September 9 holds several deeply special meanings for me.
It’s both my mother’s birthday and my parents’ wedding anniversary. I’ve shared a photo of my mother, likely from when she was in the 9th grade around 1942. It’s easy to see why my father wrote her dozens of letters during WWII before they married. And the other picture of the two of them together in a photo booth, probably taken after 1948, really doesn’t do justice to how happy they actually were together.
What makes their love story remarkable—a theme I explore in my investigative memoir, Because: A CIA Coverup and a Son’s Odyssey to Find the Father He Never Knew—is how utterly different my mother and father were. My memoir details many of these differences, but I’ll share a few here.
He was a risk-taker; she was cautious. She was studious; he was not. She excelled at writing and spelling, while he struggled with every word and sentence. He had a temper; she remained calm. He was energetic and wanted to get things done immediately, while she preferred to take her time—often making him late. My father sometimes wrote about how he felt unworthy of being married to my mother because of these differences. Yet, as their son, reflecting on his letters and the stories I’ve gathered, I don’t believe there was ever a couple more in love. Their devotion and the sacrifices they made for each other and their children set a high standard for generations to follow.
Amazingly, even after their deaths, they both spoke to me in their own ways, revealing clues about what really happened to my father in Vietnam. In over 400 letters I discovered 26 years after his passing, my father left hints—notably about his role as a whistleblower during his career, especially in his two tours in Vietnam.
Three days after my mother’s death, while going through her box of “important papers,” I found a note she had tucked among her financial records and insurance policies. The note read:
Jack had written about how furious a certain Vietnamese colonel was at whatever Jack had said to him. I couldn’t help but wonder at the time, when Jack was shot down, if that colonel might have had something to do with it; might have had connections with the V.C. — or somehow been involved — yet of course, perhaps not.
As it turns out, my research in the archives in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) confirmed she was right: that province chief had a documented history of assassinating those investigating his corruption, and a clear motive to end my father’s life.
I feel truly blessed to have parents who, in their own ways, continue to speak to me decades after their deaths.
Happy Birthday, Mom. Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad.
James B. Wells 