Jim Becka began his career as a reporter for the University

Press (Lamar University) school newspaper while working as a late night talk show host for KTRM-FM radio in Beaumont, Texas. He went on to produce radio and television programs for the Houston area, while writing columns and articles for newspapers, magazines and medical journals (most with a world-wide circulation). This document provides a glimpse of those articles.

Letter from federal judge verifying information from story on next page.

Our Diet Consisted Mainly of RiceBy Jim Becka Wingspan Adviser Few young people seem interested in how their ancestors reached American soil. It was not until both of my grandparents were dead that I wondered why they left Czechoslovakia and came to Texas and how difcult it was to assimilate into a new culture. During my college years I saw the difculties in adjusting to a new culture. When South Vietnam was overrun by forces from the North, many ed the country in small boats and made their way to the United States. After a short stay at Fort Chaffee Arkansas, Some ended up in the coastal communities of Texas. the program by moving into the center with the refugees. Ron, a personal friend, said he felt that Brian and I would be understanding of the refugees needs. The Vietnamese were moving into a strange environment. Since the arrival of the rst boat people in early April, approximately 1,100 refugees had been processed into Southeast Texas; all that remained was one large family of 24. The remaining family was difcult to resettle, because none of them spoke English. In more recent weeks, the old building had begun helplessly On Oct. 28, 1975, Beaumonts watching her supplies carried off by local residents. Unable St. Anthonys High School, to speak English and unfamiliar which had been closed for with American culture, the many years was awakened by unfamiliar sounds. Unboarded windows shed their coats of stain and smudge and once again peered into an impoverished neighborhood. Layers of dust and dirt began their ight from soapy brushes. A local prayer group had taken on the enormous task of readying the old building for the rst wave of Vietnamese refugees. At that time, this was of little concern to me, so I was surprised when Ron Rivenbark, (at that time) coordinator of the Vietexan resettlement program for Southeast Texas, called and asked if my roommate (Brian Halligan, sophomore business major) and I would assist in Vietnamese was an easy target for thieves, drug peddlers and prostitutes, familiar gures in downtown Beaumont. Moving in was a little awkward. Neither Brian or I spoke Vietnamese and we had heard stories about Vietnamese culture from returning soldiers. While the family lived on the second oor, Brian and I had the entire third oor of the old high school to ourselves. I had always assumed South Vietnamese were weak and passive, needing helping from Americans in resisting Communism. Many of my judgements proved wrong, though the refugees did need help adjusting. Continued on next page. Journalism teacher Jim Becka, as he appeared in this 1979 newspaper photograph taken with Vietnamese refugee children in Beaumont, Texas outside St. Anthonys High School.

In college, I worked nights to pay tuition and living expenses and became a day sleeper. One morning I was awakened by the secretary pounding on my door. Wake Up, the gas company is here to nd the leak! I stumbled down the stairs and found two men examining a gas heater. I joined them in walking the halls smelling for odors. Amazing to everyone, except the Vietnamese, one repairman found an old radiator heater belching gas fumes into a large room. Moments later, the same man eased around a group of refugees in the kitchen to discover several burners unlit and lling the cooking area with gas. I attempted to explain to the refugees, mostly through gestures, the explosive nature of gas. Though at rst cautious, the Vietnamese accepted Brian and me as part of the family. Prior to each meal the elder of the group would hunt us down and bring us to the table. Over the ensuing weeks, Brian and I learned a little Vietnamese. They, in turn began learning English. Our diet consisted mostly of rice. They served it with every meal. Almost everything, other than rice was prepared in Soy Sauce. Fish is also an important part of their diet. At that time, the Vietnamese culture considered the male number one, and the woman number ten. One man asked me if I would be interested in an arrangement involving marrying his daughter. Feminists might nd some consolation in that Vietnamese

females keep their family name when married. The most amazing thing about Vietnamese culture was the concept of family. One night a young Vietnamese asked me why American men did not bring their brides home to live with their parents in the same house. The extended family concept practiced by Vietnamese means hired baby sitters are unnecessary, for elderly family members have the desire and time to devote to children. Nursing homes are also not needed because elderly members of Vietnamese families are cared for by the younger members. The family lled many needs of the individual. Family members never seemed to experience loneliness because they had constant companionship. Children were considered unloved if they slept alone. Many refugee families were assisted in assimilating into Texas culture by churches and civic groups. Most sponsors were caring and patient people, though there were a few exceptions. One family was returned to the center. They did not receive a warm welcome from a community outside Beaumont. I dont trust these people, said a man driving the truck carrying refugee belongings. In spite of the cultural differences, the Vietnamese refugees were just ordinary people. They had the same needs as all humans. American history is full of frustrating encounters between established community members and immigrants.

I can imagine the reactions of Americans when my grandparents stepped off the boat from Czechoslovakia: The only things these foreigners know how to do is drink beer and have babies.

This article originally appeared in the Hardin County News Visitor in 1979. While a student at Lamar University, journalism teacher Jim Becka was asked to live with a group of Vietnamese refugees at a closed Catholic high school near downtown Beaumont. The refugees were from a rural Vietnamese shing community and could not speak English. They were the last refugees from Fort Chaffee Arkansas, a center that was opened to handle the large numbers of Vietnamese eeing South Vietnam after the takeover by Communist North Vietnam. Jim Becka, and his college roommate, sophomore business major Brian Halligan moved into the center, learned the Vietnamese, language and experienced Vietnamese culture.

Death On 11th StreetBy Jim Becka Student Newspaper Adviser

I stood next to the wreckage of my motorcycle. Cars cautiously made their way around the closed lane of Beaumonts 11th Street. Warm red blood covered my body. I knew my injuries were serious. Then the shock, the blood was that of the other passenger of my motorcycle. The remains lay in a thick pool four feet from me. My stomach cried out for my steak supper. Blown by the wind, a mutilated takehome box inched away from the fatality. Radio announcers late for work are in a precarious position. Many people notice their absence from the air. Station managers and program directors can be pretty obnoxious to radio personnel. In spite of the late hour I turned into Bonanza Sirloin Pit, long neglected was that steak supper. Steak sauce is nice. Every time I indulge in steaks I try a different brand. I poured a generous dose of Heinz 57 on the browned esh and headed for the

door, fteen minutes until news time. The chilly air whipped through my jacket. A quick glance at my watch told me I now had thirteen minutes to be in the broadcast control room. This fact had little time to register in my mind. It was cut short by a row or caution lights and barriers which my motorcycle crashed into. The Heinz 57, which would be mistaken for blood by an investigating police ofcer, had lost its allure. I stood dazed gazing at my supper. My thoughts of the lost meal were interrupted by a police cruiser. With difculty I convinced the policeman that I was all right. He had stepped on my steak and panicked,thinking it was an appendage of mine. Grief overcame me as I watched a towtruck driver

hoist my motorcycle off the street. Memories of steak sauce lingered throughout the evening. Friends soon noticed that therapy was required. Like the swimmer who must force himself to go back into the water after almost drowning, my friends supported me as I went back to Bonanza. Having faced the emotional tensions, peace replaced the terrible memories of a death on 11th Street.Journalism teacherJim Becka began his radio career with KTRM Radio owned by President Lyndon B. Johnson. He also worked for Houstons KSBJ Radio for 15 years (below), broadcast on KLIF (Dallas) and was a writer/ producer for the producers of the Texas Health Report featuring Dr. James Red Duke. This column originally appeared in a Southwest Scene magazine in 1978.