Final Evacuation, 12 April 1975
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12th April 1975 saw the final evacuation of Americans from Phnom Penh.
Ambassador John Gunther Dean famously carried the rolled up stars and stripes under his arm as he boarded the last helicopter. Among the other evacuees was Samuel Jackson III, director of the English Language Center, ETAPP. During the short trip before landing on the helicopter carrier “Okinawa”, he took photographs which were never published. Here, with his kind permission, and only a few weeks after the death of John Dean at the age of 93, on June 6th, 2019, we would like to present them together with his account of that “last day”.
Samuel Jackson’s Last Day in Phnom Penh
(12th April 1975 – from his journal)
Egon, my friend and co-director of the school, had spent the night at my place “just to be on the safe side”. We planned to leave at 3. My wife Vany had left the week before on a USAID plane for Bangkok. The day before the evacuation (Friday) we had managed to get through our last classes. Teachers had been leaving right and left, which meant that Egon taught six hours a day, and I five. A young American, Barbara, taught during the last week but left the last morning. Mr. Si-In took two Book One classes in the afternoon, leaving only one class untaught (we showed them a film). We gave out books as presents to all the students, wished them a happy Chol Chnam Thmei (Happy Khmer New Year) and said they should study hard until classes opened again on the 17th! Then Egon and I went home for a dinner which included my last bottle of champagne. I finished burning all the sensitive papers I had at home.
Next morning we were just getting up when the American consul, Jack
McCarthy, burst in, saying to come downstairs immediately. We put him off but on leaving he said “Get to the embassy no later than nine!” Well, I thought, that’s just old alarmist Jack, I can probably get there at ten and still have to wait for whatever situation he’s so het up about. In any case, I had asked all the ETAPP staff to meet me at school at nine for a meeting.
So I ate breakfast, shaved and showered, gave the maid a month’s wages and told her to look after the place. Egon went off to the embassy with all our baggage. I said I would meet him there, and took off on my Honda. It was 8.20.First I went to my sister-in-law’s to give her some money and all the papers concerning the apartment. She had already gone off to work (she was Long Boret’s secretary) so I went on to ETAPP, getting there at 8.45. I started clearing out the last files in readiness to take to the embassy to burn. Sreng, our bright young general handyman, and Mon, our old watchman, were there sweeping when I arrived. 9 o’clock approached and no-one else had arrived when I suddenly became aware of the sound of heavy helicopters passing over the school.
It struck me at that moment that the Cambodian airforce had no heavy helicopters. Panic at that moment would have been dishonorable and would also have compromised my personal chances of surviving the day. The choppers were coming up in waves from the Gulf of Thailand, and were clearly marked “US MARINES”. It was just 9 o’clock. I went back to my office and continued to organize the remaining papers. There was no chance now of taking anything to the embassy to burn. This was a crisis and they weren’t going to worry about an English school. I classed the papers according to sensitivity, teacher and staff personal records, student application cards, and exams with students’ names on them. At 9.15 the first wave of choppers left. I watched their exhaust trails drift down over the city as they climbed away from Phnom Penh. I found out later that Egon and most of the people I knew were in that first group. At 9.20, as the second wave left, I decided I must carry out my plan with the people available, as the English-speaking Mr. Si-In and Miss Phantha, the receptionist, had not arrived. I then told Sreng what must be done with the papers and gave him the half million riels to be distributed to the other members of the staff. I said in my poor Khmer that I would have to go and that we must not let these papers fall into the hands of the wrong people, they must therefore be burned in the incinerator behind the school immediately. Just as I finished my explanation, Miss Phantha* arrived. I explained everything again, and just as I finished, Mr. Si-In arrived. They began the burning immediately. Whatever happened to ETAPP now was in their hands. We said our farewells. I was ready to leave. It was a little after 9.30. I asked Si-In to accompany me to the embassy. It was like leaving old and valued friends – emotions we had never expressed now spilled over, especially with Sreng and Miss Phantha and, in his way, Si-In. We had all done our best. We had created something good together but the tide had been against us and now we ourselves had to close the door to this little world before it could be destroyed by the rising forces around us. The trip was uneventful, though we didn’t go on the main road. I had Si-In stop some distance from the embassy so he wouldn’t be seen with me by the crowd now gathered before the building. I gave him the bike and my .38, and we shook hands. I continued on foot, entering the front gate at 9.40. Five minutes later it was locked, and we went out the back gate to a truck which took us to the helicopters. One chopper held on the ground for a few minutes. The ambassador, John Gunther Dean, came aboard with the American flag under one arm. I cried a little when I read the notice they handed out to us: “Welcome Aboard: Marine Helicopter Inc – Non-Stop to the Gulf of Thailand”. It was such a contrast to what was in my head. It was all over. We were the last ones out.
*Note: for more on Miss Phantha, see “Dancers” website. >> Open DANCERS