Vietnam’s 1st Marathon: Controversy, Bill Rodgers and Dehydration

 

At the finish line, Vietnam War combat photographer Tim Page awaits the winner

The protracted Vietnam War has been described as a marathon. Conversely, Vietnam’s first marathon was the after-war, with lingering conflict, but also with flickers of cathartic healing. I was there covering the 1992 Ho Chi Minh City Marathon for CBS News; part war correspondent, and part sports reporter.

Among the hundreds of competitors were American war veterans, including disabled vets in the wheelchair division. The government had welcomed men and women from more than two dozen countries in a competition that would show the international community that Vietnam had emerged onto the world stage.

Race headquarters at the Saigon Floating Hotel

The most celebrated American athlete was Bill Rodgers, a wartime conscientious objector who did alternate service as a patient transporter at a hospital in Boston. While watching the Boston Marathon, Rodgers revived his interest in running going back to his college days. Then, in 1975, nine days before the fall of Saigon, Rodgers won the Boston Marathon, setting an American record (2:09:55).

By the time he laced up his running shoes on his first visit to Vietnam, Rodgers was competing in the masters division for runners over 40. “Marathoning is more than just a sport,” he told me during an interview in his hotel room. “The barriers fall in this sport. It’s a way for a lot of different people to look at some of the difficult times of the past and look to the future, and feel better about things.”

At a ceremony on the eve of the marathon, American veteran wheelchair competitors presented wheelchairs to disabled Vietnamese athletes, and Rodgers approved of the gesture. “I think it’s certainly time for improved relations and I think most people in the Untied States and Vietnam feel the same way.”

Runners passed by the People's Committee Building (City Hall)

Race day weather was typical for the month of February: dry with an average high of 92F (34C). Rodgers was concerned about the heat and humidity. Plus, he’d recently recovered from an injury. “Extreme caution” was his strategy: “They say the marathon begins at about 20 miles. You got to get to 20 miles and feel at least somewhat capable of finishing.”

Controversy erupted even before the starting gun was fired. As thousands of curious spectators had crowded around the starting line and along the 26 mile long course, a technicality eliminated the three American wheelchair athletes representing the California Paralyzed Veterans Association. Vietnamese race officials had safety concerns about road conditions. The Americans were crushed, but accepted the decision with grace.

However, a hidden factor may also have influenced the decision. As I reported for CBS News, “There are no Vietnamese wheelchair athletes which may have reflected on the poor conditions of Vietnam’s own massive disabled population.” 

Then there was the daring protester who caused a stir outside the riverside hotel serving as race headquarters. A lone Vietnamese man—some say he had a gun—climbed atop a vehicle and hoisted the flag of the old U.S.-backed Saigon Government, threatening anyone who approached.

Communist Vietnam has no tolerance for anti-government protests. Authorities swiftly rushed the man and took him into custody. Several Western photographers and a TV crew were stunned when security officials seized their film. 

Rodgers gets icy relief. Runner's World photo

To beat the heat, the marathon start time was 6 a.m. While impossible to verify, one published report estimated that hundreds of thousands of mostly Vietnamese had watched the runners at some point of the race.

The course took the athletes past old Saigon’s most recognizable landmarks: the former French hotel that was known as City Hall during the American War; the abandoned U.S. Embassy (now demolished), which served as the final evacuation point before the fall of South Vietnam; and Tu Do Street, the entertainment quarter where Americans congregated to let off steam.

Hundreds of runners from dozens of countries were represented. Major media organizations dispatched reporters and photographers to record one of the biggest events since reunification, 17 years earlier. It was Vietnam’s coming out party, showcasing former enemies running side by side.

The finish line, where onlookers had gathered to watch runners complete the grueling endurance test, was opposite the former Presidential Palace, where communist tanks had crashed through the front gates in 1975, signaling the end of the epic war.

The fastest competitor was a 36 year old British man, Tim Soutar, who practiced law in Hong Kong. His time was 2:43:26. Vietnam’s Luu Van Hung was second, while compatriot Dang Thi Teo won the women’s division.

As for Rodgers, he was leading after 22 miles, but wilted under the tortuous humidity. "As I was looking for water after cramps stopped me, a Vietnamese woman on a scooter came alongside me and asked if I was OK. I asked for water and she went into a house and brought me a big glass of water and a huge chunk of ice," Rodgers remembered. "I guzzled the water and walked/jogged to the finish." The massive number of spectators reminded him of the Boston and New York marathons.

Californian Jim Barker was the fastest Vietnam veteran. He told reporters, “I’ve run through death and life and through death again. And I’m here again as a grateful survivor from the times of war to the times of a growing sense of peace.” Barker was a Vietnamese language interpreter for the U.S. Army.

Apocalypse Now bar photo

One of the more colorful post-race social venues was not officially sanctioned, but enjoyed as a reminder of the Vietnam War: Apocalypse Now bar. Located in a narrow shop house in the former red light district, the small pub took its name—and logo—from Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 war film, Apocalypse Now.

Athletes joined tourists, journalists, businessmen and locals for an evening of boisterous merrymaking, surrounded by walls painted “night mission” black. Under the ceiling fan, which also served as rotor blades for the Huey helicopter painted on the ceiling, patrons re-hydrated with Tiger Beer and the Vietnamese beer label “33”.

Occasionally a joint was passed between patrons as Hippy Hippy Shake and other rock tunes blared from the speakers. Two customers giggled as they imagined a future marathon with a special cyclo division, for the venerable bicycle taxis that were plentiful on the streets of old Saigon.

 

Human powered cyclos were common in old Saigon, but rare today.

Nearly 30 years after Vietnam’s premier marathon and in the mood for reminiscing, I reconnected with Bill Rodgers in 2021. He eagerly replied with nostalgia, starting with his recollection of watching tragic war stories on the Walter Cronkite evening news.

Several of his high school classmates had gone to Vietnam. One buddy, who helped Bill with his math, went to war, got into drugs, came home and was sentenced to prison. But he later became a chef and is doing fine now.

Rodgers mentioned a veteran who recovered from a helicopter crash, went on to co-found the Greater Boston Track Club and later coached Joan Benoit Samuelson, who would win the marathon gold medal at the LA Olympics in 1984.

Rodgers sent me a photo of his runner's certificate.

Rodgers revealed that he initially was not inclined to participate in the Ho Chi Minh City Marathon. “I thought many people would be angry here in the U.S., especially veterans and their families,” he told me. Keep in mind, the trade embargo was still in place in 1992 and some families of servicemen missing in action had doubts about Hanoi’s openness in accounting for U.S. MIAs.

Ultimately, Rodgers decided to run: “I thought, I’ll try to win the race and I’ll represent the U.S. Is that small effort a bit of healing? I think it was.”

The former Olympian’s most treasured Saigon memory centers around the official ceremony, where American disabled vets presented wheelchairs to their Vietnamese counterparts. “It was an incredible sight,” Rodgers said. “Words can’t describe seeing that.” Participants were given certificates and Rodgers proudly sent me a photo of his.

“Rick, I’m still a runner . . . of sorts,” Bill told me. “I ran my last marathon at 61, one year after my surgery for prostate cancer.” Formerly ranked #1 in the world, Rodgers still loves going to races, at the age of 73.

Group photo of vets with Rodgers (right). Photo from Jim Barker (center)