Dad, Son Take Separate, Perilous Paths to Commencement

When you ask Robert Nghiem Nguyen of Orange what day he had become a prisoner of war, he doesn’t measure the time by date, but by his son.

“My youngest was 8 months and 8 days old when I was taken away.”

Robert Nguyen will be the proud father when that son, Douglas Nguyen, 23, of Irvine, graduates Saturday from Cal State Fullerton. Their places reverse when Robert’s own Cal State Fullerton commencement takes place Monday.

Their separate journeys to this jubilant week speak of the tragedies of the Vietnam War, journeys that kept them apart for 16 years.

“My mother told us all the time about what a great man our father was,” Douglas Nguyen said this week. “Once I got to know him, I discovered he was all that she had said, and more.”

Robert Nguyen, who will be 69 this month, receives his bachelor’s degree in cultural anthropology. His son’s is in business. Douglas Nguyen is the youngest of eight children of Robert and Victoria Nga Nguyen. All eight went on to higher education.

Robert Nguyen cannot contain his giddy excitement when he speaks of his children. His beaming face turns serious only when he’s asked if he ever gave up hope that he would see them again.

“No, never. But there were times . . . there were times when hope was very difficult.”

He was a major in the South Vietnamese Army and knew he was in peril when the war’s end brought communist control in 1975. He was ordered to register, along with other officers, at a central location. He had warned his wife it might be a ruse, and it was. Nguyen and the others were taken prisoner.

Nguyen, ever so precise, lists on his resume for Cal State Fullerton that he spent this time in “re-education camps.”

That’s what the new communist government called them. But they were really just hard-labor prisons. Nguyen and other prisoners of war carried rocks from the mountains to be turned into bricks for the government’s building boom. He would remain imprisoned for nine years.

Many died, and despair was great. But Nguyen kept encouraging his fellow prisoners to remember their history, that eventually American pressure would force this Vietnamese government to release them.

But the heavy work and meager meals of rice and corn took their toll. Nguyen suffered two heart attacks. His darkest moment, he said, came when he was tossed in the corner of a crowded dormitory-style cell where the dead were usually placed. He asked a priest for the last rites.

That he survived, he’s convinced, was due to his determination to not let his captors win, that he would once again be with Nga and their children. . . .

Douglas Nguyen was only 5 when his mother made arrangements to leave Vietnam for America. In the few letters they were permitted to exchange, her husband had encouraged her. It was the only chance, they agreed, for a decent future for the children.

The youngest Nguyen has only vague images of the boat trip that took them to a refugee camp in Thailand.

“There were about 50 of us and we were packed onto this small boat like sardines in a can, children all crying,” he said. Several hundred yards off the Thai shore, he recalls, water began to explode through a hole in the boat, which sank.

“I can remember an adult man carrying me above his head as he swam to the shore. I can remember one of my brothers fainting when he reached the bank. People tied clothes together to turn them into flotation devices.

The family eventually settled in Orange County. As he became educated in the United States, Douglas would write letters to his father in prison. Since he wrote only English, his older sisters would translate them into Vietnamese for his father to read.

“I would always try to be upbeat, just let him know how I was doing. Let him know I was thinking of him.”

The family letters that made it through gave Robert Nguyen relief. With his family safe in America, it no longer was so important what happened to him.

But in 1984, with world pressure mounting, the Vietnamese government released Nguyen and the other surviving prisoners of war. To his surprise, Nguyen was immediately taken prisoner again. But a third heart attack soon brought a final release.

Still, Nguyen could not reunite with his family. His poor health and lack of finances made it difficult to rejoin them. So he became a tailor, saved his money, and bided his time. He finally immigrated to the United States on Jan. 30, 1991.

It was a remarkable reunion for all 10. The older children he recognized. When he saw Douglas for the first time, 16 years old, he couldn’t help but reflect on what a phenomenal job his wife had done in his absence.

Douglas talked about that too in a recent interview.

“When I look back on it now, think about what she had to go through just to get us all here and take care of us, it just amazes me.”

Robert Nguyen adopted his new first name from a dear American friend he had met during the war. His family were Americans now; he would be too. He quietly reasserted himself as a parent to his children.

“He led by suggestion rather than strict rules,” Douglas said. “It was very effective with us.”

The father also led by example. He studied English intensely. His thought was that if his children saw him pursuing advances in his own education, it would encourage them too. The results are something he can easily beam about. All eight are thriving.

Douglas’ future is in the computer field; he already has a full-time job. Robert Nguyen will continue his education, working on his master’s degree. He will be 70 before he’s finished. But what does age matter, he asks, when you are pursuing your life’s work.

And what will Douglas think as he watches his father receive his degree next Monday?

“That my father is quite a man, and a true patriot to the end.”

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Jerry Hicks’ column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Readers may reach Hicks by calling the Times Orange County Edition at (714) 966-7823 or by fax at (714) 966-7711, or e-mail at jerry.hicks @latimes.com