by Jill Hunting
I suspect you’ll be in for a hard time of it now, not only with internal problems this will create in the team and their feelings about Viet-Nam, but with reactions from parents, from AID, from all sorts of other people who might be concerned, including the IVS Board of Directors. I am so sorry about it — so sorry.
When you have time, I’d be interested in hearing what really happened. I just put almost no confidence in the reports I read and hear here. . . .
How will IVS be able to trust anybody now, if Peter was led into this by friends? How much difference the death of a person in Viet-Nam is if you know that person. The impact of 1,000 deaths of soldiers is not as shocking to me as the one of Peter Hunting. . . .
I find myself with mixed emotions as always, believing the cause is worth fighting for, but not believing anyone’s life is worth it either. But lives will be lost, even more, and I guess this is the reality of Viet-Nam. In order to save lives, we lost lives, but somewhere it just doesn’t all quite fit together. Americans are in a real dilemma about Viet-Nam, and I can’t say that I blame them. . . . I do know that I hope your life isn’t too hard right now, but I’ll bet you look more worried than I’ve ever seen you.
The green lacquer box took pride of place on our living room coffee table, but I did not look inside it more than a couple of times. I sensed that the letters and photographs belonged to my parents, especially my mother. If she were to see me reading them, as moody as she now was, how would she react? I wondered if her dark eyes would flash angrily and she would accuse me of doing something I should have known not to do. Worse, she might cry, and then what would I do?
Two Vietnamese who wrote to my parents came to the United States within a few months. Tran Ngoc Bau was the young leader of National Voluntary Services, an organization Pete and other IVSers had worked with closely. Bau asked:
How can we express our sorrow and regrets when we heard of Pete Hunting’s death in a mine accident while he was doing his assignment in the Mekong River Region. . . .
Pete Hunting’s life as well as his heartful sacrifice will remain forever. Pete had done something most valuable in serving mankind.
We sincerely send our sympathy to you and wish that Pete Hunting has a peaceful sleep forever.
Bau visited our home in Oklahoma City. Afterward he toured the San Francisco Bay Area and marveled at the Bay Bridge, fresh shellfish, and California wine. At Muir Woods he saw the ancient redwoods. Americans lived in an earthly paradise, he observed, while Vietnamese lived in the hell of war, misery, and illness. He looked to our family for empathy:
We never forget the Huntings who bear in their soul and their body the very living suffering of our people, who share in their heart our anxiety, our fear for the present and the future, our physical and moral insecurity, our perplexity before such an unimaginable inhumanity of this world. . . . I spent the most excellent hours in U.S. with you, just to be near you, to hear from you, to feel at home with the Huntings, to be sheltered under the same roof Pete had been. . . . You might consider me as your second Pete in Vietnam.
A Miss Nguyen also came to the house. My mother was suspicious of her because Pete had not mentioned her and she was not pretty like the other young women he had wanted the family to meet. After visiting us in Oklahoma City, Miss Nguyen called on my relatives at the farm in Connecticut. They didn’t like her, either. They found her homely and were afraid she was a Communist spy. She had stood at a window in my grandmother’s house, looking out at the lawn that sloped down to the swimming pool, shaking her head and muttering, “Too much. Too much.”
At Thanksgiving my parents sent a letter to the people who had reached out to them. The letter reflected what I think of as my parents’ best qualities: my father’s clarity, my mother’s bigheartedness, and their sincerity.
Thank you, each of you, from fullest hearts, for your deeply moving thoughts and deeds for Peter and for us. Please forgive this general letter to tell you all over the world how much your kindnesses have meant to us.
The tribute to Pete of response from so many, even some who only read the news of a stranger’s death, makes us humble, grateful, and thoughtful, in a kind of awe that in the hearts of people widely separated there is a shared but individual sense of deep personal loss, joining with ours.
As a family, we were always close; and we felt there was a special bond between Pete and each of us. But something in Pete in some way touched the lives or hearts or minds of many, it seems, making his life, though brief, memorable and full of meaning — an outward-spreading ripple.
We think your wonderful letters express an awareness in us, thinking of him, of a sureness in him of life’s truest values, underlying his fun and dedication and interest in life; a thoughtful acceptance of things as they are, so complete it was a readiness for what would be; a naturalness that reached directly, without sham or pretense, the sincerity in others.
Perhaps he seems in some way special because he was an “ordinary American ‘good guy’ you never hear about,” representing all like him who don’t know they are special. Pete died where he wanted to be, doing what he believed in and wanted to do — a reminder that belief in true values and faith in humanity, put to work by a individual, can be a valued contribution in today’s complex world. Perhaps Pete personified to us and those who wrote, an affirmation of brotherhood and the efficacy of a labor of love, the greatest of God’s gifts. . . .
In different ways, we will always feel a special bond with so many of you. We are glad it was Pete’s privilege to know such as you; and to serve with those of you in Viet Nam, and IVS, who quietly continue your work and contribute so much in the love and service of your fellowmen.
Pete returned in the goodly company of others who had served and died in Viet Nam. We are personally glad an investigation found no evidence to verify the first reports that he was betrayed. With a quiet family service Nov. 22nd, in a gentle rain so soft it was nature’s own benison, Pete was laid in eternal rest in the autumn beauty of the Connecticut countryside he lived in as a child and again during his college years. We are deeply touched that memorial services were held in the International Protestant Church in the far land he loved, and in the Methodist Church of Dexter, Missouri, our home in Pete’s boyhood — in addition to the lovely service in Woodbridge. We are glad to have met many of you there. Thank you, so very much, for the keepsakes we have from these services.
Our hearts are full; but much greater, than grief, is our love and glad gratitude for the years of Pete’s life and for what he was — a kind and universal good guy, very dear to us, who liked and believed in his fellow-men and whose contribution counted; a practical idealist graced by fun and good cheer; a dreamer but doer.
A deep sadness will always be in us for the loss of the son we so loved, and for his hopes and plans that cannot be realized. But we have much more to be thankful for, and feel blessed in his memory; and in the family and friends who helped make him what he was, and his life full and good and of meaning.
You will always be in our warmest thoughts; to you our door is always open! And for all you have said and written and done, our deepest thanks and appreciation go out to you who cared and shared, with us, in Pete’s loss.
Until the trunk containing Pete’s letters surfaced in 2004, I didn’t know how many people had helped my parents to withstand the blow of their son’s death. Along with Pete’s correspondence, I found paper bags stuffed with more than two hundred sympathy letters. Many of them were addressed to the whole family or specifically referred to Cis, Holly, and me.
If only our parents been able to demonstrate behind closed doors the openness they showed in their Thanksgiving letter. They signed it “Allan and Mary Hunting and family,” but my sisters and I didn’t even know they wrote it.
Some of my father’s friends from work proposed starting a memorial fund. My parents wrote to IVS Executive Director Gardiner to ask if the contributions could fill a specific need in Vietnam. Pete had talked about m
any kinds of projects, they said, from drought relief to science education to windmills, but “he always got around to the subject of basic hamlet education.” They hoped the memorial funds would help as Pete would have wished:
In the sad knowledge that we will not again see his warm smile, we are reacting to helplessness as Pete did, directly and simply, saying in effect, “Let’s get on with small beginnings. . . .” Perhaps, with Mr. Luce, his IVS team members in Viet Nam, and the Viet Namese people he so admired, you can tell us that we may help some village to build their school.
For advice about a suitable project, they turned to Bob Friedman, the prov rep who had worked with Pete in Ninh Thuan and now was back in the States. Friedman suggested four possibilities: first, the education of a Cham or Vietnamese teacher, possibly at a university in the United States; second, a textbook for elementary students, as Pete had considered the teaching materials in hamlets woefully deficient and instruction in the scientific method crucial; third, sponsorship of formal training for hamlet teachers; and finally, the creation of a rural education department at Saigon University, because Friedman believed that rural Vietnam’s unique conditions justified a separate curriculum.
My parents also relied on Gene Stoltzfus. Gene met with several people in Phan Rang, including school principals and officials responsible for education, land reform, and youth.
The education chief suggested building a school. He felt that because Pete had been concerned chiefly with education, a school would be the most fitting memorial. Gene knew, however, that other funds were currently available for hamlet schools.
A second alternative was to equip a youth center temporarily being used by the U.S. Navy Seabees for residential quarters. But the Vietnamese government had already promised to renovate the center, and Gene knew that Pete had not worked much with its youth services office.
The third and best project, Gene thought, would be to build a public library in Phan Rang. Pete had at one time drawn up a proposal for a combined library and youth center, and the project had generated considerable enthusiasm. The community felt that a library would be a fitting memorial and would serve an important function in their city. Pete had estimated the cost to be around a million piasters — about 13,700 U.S. dollars. The memorial fund was not expected to cover the entire amount, but Gene thought the provincial government might contribute some money and USOM would come up with some building materials.
The library had the most potential for success, but a few problems remained to be worked out. Who would supply the books and maintain the library? Would it be private or run by the government? Where would additional funds come from if they were needed?
In February 1966 my parents informed Don Luce that they were particularly pleased by the suggestion of a library. If he agreed that this would be the best use of the funds, they were in full accord. They sent a check combining the gifts of 158 contributors.
Luce informed my parents that Nguyen Van Hoa, a prominent architect and close friend of the IVS director, had agreed to draw the plans for the library. A few weeks later, Mr. Hoa informed them that more money was needed. My parents sent another check. Pete’s motorcycle was sold and the proceeds were donated to the fund. Roofing materials, cement, and the building site, on a plot near the high school and adjacent to the Boy Scout office, were donated.
Ground was broken in the fall of 1966. Things moved slowly, but both Don and Gene assured my parents that the pace was normal for Vietnam. They said that the library’s ultimate success would depend, in fact, on moving slowly and allowing time for people to reach a consensus.
The building would be typical of the architectural style in Ninh Thuan Province: a one-story concrete structure with a pitched roof and a large front porch. Shuttered wooden doors and windows would provide ventilation. The interior would be a single open room with a tile floor.
Meanwhile, two new IVSers had arrived in Phan Rang. One of them, Beryl Darrah, had been charged with overseeing the library construction. Darrah had served in the army before joining IVS. He was given the responsibility of making the library a reality — a job he later described as “monumental.”6
Phan Rang had never had such a thing as a library, and few people knew what a library was, Darrah discovered. On top of that, he soon realized that the project was underfunded. He scrounged for tables and for wood to build shelving. No provision had been made for books, but he found that the U.S. Information Agency had hundreds of volumes and was eager to donate them. The books proved to be out of date, however, and too technical for Vietnamese with limited English skills.
After weeks of looking, Darrah located an organization that was willing to donate the kinds of volumes the library needed. At first he was elated. Then someone in the Saigon IVS office determined that the potential donor had accepted money from the CIA. Darrah later wrote:
After that, everything I had worked so hard for went crashing to the ground. They said accepting aid for any organization who had ties from the CIA would compromise our position in Vietnam. What WAS our position in Vietnam? It was something that I never figured out. . . . Half of the Vietnamese I worked with were convinced that I worked for the CIA anyway, because I didn’t live in an American compound and because I worked with Vietnamese and not Americans.7
Despite Darrah’s frustrating experience, the library was completed, even though he missed the dedication. After contracting hepatitis, he had to be evacuated to a hospital in Saigon.
The library opened in June 1968. Another IVSer, Jay Scarborough, was responsible for orchestrating the opening ceremony. He described it to my parents:
After many unforeseen delays, the library opened on June 6, with a small ceremony consisting entirely of province officials, school principals and IVS representatives. At the time of the opening we had 1300 books in Vietnamese, about 800 in English, 400 in French and 44 in Chinese. A substantial number of the Vietnamese books — 720 — were bought with a $400 fund contributed by Save the Children Foundation, the first organization to give us financial aid. I have also received a promise of monies from Catholic Relief Service [sic], and the province is requesting $2000 from Asia Foundation. I hope the latter will come through, for such an amount will go almost all the way to meeting our goal of 5000 Vietnamese books.
Scarborough noted that, even before the official dedication, students and adults were borrowing books. He envisioned the library developing rapidly into a “credible and popular institution.” Although he had not known Pete, he thought from what he had heard about him that the library would be a fitting memorial. He saved the hand-painted banner from the opening ceremony and sent it to my parents with an article clipped from a newspaper:
At 4 P.M. on 6/6/68, the lieutenant governor of Ninh Thuan Province cut the inaugural band to open a library situated on Le Van Duyet Street in Phan Rang.
Also present were the lieutenant governor, the chairman of the provincial committee, the principal of Duy Tan School, and a number of high school teachers in the province. On the American side were a female representative from IVS in Vietnam, a representative from the International Voluntary Youth Agency of Ninh Thuan, and members of the CORD[S] organization in Ninh Thuan.
This library is named after a young American IVSer, Petter [sic] Hunting, who had worked in the Ninh Thuan area during the two years [1963 and 1964] and who had died in Phong Dinh. During that time, he was assigned to the Fourth Tactical Zone as the IVS leader.
This library was built next to a Ninh Thuan Boy Scout office with a length of 16 meters and a width of 6 meters [about 52 feet by 20 feet]. Total cost was VN $300,000. Part of the cost was a contribution from Peter Hunting’s mother and the local cord[s] office contributed building material.8
Verda Bradford represented IVS at the dedication, and afterward sent my parents color slides taken that day. In one, a potted plant is being placed in a tree “to appease the superstitions of the local people,” she explained. “They believe spirits live in trees and if it [a tree] is
one not bearing life it must be given life to signify a rebirth of the spirits and to bring good luck to the building on the property.” Other slides showed Jay Scarborough splattered with whitewash after touching up the building at the last minute and subsequently, having changed his clothes, welcoming the people of Phan Rang to the library. Another volunteer, Phil Scott, looked on as several Vietnamese men wearing white shirts and black ties signed a guest book.
The author’s mother with Pete and Cis (1943). Photo by Ben Stone; author’s collection.
The author’s father (circa 1959). Photo by Jim Rollins, Malden Air Force Base, Missouri; author’s collection.
The author (age 3), second from left, with her siblings, left to right: Cis (age 11), Pete (age 12), and Holly (age 5). Photographer unknown; author’s collection.
Pete (age 11), right, with unidentified friend in a toy car given to him by his maternal grandfather, Popeye. Equipped with an accelerator, horn, brakes, and forward and reverse gears, the car was manufactured by the company Popeye founded. Margo Bradley’s father later became its president. Author’s collection.
Pete, probably on his fifteenth birthday, in Dexter, Missouri. Author’s collection.