SGT William R. Upton, U.S. Army (1963-1968)

One Dollar and Five Dong

I met Binh outside the Black Cat bar in downtown Vung Tau, Vietnam. He was a Vietnamese marine and had just returned from firefight missions in the Delta. We often met like this to have a few beers and shoot the shit.
“Hey, Binh,” I said as he walked up.
“Xin ch’o, Uptoe.” Outside the door to the Black Cat stood a ragged little boy with a tin can begging for coins. I found a couple of coins and dropped them into the can. Binh did the same. Inside the bar, we sat down and I looked at him. “Binh,” I said, “Why did you give him money? You don t make that much.”
He grinned at me. “Uptoe give money, Bihn, too, give money.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “Binh know boy. Family kill by VC one year ago. Boy not beg money, not eat. Maybe find food at GI garbage place.”
“You’re a number one guy, Binh,” I said.
“You number one GI, Uptoe. I give you something. Binh reached into his pocket, pulled out a five dong note, signed it and tore it in half. He gave half to me. “After war we tape together and buy Ba-muoi-ba beer, okay, Uptoe?”
I took a dollar MPC from my wallet, tore it in two, signed it and gave Binh half and had him sign my half. “You’re on, Buddy,” I said.
At ten o clock, Binh and I left the Black Cat. Like we did every time we’d gotten together, we had talked, flirted with the bar girls, and drank beaucoup beer. Wobbling and weaving, we hooked arms together and staggered down Vung Tau’s main street singing, “99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer. Take one down and pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall. . .”

Soon, Binh patted my shoulder and said, “I now tired, Uptoe. I go hoochie, go sleep.”
“Me too, Binh. I’m catching the first truck back to the compound and hit the hay. You be here tomorrow?” I asked.
“Not come tomorrow. Go early on Mekong River boat. Fight VC. Two day. I see you then at Black Cat.”
“Got cha, Binh.” I took off toward the road that headed back to the compound, walking until I heard the roar of an Army truck.
I returned to the Black Cat two days later and waited for Binh. He wasn’t there but two of his friends were. “Have you guys seen Binh? Do you know where to find him?”
“Ah, Binh?” One of them said. He grabbed his wrist with one hand and pointed a finger of the other moving them side to side in a spraying motion. “Uh-uh-uh-uh.”
“What do you mean, uh-uh-uh-uh?”
“Binh kill by VC two day ago. Catch boo-coo bullet.”
My knees got weak and my stomach tightened. Binh? Dead? I collapsed into the booth with the two Vietnamese Marines, slumped to the table, and bawled.

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