Word: tre
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...confidence in the war effort, and in the leadership that had promised success, was irrevocably shattered. The images of war -- always shocking, bleak, agonizingly poignant -- took on a darker significance. "It became necessary to destroy the town to save it," declared a U.S. major in the battle for Ben Tre, a provincial capital...
Variations on that theme are heard throughout a land divided by its memory. On a ferry from My Tho to Ben Tre, a slender man in his 40s tells TIME Photographer Dirck Halstead about his training in New Mexico for the South Vietnamese army. Now, he says, he works on a collective farm, digging ditches and planting crops. Is his life better? "I think it is better now," he says, his eyes darting nervously toward the other passengers. Then, lowering his voice, he confesses that it is worse. "Everyone is so poor. The former regime was no good, I know...
...afraid, perhaps, but sometimes bitter. Villagers around Ben Tre talk of defoliants--Agent Orange--sprayed by U.S. aircraft killing the coconut trees that provided the main source of their income. Vo Van Canh, 49, a former Viet Cong, points to his 17-year-old son, who has the arrested development of a two-year-old, the result, says Vo, of dioxin poisoning. At the Tu Du Women's Hospital in Ho Chi Minh City, Dr. Nguyen Thi Ngoc says her studies, though not conclusive, suggest that women exposed to the defoliants have 15 times as many fetal deaths as those...
...ghosts of war linger everywhere. On a river at Ben Tre, children fish from the bow of a half-submerged U.S. patrol boat; the deck gun is shrouded in laundry. Near the northern port of Da Nang, where a scattering of Soviet and Polish tourists sunbathe on quiet beaches, hillsides are dotted with the carcasses of U.S. armor. At Camp Holloway, in the Central Highlands, youngsters play outside the old U.S. barracks, while visitors can still make out THE SWAMP scrawled across the wall of the club in which helicopter pilots used to unwind. And outside the shattered Citadel...
...past a wary receptionist. And watch closely, for in the wink of a camera's eye he is going to be a furious Customs inspector whose bite is worse than his bark. Or a homosexual lisping his way past a posh club's maître d' with a particularly mad invention. Murphy exudes the kind of cheeky, cocky charm that has been missing from the screen since Cagney was a pup, snarling his way out of the ghetto. But as befits a manchild of the soft-spoken '80s, there is an insinuating sweetness about...