A lingering look back at Vietnam War
By Conner Ennis
Associated Press
When John Laurence arrived in Vietnam in 1965, he was a 25-year-old correspondent for CBS News with a fundamental belief in his country and its military.
When his final stint in Cambodia ended in 1970, Laurence had become a cynical newsman whose empathy lay more with the soldiers fighting the war than with the generals orchestrating it.
"The Cat From Hue" is Laurence's story of what happened in between, and it seems to have been written as much for his benefit as for readers.
Filled with fascinating anecdotes, illuminating insight and hard facts, the memoir emits a sense of having been written during the war instead of 30 years later. Indeed, as Laurence wrote the book, he relied on many of the stories he did for CBS, as well as notes, journals and interviews made during the war.
"Like many Americans who had been there, I had left Vietnam but it hadn't left me," Laurence writes. "By writing about the war, I have learned how to survive it."
One of the byproducts of this writing as self-analysis is that Laurence gives almost every event a long look, describing scenes and conversations — some of which seem redundant — in minute detail.
At 845 pages, the book is simply too long. One gets the feeling that Laurence holds the soldiers who fought the war and the reporters who covered them in such high regard that he doesn't want to rob them of any recognition. However, the sheer number of names, stories and locations becomes somewhat overwhelming and confusing.
Still, through Laurence's conversational writing style and his frequently fascinating stories about his colleagues and the people and combat they covered, the book maintains the reader's interest throughout its many pages.
All the familiar names in Vietnam War reporting are here: Peter Arnett, David Halberstam, Sean Flynn, Dana Stone and Morley Safer — a fellow CBS reporter about whom Laurence relates a story that is less than complimentary. Laurence does a good job of letting the reader in on the excitement, and frustration, of tracking down stories in the public relations quagmire of Vietnam.
He also shows the human side of many of the reporters by writing about times when they would sit around, smoke marijuana, drink alcohol, listen to rock music and discuss the war. It is in these moments that Laurence first begins to show the cynicism toward the war that would soon become prevalent.
The way reporters, whose job it was to report objectively, often became attached to the troops they covered is also touched upon. Laurence even relays a story about how he alerted a U.S. soldier to the presence of a Viet Cong soldier whom the GI then shot and killed.
It is straight reportage that is Laurence's strength. When he begins to attach meanings to certain events, he sometimes misses the mark. The cat of the title is one such instance. Laurence found the cat after the battle of Hue in 1968 and brought it back to America with him. The cat eventually settled in for more than a decade with Laurence — whose analogy comparing his relationship with the cat to America's relationship with Vietnam seems forced at best.
In the end, the memoir, while Laurence's, certainly articulates the feelings of many of those who fought the war or covered it. They went to Vietnam sure they were on the right side and returned sure of nothing.
