1975 Senior Trip & Operation Babylift Memories

By Mike Olsen, '75

This April marks the fortieth anniversary of Operation Babylift. These are my brief memories of the Senior trip to Long Beach in April, 1975, and our return to a Clark Air Base that, in our absence, had been turned upside down by the fall of Saigon, a huge influx of Vietnamese refugees, and Operation Babylift.  My memories won’t be your memories, obviously, but we probably experienced at least a few events and incidents in common. Hope you enjoy…

It started with so many cases of beer. You know that old song, A Hundred Bottles of Beer On the Wall? Of course you do, ad nauseam. Well, imagine a bus instead of a wall and you have a pretty good idea of our transport. The aisle was filled with hundreds and hundreds of bottles of San Miguel, rattling in their cases, although the stash was already substantially reduced by the time we got to the resort in Long Beach, smack right on the beach. Only three of us were non-drinkers, and we were there to scuba dive.

Did I call it a resort? Bruce Young and I scoped out the accommodations—circular haciendas, close to each other but separated one cluster of rooms for the boys, and one for the girls. Bruce hauled in the air tanks, and we rolled out our sleeping bags, staking out a corner of one room. Just then, several guys stumbled in and threw up all over the floor. Bruce and I checked out.

We figured that the curfew (The country was under martial law—thanks Ferdinand) didn’t extend to the beaches and slept on the sand that first night, aligning our sleeping bags within the long shadows of palm trees. Sometime after midnight, I awoke to find a dozen more people had abandoned their rooms to join us on the sand, about twenty-five feet away.  When I next awoke, sometime after dawn, Bruce and I were once again the only ones on the beach.

“Where are they?” Bruce rumbled, rubbing his eyes, and gazing around. “Where’d everyone go?”

Where did they go? Apparently, some police had swept the beach of all those flagrant curfew-breakers during the night, but somehow managed to overlook Bruce and me. I Guess those palm shadows were deeper than I’d thought.

I don’t know where the police took all my classmates, but they were probably more trouble than they were worth, because everyone reappeared shortly after breakfast. Bruce and another diver procured a bancero with boat, and went out for a dive. I floated above, watching my reflection in the rising bubbles. Bruce took a shot at a monster grouper, but it turned sideways, the spear bouncing uselessly off its side. Sheesh.

I don’t remember much of that day, except traveling a couple of miles to refill the air tanks at a USAF weather station just north of us. After dinner, I went in search of sleeping quarters since I had no desire to be rousted off the beach by the police. I ended up pleading with the bartender to let me sleep on the bar-room floor. He slept behind the counter, so he figured, why not? He knew I wouldn’t be able to raid the booze, and I moved in that night, one of the only non-drinkers, now passed out on the bar-room floor.

Next night, I had loads of company—lots of people were exhausted; they hadn’t slept in two days. The bar had one of those ubiquitous 1970’s electric pianos and a couple of guys had brought guitars, so the bar rocked until bedtime, whenever that was.

The next morning, a deep-blue USAF helicopter passed directly overhead, low and speeding towards the Air Force weather station. Not long after, a large, official-blue Air Force sedan pulled into the beach compound, rolling to a stop about thirty feet from me. A back door swung open, a uniformed officer stepping out.

It was chaplain Narron. Believe me, when a chaplain arrives by helicopter, you know he isn’t bringing good news. Chaplain Narron saw me and waved me over.

“Mike, do you know a boy named Barry Willis?”

My heart sank. Barry was on the beach, not fifty feet from me, talking to a pretty blond girl. I knew what was coming and felt as if I was somehow betraying Barry by pointing him out. “That’s him, just there, talking to that blond girl.” Chaplain Narron hurried past me, followed by two other men in uniform.

I watched him approach Barry, speak a few lines to him, and then Barry threw his hands up, over his face. He sunk, his knees hitting the sand. The girl covered her mouth in shock. Chaplain Narron and the other two helped Barry up and supported him over to the backseat of the sedan. The car made a wide circle in the grass and sand, and quickly disappeared, heading back to the helicopter.

Somehow, during the brief minutes that Chaplain Narron had been there, we learned that Saigon had fallen, and the U.S. was doing everything it could to get military and civilian personnel out of Vietnam. A C-5 Galaxy had crashed upon take-off at Saigon’s Tan Son Nhut Airport, killing over a hundred adults and babies. Barry’s dad was one of those killed. I heard that he volunteered for the flight.

We started talking, spreading the word that we needed to get back to Clark. “We’re needed at home! They need help with the babies and the tent cities!” But it turned out that not everyone thought we should go, so we held it up for a vote. I couldn’t believe it, but we were voted down! The group wanted to stay for the one day remaining in the trip. I did a lot of beach walking that day, back and forth, north and south, and slept again in the bar. There was no party that night, at least not in the bar. The ride back to Clark was subdued and beer-less.

My memories of the babies will be briefer: I remember waiting in line at the base gym for what seemed like hours, all for the chance to watch a baby for a three hour shift. The gym had been transformed into what surely must have been the world’s largest nursery, carpeted wall to wall with hundreds of mattresses. I was assigned to watch two small children, a brother and sister. They mostly ate and slept and ignored me. I couldn’t blame them.  I got to watch plenty of babies in the days to come. My mother and I worked the last night/flight out of Clark Air Base. As I mentioned, the first night I had to wait in line just to do a three hour shift. That last night, I watched fourteen kids for five hours. Like they say, celebrity-hood is fleeting.

After converting the base gym into a nursery, the base turned to the Wagner High School gym/auditorium for refugee housing. More mattresses arrived, and Gym classes carried on outside while we practiced the best we could for that spring’s musical, Once Upon a Mattress. (I know—the irony)

I was Sir Studley in the play—natch—and I was supposed to escort a different wench onstage every time I appeared, but Jolene wanted more stage time and appealed to Mr. Keith Tucker, our director. Tuck declared her Wench #1, which made me seem a lot less studley, but whatever—the show must go on. Tuck didn’t want to deal with the set-up crew or the mountain of mattresses, so he gave me a ring of keys and told me to try to keep the crews off the stage area and the damage to a minimum.

That first day, as the gym filled with mattresses, the set-up crew came to me and asked how to get onto the stage area (the fire curtain was down and locked) The stage was already filled with sets and props, and I knew that if the set got destroyed to make room for the never-ending stream of mattresses, the play would most probably be canceled. I had the key, but I did what I had to—I lied, which for some reason really bothered me. I told them that the stage area was negligible and they gave up trying to force the fire curtain. The Spring musical was saved, and the refugees moved out before opening night.

Looking around at all the orphans at the base gym, I wondered what would become of them. After all, the U.S. had been at war with North Vietnam for so long that I couldn't imagine who would want to adopt the children. I sized up my qualifications: eighteen, living with my parents, a senior in high school, unmarried, no income—pretty scant credentials. I mentioned to someone that I would like to adopt one of the kids, but understood the impossibility of the situation. He grinned and informed me that all the children had already been placed.

“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “All of them?”

“Yep, every single one of them.”

I remember being profoundly proud of America at that moment. “Good for you, America,” I thought. “Good for you.” Out of the ashes of war, a new beginning. I’d always been thankful to be an American, but now I’d experienced a little of what it was that makes America what she is—it’s her heart—her great heart, a heart that turns and embraces all.

Did operation Babylift change me? Yes, it did. It carved a hole in my heart for children. I’ve been able to travel five times to an Asian country to work in an orphanage, making adaptive furniture for special needs children. The best part of each evening was put aside to hold and rock the babies in the nursery. My heart still wells with joy when I recall all those babies! I took my son, Ben, then ten years old, with me on one trip, so that he could see where his future sister was coming from. The next year our family was blessed with a beautiful nine month old girl. God is good, and my memories are good. I’m thankful once again.  

Photos: #1) Mike Olsen, #2) Mike White & Mike Olsen during a Varsity Club meeting #3) Youth group trip to Baguio in 1975 - Mike is in the back row, 4th from the left  #4) John Meinhold, Dake Vahovich & Mike Olsen working on a ministry project  #5) Sue Harris '77 during Operation Babylift  #6)  Mike Dontonville & Judy Seals during Operation Babylift  #7) Mike Olsen (bottom left) and the other powderpuff cheerleaders 1975.

Wagner Memories: Ed Welch '77

What was your first impression of Clark and Wagner? It was not very good.  I guess I was a little predisposed to not like it based of the briefings we received prior to going. Stories about people getting their hands cut off for jewelry and people being sold into slavery did not make life in the PI seem too enticing. 

We lived off base in Villa Angela at first.  The concept of living in a house with a metal roof surrounded by a cement wall with broken glass on top of it was not very welcoming.   Initially, I did not think it was much like paradise. It was hot; there were giant bugs, not to mention the goats and roosters strolling around the neighborhood. The school bus had slide up wooden windows with metal screens. 

We had to go the water station to pump drinking water and, unlike subdivisions like Carmenville, we were not very close to the base (from what I remember) and there were not a lot of American families out there.  The first couple of months there, I didn’t even see much of Clark.  We flew into Manila and we lived off base.  We’d go on base for water, gas, the commissary and to the O’Club pool.  While at the pool, it seemed like they had Clapton’s “I shot the Sheriff” on a continuous loop, over and over again!! I wanted Clapton to shoot me!

Wagner, the school that I came to love, did not have a high initial approval rating either.  After the prison bus ride there, we unloaded to this place that was all outside, with lockers barely big enough to hold a lunch bag and a couple of books and all this crazy painting on the walls.   It was like nothing I had ever seen!   The fricken cafeteria wasn’t even connected to the school; this place was a far cry from the campus of “Room 222”!! 

What surprised you the most about the Philippines? What did you like best about living there? That I ended up loving it there.  It’s hard to say what I liked best about living there.  In no particular order, the friends I made, the location (having Baguio, Long Beach or Subic Bay and Grande Island so close), the community, the weather, the food, the night life, the school, the sports, everything…

Did you really miss anything from the States and if so, what? Tube socks, it was hard to get good tube socks there.  We went back to the States on vacation after our first 2 years there and I had a ton of orders for tube socks to fill. Not mention, McDonalds.  It was the concept of the States more than anything, everyone talked about getting off “The Rock”.  If I only knew then what I know now…

Who were your good buddies? Due to PCS’ing, there were 2 time frames.  The first year or two it was Jeff Jacobs, Pat Early and Danny DeCroes. That blended into the last couple of years where my buds were Dave Wellman, Frank Fontenot, Joe Avalos, Mark Anderson, Grey Brooks and BT Uptmor.

Where did you hang out? After school it was the Olympic Pool, base gym or sports of some kind.  After hours activity is a time frame question as well.  The 1^st year or two, I’d get dropped off at the Teen Club. We’d hang out there for a while then end up off base at Italian Village, a bar that had a Led Zeppelin cover band (I forget the name maybe it was the Halfadi) or The 3^rd Eye.  

The next year the bowling alley was the drop off point or initial destination.  Then it was off to any or all of the following: Vertigo, Kahuna’s Hut, Philippine Disco, Mars Hill, the Bamboo Bowl for a Midnight movie, and the occasional party out at the stables or a house party.  Who could forget HOG?  That was always a blast!

Who was your favorite teacher/class? My favorites were Ms. Munn (Speech I and II), Ms. Sleight (Art) and Mr. Carmone (College English).  I did not have any classes with the Tuckers, but had a blast with them in the Musical Reviews!

Did you have a part time job - what was it? Sort of, but the income was not reportable.  Besides that, one summer to keep Dave Wellman and me busy (in between our junior and senior year, Lori and Emily Wilson just went back to the states), my dad hired us to work at the VOA site.  All we did was drive around the facility in a golf cart and shoot M16s.

Have you become closer to a Wagnerite that you didn't know well in high school because of a reunion? Myrna and Nina, I probably teased them more than talked to them at Wagner.  Because of their involvement in the reunions I’ve come to know, like and respect both of them immensely.  Mike O’Brien I sort of knew at Wagner.  

Unfortunately, I knew his dad better than him thanks to some of my activities. Mike and his wife Kathy live a few miles from me. I never knew it until the Denver Reunion. We hang out now.  In part because of the reunions, I have become much closer to Mark and Liz Anderson.  I was friends with them then, but we are much closer now.  They are good people!

How did your experience living overseas affect you?  It made me more acceptable and adaptable to change.  It kept us isolated from a lot of crap as well.  I think of it as our own version “The Wonder Years”.

Additional Comments: I couldn’t imagine going to high school, having more fun or meeting better people in any other place.

Photos: #1) Dave Wellman, Ed Welch and Grey Brooks. #2) Dave Wellman, Emily Wilson, Dede Grant, David Gaude, Lori Neese Welch & Ed Welch. #3) Wagner baseball team 1977 #4) Dave Wellman and Ed  #5) Base Basketball league

If you'd like to submit your Wagner Memories, click here.

Operation Babylift Affects Wagner Students

By Nina Pierce Baker ('77)

2015 marked the 40th anniversary of Operation Babylift. Many Wagnerites were involved in the care of the children that came through Clark on their way to the states to be adopted. Several Wagnerites paid a heavy price during the operation to rescue these children. 

Lt. Col. William Willis, Commander of Flight Operations (father of Bill, Barry ’75, Mark ’78 and Karen) and Med Tech T/Sgt Denning Johnson (father of Sandra '76), along with many others, lost their lives in the crash of the C-5A during Operation Babylift. 

Lt. Col. William Willis and TSgt. Denning are memorialized on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C. (Panel 1W Rows 122 and 121) Those that went to the D.C. reunion were able to pay their respects in person. 

Operation Babylift took place two years after the ending of America's ground combat role in Southeast Asia and the return of our POWs from North Vietnamese concentration camps. After Communist forces in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia began push closer to Saigon, a massive evacuation of Vietnamese orphan children, many offspring of American soldiers, took place. 

This humanitarian effort suffered a major setback on April 4, 1975, when the initial C-5A Galaxy carrying evacuees crashed shortly after taking off from Saigon's Tan Son Nhut Air Base, killing 98 children, 46 escorts, and 11 USAF crewmembers. 

The "Babylift" continued despite this incident, however, and as the Communist forces continued their string of successes, it expanded to cover the evacuation of adult refugees from Saigon, Phnom Penh, and Vientiane, as well. 

By this time, the operation's name had changed to "New Life", from April 21 to 28 1975, more than 30,000 refugees, including over 1,500 orphans transited through Clark AFB. 2,000 people were housed in a massive tent city, adjacent to the Bamboo Bowl stadium. The first planeload of Vietnamese orphans arrived at Clark on April 5, 1975. 

Many in the Wagner community were involved in this operation. Mrs. Folts, mother of Pat ’75, Mike ’76 and Kelly ’78, was in charge of determining the number, medical condition and location of the babies. Sue Wragg’s (’76) father was the base chaplain and her parents were very involved in coordinating many of the Clark wives who volunteered to care for the infants. Mrs. Marvin Goodwin, one of the WHS secretaries was the youth volunteer coordinator. 

Cong Potter ’78, who had formerly lived in Vietnam, served as an interpreter.
The WHOA site has an issue of the Falcon Crier that details some of the student’s experiences along with pictures of Sindi Avalos ’75, Tracey Herrington, Danny Reid and Dake Vahovich ’78. Judy Seals has a class page with further accounts from the Falcon Crier. And David Rosmer submitted pictures and some history of Operations Babylift and New Life. 

 Today, the children of Operation Babylift are adults and many appreciate the sacrifice that was made on their behalf. Those that perished in the C5 crash are memorialized on the website VietnamBabylift.org and many Wagnerites left messages of their memories of that time on The BabyLift.com – a movie by Tammy Nguyen Lee on Operation Babylift: The Lost Children of Vietnam (scroll down to the bottom of the page). 

Joyce Wertz Harrington, an RN on the flights, provides her memories of that time in this article. The website Touch The Wall has a page devoted to the Airmen who lost their lives during Operation Babylift 

Many of us carry vivid memories of those days and to our classmates, the children of T/Sgt Denning Johnson and Lt. Col. William Willis, we honor your fathers’ sacrifice. I, for one, will be remember my friend, Mark Willis, and his dad. 

Memories of Operation Babylift

By Rob Barnhill, '75

I remember the first night of Operation Babylift as it was the beginning of my realization that I was not the center of everything. Prior to that night, I was the typical teenage boy at Clark interested only in sports, girls, and driving the jeep. Afterwards, I saw that people from all walks of life can come together for a common good and that no one is too good to help.

The night started when my Mom heard over AFRTS-Radio that there were aircraft arriving from Saigon with the orphans onboard. She found me scrounging through the refrigerator for an after practice snack and told me to “Get down there and help out.” 

I searched around for an excuse but nothing came to me fast enough, so the next thing I knew I was out the door thumbing a ride for the flightline (Jon had the jeep and a date that night).

When I arrived, it seemed that chaos ruled with vehicles running everywhere, people carrying children in their arms off the planes, and air police trying to direct traffic (having served 30 years in the military, I now know that is how we operate most of the time). As I was standing there, someone told me to get in the line and prepare to pick up a child. I was standing behind two moms talking about rumors of an aircraft crash and an airman complaining about having to work late.

Soon enough, I found myself being handed a 2 or 3 year old boy wearing nothing but a dirty rag around his waist. Not knowing what to do with him, I held him in my arms and followed the two ladies to the bus. On the ride to the high school gym, I looked at the boy for some form of identification but there was nothing to indicate a name, parent, or anything else.

I just called him Charlie. When we arrived at the gym, a medical officer did some sort of triage on Charlie (any physical damage, overt signs of diseases or malnutrition, or other problem) and they sent me to one section of the gym. Looking back at it, I guess they tried to sort of organize the gym by either age groups (infants, toddlers, and kids) or their need for care.

Well, Charlie and me continued down the line and picked up a few diapers, a blanket, a bottle of something, and a few snacks. As a teenage boy, the last time I touched a diaper was when they were still cloth and I was wearing it! Was I ever glad that someone helped me out on that one!

Charlie was cool as he had a few sips of water, a couple of the crackers, and then went straight to sleep. This gave me an opportunity to look around and see that the entire gym floor was now covered with hundreds of other Charlies and Robs. I didn’t really have too much to do since Charlie was still sleeping, so I asked the lady beside me to watch over him while I walked around for a bit.

While walking around, I talked to a few other kids my age before a man from my Dad’s squadron called me over to help him. His job was to walk around and distribute clean diapers and foodstuffs to those already in the gym. He said he needed to go back to work and told me to take over for him. So I spent the rest of the night pushing a grocery cart type thing around the gym passing out supplies. I OK’d it with the lady who had Charlie and said she would continue to watch over him while I did the supply job.

Initially, everyone was laid out in rows that allowed me to drive the cart around in a somewhat orderly fashion. However soon enough, the rows just became a mishmash of bodies so I ended up passing and throwing supplies like the vendors at a baseball game throwing hot dogs. 

Eventually, we were relieved by other volunteers and I made the short walk back to my house (one of the barns on the parade field) from the gym around sunup.

Though it has been 35 years, I can still clearly remember all that went on that night. I saw how hundreds of unknown individuals could offer their time and talents for the betterment of others. I saw how their kindness, generosity, and care combined with support from a community could help.

Over the years, I often think back of that night wondering whatever became of Charlie, but I really wonder what could have become of me had I not had that experience also. After that night, I learned that there was more to life than just me.

Photo: Rob and his eldest grandson, Calvin, in 2010.

Note: Lt. Col. William Willis, Commander of Flight Operations (father of Bill, Barry ’75, Mark ’78 and Karen) and Med Tech T/Sgt Denning Johnson (father of Sandra '76), along with many others, lost their lives in the crash of the C-5A during Operation Babylift.