“The Story of One Young Man—and Thousands of Children”

With war raging, infrastructure failing, and panic overtaking Saigon, the final days of the Vietnam War gave birth to one of the largest child evacuation efforts the world has ever seen. Operation Babylift was a logistical and emotional challenge: thousands of orphans, many without paperwork, needed to be flown out of the country before the city fell.

Carried Away: A Memoir of Rescue and Survival Among the Orphans of the Viet Nam War is Ross Meador’s firsthand account of this moment in history. Long before the official mission began, Ross had already built relationships with orphanage staff, navigated the crumbling city, and committed himself fully to helping children in need. What unfolded in the final weeks of the war was a whirlwind of makeshift airlifts, medical crises, and heartbreaking decisions—and Ross was there for all of it.

This memoir brings to life not only the sweep of history but also the small, intimate moments of care and courage that made Operation Babylift possible.

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Excerpt

My mother’s story about the last days of April 1975 is equally harrowing, but in a different way. My parents were not exactly thrilled when they learned that I was going back to Viet Nam after being safely evacuated on one of the early Babylift flights. They were in frequent contact with the FCVN folks in Colorado to keep informed of our situation. They were told that everything was fine and that we were just waiting for flights that would bring the last or our kids and the remaining American staff home. On April 27, however, the call did not go well.

“Well, we got them all out. It was the final Babylift flight, with the last of our kids plus Cherie Clark and the last of our American staff.”

Cheryl Markson, the FCVN US Director sounded a bit uneasy with what should be good news.

“Including Ross, right?” my mother asked anxiously.

“Um, no. He stayed behind.”

“WHAT?!” The newspapers and television were filled with dramatic stories and footage of the horrors being inflicted on Saigon.

“You left him there?”

“Don’t worry,” Cheryl tried to reassure her. “He has the van and the house is near the airport. We told him that if things get bad, just drive to the airport and live in the van until you are evacuated.”

Hardly words of comfort. My mother gulped and hung up the phone.

On April 29, the worst case seemed to be unfolding: the head‐ lines screamed, “SAIGON AIRPORT BOMBED” and worse, “AMERICANS KILLED IN AIRPORT ATTACK” followed by, “Names withheld pending notification of next of kin.”

My mother dropped the paper and sank into her chair. “Names withheld…”

The next day, she waited for the news. FCVN Colorado had heard nothing and offered little reassurance other than, “Ross is incredibly resourceful. I’m sure he will be fine.”

Then it came, a knock on the door. My mother opened it to see a young man in some kind of uniform. She looked across the street at the car that had brought him. INTERNATIONAL RED CROSS was printed in large type on the side, with the red cross emblem that mothers with sons in Viet Nam had learned to fear.

“Telegram for you, Ma’am.”

Guest Post

I grew up during the Viet Nam war years, and was profoundly aware of the horrible tragedy being inflicted upon the Vietnamese people. The plight of the war orphans was especially compelling and I felt driven to help.

I learned of a group called Friends of Children of Vietnam that was dedicated to helping the orphans. I was 19 years old and had no money or resources. I hitchhiked from my home in San Diego to the organization’s office in Denver. There I learned that the group had no office in Vietnam, but wanted to start one. All they had, however, was $500 and a one-way ticket to Saigon. My dream was coming true.

I arrived in Vietnam in early 1974. What I lacked in experience, I made up for in passion and enthusiasm. I visited orphanages whenever I could and wherever they may be located. The conditions I found were deplorable – filth, disease, starvation. I took pictures and wrote stories about what I found, and stirred the hearts of some generous Americans. A few donations trickled in, enough to rent a house big enough to take in some of the orphans from the overcrowded orphanages. Our international adoption program was born.
Soon after renting our first house, I was joined by Cherie Clark and her family. Cherie was a nurse with a deep commitment to helping the Vietnamese people. She immediately took charge and we began to expand. Within a few months, we had over 100 children in our care and we completed the first of our international adoptions. I was lucky enough to escort many of the children on flights back to the US and to say to anxious parents in the airport lounge, “Here’s your son!”

By the end of 1974, our operation was in full swing. We opened several more childcare facilities and regularly sent adoptees on the twice-weekly Pan Am flights to Honolulu and beyond. Little did we know that the end was very near.

In December 1974, the US Congress cut off military aid to South Vietnam. Nevertheless, conventional wisdom was that the country could hang on for at least another year. By February, however, the North Vietnamese succeeded in taking control of large areas of the South, and we began to realize that the inevitable was upon us. At that point we had hundreds of children in our physical and legal custody. Giving them back to the orphanages or abandoning them to fend for themselves was never an option. If we had to leave, our kids were coming too. That was the birth of Operation Babylift.

The INS agreed to waive visa requirements for the children, but we were on our own for transport. We spoke with every airline and cargo carrier in the country to try to arrange a flight. Eventually we found Ed Daly of World Airways who agreed to take our kids. The first flight was on April 2, 1975, carrying 57 of our older kids. I knew all the kids well and placed them on the plane myself. In spite of government efforts to block the flight, including cutting off the runway lights at the moment of takeoff, the children arrived safely in the US.

By April 3, the world press was buzzing about Friends of Children of Vietnam and the World Airways flight. Pressure mounted in Washington. President Ford then stepped up and agreed to fund flights for the remaining children.

The first government-funded flight ended in disaster. As the plane reached altitude, the rear doors blew off. The plane crashed in a rice field, killing about half of the children aboard. I was at the airport when it happened and saw the smoke rise from the sky.

The military flights resumed a couple of days later on smaller cargo planes, with the babies placed in cardboard boxes on the floor. I joined one of the flights, which landed first at a US airbase in the Philippines and then continued on to San Francisco the next day in traditional passenger aircraft. I stayed just a day in California before flying back to Saigon to continue helping with the evacuation.

Back in Vietnam, chaos reigned. The nuns who ran the jungle orphanages panicked. Many loaded all of their children on a bus and brought them to us. We closed our countryside facility after the World Airways flight, so literally hundreds of children were squeezed into our Saigon facility. The evacuation flights continued until April 26, when the last of our children were flown out, together with the last of our American staff.

I stayed behind to continue to help. Two days later, April 28, the airport was bombed and closed to fixed-wing flights. The next morning, our house was attacked as the army from the North took over the city. I fled to the Embassy and stayed there until the early morning of April 30, when I was one of the last American civilians to be lifted from the roof of the Embassy and flown to a waiting aircraft carrier in the South China Sea.

My perspective on the work we did has changed as I have watched the children grow into adults. At the time of their adoption, many of the adults involved act as if the children’s lives begin the day they get off the plane in the US. Most of the adoptees, however, retain a powerful connection to Vietnam and to their birth families, whether or not they ever get to meet them. This realization complicates the story. It is not only about the joy of finding a new family; it is also about the sadness of losing one. I have no regrets; the orphanages were terrible places for a child to grow up and the adopting families were generally wonderful. But it is hard to be orphaned, and for many of the kids, being adopted doesn’t completely eliminate the longing for their first mother.

About the Author

Ross Meador was just 19 when he traveled alone to Vietnam during the war, armed only with conviction and a one-way ticket from a small nonprofit, Friends of Children of Viet Nam (FCVN). Working alongside FCVN, he helped deliver food and supplies to orphanages across South Vietnam and played a key role in finding families for hundreds of children—many of whom were evacuated during Operation Babylift. After being evacuated from the U.S. Embassy rooftop in April 1975, Ross continued his humanitarian work in South Korea and India before earning a law degree from UC Berkeley and building a career in international law. He lives in Southern California near his three children. His work with FCVN has been honored with multiple national nominations, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom.