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~ everyday and commonplace parables

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Monthly Archives: February 2015

Silent unseen companion

28 Saturday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest, Nature, Seasons

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Serendipity

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My desk sits next to and facing a window, and the only problem with that comes from my tendency to gaze into the woods instead of attending to the project that sits on my desk. On this day I’m glad I looked up when I did. About fifty feet directly in front of me, still in my yard, though my “yard” is all undeveloped forest, I catch a slight movement. It appears to be the twitch of an ear, a rabbit, I think. Then I look closer and see the body lying in the fallen leaves, blending perfectly into the snow covered forest floor in a depression next to an old stump. That is the biggest rabbit I have ever seen! Instead, as I take some minutes to observe, it proves to be a deer. 

She sits silently, motionlessly, except for an occasional reaction to a gust of wind or a wary reflex to a sound nearby. Likewise I am absorbed in meditating on her, as she has chosen to rest mid-morning in such close proximity to my home. She is well-concealed, nearly invisible, camouflaged in color and stillness, and secure in her choice of resting place. 

Not thirty minutes before this I walked around the house, passing just a few feet from her. She must have been there then, but still she stayed. She lies there, and even when I stand to get a better look, she makes no move. Now I know where deer go during the daytime. In the evening we often see them along the road. They leave their tracks all around the house. On a wintry night I have walked outside and interrupted a herd of ten or more nearby, but during this particular day, she is by herself and secure in her secret. If she had not moved so slightly when I happened to look up in her direction, I never would have noticed.  

I have moved enough, and made enough noise, that I know she is aware of me. Once she even stands and looks in my direction, then turns around and moves a few feet, still in view, and lies down again. For three hours, as I work at the desk, she is my silent partner. 

How many times have I missed such a visitor? What am I not seeing now, even as surprised as I am by this one, and as intent on seeing someone or something else? Does the barred owl still rest on this day in the stump nearby? Does the armadillo dig in the loose leaves and make a nest for sleep during this day?  

How hard it is to learn to be observant and sensitive to the world around us! Only by accident do most of us note what is there for us to understand all along. Accelerate the hustle-bustle of our pace, and we miss even more. Slow it to a steady, thoughtful pace, and we at least have a chance to notice. Now I too must move along and do some other work, but her soft, gracious presence has beautified my day. When I return she too has moved on to something else. But, I think, she is still nearby, observing me.

Letter from the “Good Old Days”… sunset laws

27 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in People, Racial Prejudice

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Carl and Bessie- True Friends

Bessie Coen

Bessie Coen

Mattoon, Illinois, July 15, 1914 [Mr. Carl Warfel, Rose Hill]

Dear Carl,

I received your welcome letter this week and was so glad to hear from you. I have just been helping mamma in the garden, and can hardly write. If we don’t have some rain pretty soon I don’t think that we will have much garden. I know you are glad when night comes these hot days; the air is a little cooler then. Papa is not helping bail hay now. He is working on the subway now. 

There was a lot of excitement in this part of town one day last week. A colored man got off the train and began to run. One of the police saw him and started running after him. Soon a large crowd had joined him and the colored man ran down Cottage Ave. and through the shop yards then down Marshall almost to our house then down Marion past where we did live. By the time the crowd got here it certainly was a crowd. We thought there was a big fire some place near, but soon saw what they were after. The fellow got just outside of town, ran into a corn field and dropped to rest. The police found him unable to go any farther, and they had to haul him back to town. He almost died before he got to town though. They locked him up but next morning turned him loose. Someone had told him that colored men not working here were not allowed to stop here, and I guess he was getting out as soon as he could. He thanked the police for not shooting at him. He was so polite but the people were so awful. It’s hard to believe that people can be so mean, and policemen to boot. 

Have you had any rain down there since you were here. We haven’t had any rain for a long time. They had a good rain at Charleston and Loxa not long ago, but not any here. Well I must quit writing for the postman will be here pretty soon. I write long letters and don’t say anything either. Write soon.

From your True Friend, Bessie.

A letter from the “Good Old Days”…in the Mattoon shirt factory

26 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in People

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Carl and Bessie- True Friends

Bessie Coen

Bessie Coen

Mattoon, Illinois, Feb. 18, 1914 [to: Mr. Carl Warfel, Rose Hill]

Dear Carl,

I received your welcome letter yesterday and was so very glad to hear from you. It seems a very long time since you were here. You said that it was fine sleighing when you wrote, but I think that it would be better boat riding now.

I got my valentines and chewing gum all right. The gum was fine and the valentines were just as pretty as they could be. I got your card too.

You said that you didn’t suppose that I had worked at the factory during the bad weather last week, but I went every day. I came home at noon on Mon., I got too sleepy and tired to sew, but I went every day the rest of the week. Men take one horse and snow plows and clean some of the snow off the walks, but we girls always had to go too early for them. We almost froze at work all last week, they couldn’t heat the factory, and we worked with our coats on all the time, but our fingers would get so cold that we could hardly use the scissors. I didn’t go to work at all this Monday, it was so cold early in the morning that I supposed it would be that way all day.

Clara Reed (the girl right across the road in that house in front of us, you know) works at the factory, and she walks to work with us and we have some great times. This morning the walks were covered with ice, and Bonnie kept falling all the way to work. Clara and I laughed at her until I know all the people between here and the factory will know us by the way we laugh all the time.

I wrote Vena a card since she went home, but I haven’t heard from her yet.

A janitor at the North School here in Mattoon fell and broke his back this morning, when he was carrying ashes out of the building. Gladys Howard fell on the walk and struck her head on something, and came to work crying. So many people fall on the walks and hurt themselves when there is so much sleet and freezing. Well I know that you will not want to put in all your time trying to make out what this scratching is so I will close. I will have to sew some tonight and it is now 8:30 so I guess that I had better get to work. I didn’t sew much last week at night. Answer real soon. I hope that it will not be so very, very long before I see you. Bonnie and I have just been learning a song “The Factory Girl” that we found in one of our papers and mamma knows the tune, and nearly all the girls in the factory are crazy about it. I will try and sing when you come up. Its just about all right, I think. I will stop writing this time. I guess I’ll not sew tonight. I’m most too sleepy.

From Your True Friend, Bessie.

Write soon.

The day I wrecked the tractor and died

25 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Death, Events, Farm, Growing up, Learning from mistakes

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A License to Preach, events, Serendipity

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I was about 13 years old, and had driven the tractor, specifically the Farmall “H” tractor, for about five years. On that spring afternoon I was returning from the field at the south end of the farm where I had finished harrowing in preparation for planting. (We did that sort of thing in those days.) The smooth lane lay ahead of me along the fence line at the edge of the farm, and I was in fourth gear. I had never driven in High gear, and this was my opportunity. I slipped the gear shift into High and released the clutch and took off. The speed was exhilarating as the fence posts whizzed by. I must have been going twenty miles per hour! I pulled the throttle open a little more. Soon I was approaching the bank where the lane broadened and sloped gradually toward the river bridge, where I knew I would have to slow down.

I was already at the ridges when I realized that I should have slowed earlier. The ridges intersected the lane and were the last visible remnants of the lodges of an Indian village. I had often combed those ridges for abandoned grinding stones, celts, knives, and drills, and I should have remembered that they were there, forming a bumpy area even at slower speeds. Before I knew it I was bounced off the seat, holding onto the steering wheel with all my strength, trying to pull my legs back onto the platform to apply the brakes. Meanwhile the tractor headed toward the creek with the old spring at its head.

Somehow the tractor stopped just at the lip of the bank where the creek had eroded the field. I peered down into the creek bed twenty feet below, and I saw my body there in the creek bed underneath where the tractor had come to rest… in an alternative universe where miracles do not happen. I died that day, or I knew I would have died. My parents would have grieved long and hard and blamed themselves for letting me drive that tractor. There would have been no end to sadness, as we used to say.

I backed the tractor away from the bank and drove it slowly, very slowly, back to the farmyard. I do not know whether I was happier for having been reborn from the dead or more ashamed for having nearly wrecked my parents. I do not know whether they noticed my strange thoughtfulness as the next weeks passed. Perhaps I appeared no different than usual.

Certainly I have thought about that second chance at life many times since. One spring just before Easter fifteen years later I could not shake the memory as I headed toward a farmhouse where a couple had just lost their only son in a farm accident. He was thirteen years old, and he had fallen off the tractor under the disk. What could I say to them?

Oh yes, I still have the “H.” It is my favorite tractor of all time. Like me it has been baptized in murky water and raised from a muddy grave

But what do they mean?

23 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Words

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A License to Preach

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“I enjoyed your Chaplines, but what did they mean?” So said one of my readers, and I have to admit that sometimes I too have wondered.

In college creative writing classes our teacher was a relic of 1920’s Paris. He had known all the “greats,” he preferred Venice to Paris, and why his own wonderful and winsome writings had not caught on, I do not know. But he guided our efforts with an artist’s touch. If you think you have a point to make, use an objective correlative, an image, a story. People will remember it longer if they can picture it, or touch it, or smell it, or taste it. Of course they will also come up with their own interpretations and meanings, but a well-chosen story will still tell more than an abstraction. “Above all, don’t preach to them!”

Pastor Harry was good at choosing a story. His congregation thought so much of his writings that they collected them in a book and gave them right back to him at his 25th Anniversary of being their pastor. He got at least ten meanings out of every story he told, and he belabored every single one of them, so you wouldn’t misinterpret his intent.

I’m happier to be misinterpreted. My writing teacher noted that I was fond of O’Henry-like surprise endings. There is a chance that people will remember those endings, but they won’t remember the abstract stuff. Draw your characters well, but don’t make them say a lot unless you want people to think of them as windbags.

For several years I wrote and delivered a one minute “Walking and Talking” radio series. That exercise reminded me to make a point as quickly and concretely as possible. Still the room may have seemed a little windy when it came to sermon time. I worked on that for forty-five years before trading in my pulpit. (I became a Methodist local preacher at 16; they stopped allowing that after me.) It is a task that is worth doing, attempting to share Good News, so I kept trying, even when no one was listening. I did have lots of practice at that. I still write when no one is reading.

But wasn’t Jesus good at telling a story? He too left them wondering sometimes. And once in a while he too was misinterpreted. Talk about a well-drawn character!

Thank you, Hue Thi Nguyen!

21 Saturday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Books by Gary Chapman, Death, People

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Books by Gary Chapman, The River Flows Both Ways, Vietnam and Cambodia

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Who could imagine that the decisions of a woman in Vietnam, during and within a few years after the war, would have such a profound impact on our lives? The decisions that Hue made led a decade later to a young man named Au entering our lives as a dancer and the dance partner of our daughter Alicia as they studied at Illinois State University. He brought an amazing story of hardship, endurance, and perseverance, that was matched by his extraordinary determination to do well in his studies, his work, his willingness to tackle any challenges, his open-heartedness, and his love of family. They married in 1990 just before Au’s first return to Vietnam, with his brother Long, to see his mother and grandmother, and to reassure them that their difficult decisions had been worth the sacrifices they had made.

In the next five years came our three wonderful grand-daughters, who have each grown up in the security of parents who have been devoted to their nurture and the development of their minds, hearts, and talents with a depth that few children have known.

We owe a lot to Au, computer and communications technician that he is, and cook, repairman, hunter, painter, martial artist, fisherman, runner, dog-lover, care-giver, mechanic, audio-visual specialist, volunteer….husband, son-in-law, father, son.

Thank you, Hue Thi Nguyen, for the decisions and sacrifices that you made, and for the life that you led. May you enjoy the blessings of heaven forever.   Hue Thi Nguyen, 1950-2015.

Hue decides to try again to get Au out

20 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Books by Gary Chapman, Events, People

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Books by Gary Chapman, The River Flows Both Ways, Vietnam and Cambodia

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Before making any more decisions about leaving, Hue decided to wait to hear from Phuong and Long to make certain that they had been able to emigrate. The weeks following the return to Go Dau felt longer and longer as they waited for word that Phuong and Long had made their way beyond the refugee camps in Thailand. Food and money were scarce, and hope itself became harder to find. Finally a letter from the United States arrived, and they celebrated the news that Phuong and Long were safe and secure there.

Hue decided to find Aunt Phan again to see what kind of plan of escape still made sense. Aunt Phan had a son, Trai, and his wife, Lien, and their two little boys named Anh and Ling. Trai and Lien were restless and eager to leave. They all began to search for a way out. They knew that smaller numbers would have a better chance. Girls would have a harder time making the journey, especially the journey on foot through the jungle, if that was the only way to escape.

News of families trying to escape by sea alarmed everyone, and the government published horror stories of families lost at sea, turned away at foreign ports and forced to return to Vietnam, and starving and dying of thirst. They wanted to discourage people from trying to leave. The dangers of the jungle and war in the west were frightful enough. The family had no experience with the sea, so only the land escape route made any sense. But what chance did they have to make it out of Cambodia? Civil war was raging on the western frontier. The Vietnamese Army was in charge of most of the route, and fewer people would be able to make their way through the checkpoints since they were firmly in control. Could any of them really go on that journey with Trai and Lien, people they barely knew?

Who would try to make the journey? When they weighed and considered everything, only Au had a good prospect of making it out successfully. Could they send him by himself? Hue finally decided to send Au with Aunt Phai’s son and his family. Au would soon be thirteen. He would have to cross Cambodia almost on his own, just in company with his older cousins, supposedly helping them with their little children.

Grandma Tien and Hue had a hard time saying goodbye to Au.  They felt certain that this was the last time that they would see him while either of them lived. He and Muoi were born just two months apart, and he was both son and grandson to Tien. With the situation in Vietnam growing more desperate week by week, and all the troubles they had seen, how could they keep him with them? He needed a chance to live a better life than he would face in Vietnam.

At the end of the calendar year, after farmers were harvesting the long season rice, Hue took Au to Svay Rieng, where Au climbed on board a truck used for smuggling.  She paid the smuggler the money he required, told Au that she was proud of him and knew he would succeed, and gave him a parting hug and kiss. The smuggler had his workers load large bags of rice, each weighing about one hundred kilos, onto the bed of the truck. A large piece of plywood in the center of the truck bed allowed a small open space for people to sit underneath, so sacks of rice could be stacked on top as well as on the sides of the space. Au and Trai’s family of four crammed themselves into the smuggling space. Au did not know his cousins; he did not remember meeting them before, but he soon became familiar with their smells and sounds and the feel of their bodies around him. The truck had no shock absorbers, so they became sore from riding with little room even to wiggle, although the two little children did a lot of wiggling. Confined in such a small, dark, hot space, jostled this way and that, they all felt like chunks of meat thrown into a lidded wok with frying rice.

Hue and the children are jailed in Cambodia

19 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Books by Gary Chapman, People

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Books by Gary Chapman, The River Flows Both Ways, Vietnam and Cambodia

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When the soldiers who stopped their truck saw the light-skinned Hue, Mui and Kim Chi, they examined their papers carefully and discovered that they were actually from Vietnam. They detained Au, Hue, Mui, and Kim Chi.  The checkpoint guards confined the family in a high-fenced area some distance away from the road and they enforced strict war zone security measures. The troops did not abuse the people in the confinement, but they were not gentle or respectful. Everyone was fed like the troops. They had enough to eat, but rations were simple cans of rice.  Tin cans had become the common measure and utensil during the Khmer Rouge years, and here they continued to reuse tin cans in this way.

Local civilians came in and out of the military compound where they were confined. Eager bartering over extra food, cigarettes, and necessary clothing occurred while the soldiers weren’t looking. The locals charged exorbitant prices for the exchanges made inside the compound. Even though Hue had many items of jewelry, and other small valuables, sewed into the seams of the family’s garments for safe keeping, she did not want to use these to make purchases inside the prison, unless it was absolutely necessary. Mostly she kept what she could for the future.

Mosquitoes pestered all the time. There were no mosquito nets for sleeping. Everyone was accustomed to mosquito nets while they slept, so the nights were miserable at first, and people feared the spread of malaria.

They stayed near Sisophon for several weeks. Then they were transported south toward Battambang to an official, gated jailhouse.  There were more restrictions and more tension.

Hue knew that the children, and the others who were imprisoned there, could not hold out for long under such a strict regime. She brushed her hair, and made herself as presentable as she could. Not that it was hard for her to look pretty, for Hue was always a lovely woman with the charm of one who could make an impression. She soon attracted the attention of the Vietnamese General in charge of the prison, and she gradually revealed her story in a sympathetic way, as she worked to win the trust of all of those in charge.

The soldiers in charge of the prison resented the waste of time spent in dealing with captives from their own people, so they made life harsher than it needed to be. They had their hands full. They were occupying Cambodia. They were trying to restore normal trade and civilian life after years of Khmer Rouge destruction. They were still fighting opposition forces at the frontier. When the officers could see that some prisoners were willing to be cooperative and helpful, and even do favors for them, they began to relax the rules and encourage more freedom for the Vietnamese captives.

Through one of the civilians who came into the prison, Hue managed to smuggle out that letter to Grandmother Tien in Vietnam explaining that only Long and Phuong might have managed to make it out of Cambodia, and the rest of the family would find their way back to Go Dau as soon as they could. Au, Mui, Kim Chi, and their mother and stepfather were confined in another detention center near Phnom Penh for several weeks.

Hue tries to take her family to Thailand…only two make it.

19 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Books by Gary Chapman, People, Travel

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Books by Gary Chapman, The River Flows Both Ways, Vietnam and Cambodia

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Hue brought the family together in Phnom Penh in November. She made arrangements with Aunt Phai who promised safe travel to Thailand through Khmer Rouge-controlled territory.    They knew it would be difficult to avoid Vietnam’s occupation troops, find their way through territory controlled by a resistance group, and follow the route of Cambodian refugees into Thailand.

On the night before leaving in November, in the middle of the night, they walked to the house of another family, stayed until early morning, then they walked to yet another family that owned the two trucks they would board. Aunt Phai herself was with them all, serving as a guide. She knew the way to travel, on Route 5 toward the Thai border, expecting to disembark near Battambang, and walking through the jungle until they crossed the Thai border. Then they would find a refugee camp where the rest of their arrangements could be made through the officials at the camp. The weather was sunny and warm. The rainy season was behind them. They would not travel together in one truck in case something would happen to one of the trucks. At least the other might be able to continue the journey. It was about 6 A.M. when Long and Phuong climbed into the first vehicle, a canvass-covered cargo truck with large sacks and crates of contraband stacked on the truck bed on which dozens of passengers sat and piled their small bundles. Long and Phuong were not carrying anything.

Hue and Thin, and the children—Au, Mui, and Kim Chi—with a few bundles of clothing and tradable goods, climbed into the second truck. People and cargo filled both trucks. Roads were terrible, full of ruts, so the trucks could go no faster than twenty kilometers per hour. Every few kilometers Cambodian people wearing a variety of clothing, sometimes parts of uniforms, stood alongside the road, and the drivers made payments to them for permission to pass without interference. All of the passengers had to stay in the trucks under the canvass, so they were not obvious, but the back ends of both trucks were open. Long tried to sleep as the truck jostled along, and sometimes he was successful.

The trucks rattled apart and frequently broke down. Having never travelled far before, Au soon became sick from the jarring motion. Occasionally when there was no one in sight they stopped to let people relieve themselves.  Au tried to calm his unsettled stomach, but back aboard the truck he was sick again. Neither truck made any special effort to hide, but they avoided larger towns where they knew that regular Vietnamese Army soldiers were stationed. Until they got closer to the border no one was checking to see who belonged where.

During that first day they traveled most of the long road from Phnom Penh toward Battambang, over three hundred kilometers. When the sun had set and the road turned too dark for the driver to see where they were going, both trucks stopped for the night, and everyone slept in their clothing with a few shared blankets along the roadside near the trucks. Hue’s family slept together that night.

At daybreak they ate a little that they had packed and resumed the traveling. Long and Phuong were in the first truck all of the way. Near the end of the afternoon, in the area near Sisaphon, Long saw the other truck pass them briefly and then pull off to the side of the road. Mui and Kim Chi waved at him from the open back end. He waved and smiled back at them, not realizing this would be his last sight of them for a long, long time. Later that day, and on the many days following, he clung to the memory of them waving.

Toward sunset the road became impassable. Long and Phuong and the rest of their group climbed down off of their truck for the last time. The other truck was nowhere to be seen. There was no sign of activity around the shacks and buildings in that region. People were afraid to be out at night. The gravel path that continued where the road was no longer drivable served ox carts, bicycles and walkers, but not four-wheeled vehicles. As darkness fell they arrived at a hut, and they crowded into it to sleep for the night, hoping for some protection from the mosquitoes. Long and Phuong wondered aloud where their family was, but no one knew. They lay awake worrying about them. They knew that Hue had all of the gold and extra resources the family needed for the trip, and they themselves had nothing. Mostly they just wanted to be together again. They had no way of knowing that the other truck had been captured by occupation soldiers, and Hue and the rest of the family had been imprisoned.

Hue Thi Nguyen, 1950-2015

16 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Books by Gary Chapman, Death, People

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Books by Gary Chapman, The River Flows Both Ways, Vietnam and Cambodia

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Hue, which means “Rose” in Vietnamese, was born in Tay Ninh Province, Vietnam, in 1950, the daughter of Do Van Nguyen and Vinh Thi Tran.  Her family moved to Svay Rieng, Cambodia, where she met and married Hung Thanh Nguy in 1966. They had four children, two boys—Long and Au, and two girls—Kia and Mui. Hung and Hue moved to Go Dau, Vietnam, in 1970, where they continued as cross-border traders with Hung’s father, Lao Nguy. Hung was killed on October 19, 1973, and Hue moved to Ho Chi Minh City and established herself as an entrepreneur, owning trucks and passenger vehicles, a business which she conducted the rest of her life.

Hue married Thin Nguyen and they had one daughter, Kim Chi. During the actively anti-Chinese period of the reunited Vietnam, Hue worked to provide a means of escape for her young brother-in-law, Phuong Nguy, and her two sons, Long and Au, so that they would not be caught in the mistreatment of Vietnamese citizens who had Chinese ancestry, or conscripted to serve in the ongoing war in Cambodia, and so that they might have an opportunity for education and a better life.  After several years each of the three boys emigrated to the United States and became citizens. Thin and Kim Chi emigrated to Texas, and he and Hue divorced.

Hue continued to earn a living that supported, not only her own daughters, but also her parents and siblings. As the Vietnamese economy began to flourish in the late 1990’s and 2000’s, she assisted her siblings in getting their own businesses started. She sent Mui to the United States to live with Au and Long at Bloomington, Illinois, in 1991.

Hue married Phap Danh in Ho Chi Minh City around 1988, and they had one daughter, Phong. Phong came to live with Mui and her husband, Kenyatta Stevenson, in 2014, in Miami, Florida.

Hue died on January 19, 2015, at home with her husband, Phap, as a result of complications from diabetes.  Kia and other near family members were with her, and she was aware that Long, Au, Kim Chi, and Phong were flying home to be with her. (Mui remained home with her husband, who was dying with cancer.)

She was buried at Cu Chi, Vietnam, attended by hundreds of family and friends from many places in Vietnam, Cambodia, and the United States.

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