailand was not 
accepting any more boat people. "I have 35 children aboard," Mrs. Chau protested. "They are sick 
and hungry we have been traveling for three days!" Sorry, the answer came back. No more boat 
people.

The refugees followed the coast, wondering how far it was to Malaysia. The engine quit again. A 
coast guard patrol boat approached the foundering vessel and told them where they were, in fact, 
off the coast of Malaysia, and the country was allowing boat people to land on its shores. But 
rescues at sea were forbidden. If they could get into the beach on their own power they were 
saved. Otherwise . . .It was tantalizing to see their goal so near. The nephew tried frantically 
to repair the engine while the wind blew the boat farther and farther out to sea and Mrs. Chau 
prayed to Buddha. Buddha answered. The wind changed and blew the boat toward shore. Sick, exhausted 
and relieved, the refugees carried their children through the surf and collapsed on the beach until 
they gained the strength to walk several miles to the nearest refugee camp. A Red Cross official 
loaned Mrs. Chau money to call her husband in Monterey. Their new life as Americans was about to 
begin.

Hearing about their arduous path to the good life, Liam and I were impressed anew with the 
opportunities intelligent and industrious immigrants find here, no matter how little they had 
when they arrived on our shores. But it was also abundantly clear that Chau's survival and 
success were based on a devotion to family that we native-born Americans, with our emphasis on 
individual fulfillment, tend to undervalue.

Eventually, we believe, democracy will replace communism in Vietnam as it has almost everywhere 
in the world. The real tragedy is that when the time comes to make the transition, the country
will not have the courage and the vision of the Chaus to make it work. Vietnam's loss was 
America's gain.

[Letterhead, 17 April 2000]

Lieutenant Colonel Nguyen Minh Chau


Dear Colonel Chau:

The Class of 1956, United States Military Academy, is proud to recognize you as a Distinguished 

Comrade-in-Arms. From 1955 when you were commissioned as Second Lieutenant in the Army of the 

Republic of Vietnam through 30 April 1975 when you served as Lieutenant Colonel of Marines, you 

dedicated yourself to the cause of freedom for your nation. For an additional three years of 

enduring prison in North Vietnam and then eighteen months of eluding Communist authorities in 

South Vietnam until your escape to the United States in 1979 you continued to display remarkable 

courage and determination. Of special note is your service as District Chief, Di An District, 

Bien Hoa Province, South Vietnam from 1967 through April 1975. Your American advisors and 

commanders of 1st Infantry Division units with whom you were closely associated said you well 

deserved your reputation as the best district chief in Vietnam. You were seriously wounded in 

combat four times, the third of which resulted in permanent paralysis of much of the right side 

of your body, and the fourth -- an assassination attempt which left an RK 47 bullet in your lung 

-- was very nearly fatal. Nevertheless, you continued to go out daily into your district, 

inspiring your hamlet and village chiefs to the highest levels of performance. You built schools,

roads, and tirelessly fostered many civic action programs for the betterment of your people. 

We deeply appreciate your efforts and many achievements in defense of freedom. We are privileged 

for having been your comrades-in-arms, and we thank you.

Sincerely,

 
MICHAEL J. CONRAD
Major General (Retired)
United States Army
President, Class of 1956
United States Military Academy

Enclosure: Nguyen Minh Chau - Distinguished Comrade-in-Arms 

           Nguyen Minh Chau - Distinguished Vietnamese Comrade-in-Arms

 

[The following is a description of Lieutenant Colonel Nguyen Minh Chau, District Chief of Di An 

District, Republic of Vietnam, 1967-75 by William C. Haponski, Colonel, U S Army, Retired. The 

association of Chau, then a major of Marines, and Haponski, then a lieutenant colonel commanding 

1st Squadron, 4th Cavalry, 1st Infantry Division, came about during January - July 1969 when one 

of Haponski’s missions was to work closely with Chau in pacification and Vietnamization of Di An 

District, about twelve miles northeast of Saigon. The district comprised over thirty hamlets and 

villages, and totaled about 50,000 people.]

I knew Chau by reputation a month or so before I met him. His third wound, sustained in combat 

near the DMZ in 1966, had left him crippled on the right side, and he leaned on a cane. His 

fourth wound came in October 1968 just outside the American compound at Di An, two months before 

we met. An assassination attempt left an AK 47 bullet lodged in his lung, nearly finishing him.

Major Chau was highly respected by senior American and Vietnamese military and civilian officials 

as a thoroughly honest, compassionate, effective district chief. I heard he was the best in over 

two hundred districts in Vietnam and was soon to discover first-hand why he was so highly lauded. 

On my first full day in command, 6 Jan 69, while he was still in pain and recovering from his 

latest wound, Chau led a district force against a Viet Cong contingent and captured a high-ranking 

VC official, an action I observed and for which he received the U S Bronze Star for Valor. 

My letters, tapes, and journals of the time reflect often on this extraordinary person. For 

example, 16 Jan 69: "Major Chau came to see me today. Limping, twisted by his wounds, he is an 

inspiration. He leads his people, protects them, helps them." From 19 Feb 69: "One of the great 

satisfactions in this job is working with Major Chau and his forces. We have a very close 

cooperative arrangement, and he is a fine man, one of the greatest I’ve known."

During the six months he and I worked together his district gained noticeably in prosperity due 

to his efforts. The VC infrastructure was virtually eliminated, schools and roads were built, 

businesses flourished, and life for his people stabilized. The Vietnamese admired him, and he 

devoted himself to them. He deeply loved his wife and six children who lived with him in the 

district compound at Di An. 

Able to find out nothing about him after the fall of South Vietnam in 1975, I feared the worst 
and for twenty-four years had presumed him to be dead. He, of course, would have been one of the 
first targets for revenge by the conquerors. In June of 1999, however, I was astonished to 
discover he had survived, and we talked by phone several times. I learned that during those last 
days Chau was commanding his forces, prepared to defend his district. The main enemy attack on 
Saigon, however, bypassed Di An, and when Saigon fell on 30 April 1975 he was ordered by his 
commander to surrender his district. In a letter to me Chau said, "It was the sombrest day of 
our life." Fortunately for him he was taken by NVA troops rather than the local VC, and he spent 
three terrible years in prison camps in North Vietnam, barely surviving starvation, disease, and 
mistreatment. He said, "During the time in concentration camps I thought that I would never meet 
my American friends again. Because of my handicap they released me after 3 years." He made his 
way back to his family in Thu Duc, just outside Saigon. Chau wrote, "But, 2 months later the 
local communists came to my home to take me to prison again. I believed that they would do a 
terrible revenge on me because I had caused them large casualties. I was sure they would kill me 
that time. I had no way to escape, so I decided to make a suicide by taking an overdose of 
medication." He fell immediately into a coma and the squad of soldiers said they would "take care 
of him." His wife and neighbors created such a fuss, though, that the squad let them take him to 
a local hospital. The details of his subsequent escape cannot be revealed because of potential 
danger to those who helped him, but the essence is that after several days he awoke from the 
coma, eluded his guards, and made his way into the civilian populace which shielded him for 
eighteen months, moving him from place to place weekly. He said, "It was a very difficult and 
depressed time for me and my family." His courageous and resourceful wife finally was able to 
arrange his escape by boat to Thailand, and six months later she got herself and their six 
children out by boat to Malaysia. The family was eventually reunited in California in 1980.

Colonel Chau was able to get work with a refugee resettlement organization one month after his 
arrival in the United States in 1979. Since 1991 until he retired in January 2000 he had his own 
immigration consultant business, and since 1981 Mrs. Chau has been a medical translator at Santa 
Clara Valley Medical Center. All six children, four girls and two boys, received degrees from 
California colleges in computer, electronics, chemical, and aviation engineering and are high 
tech professionals in Silicon Valley. The whole family is proud to be American.

In Di An so many years ago, I knew Chau to be a sweet, gentle man who was a courageous, determined, 
respected field commander and civic government official. My life has been enriched by him. He 
said in a letter to me, "I am always appreciating the noble sacrifice of all Vietnam veterans 
who were fighting the thorny war of Vietnam for our freedom. My wife and I understood that the 
American GIs must leave their loved ones behind in their country to go fight a very difficult 
war very far from their homeland. My wife always advised me to love the American soldiers as we 
love our soldiers. She understood that all American wives and children were suffering too much 
as she used to do when I left my family at Saigon to go fighting in 4 regions of South Vietnam. 
They suffered a lot every time I got a deadly wound."

I thank Colonel Chau for what he did for his former country, for me and my troops, my family, and 
for America. I am proud to have been his comrade-in-arms, and to be his friend.

Fort Hood, Texas, 1 April 2000 

Additional information on Nguyen Minh Chau:

1955-1957: Army 2nd Lieutenant, Company Commander. Wounded on outskirts of Saigon during 
confrontation with rebel army of Binh Xuyen. 

1957-1958: Fort Benning, Georgia with 2nd group of Vietnamese officers to be trained in U. S.

1958-1962: 1st Lieutenant, Instructor in American fighting techniques at Quang Trung Training 
Center

1963-1964: Captain, Company Commander, 3rd Marine Battalion. 2nd wound at Duc Hoa District, Hau 
Nghia Province

1964-1966: Captain, Deputy Battalion Commander, 3rd Marine Battalion. 3rd crippling wound during 
fight at DMZ and Cam Lo District. Three VN Marine battalions and one U S Marine brigade engaged.

1967-1969: Major, District Chief, Di An District, Bien Hoa Province. 4th wound, assassination 
attempt. 

1970-1974: Lieutenant Colonel, District Chief, Di An District

1974-1975: Lieutenant Colonel, District Chief, Duc Hoa, Hau Nghia Province

April, 1975: Lieutenant Colonel, District Chief, Di An

Vietnamese Medals: Legion of Honor (Highest Vietnamese decoration)

6 other medals of valor

3 Purple Hearts

1 Honor medal

-- and many other medals 

American Medals: Silver Star

Bronze Star "V" 

Army Commendation Medal

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