by Tracy Vo
Not long after I arrived back in Perth the devastating news came that Harves had pancreatic cancer. He was holidaying with his wife Anne in Venice when he was rushed to hospital and diagnosed. When he arrived back in Sydney, we emailed back and forth. This is the last email I received from him, less than a month before he passed away:
Hi TVo—just had pho for lunch so I must be getting better! I hope all is good with u and ur folks!!
Harves
On 2 March 2013, my former colleague and close friend Mark Tang rang me from the Sydney studios to tell me the news. Less than five months after the diagnosis, Harves had passed away. He was sixty-eight. That night my folks and I had a beer for Harves.
I’ll never meet anyone like Peter Harvey. I was privileged to have been able to work with a legend of news. To gain his respect and friendship was an honour. To have had someone like him in my life, I am very blessed. He will always be in my heart.
My colleagues at Channel Nine really were my family. We understood each other and knew each other so well. I’d see them every day for five years, creating a wealth of memories. Many of them are fun memories. We had a lot of laughs in that newsroom.
Whenever Ken Sutcliffe, Channel Nine’s veteran sports presenter, wandered in, Mullet would yell: ‘Kenny’s on the floor!’ And everyone in the newsroom would erupt with mock applause.
One day I decided to take it up a notch.
‘Kenny’s on the floor!’ Mullet announced.
‘Woo! Yeah! Kenny! Woo!’ I shouted.
We were all laughing but Ken in particular seemed to enjoy my outburst. ‘Look at her. She’s going off!’ It continues to be a running joke between Kenny and me.
It was those sorts of moments that I thrived on in Sydney. The friendships I had formed and the work, that’s what kept me happy. I was so settled that I just assumed I would live in Sydney for the rest of my life. I spent most of my years living close to Channel Nine on the lower North Shore. I rented an apartment in Lane Cove, a leafy suburb close to the city which gave me access to everything I needed—shops, restaurants. I enjoyed living there. But after spending time with my parents during that Easter break in 2012, I wanted to go home. It’s the toughest decision I’ve made so far. And telling Channel Nine was probably the hardest part.
I was working late one night, and hanging around until my boss was alone in his office.
‘You got a sec, Wickie?’
‘Yeah, Trace. What’s up?’
‘I’ve decided to move back to Perth.’
He swore and sat back in his chair. I think I shocked Wickie, and it was hard to shock this man.
‘Yeah, it’s time to go home. My folks need me there. It’s got nothing to do with work. It’s family.’
It took a while for my announcement to sink in but Wickie, in true form, showed his support for my decision. ‘You’re a good journo, Trace,’ he said. ‘You’ve really impressed me. I think when you were beaten on that story, it showed me what kind of person you are. You came to me and faced the music. You didn’t slink away. Then you came back with a strong yarn.’
I thanked Wickie for everything he’d done for me, all the opportunities he had given me. The achievements I’ve had in my career, most of them could not have happened if Darren Wick had not shown faith in me from the start.
And then I had to tell my dear friends Amelia Adams, Tom Stefanovic and Adam Bovino. Amelia is one of the brightest and sweetest people I know, and she had become one of my closest mates in Sydney. I’d already spoken to both her and Bov about going back to Perth, but not Tommy. At the first opportunity I grabbed him as he walked past my desk.
‘Heeeey, TVo. What’s up?’
‘I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve just resigned, I’m leaving.’
‘What?! Where are you going?’
‘I’m moving back to Perth, permanently.’
‘When?’
‘I’m sorting out a job first. Hopefully in a few months’ time.’
He didn’t say anything then. I looked at his eyes and they were welling with tears.
‘You’ve rattled me, TVo. You’ve really rattled me.’
And I cried for the first time since I had made my decision to leave.
My last day at Channel Nine was 24 August 2012. I cleared my desk and I thanked all the station staff, producers, editors, cameramen, journalists and my bosses for all their support and friendship over the years. I hugged everyone goodbye. Among many emails wishing me well, I got two very special messages in my inbox a few days later. One was from Ken Sutcliffe:
Tracy
You’re a beauty. I will miss that laugh.
You are a natural. Work as hard in Perth and you will own the town.
I look forward to your success. Woo!
Ken x
The other was from Peter Overton:
Walk out of this place with your head in the stars!
Pete xxx
My parents believe in karma and so do I. Mum and Dad once told me that everyone I meet in this life, I might have had some sort of connection with in a previous life. It’s a bonus to have these people in life again this time around.
20
HOME
Coming home was the best decision I have ever made. After being away for so long, it took a little time to settle back in but I’ve managed to reconnect with my old friends and, more importantly, with my family.
Dad continues to receive treatment for his autoimmune disease. Each month he goes to hospital for infusion therapy, where fluid medication is administered intravenously, and every couple of months he has a plasma exchange. I am now a blood and plasma donor; I do it to show respect for those people who are helping my father, and to give back. There’s no cure for Morvan’s syndrome. Dad’s specialist hopes that his immune system will balance itself out over time but we’ll just have to wait and see. My father remains positive about the future. He always says how lucky he is to be well looked after by his doctors and the hospital staff. On a day-to-day basis he’s much more comfortable than he was before. But all those years of hard work are catching up with him, and he still doesn’t know how to slow down.
Mum’s had arthroscopic surgery on both knees, where the doctor cleaned out damaged cartilage, but they don’t seem to be getting better. She’s struggles to get around now. But she also carries the same positive outlook on life as Dad. She thanks Buddha and God for allowing them to live in a country like Australia where they are well cared for. Dad was approved for the war veteran’s pension after it was accepted that he trained alongside Australian troops in Vietnam and faced danger during the war. He was both relieved and grateful that Australia recognised him as part of its military brotherhood. My parents can grow older with ease in Australia.
They still maintain a close relationship with their sisters and brothers. But it is getting difficult as they all get older and they start to leave this world. Sadly, my Uncle Five, the wonderful man who got everyone out of Vietnam, died of prostate cancer in 2011 at the age of eighty-three. I paid my last respects at his funeral in Melbourne, thanking him for my family’s life and for my life. He left behind his wife, three children and two grandchildren. My other uncles and aunties have carried on with their lives. Uncle Three, Uncle Eleven and Uncle Twelve live in Virginia. Two other brothers—Uncle Four and Uncle Thirteen—are in California. Uncle Seven still lives in Canada and I have recently connected with my Canadian cousins through social media; I still haven’t met them face to face.
I am enjoying every moment I have with my parents. I didn’t think I would ever move back to Perth. I was sure I would be a Sydneysider for the rest of my life. But coming home and taking this journey has made the purpose of my younger years all the more clear. After a rough and confusing childhood, I have learned to embrace my heritage. The people I have met along the way have made me feel honoured to be a Vietnamese–Australian. There were so many times I could have given up on my dreams, but I’m so glad I persisted. When I felt I wanted to t
hrow it all in, I would think about my family and tell myself, ‘I have to do it for them’.
I believe my character stems from my family history, from the strength and courage of my parents, my aunties and uncles and my grandparents. I have taken their qualities and grown from them. I would not have had success during my career if it wasn’t for my parents, their support or encouragement. I believe I then gained the love and support of my colleagues because of the person my parents shaped me to be. I’m rich in culture and diversity and I couldn’t be prouder. My family took the risk on a leaky boat in search of a better life. They worked with all their hearts so they could give their children a good life. I hope I give it a red-hot go!
I would like to leave you with some words from my Uncle Three, the Godfather of the Vo family, who wrote to me while he was detailing his incredible story. I don’t think I could have said it better myself:
Some thirty years after the Fall of Saigon and the entire country, our Vietnamese community is thriving and continues to contribute to the economic and cultural success of a country which nurtures us, protects us and gives freedom and liberty, qualities we do not think exist nowadays in Vietnam.
Vietnam will always and forever be in our hearts and souls but our new countries, our new homes, are ours now to cherish . . .
Mum, 6 (right), with her older sister, Di Hai, visiting a zoo during a family holiday in Vietnam, 1960.
My maternal grandparents, Ong Ngoai and Ba Ngoai, at Bokor Mountain in Cambodia, 1962.
Mum at sweet 16. This photo was taken in 1970, just before her family fled Cambodia for Vietnam.
Happier times for Mum (back right) and her sister Di Hai, with their family in 1973, a few years before the Fall of Saigon. My uncle Cau Tung is seated on my grandma’s lap, while Di Loan is on my grandpa’s. Di Dung, dressed in white, is standing next to Grandpa.
Mum with her first scooter in Vietnam, 1974.
My mother Lien (left) at work in a pharmacy in Saigon, 1974, the year before she started working on the black market.
The Vo family at Uncle Three’s home in Saigon, 1970. Dad (second row, far left) is the boy wearing a red tie.
A day at Vung Tau beach. Dad, 15 (far right), with his sister, brother and nephews, including (from left) Uncle Twenty (third from left), Uncle Seventeen (fifth from left, wearing the hat) and Aunt Fifteen (sixth from left).
Dad loves the ocean, and as a teenager he would try to swim every day. Here he is at Vung Tau beach in 1970, at the age of 15.
Dad, 16, sitting at the bar in Uncle Three’s home in Saigon, 1971.
Dad, 17, with his sister, Aunt Sixteen, 1972.
Dad’s confirmation card after completing his re-education training under Communist rule, 1975.
Mum and Dad in the doorway of their unit at Graylands Migrant Hostel, their first home in Perth, in 1978. Mum is wearing the white cardigan Dad had bought for her in Kuala Lumpur.
Mum and Dad chilling out in their room at Graylands, 1978.
This photo was taken in 1979 on the front lawn of Aunt and Uncle Five’s home in Melbourne, during Mum and Dad’s first visit, when they decided not to move there. My parents are in the back row with Uncle Twenty (third from left), Aunt Five (third from the right) and their nieces and nephews.
Dad as a chef in 1979 at the Underground, where he saw Kiss.
Our first family photo, 1984, when I was just four months old and Trevor was four.
My paternal grandparents arrived in Australia in 1984, sponsored by my parents. My wonderful grandfather is holding me, and my grandmother is sitting to his left.
Our first overseas family holiday was in Singapore, when I was two years old. I was a little scared of being on the rickshaw, 1985.
Trevor and I make offerings for Chinese New Year, Tet, 1986.
After living in America for a couple of years, Uncle Four made his first trip to Australia in 1995. Dad hadn’t seen his brother in twenty years, since the Fall of Saigon in 1975. It was a very emotional occasion for both of them.
In 2000, Dad’s eldest brother, Uncle Three, came to Australia for a Vo family reunion. They hadn’t seen each other for fourteen years.
At this family gathering in 1995, Uncle Four started singing to my grandparents. I reflect on this in the book. From left: My grandparents, Aunt Five, Dad, Uncle Four and Aunt Sixteen.
The Vo family reunion of 2000, the year before my beloved grandfather passed away. My paternal grandparents are seated in the front row and behind them, from left, are Uncle Three, Uncle Four, Uncle Five, Uncle Seven, Uncle Eleven, Uncle Twelve, Uncle Thirteen, Uncle Fifteen, Uncle Seventeen, Dad (number Eighteen) and Uncle Twenty.
The Vo men catching up at a small reunion in Virginia in the States, 2005. Clockwise from left: Uncle Eleven, Uncle Three and his wife, Bac Ba Gai, Uncle Four, Uncle Thirteen and Uncle Twenty.
In 2011 we had one of our last dinners with Uncle Five before he passed away from prostate cancer. Here he is with my folks and Aunt Five.
With Mark Burrows, a man I consider a mentor, at my farewell dinner in Sydney, 2012.
With the lovely Peter Overton on the final night of the 2010 Federal Election campaign.
My first hug on my last day in the Channel Nine Sydney newsroom in 2012—with the late and great Peter Harvey.
My parents and I with Aileen and Moyle Campbell, 2012. Moyle still calls Mum ‘my girl’.
An exhilarating moment—patting lions at Seaview Lion Park, a South African conservation park in Port Elizabeth, with friend and cameraman Adam Bovino, 2012. I was there filming a story about lion tamer Tamblyn Williams.
Dad during one of his infusion treatments at Sir Charles Gairdner Hospital in Perth, 2012. Always a happy patient.
The Channel Nine helicopter is always in the air. Flying over Sydney Harbour was a thrill, 2011.
Crossing live from outside the late Nelson Mandela’s home in Johannesburg, after his death, 2013.
My second year covering the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race, 2011.
On the news desk back home, presenting Nine News Perth, in 2013. LIAM KYLE
I’m still with my beautiful girlfriends from high school days, Nichola (centre) and Pia, 2013.
They live so far away but we’ve never been closer—my dearest Sydney friends, in 2013, from left: Tom Stefanovic, Amelia Adams, me of course, Adam Bovino and Luke Adams.
The family back together for Dad’s fifty-eighth birthday, 2012. I had just moved back to Perth.
With my adopted family, the Vo ladies, in 2013. From left: Trinh, Trang, me and Diem.
With my family at Mount Lawley Bowling Club for my thirtieth birthday, 2013.
My parents and I all glammed up for a fashion event in Perth, 2013. MATTHEW TOMPSETT
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First of all a huge thank you to the people who made this happen. My publisher, Claire Kingston, contacted me, asking if I had ever thought about writing a book. I said yes, but not for publication. Claire, you really didn’t have to say much to convince me. After just a couple of emails I was away, writing this memoir under your guidance. I would also like to thank my editor, Sarah Baker. Sarah, your patience and understanding of a journalist’s erratic schedule made this entire process much easier. I am overwhelmed with gratitude to you all, as well as the entire team at Allen & Unwin.
I would like to thank my Aunties and Uncles for being so patient with all my phone calls and emails as I gathered every little detail of their lives for this book.
Bac Ba (Uncle Three), thank you for those long hours sitting on the phone—me in Perth, you in Virginia, USA. The excitement in your voice as you recalled your years as a pilot for the South Vietnamese Air Force was a joy to hear. After all these decades, I can’t believe your incredible memory. Your willingness to share your story, which was sad at times, made the writing of this book much easier. Thank you for being such a wonderful ‘Godfather’ of the Vo family.
Bac Bay (Uncle Seven), I am so grateful we have been able to reconnect over F
acebook. You’re in your seventies but you’re more tech-savvy than I am! You gave me a wonderful insight into Grandpa. Thank you for all those Facebook messages and emails detailing your love for him. Grandpa’s memory lives on through all of us.
Co Loan and Duong Hung (Aunt and Uncle Fifteen), you were both always by the phone in Melbourne and ready with answers to all my questions. You spent the longest time in Vietnam after all the family had left. Your memories of Uncle Four and Uncle Eleven after their release from the re-education camps was heartbreaking and I want to thank you for being able to share your stories.
Bac Tien (Uncle Eleven) and Bac Tan (Uncle Thirteen), we always had to double-check the time when we phoned both of you in California. But it didn’t matter how late it was, you always answered.
Bac Tu (Uncle Four), you have been most affected by all this. After all these years you still can’t bring yourself to speak about the atrocities you endured during those ten years in the labour camps. The pain in your voice brought tears to my eyes, and you could only come up with three words—Nhuc. Han. Dau Koh. Disgrace. Hatred. Suffering. I hope our brief chats brought you some peace. I know you’re living a much more peaceful life in California.