Christopher Wain, a correspondent for the British Independent Television Network who had given Phuc water from his canteen and drizzled it down her burning back at the scene, fought to have her transferred to the American-run Barsky unit.
It was the only facility in Saigon equipped to deal with her severe injuries.
The visits were monitored and controlled, her words scripted.
She smiled and played her role, but the rage inside began to build and consume her.'My heart was exactly like a black coffee cup,' she said.
it was so hard for me to carry all that burden with that hatred, with that anger and bitterness.'She was finally free from the minders and reporters hounding her at home, but her life was far from normal.
Ut, then working at the AP in Los Angeles, traveled to meet her in 1989, but they never had a moment alone.
But he never forgot his “first lady.” Around 2005, after his second marriage ended, Reischl set out to search for the woman he remembered only as “Linh Hoa” — not her actual name. servicemen and Vietnamese women during the Vietnam War, most of whom eventually immigrated to the United States. Since 2012, with the help of Father Founded volunteers, Reischl has traveled to Vietnam five times, speaking to journalists and placing ads in local newspapers. Reischl was sent home the next summer, and although he told Hanh of his departure, apparently she did not understand and thought he had simply disappeared.
She worked hard and was accepted into medical school to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor.
On the other side stood the woman he’d left behind when he shipped out of Saigon in July 1970.
After his year-long tour, he went back to Minnesota, became a government cartographer, married twice, had a son and suffered Agent Orange-related health problems. These photos of Reischl and Hanh were taken in the fall of 1969.
Her given name meant “First Tear,” Hanh said, “because I was alone and didn’t have any family with me at the time.” Hanh, then just 19, let a friend take the child to an orphanage, thinking she would still be able to visit her. again,” Reischl said when he opened the door and saw the petite Hanh, her hair still parted on the same side as he remembered it. The white-haired Air Force veteran put his arm on her chair as if to comfort her — close, but not too close.
But the friend disappeared, and when Hanh went to the orphanage, the nuns told her they had no record of her case. The two are now determined to find the child they lost.