How The Fall Of Saigon Turned San Diego Into A Home For Refugees
NPR — along with seven public radio stations around the country — is chronicling the lives of America's troops where they live. We're calling the project "Back at Base." A version of this story has appeared on KPBS.org.
Families in cars stacked with surfboards cruise into the San Mateo Campground on the northern edge of San Diego County. Clear skies beckon them for a weekend of beach camping.
But drive inland 4 miles and there's an entirely different kind of camp.
Tidy rows of Quonsets — half-rounded bunk rooms made of corrugated metal — make up Camp Talega, which is on the northernmost part of Camp Pendleton.
In April 1975, the first 1,000 Vietnamese refugees from Saigon flew into the El Toro Marine Corps Base nearby. They were then bused to Camp Talega.
"You're figuring you're housing 1,000 people. That means restrooms, bathing facilities, eating facilities, places to sleep," says Faye Jonason, who runs museums at the base.
Troops had just six days to set up eight of these minicities on the base. Over six months, some 50,000 Vietnamese refugees passed through. Most stayed about three months before American families took them in or helped them strike out on their own.
One of those families was the Nguyens.
"The apartment here at 4212 Altadena Ave. is the first apartment that our family — about 32 people — stayed in," says Quan Nguyen, 40.
He was 5 months old when his parents and extended family left those Quonsets and moved into a two-bedroom apartment in the City Heights neighborhood of San Diego.
Nguyen's father — Harry Hien Duc Nguyen, 62 — laughs now at the thought of so many people in that tiny place.
"At that time we're refugees in America," says Harry Nguyen. "At least we have a place that's nice and clean to live at that time, at least we have food to eat at that time. So everybody, no complaints."
Back then, the Nguyens were the only Vietnamese family on the street.
Today, people call the neighborhood's main drag "Little Saigon." It's a cultural mashup where Somali women in headscarves and Burmese women holding parasols stroll past Vietnamese supermarkets and pagoda-style strip malls.
Bob Montgomery headed the International Rescue Committee here for 15 years before retiring in March. He says the fall of Saigon built the City Heights neighborhood of today.
"Because of the services that grew up around the refugees that came out of Camp Pendleton, it was a good place to send people," he says. "We had established services, there was religious institutions, and of course most importantly, existing communities where they would feel most comfortable."
Nearly 45 percent of City Heights residents were born overseas. Montgomery says the flow of refugees didn't end with the fall of Saigon. For years, the IRC helped other refugees from Southeast Asia make homes here. By 1980, Congress had taken that ad hoc system and made it permanent. Last year Montgomery's office resettled more than 900 refugees.
Montgomery says the Iraqi and Burmese people arriving now can thank the Vietnamese — like Harry Nguyen — who came here 40 years ago.
"I didn't think anything of Vietnam at that time because at that time it's collapsed already and under communism," says Harry Nguyen.
Like many others, the Nguyen family found its way, opened businesses, and prioritized education for the kids.
"So my mind not over there, over here. And everything I concentrate here and take care of family, take care of children, I go to work, and we have a beautiful life here," he says.
That life is captured in family photos sprawled across Quan Nguyen's kitchen island. It includes pictures of the family celebrating the Lunar New Year just before the fall of Saigon.
The family now lives in his ample suburban home about a 20-minute drive from that cramped first apartment. He says his father's concern after the war was to put food on the table for his family.
Quan Nguyen, who's a pharmacist with two daughters, has a different challenge: to keep hold of Vietnamese traditions as he lives in the American mainstream.
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Transcript
ROBERT SIEGEL, HOST:
Forty years ago, as Saigon fell, thousands of South Vietnamese fled the chaos. Many ended up in refugee camps in the United States. San Diego quickly became a haven for refugees and remains a destination for displaced people from all over the world. Megan Burks of member station KPBS in San Diego has the story one Vietnamese family and what has changed since their arrival.
MEGAN BURKS, BYLINE: Families and cars stacked with surfboards cruise into the San Mateo campground on the northern edge of San Diego County. Clear skies beckon them for a weekend of beach camping. Drive inland another four miles and there's an entirely different kind of camp.
FAYE JONASON: You're at Camp Talega, the northernmost camp on Camp Pendleton.
BURKS: Faye Jonason runs museums on this military base. She's showing off tidy rows of Quonsets - half-round bunk rooms made of corrugated metal.
JONASON: Hello? Anybody here? OK, so what you're looking at is a squad bay, and it's modern. They've repainted it. They've got new beds. So it's not anything like it was for the refugees.
BURKS: In April 1975, the first thousand Vietnamese refugees from Saigon flew into the El Toro Marine Corps base nearby. They were then bussed here.
JONASON: You're figuring you're housing a thousand people - that means restrooms, bathing facilities, eating facilities, places to sleep.
BURKS: Troops had just six days to set up eight of these mini-cities on the base. Over six months, some 50,000 Vietnamese refugees passed through here. Most stayed about three months before American families took them in or helped them strike out on their own.
(SOUNDBITE OF CAR ENGINE STARTING)
QUAN NGUYEN: This apartment here at 4212 Altadena Avenue is the first apartment that our family - about 32 people...
BURKS: That's Quan Nguyen. He was an infant when his parents and extended family left those Quonsets and moved into this two-bedroom apartment in the City Heights neighborhood of San Diego. Nguyen's father, Harry, laughs now at the thought of so many people in that tiny place.
HARRY NGUYEN: At that time, we were refugees in America. So, you know, at least we have a place nice and clean to live at that time, and at least we have food to eat at that time. So everybody, no complain (laughter).
BURKS: Back then, the Nguyens were the only Vietnamese family on the street. Today, people call the neighborhood's main drag Little Saigon. It's a cultural mash-up where Somali women in headscarves and Burmese women holding parasols stroll past Vietnamese supermarkets and Pagoda-style strip malls.
Bob Montgomery headed the International Rescue Committee here for 15 years. He says the fall of Saigon built in the City Heights neighborhood of today.
BOB MONTGOMERY: Because of the services that grew up around the Vietnamese refugees that came out of Camp Pendleton, it was a good place to send people because we had established services, and of course maybe most importantly, existing communities where they would feel most comfortable.
BURKS: Montgomery says the flow of refugees didn't end with the fall of Saigon. For years, the IRC helped other refugees from Southeast Asia make homes here. And by 1980, Congress took that ad hoc system and made it permanent. Last year, Montgomery's office here resettled more than 900 refugees. He says the Iraqi and Burmese people arriving now can thank the Vietnamese - like Harry Nguyen - who came here 40 years ago.
H. NGUYEN: I didn't think anything about Vietnam at that time because it's collapsed already and under Communism.
BURKS: Like many others, the Nguyen family found their way, opened businesses and prioritized education for their kids.
H. NGUYEN: My mind not over there, over here. And everything I concentrate here and take care of family, take care of children. I go to work. You know what I mean? And we have a beautiful life here.
BURKS: That life is captured in family photos sprawled across Quan Nguyen's kitchen island - their first American home, the family celebrating the Lunar New Year just before the fall of Saigon.
H. NGUYEN: Oh, this photo is my mom and Quan. It's around February 1975.
BURKS: The family now lives in his ample suburban home, about a 20-minute drive from that cramped first apartment. Quan says his father's concern after the war was to put food on the table for his family. Quan, a pharmacist with two daughters, has a different challenge - to keep hold of Vietnamese traditions as he lives in the American mainstream. For NPR, I'm Megan Burks. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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