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| Nguyen Ngoc Luong, Times Guide in Vietnam War, Dies at 79 | Nguyen Ngoc Luong, Times Guide in Vietnam War, Dies at 79 |
| (about 9 hours later) | |
| He was the last man out the door of the Saigon bureau of The New York Times when the South Vietnamese city fell to Communist forces in 1975, an unheralded but indispensable guide whose photo credits in small print on the newspaper page belied his other vital journalistic contributions. | He was the last man out the door of the Saigon bureau of The New York Times when the South Vietnamese city fell to Communist forces in 1975, an unheralded but indispensable guide whose photo credits in small print on the newspaper page belied his other vital journalistic contributions. |
| As he left the bureau, Nguyen Ngoc Luong retrieved the office handgun from a desk drawer, tossed it in a garbage can on the street and stepped into an uncertain future. He had rejected The Times’s offer to be relocated to the United States, preferring to remain in the country he loved and where he had seen so much suffering. | As he left the bureau, Nguyen Ngoc Luong retrieved the office handgun from a desk drawer, tossed it in a garbage can on the street and stepped into an uncertain future. He had rejected The Times’s offer to be relocated to the United States, preferring to remain in the country he loved and where he had seen so much suffering. |
| Hundreds of unheralded guides and translators like Mr. Luong have served in war zones around the world, their contribution to journalism as essential as it is anonymous. Many are remembered fondly by the reporters who rotated into the battlefield and then returned home. Some are forgotten. Most go their separate ways, and contact is lost. | Hundreds of unheralded guides and translators like Mr. Luong have served in war zones around the world, their contribution to journalism as essential as it is anonymous. Many are remembered fondly by the reporters who rotated into the battlefield and then returned home. Some are forgotten. Most go their separate ways, and contact is lost. |
| So it was with Mr. Luong. Even in this digital age it took weeks for many of his former colleagues to learn that he had died on Oct. 27 in what was Saigon but is now Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. He was 79. | So it was with Mr. Luong. Even in this digital age it took weeks for many of his former colleagues to learn that he had died on Oct. 27 in what was Saigon but is now Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. He was 79. |
| The cause was complications of a urinary tract infection, his daughter Nguyen Thi Hop said. | The cause was complications of a urinary tract infection, his daughter Nguyen Thi Hop said. |
| On an organization chart, Mr. Luong would have been listed officially as a photographer and interpreter for The Times during the Vietnam War, but he was much more than that. | On an organization chart, Mr. Luong would have been listed officially as a photographer and interpreter for The Times during the Vietnam War, but he was much more than that. |
| His dozens of published photographs in The Times vividly brought home to American readers the brutality of the jungle war and then the frantic efforts of thousands of South Vietnamese to flee Saigon as the Communist forces descended on it. His faithful translations of battlefield interviews also punctuated the prose of Times correspondents. | His dozens of published photographs in The Times vividly brought home to American readers the brutality of the jungle war and then the frantic efforts of thousands of South Vietnamese to flee Saigon as the Communist forces descended on it. His faithful translations of battlefield interviews also punctuated the prose of Times correspondents. |
| In one harrowing instance in 1970, two years after American troops had killed hundreds of civilians at My Lai, Mr. Luong “had to probe, then translate, what the villagers of My Lai told us about the massacre,” the Times reporter Gloria Emerson recalled in a memoir, “Winners and Losers: Battles, Retreats, Gains, Losses and Ruins From a Long War.” | |
| Outside the bureau, Mr. Luong’s street smarts safeguarded reporters from the Communist Vietcong and even from rogue South Vietnamese soldiers who mistrusted Western reporters. With his winning demeanor, he often coaxed reticent Vietnamese to agree to candid interviews. | Outside the bureau, Mr. Luong’s street smarts safeguarded reporters from the Communist Vietcong and even from rogue South Vietnamese soldiers who mistrusted Western reporters. With his winning demeanor, he often coaxed reticent Vietnamese to agree to candid interviews. |
| There were times, Ms. Emerson wrote, when even Mr. Luong, a South Vietnamese man ostensibly allied with the United States and working for a New York newspaper, was not necessarily safe from American soldiers. | There were times, Ms. Emerson wrote, when even Mr. Luong, a South Vietnamese man ostensibly allied with the United States and working for a New York newspaper, was not necessarily safe from American soldiers. |
| “The soldiers were keyed up, the sight of any Vietnamese might make them open fire,” she wrote. | “The soldiers were keyed up, the sight of any Vietnamese might make them open fire,” she wrote. |
| She recalled one occasion when two swaggering Green Berets dragged her from a safe berth on the floor of a helicopter and made her sit instead on the vulnerable door gunner’s seat. | She recalled one occasion when two swaggering Green Berets dragged her from a safe berth on the floor of a helicopter and made her sit instead on the vulnerable door gunner’s seat. |
| “Luong could not help me,” she wrote. “We had an agreement that he must never try to interfere when I was in trouble, even if I called out and looked for him, because there was nothing an ordinary Vietnamese could ever do.” | “Luong could not help me,” she wrote. “We had an agreement that he must never try to interfere when I was in trouble, even if I called out and looked for him, because there was nothing an ordinary Vietnamese could ever do.” |
| Mr. Luong said he had remained in Vietnam because of his pride in his country and his respect for what ordinary Vietnamese had endured. “I cannot stand Vietnamese who have no sign of suffering on their faces,” he would often say. | Mr. Luong said he had remained in Vietnam because of his pride in his country and his respect for what ordinary Vietnamese had endured. “I cannot stand Vietnamese who have no sign of suffering on their faces,” he would often say. |
| His politics were opaque. When Hanoi became Communist after 1954, he said, he resettled in Saigon for personal rather than political reasons. But as a young boy, he tried to enlist in the anticolonial and Communist-dominated Viet Minh; he was told at the time that he could serve his country best by finishing school. | His politics were opaque. When Hanoi became Communist after 1954, he said, he resettled in Saigon for personal rather than political reasons. But as a young boy, he tried to enlist in the anticolonial and Communist-dominated Viet Minh; he was told at the time that he could serve his country best by finishing school. |
| “Without American intervention there would have been no war,” he said. “Reunification one way or another would have happened in 1956.” | “Without American intervention there would have been no war,” he said. “Reunification one way or another would have happened in 1956.” |
| Right after the war, he wrote to Ms. Emerson, he looked forward to “no more killing, no more foreign advisers of all kinds.” He hoped, he said, that “each and every person” would be allowed to “really be himself, to feel really useful.” | Right after the war, he wrote to Ms. Emerson, he looked forward to “no more killing, no more foreign advisers of all kinds.” He hoped, he said, that “each and every person” would be allowed to “really be himself, to feel really useful.” |
| But he was not allowed to be under the victorious Communist government. He was barred from working as a journalist and placed in what David K. Shipler, a former Times correspondent, called “a kind of occupational cage,” eking out a living by crafting trinkets and teaching English. | But he was not allowed to be under the victorious Communist government. He was barred from working as a journalist and placed in what David K. Shipler, a former Times correspondent, called “a kind of occupational cage,” eking out a living by crafting trinkets and teaching English. |
| “The Communist government wasted his precious devotion to his country, silenced his poetic eloquence and blinded his artistic eye,” Mr. Shipler wrote in an online eulogy this month. | “The Communist government wasted his precious devotion to his country, silenced his poetic eloquence and blinded his artistic eye,” Mr. Shipler wrote in an online eulogy this month. |
| Nguyen Ngoc Luong (pronounced WIN-nyocp LOONG) was born on Nov. 26, 1936, in a suburb of Hanoi, in what was then French Indochina. His parents were poor farmers who had survived the Japanese-induced famine that claimed many of their neighbors during World War II. | Nguyen Ngoc Luong (pronounced WIN-nyocp LOONG) was born on Nov. 26, 1936, in a suburb of Hanoi, in what was then French Indochina. His parents were poor farmers who had survived the Japanese-induced famine that claimed many of their neighbors during World War II. |
| He contracted tuberculosis as a teenager, and after Vietnam was partitioned in 1954 he moved to Saigon, he recalled, both to escape an alcoholic father and to spare his family the expense of a funeral if his disease proved fatal. Instead, his lungs cleared. | He contracted tuberculosis as a teenager, and after Vietnam was partitioned in 1954 he moved to Saigon, he recalled, both to escape an alcoholic father and to spare his family the expense of a funeral if his disease proved fatal. Instead, his lungs cleared. |
| He was a social worker from 1954 to 1960 and married Tran Thi Bach Mai, who survives him. Besides her and Ms. Hop, he is survived by three other daughters, Nguyen Thi Bich Chi, Nguyen Thi Bich Chieu and Nguyen Thi Bich Lien, and six grandchildren. | He was a social worker from 1954 to 1960 and married Tran Thi Bach Mai, who survives him. Besides her and Ms. Hop, he is survived by three other daughters, Nguyen Thi Bich Chi, Nguyen Thi Bich Chieu and Nguyen Thi Bich Lien, and six grandchildren. |
| In the South Vietnamese Army he was trained as an interpreter and translated for Gen. William C. Westmoreland, the commander of United States forces in Vietnam in the 1960s. He also wrote for The Saigon Daily News, an English-language newspaper, until it was closed by the government in 1969. | In the South Vietnamese Army he was trained as an interpreter and translated for Gen. William C. Westmoreland, the commander of United States forces in Vietnam in the 1960s. He also wrote for The Saigon Daily News, an English-language newspaper, until it was closed by the government in 1969. |
| Ms. Emerson hired him afterward as a translator, originally paid him personally and gave him the camera that turned him into a part-time photographer. He also worked with the Times correspondents Craig R. Whitney, Malcolm W. Browne, Fox Butterfield, Ralph Blumenthal and Mr. Shipler, among others. | Ms. Emerson hired him afterward as a translator, originally paid him personally and gave him the camera that turned him into a part-time photographer. He also worked with the Times correspondents Craig R. Whitney, Malcolm W. Browne, Fox Butterfield, Ralph Blumenthal and Mr. Shipler, among others. |
| Mr. Luong later wrote to Ms. Emerson: “You are the only one who cannot overcome your Vietnam experience. There is an acute lack of forgetfulness in you about Vietnam.” | Mr. Luong later wrote to Ms. Emerson: “You are the only one who cannot overcome your Vietnam experience. There is an acute lack of forgetfulness in you about Vietnam.” |
| But, he, too, could not forget. “I saw too much,” he said. “I spend almost all my time with the past.” | But, he, too, could not forget. “I saw too much,” he said. “I spend almost all my time with the past.” |