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Today, 12/11/2013, marks the 14th anniversary of Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm’s death and there are only two days left to his centennial birthday. As I came to offer my condolences at his funeral, Mrs Phạm observed that I would be a well placed person to write an article about him. I did not have the chance to fulfill her wish when I received the news that she also had left us.
Doctor Phạm Biểu Tâm’s full biography was already made known by my colleague, Hà Ngọc Thuần, from Australia. It should be noted here that under the shared pen name Hà Hợp Nghiêm, Hà Ngọc Thuần and his friend Nghiêm Sỹ Tuấn had coauthored a valuable work on the history of medecine named “Lịch Sử Y Khoa” while they were lead writers for “Y khoa Tình Thương”, the official publication of the School of Medicine in Saigon, Vietnam. Their work was serialized in that publication up to its last issue in 1967.
In this writing the author will attempt to recollect the personal experiences he shared with Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm – not within the amphitheater or hospital settings but in everyday, ordinary life. Throughout my college years, I was not fortunate enough to be counted among his close or favorite students. Nevertheless, I always held him in deep affection while I studied under him as well as after my graduation. The impacts he left on the medical students extended far beyond the 12 years (1955-1967) he served as dean at the school to even reach people who never attended the school or met him.
In contrast to the imposing physical appearance of Professor Trần Quang Đệ, a renowned surgeon in Vietnam, Professor Tâm was of rather frail build. Both of them obtained the “agrégation in medicine” in 1948 in Paris. Professor Tâm did not impress people as a good-looking man but his face radiated an exceptional intelligence that was characterized as an “uncommon trait of physiognomy” by my schoolmate Đường Thiện Đồng.
Doctor Tâm’s reputation as being a man of talent and integrity had been known to me even before I started medical school. I also learned of many complimentary anecdotes that pertain to him. He was among the first of the 1930 young generation to join the Vietnamese boy scouts, a symbol of dynamism and commitment. Though he never played soccer, Professor Tâm was an enthusiastic fan of the sport. Residents of the Minh Mạng College Dormitory liked to tell how our professor rarely missed a game at the Tao Đàn Stadium. From his seat in the popular rows, he would enthusiastically throw his hat up into the air and holler as hard as the next man in support of the home team.
When I finally met him face to face, I found out that he is a very down-to-earth person who inspired trust and closeness from his interlocutor. However, he always managed to maintain a distance that led to deference. The memories I kept about Professor Tâm could be described as sporadic at best.
When the publication Sinh viên Y khoa Tình Thương was first published at the close of 1963, Prof. Phạm Biểu Tâm took a liking to the word “Tình Thương” meaning “Love” in its name. According to his view, it correctly reflects the mission of the medical profession. Consequently, in his capacity as dean of the school, he wrote an editorial for its first issue. He never expressly said it, but I always took it for granted that the publication received his full moral support. Contributors to the publication are not limited to the medical students but quite often include the academic staff like professors Trần Ngọc Ninh, Trần Văn Bảng, Nguyễn Đình Cát, Ngô Gia Hy and Vũ Thị Thoa…
Picture1:Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm, Dean of the School of Medicine at the University of Saigon, speaking to students after his arrest by the Ngô Đình Diệm government. [source: LIFE magazine, August 1963]
Among those who tried to escape from the re-education camps and became unaccounted for, I know at least of two friends: Dr. Nguyễn Hữu Ân serving in the Nha Kỹ Thuật / Strategic Technical Directorate also a resident of the Minh Mạng College Dormitory, and Dr. Vũ Văn Quynh of the paratroopers unit who was the older brother of Dr. Vũ Văn Dzi now residing in Oklahoma.
On a very personal note, I cannot fail to mention Trần Ngọc Minh, who also resided at the Minh Mạng College Dormitory. A rather quiet person, he occupied a room next to mine on row 7 for a few years. He served with the Vietnamese Marines and bravely died in a fierce battle in the Việt An Valley, Quảng Tín Province in 1965. A couple of years later, a new military hospital, named after him, was built on Nguyễn Tri Phương Street adjacent to the Military School of Medicine.
The most touching death for me was that of Nghiêm Sỹ Tuấn. We were close associates while working at the Tình Thương Publication. The fact that he chose to serve alongside the paratroopers was, according to his very close friend Đặng Vũ Vương, a matter of “personal challenge”. More than once wounded, he unfailingly volunteered to return to the battlefield and made the ultimate sacrifice at Khe Sanh in 1968 while attempting to perform emergency care to a fellow soldier…
On account of my interests for the Montagnards during my association with the medical school’s publication, I opted for an assignment with a unit of the Special Forces. Our main area of operation stretched all over the Highlands. It was during this time that I gained the precious real-life experience that allowed me to finish my book Vòng Đai Xanh / The Green Belt. Each time I travelled to Saigon I tried my best to visit Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm. The Medical School, by then, had moved to a new location named Trung Tâm Giáo dục Y khoa / Center for the Medical Education on Hồng Bàng Street in ChoLon. This is to show that though he lived in Saigon, the professor always kept a close eye on the activities of his students.
Except for a small number of physicians who were able to leave the country in 1975, those who stayed behind were at one time or another sent to the re-education camps. Individual cases may vary but everybody appeared to share this common ordeal: they all knew of hunger, hard labor and brainwashing. The maggot infested rice bags and imprinted with the words “Đại Mễ” arriving from China as foreign aids were delivered to the camps to feed the detainees during that period. The whole episode could come out of Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago except that it bore the label “Made in Vietnam” and rendered more ruthless with the application of cruel measures bearing the label “Imported from China”.
It proved quite ironic that the first re-education camp Suối Máu I was sent to also turned out to be the former training camp of the 81st Airborne Ranger Group / Liên đoàn 81 Biệt Cách Dù, an unit I had the honor to serve previously. As a matter of policy, after a certain period of detention, the prisoners would be split into groups and transported to different camps. From Suối Máu, in chronological order, I was transferred to Trảng Lớn Tây Ninh, Đồng Ban then finally Phước Long Bù Gia Mập. Some of the prisoners were shipped all the way to the North. I later learned that the living conditions there were much more draconian.
Three years later I was released and returned to a completely changed Saigon. My Alma Mater at 28 Trần Qúy Cáp intersection of Lê Quý Đôn that was well sheltered by shady trees had been transformed into an exhibition ground commemorating the crimes committed by the “Americans and the South Vietnamese puppet government / Mỹ Ngụy”. In there, were displayed weapons and instruments of war, tiger cages, torture instruments and also printed materials showcasing the decadent and defunct culture of “neo colonialism” – my book Vòng Đai Xanh / The Green Belt included!
One day, I happened to see Professor Tâm taking a stroll on the section of Trương Minh Giảng Street near the Catholic Archdiocese building at the corner of Phan Đình Phùng Street. I parked my rickety bicycle at the curb then ran toward him. We did not talk much for the brief moment we met but I could clearly see his eyes swelling up with emotion. Before we parted, he only reminded me of two things: “Vinh, you should get a chest X-ray.Now that you’re released, try to eat more meat.” Those few words showed that he was clearly well informed about the harsh living conditions his students were subject to in the re-education camps.
As 1980 was drawing to a close, a number of the faculty members and alumni of the Medical School who still remained in the country held a party to welcome the New Year. The largest group of participants belonged to the class of 1968. Professors Hoàng Tiến Bảo and Phạm Biểu Tâm took part in the celebration. Outwardly, everybody seemed to enjoy the party. However, beset by personal worries and uncertainties, their hearts were not fully in it. Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm did not drink but brought wine to the get-together. He held up the bottle and said: “This time you can rest assured. This is the real stuff because this is a bottle of mass wine. A priest just gave it to me.” Professor Tâm enjoyed using this kind of double talk. No one in the group missed his point: he wanted to refer to the “time of deception” we were all living in.
In the post 1975 era, on account of his integrity, ability, and extraordinary personality, the new regime still showed respect and deference to Professor Tâm. On his part, like a farmer who knew full well that the time was not ripe for any planting, he still kept on tilling the land in the hope that an abundant harvest was just around the corner. He never set up his private practice and consistently led a frugal lifestyle. Daily he went to the Bình Dân Hospital to operate and care for his patients or held lectures to teach future generations of doctors. The new regime needed people like him but on the other hand never trusted them. At least on two occasions, the secret police of the city had thoroughly searched his house. Each time they came out empty handed and the party secretary was forced to officially apologize and blame it on the wrongdoing of his subordinates. Actually, this is only the double faces of the regime.
Come 1984, after over four decades of teaching, treating, and operating on his patients, Professor Tâm, now in his seventies, unexpectedly suffered a stroke and had to retire. At that time, I had moved to America to be reunited with my family after eight years of separation. I started my new life by going back to school and undergoing treatments for a lung condition. True to the tradition of the Medical School in Vietnam, my former colleagues brought card boxes of books and textbooks for me to study. They had passed their exams. Some for 3 or 4 years already but were still waiting to be accepted into an internship program before they could get the medical license to practice.
I committed a miscalculation at the time: I hastily took the FLEX/ ECFMG exams which I passed but with a low score. During those “Late Hours” in the game, it meant that my chances of being admitted to an internship program at a hospital were almost nil. The prospect for me to practice medicine again looked rather dim. A professor at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) introduced me to the MPH / Master of Public Health Program in the hope that through this new door I might work for the World Health Organization (WHO) in the countries of Southeast Asia or Africa.
At the same time, I met Professor Hoàng Tiến Bảo who constantly tried to keep my spirit up with his encouragements. Every morning, he took the bus to a church to attend mass before going to the University of Southern California (USC). Day after day, the two of us went to study at Norris Medical Library to prepare for our exam. I also accompanied him to work as a volunteer clinical fellow at the Department of Medicine / Hypertension Service run by Professors De Quattro and Barndt. A letter of recommendation from those two professors would work wonders and the work would familiarize us with the hospital environments in America even though prior to 1975 Professor Bảo had studied Orthopaedics in the U.S. and I had trained in Rehabilitation in San Francisco.
The American medical system proved to be quite ruthless and brutal to any immigrant physician who planned to practice in this country. The treatment he or she received was very different than that applied to foreign post doctoral M.D. who intended to return to their country. Another view would argue that this is an extremely fair selection process that only existed in America. No exception is allowed: my professor and I had to start from the beginning even though Professor Bảo would be indisputably recognized as a good professor at any medical school.
Later, while practicing at several hospitals in New York, I met a respectable ObGyn professor from Poland who had to work as an EKG technician and a Russian surgeon as a respiratory therapist. They belonged to the first generation of immigrants who were too old to start anew and had to make the necessary sacrifice to pave the way for their offspring.
Professor Bảo cared more about his students than about himself. On one occasion he took the bus to come to his resident student to dissuade him from giving up. No matter that the examination day was drawing near, he selflessly led a delegation to Sacramento to petition for his students who graduated after 1975 to be granted the academic equivalency and allowed to practice medicine.
Eventually, both of us met a happy ending. Professor Bảo easily passed the exam, completed his one-year internship then went on to practice in California. As for me, it was more strenuous. Again, I had to take the FMGEMS that lasted two days in order to obtain a score of at least 80 to be given an interview for a residency. In March, 1988, through the National Resident Matching Program/ NRMP, I was accepted into the internal medicine program of the university hospitals of New York. Professor Bảo was the first person to share in my joy and express his faith that I would successfully overcome the challenges of the three years ahead. Professor Hoàng Tiến Bảo left us on 1/20/2008. His shining example, big and kind heart will live forever in his students – myself included.
So, at the late age of 47, there I was working as an intern in New York. In 1989, my friend Đường Thiện Đồng sent me the good news that Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm finally was reunited with his family in America – five years from the day he had his stroke. I immediately wrote him to his address in Santa Ana, California. Soon after, I received a letter from him in his beautiful hand writing. I remembered that he was right handed so assumed that the stroke affected the left side of his body only.
[1] Santa Ana, 25-8-1989. Dear Vinh, I did receive your aerogram. Your handwriting reminded me of the days you still lived in Saigon. It may come as a surprise to you to learn that there was a time I often visited the place you used to work at back home. It was the rehabilitation center Trung tâm Chỉnh Hình on Bà Huyện Thanh Quan and Hiền Vương Streets where I regularly underwent physical therapy after I came down with a stroke. The young physiotherapists there asked me if I knew Dr. Vinh. I answered: “Of course, very well too!” Then I remembered the book you wrote and sent me while you were still serving in the military….
During the period 1971-1972, I had the opportunity to study Rehabilitation Medicine at the Letterman General Hospital at the Presidio in San Francisco. With that specialization, I taught and worked for a while at the Rehab Center / Trung tâm Y khoa Phục Hồi located at 70 Bà Huyện Thanh Quan, Saigon. As a result, I trained a number of those young physical therapists. It was quite surprising that, in the course of their work and under extraordinary circumstances, those students of mine had the honor to take care of a renowned educator who is also the professor of their “instructor”.
It seems to me that the Professors Phạm Biểu Tâm and Nguyễn Hữu had visited the United States at a very early date. Upon receiving a postcard I sent him from New York, Professor Tâm wrote: “Vinh, you reminded me of the first time I set foot in New York in 1951 – almost half a century ago! It was then that I went to see the Empire State Building and the Rockefeller Center and had to strain my neck to be able to look at the skyscrapers to count the numberof stories. I could not count them all though. Then, there was that strange sensation riding “The Express Elevator” to go up so many floors at a time. Nowadays, I no longer feel the urge to do it again – each time has its own fun.”
Picture 2:Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm and student Ngô Thế Vinh at his home in Tustin city, Santa Ana, California 1990. [photo by Đường Thiện Đồng]
Professor Tâm’s mind remained very sharp and alert. His memory appeared unaffected when he talked about his days at the Phủ Doãn Hospital in Hanoi or the Bình Dân Hospital and the Medical School in Saigon. If his recollections could be somehow recorded, they would prove to be invaluable and unique to someone who wishes to write the history of the Medical School.
I respectfully offered to bring a compact tape recorder for him to register what he could remember about the Medical School. For good measure, I also volunteered to transcribe it afterward. The professor immediately reassured me: “Don’t you worry Vinh. Nguyễn Đức Nguyên is already working on it. He’ll do an outstanding job!” His words made me feel good because, a while back, Nguyên had laboriously completed a set named Bibliographie des Thèses de Médecine [Tome I: Hanoi 1935-1954, Saigon 1947-1970; Tome II: Saigon 1971-1972, Hue 1967-1972].
After my return to New York, Professor Tâm did not forget to send me Nguyễn Đức Nguyên’s address in Maryland so that I could get in touch with him. [Picture 3]
Picture 3: Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm’s handwritten letter dated August 12, 1990 and mailed from Santa Ana, California.
[2] Santa Ana 8-12-1990. Dear Vinh, thank you for finding the time to come visit me and also allow me to see you. First, let me pay my due to you by giving you Nguyên’s address: N. D. NGUYÊN c/o Kathy Nguyên 11616 Stewart Lane Apt # 302 Silver Spring, MD 20904 No way that I can forget to give the address to you now. I hope that you’ll be able to meet the person who is doing what you wish to see done. He already made up his mind to do it so you can rest reassured. Good bye for now. Phạm Biểu Tâm.
Sayonara to New York after three years of “voluntary re-education” – to borrow Vũ Văn Dzi’s terminology. This colleague came to the United States in 1979 and is now practicing in Oklahoma, VA. I moved back to California in 1991 and am working with a VA Hospital in Long Beach whose patients are mostly Vietnam veterans. These days, I stay in constant touch with Dr. Nguyễn Đức Nguyên who keeps me abreast of his work on the project.
[3] Silver Spring, Feb 11, 1994. My dear Vinh, you have mentioned “Lịch sử Trường Y khoa Hà Nội – Sài Gòn”in your dedication and it made me extremely glad. I recall, way back, you’re the one who always encouraged me to write the book. It could be said the period from day 1 to 1945 could be considered as done. I still need to gather additional materials for the section covering the day the Medical School came under our country’s administration to 1954 when it was relocated to Saigon and the US aids began to pour in as the Ngô Đình Diệm government launched its educational reform programs – especially for medical instruction. I enlisted the help from a young American lady who used to work for USOM Saigon to get hold of those materials. In addition, I also wrote to several American doctors who collaborated with the Chương trình Trung tâm Y khoa to ask for the permission to use their documents and photographs. The archives of the State Department are immense and you need to be an expert to locate the materials I need. After AMA signed the 1966-67 contract, a book titled “Saigon Medical School: An Experiment in International Medical Education” authored by Ruhe, Singer and Hoover was published. It’s a rather extensive book. You probably have read it. The project takes a long time because I have to wait for the materials and pictures to make the book more exhaustive and appealing. It would not attract many readers without them…
In another letter Dr. Nguyên wrote:
[4] Silver Spring, Dec 28, 1995. Thank you for asking about the book Lịch sử Trường Y. I have the materials I need for the first section (Hanoi-1954). As for the second section (Saigon-1975) when the the infusion of American aids played an important role, I’m still collecting materials from the State Department to allow me to write. By the way, I’d like your input about the publishing process in this country: will the publishers take care of everything from A to Z and how are they going to pay royalties to the author? Will it make a difference if you do the complete lay out yourself on the computer and send it to them “ready for print”? I intend to visit California before Tết. I’ll let you know if I can make it. We can meet somewhere and talk about writing and books. Cordially yours, Nguyễn Đức Nguyên.
Reading Dr. Nguyên’s inquiries about the overseas publication of books made me feel good thinking that his work “Lịch sử Trường Y khoa Hà Nội – Sài Gòn” was on its last leg for being completed. I know he’s a perfectionist and wants to have the right book before submitting it for publication. Personally, I look at it a little diffently because he is already well past his seventies and anything can happen. I remember telling him once that to wait for a perfect book to be completed would take forever and suggested that he could go ahead and publish what he had already written first. That done, he will have plenty of time and occasion to do a revised version at his own pace.
It was unfortunate that I lost contact with Dr. Nguyễn Đức Nguyên afterward because he moved and had new telephone number and email address. From what I gather, Dr. Nguyên is of the same age as Professor Trần Ngọc Ninh. To this day in 2013 he must be in his nineties. I pray that his works will not be misplaced so that they will be published as Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm had wished several decades ago going all the way back to the last century.
On December 13, 2013, the centennial birthday of Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm (1913-2013), the younger generations should take a look back and learn from this respected professor who spent his lifetime building up a Medical School endowed with a commendable tradition, a competent academic staff, as well as a student body that was fairly and strictly selected. Even during the trying time of war, it had the potentials to grow into a world-class modern institution. It is heartbreaking that during the post 1975 era, that bright prospect was smashed to pieces by the hammer and sickle of the communist regime.
Throughout the days I know Professor Phạm Biểu Tâm, I always look at him as the perfect personification of the Hippocratic Oath. He offers a shining example for the future generations of medical students to emulate not only in professional competence but also in professional ethics. In him, we always find the image of a boyscout staying “always ready” to commit himself, a Knight on a White Horse constantly fighting for the right cause.
NGÔ THẾ VINH
California 11/12/2013
Revised 05/ 28/ 2020
