Small story about a great teacher

Associate Professor, Meritorious Student Tran Dinh Huou (1926 - 1995)

1. I was running hard on the soccer field when Mr. Vuong (Professor Tran Ngoc Vuong) waved me over. “Tomorrow morning, Vi, go with me to Gia Lam. I’m so impatient. Mr. Huou’s house is leaking, all the books are wet. They’re all precious books. I borrowed Tuan’s (poet Do Minh Tuan) bicycle. Can I go home?”

It was winter 1974. We left Me Tri dormitory at 5am. The creaking bicycle carried us along the foggy Long Bien bridge. The two of us took turns pedaling. The Hong dike road wound endlessly under the low, gloomy clouds. The weather in my hometown was rarely this heavy. After Chau Quy, we arrived at a thatched house, located next to another house's garden. The house looked exactly like my three-room evacuation house to the American bombing zone in 1966. I had studied with teachers whose lives were patched together by endless evacuations. The teachers held up curtains to welcome the two of us. A row of bookshelves, some made of bamboo, some made of wood, sagged, covered with mats and pineapple sacks. The spines of elegant Russian books peeked out. I looked up. It wasn't just leaking. The rafters and strings were broken and crushed. The thatched roof was collapsing in patches. Looking through the window, I asked: “Whose bamboo bush is that? Can I have some?”. “Yes! We are all relatives.”. “Is there any straw in the village? Go ask for some for me.”. “But how?”. “I can’t starve anymore, teacher. Just re-thatch. I can do it.” A little doubtful, the teacher asked her to go ask for straw. I took out a knife and threw it into the bamboo bush, chose and cut three bamboo poles into the yard. Two old bamboo poles were split into sesame rafters, one young bamboo pole was mixed with bamboo strips. Then, I climbed up to the roof and threw all the old straw down, asking Mr. Vuong to carry it into a pile to reuse. It turned out that the northerners built very makeshift houses, not as careful as our stormy countryside. The roof was soon bright. Looking down, I saw the teacher walking around with a worried look. Vuong had one room, I had another, quickly tying the bamboo strips in rows. “A tiled house is solid, a thatched house is made of bamboo strips.” Once tied, they were sturdy, and walking on the roof was easy. The straw had just been asked for. I covered the straw in sections, prioritizing new straw for the outside room, the bed, and the bookshelf. By noon, the back roof had reached the roof. We climbed down to eat. The sunlight from the roof illuminated the trays and bowls. That was a meal I will remember for the rest of my life. It had never been so delicious. She stewed potatoes and pig's feet, bright red tomatoes, and even celery. She prioritized picking up a pig's foot the size of a bowl for me, square and thick. I bit into it with my teeth. Oh my god! It was the first time in my life that I knew something so delicious. I still remember it now. The teacher laughed: "Don't worry, when I saw you climbing up and kicking the roof down, I was so scared, wondering when it would be done, I was going to call for more people. What about the front roof?" "Don't worry, teacher," I said while eating my sixth bowl of rice. The bowl was full, it would be done even faster in the afternoon. I covered the roof very carefully. The house leaked from the roof. It was fine at dusk. A pot of tea with jasmine flowers for two cents is cozy. At this time, the teacher sat happily chatting:

- You guys are really talented. I don't know how to do anything. When I grew up, the village sent me to Hue to study so that later on, "if one person becomes an official, the whole family will benefit". I only knew how to study. I didn't know anything about bamboo and thatch. I've heard this story from a Confucian scholar. My teacher and Mr. Can's teacher (Professor Nguyen Tai Can) were close friends. The elders visited each other, and I had to serve tea. The house leaked in one place, so the elders rushed to another place. It leaked in a new place, so they rushed to another place. Leaked again, again, and crawled around. Oh yeah, all year round. Why not cover up one place or spend a day to finish it like today? Confucian scholars are like that, guys. Confucius went to teach, and saw a farmer in a field by the roadside who tied a very flexible and strong water-draining bucket. His students were amazed and praised him. Tu wrote: "Intelligence is like resourcefulness". It seems that Confucianism hates practical science. Hahaha...

We left, part walking, part cycling through the night to go to school early the next morning.

Associate Professor, Meritorious Student Tran Dinh Huouand generations of students

2. Suddenly, at the end of 1975, I received a thesis topic from Professor Bui Duy Tan about Nguyen Trai. One afternoon, while I was playing soccer on a stone table under a row of longan trees, Mr. Tan stuck his neck out from the attic on the third floor of the front row of houses and called out: “Hey! Hey! You shorty! Come up here!”. I put down my racket and groped my way up. He scolded: “Break the table tennis ball and eat it! Read a book. Tomorrow go to the National Library. Here is your introduction letter. Go to the special materials room and ask to read it.” Fumbling, he took out 2 dong: “Here is the train fare! Street people, don’t do it without a ticket.” I could only accept it with trembling hands. At that time, my teacher’s salary was only 75 dong at most, and he was a poor family. My brother and sister in Hanoi, saving 5 dong a month for him was the best they could.

I went to sit in the library, the train sometimes took more than an hour to arrive, sometimes I treated my friends to candy, I skipped the ticket or walked each leg for 10 kilometers. Luckily, in the 1965 mimeographed Philosophical Bulletin, there was an article “Nguyen Trai” by Mr. Tran Dinh Huou. That was a great opening for me to realize the path I had to take. In the opening part of that article, he wrote something like: What we know about Nguyen Trai today are only oases, mountain peaks emerging after a sea level rise. Meanwhile, we expect to study its geomorphology, which is really difficult. This depends a lot on an interdisciplinary, synchronous and objective approach.

I am aware that scientific work is very serious and arduous, not like writing poetry or chatting. The past always comes to us through many waves: war, denial and especially prejudice. Reading the “REAL HISTORY” is very difficult. Studying the teacher’s lectures and topics, I try to take notes, record, and take the opportunity to ask questions about things I don’t know. The teacher’s house is still too far away, I can’t go there.

In 1976, I continued my third-year thesis on Nguyen Trai. At this time, my teacher's house had moved to Lo Duc, living in a small room of about 12 square meters. I went to ask my teacher for more advice on my next direction. My advisor was still Professor Bui Duy Tan. At this time, between me and teacher Huou was more intimate because I knew he was a close friend of my high school teacher, Mr. Dang Luyen, who treated me like a son. Teacher Huou exhaled a long puff of tobacco and suddenly asked: "Vi, let me ask you, do you enjoy reading philosophy, how do you find it?". I answered honestly: "I find reading philosophy is like reading novels, I understand everything!". The teacher laughed loudly. Then, I reached up to the bookshelf, pulled out a thin, handwritten file, and said: "Read this. I'll go out to buy a pack of tobacco."

I read it quickly. It was a chapter of Conrad's "West and East". After reading it, the teacher just came back. He sat down and asked me how he felt. I just showed him what he wrote, what he thought, what he thought, what I learned from him... The teacher was slightly satisfied and said: "So I really understand. To tell you the truth, I teach like that but I don't believe that students understand what I say. Ah, it turns out that students understand what I say! In your class, how many people read books?" "The library lends each student 12 books a week. Many students are very interested." "That's quite good? That's great, it wasn't like that during the evacuation, people read very little." The teacher took the document back, held it in his hand as if to check its weight, then suddenly handed it over: "Here for you. I have a typed copy. The faculty's documents are also available. Take it home and read it carefully."

I have kept that unexpected gift to this day through the post-war famine, many times moving, building and repairing houses. My teacher's handwriting was thin and ascetic. His sweat still seemed salty on the "seventy-two cent" paper of the past. My teacher's wisdom sparkled on each word of translation.

Throughout 1977, under the guidance of Professor Bui Duy Tan, I continued to work on Nguyen Trai to complete my university graduation thesis. I visited Mr. Huou and Mr. Phan Dai Doan's houses more often. One was about ideology, the other about history, and both were "hometown people". I also took advantage of the opportunity to go to Thuong Tin, Con Son, Lam Son, Lam Thanh, Vu Quang... sometimes begging like a real beggar, wandering around, hungry and miserable.

When the manuscript was completed, besides giving it to Mr. Tran Ngoc Vuong to read first and correct the “silly” parts as he said, I took the book to the teacher’s house. The teacher read it attentively right in front of me and said: “Strange? Up to now, I have never heard anyone call Nguyen Trai a “Culturalist”. How dare you write that? Forget it!”. I replied: “Mr. Tan also told me the same thing, people call Mr. Trai with all kinds of “Culturalists” but not “Culturalists”, look again… but I think…”. Because we were already close friends, I boldly went on and on about my opinion. Finally, I said: Nguyen Trai is also a Farmer, a very knowledgeable farmer, teacher. I took out some of Nguyen Trai’s poems to comment: “Many people want one meal and two jobs/ Two grains and three nets bring disaster to the greedy.” What is it like with country life. Then “Fields are the master, people are the guests."What is it like with agricultural experience? The teacher just sat there: "That's it! That's it! Who told you that?" (Later, when presenting something to Professor Hoang Ngoc Hien, I saw that the two of them were very similar in that they kept saying "That's it, that's it, really that's it"). Fortunately, in 1980, UNESCO recognized Nguyen Trai as a World Cultural Figure.

When defending, the teacher praised me for my attitude of daring to defend my opinion.

Students congratulateAssociate Professor, Meritorious Student Tran Dinh Huou(4th from left)

3. In 1978, I stayed at the school to research and teach, but instead of doing medieval literature, I was transferred to folk literature. I went to the teacher again to ask for his opinion. He gave me very clear advice:

- First, you should do Thai. Doing Cham is too much work, doing Khmer is too far away, being Muong, Tu Chi did well, you shouldn't play around with chimpanzees. Thai is very important, Kinh population is only two-thirds of theirs, their space is a strategic part of Southeast Asia, in the past it spread from Burma to Taiwan. They are also a particularly important source of ours, Kinh. It's no joke, things change, there are many things, my friend. I repeat, very strategic. I will introduce you to Dang Nghiem Van, he teaches students at the Central Ethnic School so he has a lot of information.

- Second, don't learn how to work. I write in a way that accumulates, experiences, and then sublimates. I'm not a person who makes documents, or does "accounting" as Mr. Hoang Xuan Han taught. If you follow my style, where will you get the experience, so it's easy to fall into speculation. In our country, it's called "speaking from the ground up". Follow Mr. Can, he's very careful, measuring specifically, clearly down to the last detail. Take the time to review documents, and after reviewing, you'll have an article, carefully reviewing documents will convince people. That's what you have to teach. Discuss less, a double-edged sword is immature discussion.

I could not follow Thai because after several field trips in the mountains, I could not bear hunger and thirst. Post-war poverty tied people down. They did not even have clothes to wear. I looked up the documents. I only heard half of what he said.

In 1980, when he heard that I was planning to return to my hometown to get married, he called me out. This time it was a father's advice: "I've heard the story, there are two things I said that are really not right, not allowed.

First, you intend to marry someone to take care of your elderly parents, right? That is inhumane. Women are not slaves for you to use, they are already suffering. Marrying someone to “work and support their elderly mother” is selfish, it makes them suffer more. How many times a year do you go home, how long will they sleep alone? You don’t have the strength to bring this up.

Two, our generation is separated by circumstances. We've learned it so much, we can't do anything properly. Don't repeat it. Settling down is the only way to have a successful career. You have to marry someone from outside, have each other when hungry and full, help each other work. You won't be old in no time.

I sat quietly and thought, luckily it was just an intention. When he told me, he was 53 years old. “You won’t be old for long.” This year I am 60 years old. Teacher, whatever I write, I will no longer have the chance to show you. Sometimes I feel like an orphan in this money-driven society. I miss you so much.

Hanoi January 29, 2015.

(photo collected from the internet)