A Life in Dark Places Read online

  Title Page

  A Life

  in

  Dark Places

  Paul J. Giannone

  Durham, NC

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 Paul J. Giannone,

  Emergency Management Consultant, LLC

  A Life in Dark Places

  Paul J. Giannone

  [email protected]

  www.paulgiannone.com

  Edited by Darrell Laurent

  Published 2019, by Torchflame Books

  an Imprint of Light Messages Publishing

  www.lightmessages.com

  Durham, NC 27713 USA

  SAN: 920-9298

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61153-334-7

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-61153-335-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018968561

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Except as noted, the photographs are by the author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction

  Déjà Vu 2016

  The Pit

  The Child

  Betrayal on the Street Without Joy

  “Don’t Mean Nothin”

  The Party

  The Old Man

  A Small Victory in a Hamlet Called An Duong

  A Cold Night in Hell

  Escape From Tehran

  Land of the Big PX

  Falwell’s Folly

  The Day the Music Died

  What Do We Do When They Come for the Children?

  The Village of Many Widows

  The Mutilated of Sierra Leone

  A Chicken Dinner in Kigali 1998

  Nuns, Clowns and Refugees

  The Gypsy Boy

  The Day the Music Started

  Hoi Binh at Last

  Epilogue: Tapestry of My Life

  The Author

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my daughter Kara and my wife Kate who have inspired me and supported my writing. And to my mother Theresa Eaton, my mother-in-law Myrtle Huntley, my three fathers, my natural father Patsy A. Giannone, my stepfather Glenn C. Eaton and the uncle who helped raise me, Anthony “Tony” Fede and my sister-in-law Karen Huntley Romanow. All have departed this earth now, but they all gave me the building blocks to be a good citizen of this world and are not forgotten.

  Acknowledgements

  Now it is not good for the Christian’s health,

  to hustle the Aryan brown.

  For the Christian riles and the Aryan smiles,

  and it weareth the Christian down.

  And the end of the fight is a tombstone white,

  with the name of the late deceased.

  And the epitaph drear:

  “A fool lies here who tried to hustle the East.”1

  — Rudyard Kipling and Walcott Balestier,

  The Naulahka: a Story of East and West

  It is said that in every human being there is at least one story. This may be true, but getting that story out and molding it into something readable is another matter entirely.

  First, I would like to thank Wally and Betty Turnbull at Torchflame Books in Durham, NC. My words would have never been printed if these wonderful people had not listened to my passion and read my stories and supported me.

  Second there is my editor, Darrell Laurant, who over two years of patience, grammar, spelling correction and my internal frustration has managed to patiently fine-tune A Life in Dark Places so it is readable. And through all this we remained friends.

  And a cordial nod to Susan Amato who volunteered to be a second set of eyes in the editing process.

  Sometimes a mention in the dedication of a book is simply not enough, and this is true for my wife, Kate Huntley, and my daughter, Kara Giannone. They stuck with husband and dad through periods of depression, writers block and mood swings. They too were my editors and confidantes as my ghosts arose again when revisiting the “Dark Places” in my life.

  And a “Semper Fi” to my friend and counsel Robert “Bob” MacPherson for writing the Introduction to this book. Whenever a former army sergeant can get a decorated retired Marine Colonel to be his friend, you know he must be doing something right in this world.

  I would like to recognize Marjorie Rosen, who told my story in Biography Magazine2 and got the ball rolling in the initial phase of this book. Thanks also to Francis X. McCarthy, my friend since my University of Michigan college days, and Bernie Edelman, a friend in Vietnam and forever after for spending time on the book and encouraging my work. And there is the support group of friends from Rochester and Auburn, New York: Carol and David Hampson, Dianne Defurio, Ted and Paige Herrling, Gary and Peg Salvage, Jim and Helen Burns, John and Mary Marcon, Marge and Bill Tracey, John and Bonnie Gleason, and John and Marcia Spoto.

  I have received encouragement and support from my friends in Atlanta, Vince and Mabel Jeffs and Paul and Lynn Harren. In North Carolina, I received support from George and Leslie Small, Chuck and Diane Catotti, Barbara Kennedy and Diego Caballero and my numerous friends from my days at Family Health International. Marketing support from Hillsborough friend Sherry Kinlaw and web support from Jim Musson of Digital Computer Services. And then there are the artists, writer, professors; Allan Harmon, Brian Delate, Marge Harmon-Hemans, and George Haddow.

  I have to acknowledge that my inspiration and my base comes from a variety of delightful people from all walks of life, cultures, religions and political beliefs with whom I’ve had the privilege of walking this planet. The officers and enlisted men of the 2nd and 5th platoons of the 29th Civil Affairs Company, especially Hal Smith, Pat Cariseo, Steve Cunnion, Jim Cormier, Neil O’Leary, Richard Galli and Terry Rumph, provided support and counsel as only brothers-in-arms can. A warm remembrance to Dennis Barker, my civilian supervisor in Vietnam; the people of Vietnam and the countless other countries I have worked in during this haj. I thank you for your friendship, counsel and compassion. You have all taught me how to see through the fog of war and peace and seek the truth no matter where it brings you. I am a better human being because of you all.

  My thanks for the U.S. Army, the Near East Foundation, U.S. Catholic Conference, Family Health International, the American Red Cross, CARE and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention for believing in me as a professional and allowing me the privilege of learning, experiencing and working through these great organizations.

  I would also like to acknowledge, thank and commend the field work of the UN agencies, including World Health Organization (WHO), United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), U.N. Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) and of U.S. Government agencies such as United States Agency for International Development (USAID). I want to make it perfectly clear that these agencies play a vital role in international humanitarian and development assistance and deserve our individual and our governments backing and support. Some of my stories might be perceived by the reader as anti-UN or anti-USAID, but stories such as the “Gypsy Boy” are a reflection of the failings of individuals, not an organization. In my stories about USAID or CORDS, these organizations are implicated but they are the by-product of a broader systemic problem, a 40-year pattern of American international policy failures that I have repeatedly identified in my w
ork and I optimistically hope someday will be corrected.

  I had to take certain writer’s liberties with this book. I acknowledge that these are my words and mine only. My writings do not represent the views of the agencies I have worked for. My stories date back more than 40 years and my memory may be flawed, but I have well researched all the hard facts and they will stand the test of time. In some cases I had to compress my stories or time sequences in order to make my words readable.

  In Chapter 5, “Don’t Mean Nothing,” I created the three soldiers targeted by the planted explosive charge. I did this because I wanted the reader to understand that those of us who wear the uniform and take the risks are real people. The men in the chapter are symbolic of many of our fallen who had their lives ahead of them when it was so uselessly taken from them. Too often, then and now, we see the names of our fallen heroes as only statistics in a paper or TV news program. Veterans do not feel this way. When one of us is killed or injured we feel the bite and the pain.

  Kara’s birth in 1993 gave me the impetus to continue with a book I started in 1982. I wanted my daughter to know about me in case the worst happened, but I also wanted her to know and understand that the world is a beautiful place filled with many wonderful people. But it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge another great motivating force. I believe in the yin and the yang of this world. There is a dark side and it surrounds us all. I wanted Kara to understand the dark side of life, be able to recognize it and to fight against it. In many respects, what drove me to complete these chapters was the fact that I have seen the dark side too many times in this world and fought against it when I could. I have personally witnessed and been targeted by the hate, the prejudice and the threats. The most painful were those I called friends, and helped them in their careers, only to have them turn on me for ego, promotion and power.

  My book acknowledges the extremes in this country and our world that are destroying democracy and humanity. It is both the ultra-conservative and ultra-liberal who are leading us down an evil path. They use names such as God, Buddha, Vishnu, or Allah to hurt others. Some distort our US Constitution and Bill of Rights to support their own agenda and greed for power. These individuals have caused me a great deal of anxiety, a feeling of betrayal and too many sleepless nights, but they will never imprison my humanity, soul or sense of humor.

  These people are few in number but have caused a disproportionate amount of suffering in relation to their numbers. I acknowledge them for what they are. They have been my great motivators when I was tired and worn out from my work, for I knew if I said nothing I could not look my family or my fellow human beings in the face again.

  To Kara and other readers, I will admit that I am not a writer but a witness. My words are the truth as I know it and my opinion and advice is what it is but it is born out of observation, service and hard work and backed up by my own research. My roots are both blue and green collar. I have put into words for the reader a slice of our history that the government cares not to talk about and the media does not fully report. For those who might care to read my words these are solely my opinion and guidance.

  * * *

  1 This poem was copied from the Stars and Stripes Pacific and written and carried in Paul Giannone’s notebooks while serving as an advisor in South Vietnam 1969-71. The words symbolized to Paul the ineptness of American policy and rather than “Aryan lies” shows what those in the Third World need to do to survive in this face of inadequate American policies and programs

  2 Rosen, Marjorie. “Paul Giannone, Life Line to the Desperate and War Ravaged.” Biography, April 2002.

  Introduction

  As a former career U.S. military officer and now, after almost two decades of working in humanitarian assistance, I have met a number of exceptional people. They are dedicated, talented and courageous men and women. They work in dangerous environments such as Bosnia, Rwanda, Kosovo, Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan and Syria. They walk into these places without weapons or the force of a military or governmental strength behind them. They enter mayhem with only the protection of a humanitarian mandate to provide assistance and do “the right thing” for all involved. It is hazardous work. They are too often killed, injured or kidnapped by any number of opposing forces. They are not naïve “do-gooders.” They have a deep belief in something intangible. For some, it may be a religious or spiritual foundation. However, for the majority, it has nothing to do with faith. It is a belief that in midst of violence, deprivation, inhumanity and mass destruction, someone needs to “step up.” They do not go for adventure, adrenaline or thrills. Those people are quickly discarded. It is a calling. It is a deep consciousness he or she may not understand. It is a draw. It comes from a place that tells them what they need to do to assist.

  Of all the people, I have met along this path, Paul Giannone may be the most extraordinary. Certainly, it is because of what he has done. His book details places where most people would never consider going. Some of that territory includes his journeys crossing open plains to reach Kabul under the Taliban; Tehran during the revolution; travels in Sierra Leone and Rwanda and living in the landmine-infested swamps of Sudan.

  However, there is an unspoken subtlety to Paul Giannone. As outlined in his book, Paul is a veteran of the Vietnam War. For most, this is an interesting theme throughout his writing. He eloquently speaks to emotions, events and feelings. But, for those of us who made that same trip over the fourteen years of US engagement, he is astounding because he “went back.” Those of us who returned started building walls around the war. Over the years, we made the walls higher and reinforced the gates with thicker steel. It wasn’t from fear or hatred. It was a way of coping and getting on with life.

  The author exposed himself to it all, again. For many of us, our trip was a day-to-day battle with an intrepid, dedicated and skillful enemy. They took casualties. We took casualties. It went on until one way or another your number was up. Paul saw the war from a different perspective. He saw the endless streams of blood soaked and screaming wounded, both enemy and friendly, coming into his consciousness every day. It must have looked like an endless conveyor belt of death and misery. He then had to deal with people who came to Vietnam and the war to participate from their compounds or luxury apartments in Saigon and DaNang. That toll alone, should have broken him.

  Yet, he persisted. He volunteered to go back during the Boat People crises as a humanitarian and assisted those kids and their parents who were rescued at sea from their floundering unseaworthy boats. He returned again and again to assist with the reconstruction and rebuilding of the nation. He assisted in the development of pandemic flu plans for the Ministries of Health in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia; at his own personal risk he visited landmine infected provinces in Cambodia and wrote funded projects to have them removed; and he returned to Hanoi, Vietnam and with a team helped develop a Ministry of Health Emergency Operations Center. He put himself outside the memories of a war and embraced the people. He discarded the politics and ventured into the truest components of humanitarianism. I still marvel at his capacity.

  If I picked up this book and looked at the Table of Contents, my first thought would be—“no way. No one could have been to all these places and survived.” It is all true. I watched Paul come and go from these places for decades. He has experienced all of this and is remains one of the most dedicated humanitarians I have ever met.

  When people speak to me of dignity, decency and courage,

  I think of Paul Giannone.

  —Robert Ingles-Séamus Macpherson,

  Colonel USMC (ret)

  Déjà Vu 2016

  “It’s Deja vu all over again.”

  —Yogi Berra

  Syrian refugee baby, with binky at a transit center in Serbia.

  The two-year-old baby stared at me from her mother’s arms, her eyes devoid of expression. Was she staring at me or through me?

  It was 10 degrees below zero in the northern refugee transit site in Serbia. I was
freezing, despite being triple layered with hat, thermal long johns, winter wool socks and thermal gloves. The baby was shoeless and sockless with no gloves, clad only in a light parka and light pants.

  She and her mother were just getting off a bus, preparing to join the refugees who would be crossing the border into Croatia on their circuitous trek to northern Europe. Soon, mother and child would be surrounded by support staff members who would provide warm clothes, food and protection from the elements. In less than 12 hours they, along with hundreds of other refugees, would cross the border frontier into Croatia.

  Once again, I had found myself in the middle of the tragic and chaotic movement of displaced people.

  It started with an email on December 23, 2015 from the non-government agency SOS in Vienna. A close friend who now had a senior position at SOS had recommended me. SOS was dealing with the refugee crisis in the Balkans and needed someone with experience.

  SOS is a worldwide organization that deals with children. They do a wonderful job at establishing “Children’s Villages” in over 100 countries and prepare them for adulthood through education and social interaction. Now they were in the refugee business, due to fate, circumstances, and new directions dictated from SOS International Headquarters in Vienna.

  I talked on the phone to the Vienna office before Christmas. SOS International wanted me to travel to the Balkans as soon as possible and asked if I could stay and support operations for three months. Although I had incorporated as a consultant, I was enjoying my retirement and listening to friends and family telling me to retire completely. I was 67 years old.

  But then again, it was Christmas time, SOS dealt with women and children, whom I could never turn my back on, I was not doing anything at the time and I had the skill sets.