Part I — Growing up in a War
America’s First Television War
When we embarked on “Escape from Saigon – a Novel,” the authors focused much of the story on the journalists who risked their lives to deliver the good, the bad and the ugly events of what was then America’s longest and certainly most controversial war. Our fictional characters Lisette Vo, NBS-TV’s first female war correspondent and the first Vietnamese- American on-air journalist portends the future of broadcasting and the emergence of cable. Sam Esposito, her colleague and friend, was with The Washington Legend. Sam is the archetypal cynical Ivy League reporter who cuts through layers of military obfuscation until he gets the story.
We also strove to give our readers, especially those who grew up taking the internet, cell phones, IM and Skype for granted, an appreciation of how hard it was to deliver the news halfway around the world only four decades ago. In those days 16mm sound-on-film cameras were the latest technology and satellite transmission was in its infancy and spotty.
While Lisette Vo and Sam Esposito are fictional, Tony Mariano’s story is real. Tony recalls the people who brought the Vietnam War into our living rooms in as close to “live” as possible. This included most especially his father ABC-TV’s Frank Mariano. His relationship with his dad, whom he joined in Saigon in 1973 as a high school age teen, gave him a ringside seat to the war.
Tony Mariano
The elder Mariano started out as an Army pilot, flying helicopters and fixed-wing aircraft and training South Vietnamese aviators, so Tony grew up first as an Army “brat” for the first 12 years of his life. Eventually Frank Mariano, shocked by the My Lai Massacre and other events became disenchanted with the Army. He left active duty, and launched his career in broadcasting as a stringer—freelance reporter—for ABC- News Radio then TV before he was later elevated to Saigon Bureau Chief by the network.
While in Vietnam, his son often worked as a sound technician and field producer with network news crews and, as the war came to a close, he wound up in Manila during the evacuation of Saigon where he played a pivotal role in transmitting reports of South Vietnam’s collapse to the world. Tony's life was an adventure, but he also paid a price for living in a family where journalism came first. Here is his story.
Tony Mariano in his words
Frank Mariano, pre ABC-TV as an Army Pilot
As an Army brat, The Vietnam War experience has been a personal and integral part of my awareness from the time I was a seven-years old Army brat living at Camp Wolters, Texas, where my father Frank A. Mariano was a 34-year-old captain. He was there training South Vietnamese helicopter pilots when he received orders to deploy to Nha Trang, Vietnam in April of 1964 with the 339th Transportation Company whose motto was “Always in Good Hands” — something my father sincerely took to heart as he was a piloted “Big Daddy” and the “Octopus” Ch-37 Mohave— the largest helicopter in the Army’s inventory.
He was shot down more than once and three AK-47 rounds barely miss his head while piloting a DHC-4 Caribou cargo plane. This was his re-introduction to Asia since leaving Seoul, South Korea, where in 1954 as a young artillery officer he met my mother Vee “Rusty” Russell. She was a beautiful Red Cross SRAO worker, a “Donut Dolly,” at a MASH unit. They were reunited stateside, got married in Carmel, CA and I was born at Camp Gary AFB, TX in 1956.
Dad loved flying, but he also wanted to become a writer. So the Army assigned him to editor of the Army Aviation Digest at Ft. Rucker, Alabama. which was and still is the home of Army Aviation. His second tour in Vietnam was as a public information officer. During his second tour in Vietnam he was as a public information officer with the 1st Avn Brigade Headquarters in Bien Hoa, which began in January of '67 and entailed flying members of the press to the battles, writing for the brigade magazine The Hawk and briefing the press. He represented the Army aviation with pride, perspective and his own opinions. But the growing number of journalists he met, and those with whom he flew, countered much of the positive information he was getting and putting out for public consumption. At the time American casualty rates had become twice the number from the year before.
When his tour came to an end and he was ready to come home. It was January of 1968. He was at Tan Son Nhut airfield getting ready to board his flight home to rejoin me and my mother in La Jolla, when the Tet Offensive erupted and shook my family to its core. Viet Cong sappers had breached the walls of our embassy in Saigon while armed conflict broke out around the country. I imagined it was to be his last overseas tour before serving out his 20 years and retire with an Army pension and move on. What was a young son’s desire for that to happen after so long was not to be.
At home, the Tet Offensive began a paradigm shift that would tear our society’s fabric into many factions. Then Dad learned about the My Lai massacre in March of 1968. He realized he could no longer remain in the military full time so we left San Diego and La Jolla to go back up the coast to Monterey and Ft. Ord where he flew his last military helicopter and then left the reserves as a Major.
He and my mother bought a house in the quaint village of Carmel where they had been married 12 years earlier in 1956. My mother and I would call that house our home for the first time and we were there all together as a family again. But my father, now a civilian, was compelled to return to Vietnam. He arrived with about $1,500 in his pocket in late ’68 figuratively trading in his grip on a helicopter’s cyclic and collective to hold a microphone and begin a new career as a stringer for ABC News Radio at age 39. Though he was away from home, I was comforted by the fact that I could hear his voice on the radio and see him on TV.
Then during the later part of 1969 he surprised when he flew from Vietnam to California to join me on a three-day Boy Scout hike in the mountains of Big Sur. I was so proud to have him share an insider’s perspective of the war with the other fathers as we sat around the campfire.
1970-72
Dad paid his dues in Vietnam for a year and came stateside again to join the ABC affiliate KGO-TV in San Francisco as its political and war reporter, covering many of the protest marches, moratoriums and other anti-war demonstrations around Northern California as the tide and sentiment turned further against the war and our nation’s began to rip, tear and split along so institutional, generational, political, religious, patriotic, racial and class lines.
By now, my parents were separated and would soon divorce. During that time I often joined him in San Francisco where I saw the professional news gathering process up close and was fascinated by it.
He would soon marry Ann Bryan at Sutro Park near the city's famous Cliff House and Sutra Bathhouse on the beach. Ann was now my stepmother and I also gained a new sister to love as my own at the same time—a beautiful 18-month old
Anna and Katie
Vietnamese baby girl Thai Ngoc Bich nicknamed “Buttons” who Ann, as a single woman living in Vietnam, had adopted when she was six-weeks old. Ann had first arrived in Saigon in 1966 to start up the Pacific Edition of the Overseas Weekly as its editor and reporter and successfully sued the Pentagon to allow her publication to be distributed side-by-side with the Stars and Stripes.
Our life together as a family lasted only a few hours after their wedding that day because that same evening my father, Ann, little Buttons and with a small entourage of friends in tow, took the short drive to SFO to board a flight back to Saigon where they would live for the foreseeable future. When the boarding call came we tearfully embraced each other and waved goodbye. My head and my entire world were left spinning at the departure gate as I watched them take off westward over the Pacific into the fading light of dusk. I headed back to an empty house and the next day returned to Carmel and to my mother who was also dealing with what had just happened.
Soon afterward my parents agreed I could join them in Saigon as long as I got my focus back on my schoolwork—the last thing on my mind. It was September 1972.
Things moved pretty quickly after that as The Peace Accords had been signed, our POW’s had been repatriated and all American combat forces had left the country. For them the war was over. Though when I arrived in Saigon there was still a significant contingent of Marine security personnel for the US embassy and other government agencies, American contractors and ex-patriates who would set the stage for what was going to be an exciting time to be there.
I arrived in March and started my senior year of my high school studies through the University of Nebraska, Lincoln Extension, which was an accredited school for American dependents in Saigon. I attended my classes until I had satisfied the minimum requirements for graduation in 1974 and took the GED exam.
Dad gave me an after-school job with the ABC bureau on the 6th floor of the Caravel Hotel. I was to monitor and record various English language radio broadcasts from Hanoi and transcribe them for others to cull for information. I also worked as a soundman on a couple of assignments out in the field as well and felt proud to have the responsibility of being a small cog in the news gathering operation. I got to know all of my father’s Vietnamese staff and began to learn how to speak the language.
Shortly after I arrived, my father introduced me to the CBC Band – (Con Ba Cu – “Mother’s Children”) a large family of talented Vietnamese who performed amazing rock ‘n’ roll and who had first started playing music together since 1963 when they won their first talent contest. They did what they had to do to support their family of nine in the slums outside the city. I quickly became endeared to them, their music and they all accepted me almost like a brother in their family. With their help, my language skills improved daily. The band left the country in 1974 and I wouldn’t see them again until 1976 in Washington, DC.
Tony Mariano, part-time sound tech for ABC
I’d also become an amateur photographer and had taken a film production course in Carmel as well as visits to television studios that helped me understand what went into producing and broadcasting a professional news story. Around that time Dad proposed a 10-year retrospective of his Vietnam experiences from 1964 through 1974, which would take about a week to shoot.
Ann and I joined him along with his ABC camera crew. It was on that trip I first saw much of countryside and the ravages of the war. Though I was never under hostile fire I was always aware of my surroundings. It took a drunken South Vietnamese officer to draw his .45 sidearm and put it to my temple to look at the possibility of my death in the face for the first time. In his rant he was frustrated over America abandoning the ARVN and the Rangers of which he was one. His immediate superior talked him down, took his weapon and the soldier lost face.
For that episode, I was given a special gift as consolation for the embarrassment which still comes back to haunt me every once in awhile. In the darkness, laying in bed next to her warm body, she and I listened to the random chatter of automatic gunfire as nervous guards shot at anything floating down the Perfume River toward the bridge. Off to the east, there was constant rumbling of artillery fire and we saw mortar rounds hit with plumes of black smoke rising out of range. The following day when we regrouped with my father and Ann. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what had happened because I didn’t want his Vietnamese crew to take the blame for the incident. From that I learned Vietnamese don’t handle Johnny Walker Red and beer very well especially when they are pissed off.
Part II — The End of a War
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