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*The following story is based on limited information, but is,
given the absence of complete details, generally factual in nature. Some
incidentals in the story line are included to provide dramatic effect. The
characters in the story, except for Sergeant Otis Vaughn, have been assigned
fictional names, since the actual names of these characters are unknown.
Pt. 1
During the
early 60’s, Le Duc Nguyen, a nine year old apprentice monk was walking through
a thicket of bamboo on his way to fetch a bucket of water from a nearby stream.
It was mid-morning and the air had begun to heat up a bit, and now and then he
felt a vine or small branch brush against his sandaled feet.
However,
what he felt next was anything but a vine or branch. For suddenly, he sensed a
piercing wound to his right ankle. Looking down Le found himself looking at the
largest snake he had ever seen in the short decade he had lived in this
Vietnamese hamlet. His parents had often warned him about the multitude of
poison snakes which inhabited their little corner of the world.
Le
immediately recognized it. He had been bitten by a Chinese Cobra, one of the
most venomous snakes on the planet. The little monk watched as the Cobra
slithered away into the bamboo thicket, dropped his bucket, and immediately
turned, and retraced his steps back to the Buddhist monastery. The compound was
about two hundred yards distant, and by the time he arrived there, he was
struggling to catch his breath.
Phen Doc
Toe, one of the older monks, saw Le limp up to the compound, and knew something
was very wrong. He had sent the boy for water, but he noticed there was no
bucket in his hands now, and that Le’s cheeks were red, and that one of his
ankles was badly swollen.
Phen asked
Le an almost rhetorical question.
“What has
happened to you, Le?”
Le struggled
to speak.
“I was
walking through the bamboo thicket near the river, and I was bitten by a
Cobra.”
Pt. 2
Phen Doc was
absolutely mortified. He knew that such a bite was almost certain death. He was
also all too aware that the monastery was poorly equipped to treat anything,
but the most minor of maladies and injuries.
Phen grabbed
the boy up in his arms, and rushed him to the small Buddhist temple. As he
walked into the sanctuary, he noticed that the chief priest and a few of his
fellow monks were chanting their morning prayers.
As Phen
barged through the door, six or eight priests turned from their prayers; with a
momentary look of consternation on their faces. However, their consternation
quickly disappeared in favor of shock and empathy.
The priest
who held the suffering little apprentice shouted.
“Le went to
get water and stepped on a Cobra. He is certain to die.”
The priests
attending the altar turned from their prayers, and ran to the duo. Do Van Tien,
the chief priest, took Le from Phen’s arms, and set him down on a bamboo mat.
By now, Le’s breathing was shallow, and his neck and face were red and swollen.
The chief
priest laid hands on the boy, and began praying. There was simply nothing else
to be done. The priest’s subordinates hovered around the little boy, and did
much the same thing.
Hundreds of
South Vietnamese men, women and children were bitten by the thirty-seven
varieties of venomous snakes which frequented the area on a yearly basis. And
since much of the countryside lacked proper medical facilities, the snake bites
were almost always fatal.
Pt. 3
Sergeant
Otis Vaughn was a member of an Army surveying team in South Vietnam during the
Vietnam War. He and his team members were tasked with the preliminary work
which went into laying in roads for the American forces to travel from one
hamlet to another.
As they were
“going about their business” one day, and had pulled their jeeps off the road
for a smoke or water break, as the case may be, the young sergeant heard voices
on a nearby hillside. While the survey team’s primary mission was surveying,
they were equipped with M-16 rifles, and knew how to use them. They were, after
all, soldiers first, and surveyors second. He knew the entirety of South
Vietnam was rife with Viet Cong, and North Vietnamese regulars, and that they
would just as soon shoot your head off, as look at you.
Otis yelled
to the six privates who accompanied him.
“Get down!”
Everyone hit
the dirt, and lay there pondering their next move.
It was then
that Sergeant Vaughn realized what the sound was that permeated the jungle
foliage surrounding them.
Prayers
As someone
who knew him, I can tell you no one ever accused Otis of what might be referred
to as a “depleted sense of curiosity.” He was going to find discover what the
commotion was all about.
“Okay men,
false alarm. Get up. Stay here, and keep your eyes open. I’m going to climb
that hill, and have a little peek.”
With this,
Sergeant Vaughn walked to the base of the hill, about fifty yards distant, and
trudged up the five hundred feet which separated him from his quest.
Pt. 4
As the
winded military man arrived at the summit of the hill, he lay on his stomach,
and peered into the Buddhist compound. The voices were louder now, and they
were obviously coming from a small bamboo temple a couple hundred feet away.
And while
the young sergeant’s courage had waned a bit, and he felt a sense of dread
rising in his chest, he stood, and began to walk slowly towards the temple. Of
course, Otis still cradled his M-16 in his arms, and was wary of any sound or
movement from the small huts on his left and right.
Now,
Sergeant Vaughn strode through the door of the little sanctuary, and witnessed
several Buddhist priests surrounding what appeared to be a prostrate boy. At
this juncture, the priests stopped their chanting, and greeted the foreigner
with wary eyes.
Otis did his
best to put the priests at ease. He smiled the friendliest smile he knew how to
conjure up, and raised his arms in somewhat of a quasi-surrender.
Now, looking
down at the man whom he surmised was in charge of this motley crew, and
speaking slowly, he asked,
“I heard
your voices. Can I help you?”
The American
looked innocent enough to the chief priest, and it just so happened that Do Van
Tien knew some rudimentary English. He responded,
“The boy. He
been bitten by, by Cobra. He dying.”
Pt. 5
The good
sergeant’s mind raced, and he thought,
“Well, not
if I have anything to do with it. Not on my watch.”
And he said
much the same thing to the chief priest.
Indicating
he was a whole lot more than words, and intended to take action, Sergeant
Vaughn nearly shouted at Do Van Tien.
“Trust me.
Let me have the boy. I’ll take him to an Army field hospital.”
By now, Le
was drifting in and out of consciousness, and the chief priest realized that
there was absolutely nothing to lose. He slowly nodded his head, and the
would-be savior stooped down, picked up the little monk, and gently placed him
over his left shoulder.
“There now.
It’s going to be okay.”
And all the
while he must have been thinking,
“At least, I
hope it’s going to be okay.”
Now,
retracing his steps, Le’s rescuer hurried down the hill to where his six team
members and two jeeps were waiting. Sergeant Vaughn laid the almost comatose
little monk in the back of the nearest vehicle, and informed his crew that
their mission had been temporarily suspended.
“The boy has
been bitten by a Cobra. There’s a field hospital a few miles from here. Let’s
go!”
Pt. 6
I will allow
my niece to finish this wonderful story for you.
“After my
dad carried the little monk down the mountain, and managed to get him to a
field hospital, the Army doctors administered an antidote for the Cobra bite,
and the young man began showing signs that the chief priest’ prognosis was a
little hasty.
“After he told me this story, I exclaimed,
‘Dad, you
saved that boy’s life!’”
Suddenly, my
dad’s eyes misted up a little, and he replied,
“No. No, I
just got into a jeep with him and took him to a hospital.”
“My dad
could have chosen not to help. He could have made a decision to do his military
duty, and continue the mundane task of surveying a forlorn little jungle road
in Vietnam. But he got involved. My father carried a 50 pound little boy, plus
his own gear down a jungled mountain, and drove him to a field hospital.
But, instead
of doing his good deed, and leaving the little guy, he remained by his side. He
knew the boy didn’t know English, and that he would be scared when he woke up,
and would need someone to look after him.
“You would
have to know my dad. His mission was simply not over ‘til it was over. Daddy
sat next to that little monk ‘til he recovered, and then drove him back home.”
I am happy
to tell you that the little monk made a full recovery. I am equally happy to
inform you that Sergeant Otis Vaughn was my brother in law, and that finished
his tour in Vietnam, and returned home to the United States where he went on to
live out the remainder of his life.
Otis
impacted hundreds of family, friends and co-workers with a sense of humor and
empathetic spirit as big as all outdoors. He was a man’s man, and one of those
characters who when they are gone, it is as if they should have always been
with us. The vacuum he left behind can almost be touched.
We were all
born to fulfill a task bigger than ourselves. Sergeant Otis Vaughn was no
exception. An old Vietnamese monk lives and moves and breathes today because a
good man momentarily set aside his military duties, and took time to express
love, and compassion towards a hurting little boy in a hamlet far off the
beaten trail.
