editors: niary long jo narcotty barb cornell SUnday Number1 Pag ThreeDecem inside: page four-books page five- Number11 Page Three Decemb FEATUR The Farmert!S Mrket:j Ascurbsideharvest By ANN MARIE LIPINSKI wooden table scarred by knife cuts covered in Osh-Kosh overalls and s and soiled by years of service - protective rubber boots to fight off 'jIE DECEMBER NIGHT still f go the hand-tilled products of the the damp cold. - farm as Josephine and Everett VanHoy farm. Carefully and exact- Crates and pecks of the hand- s.F.'. ingly the seven kinds of apples, nurtured vendibles are piled and VanHoy begin loading Winesap the soil-covered beets, the carrots l - apples, giant sugar pears, home and the pears are ordered. Then the first sleepy-eyed shoppers be- .. r :- canned bread - and - butter pickles come Mrs. VanHoy's kitchen cre- fi e ed p e- and Hubbard squash into their gin foning te dew dample-~en, - tions: jams and preserves bottled tuce, the -once desolate market is * A white Chevy van. in baby food jars, pickles produced transformed into an animated fruit Secured i layers of lumber-jack from their summer cucumber crop, and vegetable bin. It's Saturday flannels and hand-crocheted knits, and tempting apple pie and banana morning at Ann Arbor Farmer's the VanHoys don't notice the bit- bread which she took from her Market. } ing 4 a.m. frost. Seventeen years oven only hours ago.a of early morning preparation for Haggard -looking professorial the Farmers Market have earned THE ALMOST EERIE silence of types in houndstooths and Hush them near immunity from the the early morning outdoors Puppies, middle-aged housewifes¢s". ~~over and pet the furry things, but "I tell," the woman rpis "I home, "She drove I don' t know how tepoue none offers to give them a home, bought squvash here last week zat many miles back to market," Mrs. "Ninety-five cents," she "I think your kittens must be cold, vas best I ever had. I taste before VanHoy laughs, "just so she could "Out of five," the won honey," an elderly man advises the I bought, and it wassveet." throw the flower on my table and as Mrs. VanHoy fishes fo girl. "They're shaking." Rolling the huge Hubbard squash say 'I told you I only wanted snap from a small tin can. "I d "They're not cold," she defiantly between her right hand and her dragons,', Why didn't she just throw bag. I'll put in here," :i answers as she lifts the smallest left repeatedly across the table, it out the window?" dropping the squash into of the litter and tucks it under- Mrs. VanHoy considers the conse- As Mrs. VanHoy concludes her dimestore shopping bag. neath her bulky sweater next to quences of slicing open the fruit. story, the stodgy Russian woman she flew. her skin. "hyrocld" Sensing her indecision, the discern- reappears. "People,"lagsM. ing shopper offers a new alterna- "He doesn't have squvash today," shaking her head. "I coul ASHORT, STOCKY woman cloak- tive. she announced, "so you just cut for book." ed in imitation fur and balanc- "Alvriht. I go over to other me and I buy. I'm sure is good." ing on spiked heels, saunters over farmer, see if he has good squvash. "I told you I'd cut it," Mrs. Van- Ann Marie Li inski is aI Doilv Photo by PAULINE LUBENS to the VanHoy's stall and begins I be back maybe. Okay?" Hoy reminds the woman as she writer. er 7, 1975 ES 4 E LUBENS ie back of sion of a iing the *e middle. emoves a the truck wedge of her cus- itting the e woman laims. "I n impish ash halves ding the bove her price of demands, nan says, r change [on't need she says, ra plastic And of f VanHoy, d write a Daily slaff A Saigon elite's ilfe in Ann Arbor: The flip-side of the American dream By SARA RIMER MADAME COA.THI DAT and her family were rushing aboard an escape boat outside Saigon when the Provisional Revolutionary Gov- ernment soldiers opened fire. Their grenades exploded into the water, shooting fountains of spray sky- wards. That was on the afternoon of April 29, 1975 and for the next day and half the boat waited in the harbor. No one could sleep: Saigon was burning. While the boat awaited news of Saigon's fate its passengers hung in the ,twilight zone - homeless. Finally, word came over the radio that South Vietnam had surren- dered and the boat slipped out of the harbor to join up with the American Seventh Fleet. Madame Cao, her husband, her five daugh- ters and son-in-law began their month-long journey to the United States aboard a ship crowded with 3,000 refugees. what I was," her collection says. One glance through color snap- shots of an elegantly dressed, fine- boned woman, officials letters of recommendation from high-placed Americans in Saigon, and a pass- port stamped from all parts of the world and the curious American knows: Madame Cao was a mem- ber of Saigon's elite. SINCE SEPTEMBER SHE'S been serving food and cleaning up in the kitchen of the Martha Cook dormitory. Menial labor is not pleasant for a wealthy woman who once had ser- vants, a three story house, and a position she describes as bureau chief of immigration in Saigon. While American artillery and air- craft ravaged Vietnam's villages, American style bureaucracy and luxuries made Saigon a paradise for Madame Cao. The Americans rented rooms in her house; they brought televisions, radios, wash- irer-m nh rtno .lA mn- nr __ _- -A The mustard colored uniform and regulation hairnet she wears are effective: the women hurrying through the lunch line barely glance at the small figure. Most were not on campus during the years of protest against a futile war, and they do not see Madame Cao as a symbol of what went wrong. The student waitresses who work behind the counter with Madame Cao were at first impatient with her slowness. But she has since mastered the kitchen tasks and gained acceptance. She replaces a plump, black woman who gossiped, scolded, and joked with the stu- dents whose names she always knew. Clara had been behind the line for 14 years; she ran her kit- chen like a queen. But Madame Cao is not yet confident enough with English to say more than hello and few women take the time required to ease into conversation with her. In Saigon, the staff she supervised adored her, she says. And she would like to command At first she did not tell her daughters where she worked and they wondered why she came home physically exhausted from what they were told was an "office job, just like in Vietnam." But now she talks of having one of her daugh- ters work alongside her in thekit- chen. She says she needs the extra money. IN ONE OF HER snapshots, taken in Washington, D. C. in 1972 Madame Cao stands regally smiling in the center of a large delegation of Vietnamese men. She wears an orange silk gown of exquisite cut. It is the kind of VIP shot that shows Americans that she's moved with important people in import- ant cities. So when they ask her, as they always ask foreigners from warm climates, "How do you like the snow?" she can tell them she's seen it before - and there is a picture of her snugged against the Switzerland cold in a winter coat. Jackie Onassis - style dark glasses . . .'-'fir -? ' v k .;:t - f .: ti: 'y ,. ..r. k.. .ti