Remembering Saigon: 50 Years Later

By Gabriel Basso, Accounting Collections, Phoenix

Editor’s Note:
Matson has a proud history of coming to America’s aid in times of war, having provided its vessels as troop transports during World War I and World War II.

During the First World War, all Matson ships, with the exception of the Annie Johnson, were requisitioned by the U.S. Shipping Board, which appointed Matson its managing agent. During World War II, Matson was appointed General Agent for the War Shipping Administration, with responsibility for manning, provisioning, maintaining, and servicing 172 different ships, including 39 of its own. Matson has always supported our military personnel, and we are honored to have had so many U.S. military veterans in our ranks. One of those veterans, Gabriel Basso, is a collector on our Accounting team in Phoenix. Gabriel served in the U.S. Navy during the Vietnam War. This month, it will be 50 years since the last U.S. troops left Vietnam. Following are Gabriel’s personal reflections on this time in our nation’s history.

I am a proud Navy veteran of the Vietnam War and recently attended a Welcome Home Celebration for all Vietnam veterans in the Phoenix area – an event honoring some of America’s greatest heroes. Although Vietnam veterans battled fiercely, were gravely wounded, and 58,220 made the ultimate sacrifice, we were not afforded a Welcome Home. Instead, given the unpopularity of the war in the States, many Vietnam veterans experienced quite the opposite upon their return: cruel words and disrespectful deeds.

I closed my eyes, and I was 20 years old again. I was a crew member on the best aircraft carrier in the fleet, the U.S.S. Hancock CVA-19, “The Fighting Hanna.” It was March 18, 1975, nearly 10 years to the day that the U.S. entered the war in Vietnam. The crew of 5,000 lined the rails in their dress blues, “weighed anchor,” and departed the Alameda Naval Air Station. We had just cleared the Golden Gate Bridge when the ship’s speaker blared to life. “Now hear this. Now hear this, the captain is addressing the crew.” The captain kept it short and sweet; we were headed to the Gulf of Tonkin, in Southeast Asia, Vietnam.

The next twenty days were extremely hectic. We worked 12-hour shifts, training and completing drills, all the while adapting to the changing dynamics of the flight deck and hangar deck, as we had been redesignated as a helicopter carrier. Our Carrier Air Group (comprising all our attack and bomber jet aircraft) flew off the ship in Hawaii and the Philippines and was replaced by six Marine helicopter squadrons and their support crews. The Hanna was full of Jarheads, or Marines.

On April 10, 1975, we left the coast of Vung Tau and sailed to the Gulf of Thailand, where we became part of Amphibious Ready Group Alpha. At 0400 hours, the alert for General Quarters – Flight Quarters sounded, calling all hands and aviators to a state of maximum readiness for combat, and Operation Eagle Pull, the evacuation of Americans and friendlies from Phnom Penh, Cambodia, began. During the rapid retrofit, we had marked several takeoff and landing zones (LZs) on the flight deck to safely and effectively launch and recover multiple helicopters simultaneously. The Marine pilots showed off their skills as one after another lifted off, assembled in formation above the carrier, and flew directly over dangerous jungles to the evacuation landing sites. The ship was secured from General Quarters, and Air ops ceased that night at 1900 hours, with all the “birds” back on the farm. We had successfully rescued 267 souls, suffered no major injuries, no loss of life, and we were one damn proud ship’s company.

While enjoying what we thought would be a seven-day port call in Singapore, the entire crew was recalled to the ship on day three, and all shore leave was canceled. We learned that the Tan Son Nutt Air Force Base, a short distance from Saigon, was under heavy attack. Its bombed and cratered runway made further flights in or out impossible. In mere minutes, the planned fixed-wing (plane) evacuation was immediately replaced by a naval helicopter evacuation. Our task force expanded to over 45 ships, which included four carriers. Our ship was ordered to prepare to board some 1,500 souls. Operation Frequent Wind, the evacuation of Saigon, was about to begin.

At 0400 hours on April 29, General Quarters – Flight Quarters sounded, and all hands jumped to action. We launched all our birds and prepared for incoming evacuees. Later that morning, as I looked off into the distance, what appeared to be a real flock of birds was, in fact, our returning helicopters. As they landed, each was met by an armed Marine checking for weapons. Then, all the rescued were treated with a delousing agent and escorted to the hangar bay. The helicopter was refueled, visually inspected, and relaunched after receiving a “thumbs-up.” This cycle continued nonstop for two days.

At 0400 hours on April 30, General Quarters – Flight Quarters sounded again. As I passed the hanger bay, I noticed grey U.S. Navy blankets on almost every evacuee. Ships’ crews, with little or no sleep, walked among these poor souls who had escaped with only what they could carry in a bag or small suitcase. The crew treated the children as if they were family, assisting the elderly and ill with respect and dignity. They escorted them to facilities around the ship with care and compassion. When all our birds were back on the farm, we had to deal with the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVAN – our allies) helicopters full of family members. The humanitarian decision was made to clear the decks, allowing them to land and disembark all personnel. Due to a lack of space and the fact that the crew and families of the ARVAN helicopters were brought aboard as evacuees, the ARVAN helicopters were moved astern and “deep-sixed” into the sea.

We lost two heroic pilots that day, ditching their helicopters and sacrificing their lives to allow enlisted crew members to escape. I have never attended a more solemn occasion than a burial at sea. We lined the entire length and width of the flight deck, and I cried as their name, rank, and a weighted American flag was released overboard while Taps played.

Those would not be our only losses. We were ordered back to assist with the recovery of the SS Mayaguez. We were recalled when the crew was released, but unfortunately, not before 18 brave Marines lost their lives during the attempted rescue.

The next time you see a gray-haired Vietnam Veteran, make their day with a simple “Welcome Home.”