First Financial Impact of More Troops In An Khe Was New Sign Painting Shop
(EDITOR’S NOTE: In the following article, Charles Black, Enquirer military writer who has been in Viet Nam, describes the effect a buildup in American troops has had on the town of An Khe, headquarters for the 1st Cavalry Division.)
By CHARLES BLACK
The town of An Khe in Central Viet Nam hasn’t exactly developed into a model city, but it has developed since the 1st Cavalry Division set up shop there last August.
Then the business district
was two blocks long, starting at a mud field where the water buffaloes
liked to
lounge and winding up in a kind of open
market where even the local residents wrinkled their noses while
buying
anything from hammocks to coconuts.
Probably the first financial
impact on the town came at the sign-painting shop.
This is run by a kind of genius, a man named Nguen Van Lanh (he
now has competition but he was the first) who has a sort of command of
English
which he augmented with a phrase book.
His colors are brilliant enough, but the words of the signs are
even
more arresting.
Possibly the easiest way to
trace the economic boom which turned An Khe from a muddy little
highland
village into a muddy big highland village would be through Nguen Van
Lanh’s
efforts with planks, pieces of tin, and paint brush.
The first stage of An Khe
becoming an Army town was reflected in a series of Van Lanh originals
which
were posted along almost every road, trail and footpath in the area. Some samples:
“Number One Laundry. Clean
and Warrant.”
“Airborne Laundry for GI
Solder here.”
“New York Laundry. We
speak enough English.”
“London Laundry. The
erasor is careful.”
“Numero Uno Laundry. Wash
clean and warrant.”
“Pretty Laundry. Solder
Clean Agents.”
“Clean Shop. Wasp
and Irons. Ice Agent, snack bar, tea room,
sooveniers. Warrant and Guarantor.”
It seemed impossible for Van
Lanh to keep up with the amount of signs made necessary by the sudden
influx of
60,000 pairs of dirty fatigues, but somehow each of his signs was a
work of
art.
When the boom began to get
serious and enterprising business men and women set up shop along
Highway 19,
other sign shops showed up, including one run on the side by
“Nguyen-Tuyen the
Contractor, beds, tables, lamps, bicycle repairs, laundry center, all
clean and
modern and sign painting done here.”
The little roadside shops
sprouted almost overnight. As in most
things requiring initiative and energy, the mamasans of the families
seemed to
be in charge. The shops suddenly filled
a two-mile stretch right up to the barbed wire of the 1st Cavalry’s
Camp
Radcliffe and Golf Course home base on the banks of the Song Ba.
The Song Ba itself was
cluttered with industry, not just its banks; right out in the middle of
the
river the hum of business went on.
Little boys swarmed over muddy trucks with GI drivers watching
the
process critically from a midstream parking place.
Whole families waded out
into the river and beat the dirt out of huge piles of laundry. In the middle of all this a couple of reed
sampans floated with a disgusted-looking pair of old men trailing a net
and
arguing with the people ruining the fishing.
Signs began to sprout
announcing that “cars washing, cars greasing, cars and bicycles fixing”
were
taken care of there. The sticky mud of
An Khe made the car washing places real moneymakers.
The GIs drove trucks and
jeeps in, got the mud hosed off, paid a price usually hammered out with
the
proprietor in a hard bargaining session, and drove out into the mud
again.
The Van Lanh touch appeared
at the largest and most elaborate of these establishments in what must
have
been his crowning effort. It made the
half-dozen new sign shops in town envious, this huge billboard - bigger
than
the office of the car wash rack - which appeared, saying:
“Good Friends Bathroom. Fresh
or Warm Water. Car Washing and
Greasing.”
Another series of business
endeavors drew on his talents and he busily decorated the fronts of
these
buildings with neatly lettered signs.
The buildings were mainly
constructed of tin roofs, rough lumber with dirt floors, and sheets of
thin
steel sent over by the U.S. Foreign aid program.
The steel was obtained from
mills making beer cans. For some reason
or another the sheets were rejected for beer cans, although labels had
been
stamped on all of them. A building may
advertise half a dozen brands of beer on one wall.
(Some fascinated GIs have bought suitcases made out of these
beer
can sheets.)
The signs on these included
ones like:
“Ankhe Tea Room. Beer
and Restaurant.”
“Far West Bar.”
“Yahoe Bar.”
“Imperial Supper Club and
Laundry.”
What they didn’t have in
luxury they made up in atmosphere. The
floors were muddy, the lighting nonexistent, and the furniture catch as
catch
can, but they definitely had atmosphere.
Many of them located in the area of the former buffalo wallow,
for
example, and that place was loaded with atmosphere.
There was only one problem
here. A sign painter who hadn’t entered
the competition came on the scene and, one after the other, neat little
placards appeared on various of the new business’ front doors. Each displayed a simple but effective
message:
“Off Limits.”