This sea story was published as a column in The Lebanon (Tennessee) Democrat, one of those i wrote weekly for that newspaper under the heading “Notes from the Southwest Corner” for ten years. Published in 2008, i believe it best captures my feelings about the end of the Vietnamese “conflict.” i have only made small edits even though much of this is repeats from recent posts.

SAN DIEGO – In 1975, I witnessed international history.

Having been on destroyers since commissioning in 1968, I was transferred to the U.S.S. Anchorage (LSD-36) from the U.S.S. Hollister (DD 788). It was my first experience with the amphibious Navy. The First Lieutenant, my new position, was directly involved with every aspect of the ship’s primary mission, i.e. putting troops, vehicles, and cargo ashore.

I was a novice and one month away from a seven-month deployment to the Western Pacific. My delicate position was exacerbated by the cruel twist of the manning czars in Washington, D.C. I had one experienced junior officer; and one chief boatswains mate, who had been a boxer most of his Navy time. The ship’s complement called for two experienced junior officers, one boatswain warrant officer, three chief boatswain mates, and three first class boatswain mates.

To say the least, I was learning on the job with long days and midnight oil. This did not include moving my family to San Diego and subsequently preparing them to go to Texas while I was deployed.

During the move from San Pedro to San Diego, my parents called to tell me my beloved Uncle Snooks, Alvin Hall, had died suddenly from a heart attack. Uncle Snooks and my aunt, Bettye Kate Hall, had been more like second parents than aunt and uncle.

So I was dealing with a personal loss in the middle of the madcap preparations to deploy. As with all of my deployments, it became much easier once we “let go all lines” and steamed out of San Diego Bay, March 28, 1975.

This particular deployment has enough sea stories for a book. I will omit most for now. The Anchorage and the six other ships of the Amphibious Ready Group (ARG) proceeded to Pearl Harbor, departing after a flag briefing indicating the deployment should entail nothing unusual.

At sea five days later, the ARG received a radio message, which announced takeover of South Vietnam by the North was imminent. Six of the seven ships were directed to steam southwest and join the outgoing squadron off the coast of Vung Tau, Vietnam. The Anchorage was directed to steam to Japan, off load cargo and load the equipment of the Marine Amphibious Unit (MAU). Then, the ship was to join the task force.

There were many delays and adventures en route. Anchorage reached the rendezvous May 2. The evacuation of South Vietnam, dubbed “Frequent Wind,” essentially over but the rescue 35,000 refugees had just begun.

Because the ship was overloaded, we did not take on refugees. Our participation was limited to daily, all-day boat operations, and taking on two landing craft (LCM 8’s), which had previously been the U.S. Army’s boats.

So early each morning, I would go out on deck with my morning cup of coffee to start the day. After launching the Mike 8s, I spent most of the day at the handrails, watching the day pass in the calm seas.

I would watch Navy, Marine, and Air America helicopters make continuous landings on the four aircraft carriers, USS Okinawa (LPH-3), a helicopter carrier and our squadron flag ship, and USS Tripoli (LPH 10). An amazing number of Americans and Vietnamese escaped from Saigon via these helicopters.

Even more incredible, as first light crept into sunrise, the horizon would be filled with every type of craft, jammed with people. For three days, the deluge of humanity kept coming over that horizon until sunset faded into dusk. Before the task force weighed anchor and headed east, more than 35,000 people had been embarked.

Estimates of the total number of evacuees ranged between 70,000 and 100,000. I believe the number was higher. I cannot imagine how many didn’t make it. I don’t believe I have ever been so moved as I was standing on that deck, watching those South Vietnamese coming and coming and coming over the horizon. They were putting their families, old folks and babies, on craft I would not board on a pond, much less the South China Sea.

I don’t intend to discuss politics here. I certainly didn’t have a better answer then, and I would not have one now. Yet as I watched those people risking their lives and the lives of their families to run from their country, their home, I recall thinking, “There has to be a better way. There has to be something we could have done to let these people live in their home.”

As a shipmate eloquently recorded in the Anchorage cruise book, “It’s sad to see a country die.”