"It wasn't easy teaching in those classrooms. The noise level ranged from irritating to voice-breaking. Not only did jets from WESCOM fly over the camp daily; not only did vehicles pass on the dirt road, spewing dust through the necessarily open windows, but the camp loudspeakers interrupted every class with top-volume announcements in Vietnamese. . . . Also, because the walls were thin and open at the top to allow air to circulate, we teachers could hear each other, and recitations by one class would compete with the one next door. . . . The Vietnamese teachers of English with whom I co-taught--Mr. Nguyen Duc Giang, formerly a high school principal; Mr. Than Trong Ai, formerly an English teacher; Mr. Ton Ngoc Mai, formerly an engineer and a student of English at Indiana University during the war; Mr. Tran Ngoc Tan, formerly an air controller at Tan Son Nhut Airport in Saigon; Mrs. Huynh thi My Danh; Ms. Dang thi Xuan; and Ms. Nguyen thi Nga--to name only a few of those I met in the first few months--attracted large numbers of students to their classes, who would stand three-deep outside the open windows and hang from the rafters to listen to them teach. No Filipino or Foreign teacher was as popular. Later, a man named Nguyen van Hoan, who had learned audio-lingual methods when he taught for the U.S. Air Force, had large classes, some of which I took over when he was called for resettlement. Nguyen Huy Co, formerly an accountant, had as many as seventy students in one class, which I attributed to his personality. Hoang Dinh Chau, who later worked with me in the central education office, was a popular teacher. There are too many to recall here, and I hope they will forgive me for losing some of their names. . . .
Each person taught one or two classes daily. . . . For this, they were given forty-five pesos for each class every two weeks (about fifty cents). . . . that small pay envelope did a lot for people's moral and was always shared with others in the form of coffee, cigarettes, etc. . . . .But their real reward lay in the status they enjoyed. To be called "Teacher" was to have instant respect."
My plan was to be invited into their classes and take part of the class time to do oral work with Jazz Chants, ear training, spelling games, stories, etc. When the senior teacher, Ton Ngoc Mai, invited me, others followed quickly. Soon, I was doing five or six classes daily, starting at 6:30 a.m. and ending at 10:00 p.m. with smaller tutoring sessions for the Vietnamese teachers themselves. (Of course, I took a long siesta in the afternoon, as everyone did.) We developed ways of working together as to what should be translated and what the students needed to learn by immersion. I loved doing this and I soon heard "Teachah, Teachah," being called to me as I walked around the camp, getting used to the subtropical heat. Every time I raised my arms to lead a Jazz Chant, sweat poured down. But you know, I lost weight quickly and painlessly, and I got tanned but not burned by wearing a hat or carrying an umbrella. I was so happy that no mere physical inconvenience could get me down. I knew as I stood outside my classroom and watched the rose-gold sunsets that I was "the luckiest teacher on the planet."
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