There has been much discourse since the latest round of realignment and media deals that every team in the ACC and the Big 12 should want to be in the Big Ten or SEC, because those conferences make the most money. But the fans themselves aren’t seeing a dime of it. Their lone concern is whether their team wins on Saturday — and more money hardly guarantees more victories.

With college football undergoing a massive facelift in 2024 — bigger conferences, an expanded College Football Playoff — every fan base in the country should be asking just one question: Is any of this going to help us win games?

For example: Oklahoma will make a lot more money in the SEC than it would have in the Big 12. But it also faces a much tougher path to a national championship, whereas Kansas State’s chances of reaching the CFP have increased due to the Big 12’s bigger field and the loss of Oklahoma and Texas.

So what about your school? Does its chances of success increase, decrease or remain the same in the sport’s new world order?

To assess, I’ve given all 67 power-conference schools a score between minus-5 and positive-5. The score is solely about a team’s ability to win, and does not take into account the team’s current coaching staff or roster. Scoring a 0 means the school is neither better nor worse off. A score from 1 to 5 ranges from mildly better to far better, and -1 to -5 ranges from mildly worse to … uh oh.

ACC

SMU: +5

Has there been a bigger realignment winner in the last 30 years? SMU had not finished in the Top 25 in four decades at the time it got the call up to the big leagues last September. Now it comes in with momentum after finishing last season No. 22.

Clemson: +3

Dabo Swinney’s 2015-2020 teams had to be near-perfect to reach the four-team CFP; his 11-2 ACC title squad in 2022 would have earned a top-4 seed. His aloof portal approach doesn’t help his cause, but it doesn’t factor into this score.

Florida State: +3

The irony of FSU trying to sue its way out of the ACC is that the new system works in its favor. Would it rather be the best team in the ACC and earn a top-4 seed and a first-round bye, or the fourth-best team in the SEC and live on the bubble?

Louisville: +2

Louisville has upside. The school has the resources and recruiting footprint to be a regular ACC and CFP contender, and it helps that Louisville is no longer trapped in a division with Florida State (which it does not play this season) and Clemson.

Miami: +2

The U has been stuck in the mud for two decades, but it began flexing its muscle as soon as NIL went into effect in 2021. The program has most of the elements needed to be a 12-team CFP regular, provided the right coach is in place.

Virginia Tech: +2

The Hokies would have made a 12-team CFP nine times in a 16-year span (1995-2010) under Frank Beamer. They may never replicate that level of consistency, but there’s no reason they can’t become a semi-regular contender again.

NC State: +1

The Wolfpack have not won a conference title since 1979. That might be a tad more attainable now that they’re no longer in the same division as Florida State and Clemson. (At least elsewhere, Wolfpack vibes are high.)

Georgia Tech: 0

Recruiting has always been challenging for the Yellow Jackets, made even more so now by NIL. But based on its history, Georgia Tech could make an occasional CFP appearance. It would have gone in 1990, 1998 and 2009, and would have been the first team out in 2014.

North Carolina: 0

This unquestioned basketball school has been long considered a sleeping giant in football but has yet to wake up. If it finally does, it will more likely be due to an inspired head-coaching hire than the various changes to the sport.

Pittsburgh: -2

Pitt is nearly 50 years removed from its national heyday, but it did win the ACC in 2021, which would have garnered a 12-team berth. But star receiver Jordan Addison’s jump to USC the following spring was a window into new NIL reality.

Syracuse: -2

It’s early, but new coach Fran Brown has discovered there’s money in the banana stand. Landing Ohio State QB Kyle McCord raised eyebrows. More broadly, though, it’s hard to argue the new landscape does much to benefit the Orange.

Virginia: -2

Arguably the one thing UVA had going for it was the mediocrity of the ACC Coastal Division, which it won in 2019 while going 9-3. Now, the Cavaliers — who last finished in the Top 25 back two decades ago — risk falling into deep irrelevance moving forward.

Wake Forest: -2

The tiniest school in Power 4 has more donor support than one might assume, and it’s not a championship-or-bust fan base. But reaching a 12-team CFP could be largely unattainable. Will programs like this be able to sustain interest?

Boston College: -3

BC is the type of school that suffers in a world of roster-poaching and NIL deals. Success will also be increasingly defined by Playoff appearances, and the Eagles have finished in the top 12 only twice since World War II.

Duke: -3

Duke just lived through the downside of its new reality. It lost coach Mike Elko to an SEC school after just two seasons and quarterback Riley Leonard went to Notre Dame, likely for a seven-figure NIL deal.

Stanford: -4

The Cardinal will always attract recruits that covet that degree. But the school’s admissions process limits it to taking only a few transfers a year, which creates a big disadvantage in the new landscape. And like Cal, the ACC is not ideal.

Cal: -5

Serious question: Would Cal have been better off getting Washington State/Oregon State’d? An already lagging program must now compete in a far-away Power 4 conference while receiving 30 percent of its money (and without SMU’s boosters).

Big Ten

Ohio State: +4

Only once in the past 19 seasons have the Buckeyes lost more than two regular-season games. That means they would have made a 12-team Playoff all but once in the past 19 seasons. And probably pulled off an extra national title or two.

Michigan: +3

For the most part, Michigan will still be Michigan. The Big House will still pack in 110,000. The season will still be defined by whether it beats Ohio State. But a 12-team Playoff field certainly doesn’t hurt.

Penn State: +3

Had the 12-team Playoff been in place all along, James Franklin would have made five appearances in his first 10 seasons. The format is ideal for programs like PSU: not quite “elite,” but has the resources to compete nationally.

Michigan State: +2

While the Spartans only made the four-team CFP once, they could have made a 12-team field as many as five times from 2011-21. They also get Ohio State off the books in 2025 and 2026 after having played the Buckeyes in 14 consecutive seasons.

Oregon: +2

The Ducks are the best-positioned of the four West Coast schools joining the Big Ten. They recruit nationally and have Phil Knight’s war chest. While national titles have remained elusive, regular CFP appearances are realistic.

Maryland: +1

The Terps are free! They are no longer stuck in the Big Ten East, where their ceiling would forever be 7-5 and fourth place out of seven. But the upside may be limited until the school’s donors make a bigger splash in the NIL world.

Rutgers: +1

Like “rival” Maryland, Rutgers is finally out from under the Big Ten East. It’s also doing surprisingly well in NIL. The program’s ceiling may still be limited to 8-4 or so, but that would still be much better than its first decade in the conference.

Nebraska: 0

It may be tougher for the Cornhuskers to contend for Big Ten championships in a bigger league. But right now, that’s not even the target, given they haven’t even reached a bowl game in eight years. How much worse can it get?

Wisconsin: -1

The program has long churned out double-digit wins by “holding serve” against most of the conference while occasionally punching up against Ohio State or Michigan. That could become harder with the arrival of USC, Oregon and Washington.

Illinois: -2

This program has struggled to find its footing for more than two decades, and nothing about this new world helps it. If anything, it will be tougher. Right out of the gate, the Illini face Penn State, Michigan and Oregon this season.

Indiana: -2

The good news: no more getting clobbered by Ohio State, Michigan and Penn State in the Big Ten East. The bad news: Indiana, long known for apathy in football, is not likely to be as flush in NIL money as most of its competitors.

USC: -2

While it didn’t play like one for most of the past 15 years, USC was the most prestigious program in its former conference. In the Big Ten, it will be, at best, the third banana to Ohio State and Michigan, and possibly fifth behind Penn State and Oregon.

Washington: -2

The Huskies were the class of the Pac-12 the last two seasons, but it helped not to have an Ohio State or Michigan in their league. Now they have both, plus USC, Oregon and Penn State. Will the brief Kalen DeBoer era go down as an outlier?

Minnesota: -3

It’s unfortunate for the Golden Gophers that they have yet to reach the Big Ten Championship Game, because now it may never happen. A Playoff berth is not impossible, but Minnesota has had one top-10 season in the past 60 years.

Northwestern: -3

The new world may not be kind to overachiever programs like Northwestern. While it regularly makes bowl games and posts occasional Top 25 seasons, it has not finished high enough to make a 12-team CFP since 1996.

Purdue: -3

Not likely to contend for Playoff berths whether the field is four or 12. Purdue’s goal is to get to bowl games, and reaching six wins becomes harder without the benefit of a Big Ten West schedule.

Iowa: -4

The Hawkeyes have made a living out of grinding out mediocre Big Ten West foes while losing 42-3 to Michigan or 54-10 to Ohio State. In an 18-team league with no more unbalanced divisions and three incoming Top-25 recruiting schools, Iowa could be in for a reckoning.

UCLA: -4

Almost nothing about the new world does the Bruins any favors. UCLA is a basketball school whose donors have done little to support football’s NIL efforts. It is joining a conference full of big brands and football-first fan bases. Not a recipe for success.

GO DEEPER

Maryland in the Big Ten: From ‘what are we doing?’ to ‘amazing decision’

Big 12

BYU: +5

The Cougars have finally climbed the mountaintop after spending their entire history either in a non-power conference or as an independent. They now have direct access to the CFP, and won’t finish ranked 16th with just one loss, as happened in 2020.

Cincinnati: +4

The Bearcats’ dream season in 2021 does not have to be an aberration going forward, as they won’t have to go undefeated to make the Playoff. And power-conference status should help them land more recruits in their fertile city and state.

Houston: +4

After nearly 30 years in the post-Southwest Conference wilderness, the Cougars are back in a major conference alongside old rivals Baylor, Texas Tech and TCU. But achieving consistent success in the Big 12 is hardly a given after up-and-downs in the AAC.

UCF: +4

Like BYU, Cincinnati and Houston, UCF got its Power 4 life raft, and it’s not like the Knights were struggling beforehand. They’ve reached three BCS/CFP bowl games since 2013. The only question is how they’ll fare as a geographic outlier in the new Big 12.

Baylor: +2

Since 2013, the Bears have won three Big 12 titles and reached four BCS bowls but have fallen short of reaching the CFP. In a 12-team field, all of those teams would make it. And that was with Texas and Oklahoma in the conference.

Kansas State: +2

K-State could thrive in the new world. It would have made the 12-team CFP four times since 2011. It has sneaky-good NIL support. The biggest challenge will be revenue-sharing. Only three public Power 5 schools made less in 2022.

Oklahoma State: +2

Mike Gundy has fielded eight double-digit win teams, all of which would have been 12-team CFP contenders. Most of those teams lost to Oklahoma, against which Gundy is 4-15. The Cowboys no longer have to deal with the Sooners.

TCU: +2

The Frogs would have made a 12-team field three times since 2014, and, thanks to the Metroplex, they have the highest recruiting ceiling among the holdovers.

Colorado: +1

Anything would be better than the Buffs’ abysmal 13-year tenure in the Pac-12. The Buffs get back into the Texas footprint, which they benefitted from in the old Big 12. But the school still faces an uphill climb in the NIL world, with or without Deion Sanders.

Texas Tech: +1

The Red Raiders have largely flailed since the late Mike Leach’s 2009 ouster, but it’s not for lack of resources and fan support. Getting out from under Texas could help, and while CFP berths might be infrequent, they’re attainable.

Iowa State: 0

The Cyclones, who have not won a conference championship since 1912, will still have all the same evergreen challenges. They could benefit from a more level version of the Big 12, but they’ll still have to perpetually overachieve.

Kansas: 0

The same Iowa State blurb can be applied to Kansas, which has finished ranked roughly once per decade. An expanded Playoff gives the Jayhawks slightly more hope for glory, but 2007 seasons may remain incredibly rare.

Utah: -1

Utah enters its new league as strong as any of its programs, but man, did the Utes have a good thing going in the Pac-12. Not only did they reach four league title games in five years, but they could lord their Power 5 membership over rival BYU. No more.

West Virginia: -1

The Mountaineers have lost a great deal of their identity since leaving the old Big East for the Big 12 in 2012, and the further dilution of the conference won’t help. But they did at least gain their first geographic partner when Cincinnati joined.

Arizona: -2

Joining the Big 12 was great for Arizona basketball. Probably not so much for football, where it has little in common with schools in football-crazed Texas. History suggests the Wildcats will rarely contend for a spot in the Playoff.

Arizona State: -3

ASU president Michael Crow had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the Big 12. The pro-market school has little in common with the likes of Texas Tech and Oklahoma State, which, unlike the Sun Devils, have rabid fan bases.

GO DEEPER

Welcome to the new Big 12: Featuring Deion, parity, shifts in playing styles

SEC

Alabama: +4

I don’t expect post-Nick Saban Alabama to make a 12-team CFP nearly every single year, like I do Ohio State, simply because of the depth of the SEC. But it’s still one of a small handful of programs built to succeed in any era.

Georgia: +4

Now, even Georgia’s “down” seasons might still end in CFP berths. Kirby Smart would currently have seven straight, up from three in eight seasons. Between Smart and Mark Richt, the Bulldogs would have 13 since 2001.

LSU: +3

The Tigers have won three national championships this century, but they might have played for even more were there a 12-team field. They would have made nine by now. Of course, they may also fire coaches more frequently for missing the Playoff.

Texas: +3

Unlike rival Oklahoma, Texas has won just three conference titles this century, so that shouldn’t be the measuring stick. But Mack Brown showed what the ceiling can be. He would have reached eight 12-team CFPs in a decade.

Florida: +2

Florida must play Georgia every year while mixing in Texas and Oklahoma. But a 12-team Playoff could prove a godsend; the Gators would have made the postseason three consecutive times under Dan Mullen and 10 times since 2000.

Ole Miss: +2

Ole Miss has not won the SEC since 1963. Oklahoma and Texas won’t make it any easier. But the program can make the 12-team CFP, and its NIL collective has become one of the models in the sport.

Tennessee: 0

The Vols are still playing rivals Alabama, Florida and Georgia for the next two seasons while adding Oklahoma. That’s rough. But Tennessee’s collective is strong, and it has the resources and recruiting cachet to reach occasional CFPs.

Auburn: -1

A drawing of the history of Auburn football arcs like a roller coaster, with brief spurs of national supremacy mixed in between long stretches of middle-of-the-pack. And the league just added two more above-the-middle historical programs.

Missouri: -1

Missouri would have reached 12-team fields in 2007, 2013 and 2023. That development is good. But the Tigers have benefitted at times from being in the SEC’s easier division, which is now gone, and they are .250 all-time against Oklahoma and Texas.

Arkansas: -2

On the bright side, Arkansas gets old rival Texas back. On the downside, the Razorbacks have yet to win the SEC in its 32 years of membership, and it’s not getting easier. They would have reached a 12-team CFP three times in those 32 years.

Texas A&M: -2

The best thing the Aggies had going for them in the SEC was that Texas wasn’t in it. Alas. The return of annual matchups with the Longhorns should be fantastic for entertainment purposes but could make for a tougher schedule.

Kentucky: -3

Mark Stoops is on track to have a statue sculpted for taking the Wildcats to eight straight bowl games, but those Gator and Music City bowls might not feel as significant in the new world. They also may become harder to reach with no SEC East.

Mississippi State: -3

The Bulldogs have finished above .500 in SEC play this century just once, in 2014 with Dak Prescott. The SEC getting bigger, and possibly moving to nine conference games, is likely to be unkind for State.

Oklahoma: -3

From 1938-2021, the Sooners claimed a Big 8/Big 12 championship in 47 of those 83 seasons. No major program in the country has more league titles. Realistically, OU will not come close to enjoying that level of dominance in the SEC.

South Carolina: -3

Save for that one three-year peak under Steve Spurrier from 2011-13, the Gamecocks have rarely lived in the top half of the SEC. Now they’re losing the SEC East. It will become even more difficult to maintain relevance.

Vanderbilt: -4

Vanderbilt was already stuck playing the worst cards in the SEC deck. Now there’s a whole new set of challenges stacked against their deck: the bigger SEC, the importance of NIL and roster poaching from the portal.

The rest

Notre Dame: +2

Some might fixate on the fact that the independent Fighting Irish can never get a first-round bye in the new system, but that misses the larger point: They could reach many more CFPs. They would have made five in Brian Kelly’s 12 seasons.

Oregon State and Washington State: -5

There’s no sugarcoating it: Two historic Power 5 programs have been relegated to de facto Group of 5 status, playing de facto Mountain West schedules. And unlike actual G5 schools, they have no guaranteed access to the Playoff.

All Group of 5 programs: -3

For the first time in history, one of these schools is guaranteed to compete for a national championship every year. But that does not offset the further irrelevance — nor the pain of Power 4 schools poaching all of their best players.

Bigger takeaways

1. As usual, the biggest changes to the sport almost always mostly benefit the “big boys” the most. Outside of the former G5 programs moving up, the biggest beneficiaries are the Alabamas, Georgias and Ohio States of the sport. There are, however, a few exceptions: Oklahoma and USC fall into the “be careful what you wish for” category.
2. And while the Big 12 is currently scrounging for any additional penny it can raise, no conference had a higher percentage of on-field gainers. That’s because Playoff berths are now attainable for the likes of Oklahoma State, Kansas State and TCU.
3. Only two of the former Pac-12 schools (Oregon and Colorado) got a positive score, as most are entering their new conferences begrudgingly. It will never not be stupefying to think about how Pac-12 leadership screwed it up so badly.

(Top illustration: Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic; Photos: Sam Wasson, Kevin C. Cox, Scott Taetsch, Brett Deering / Getty)

Around 1980, near the small village of Cần Giuộc in southern Vietnam, a single glass of water was centered on a table. Dinh Du and Hongyen Dao leaned in close, peering into it.

As a younger man, Dinh entered trade school and became a mechanic. He worked as a contractor for the U.S. Army while war raged through Vietnam in the late 1960s. One day, he repaired a bulldozer belonging to one of Hongyen’s relatives and was deemed “useful” by her family. Soon, the two were arranged to be married and bound to a life together. Dinh and Hongyen raised five children in Cần Giuộc, about 20 miles south of Saigon, what would become Ho Chi Minh City.

In the years after Saigon fell in April 1975, harsh government restrictions defined daily life in south Vietnam. Meals of soy sauce and oatmeal. Electricity limited to two days per week. The constant threat of being placed in re-education camps or relocated to New Economic Zones in the remote highlands. There was little work, less pay and no opportunity.

Dinh and Hongyen got by building and selling batteries. Dinh built them. Hongyen sold them. But desperation grew by the day.

So, there they sat, perched forward, looking at that glass. Out of options, Dinh and Hongyen sought the advice of a “coi bói,” or fortune teller. He was named “Mr. Seven” and revered by the locals. Dinh and Hongyen asked the only question on their minds: Should we attempt an escape?

Mr. Seven rolled up a piece of thread until it twined into a ball and told them in Vietnamese, “If it floats, you go. If it sinks, you stay.”

The ball of thread dropped. Then splashed. Then bobbed atop the water.

Mr. Seven nodded. He said that as long as Dinh built the boat, and as long as they stuck together, the escape would be successful.

Over the next two years, Dinh disappeared for weeks at a time. He drove two hours to Vũng Tàu, out by the coastline, and set about building his boat, acquiring one piece at a time. He strapped each board to his powder blue Vespa. Then drove it to Vũng Tàu. Then he got the next one. Back and forth he went. “Like an ant,” one daughter would later say.

Hongyen told the kids that their dad got a job far from home. In truth, he was working along the coast in secrecy, doing all he could to avoid police attention and the severe jail time if caught plotting a defection. Members of the công an, the public security branch of the Vietnam People’s Armed Forces, often came by the house looking for Dinh Du. Hongyen either lied or paid them off with money or food.

Bit by bit, week by week, a boat took shape in the brush near a fisherman’s wharf. Dinh, the ant, assembled a 32-foot wooden hull. Sturdy. Solid. Reliable. He built a top deck. He built and installed an engine.

Dinh planned for 50 people, enough to carry his household and extended family. But then word got out. Local villagers learned of the plan and begged for a spot. Dinh didn’t have extra space, but didn’t turn them away, either. He said yes to more than 30 additional passengers.

Finally, May 23, 1982, arrived. Three cars took the family from Cần Giuộc to Vũng Tàu. They gathered in a hut near the wharf. As darkness set in and the night turned still, Dinh told his five children, “When I say go, you go. No looking back!”

The moment came. A pitter-patter of feet darting through the jungle bordering the shoreline. Dressed in black, they ran through the rain, losing slippers in the mud and continuing barefoot. Nga, the family’s 8-year-old, grabbed her sister’s hand, yelling, “Where are we going?” Kieu Thuy, 12, pulling her sister along, burst, “We’re going to America!”

Eighty-three people packed tightly onto the boat, stuffing supplies underneath them. Dinh powered on the engine, snapping the quiet. The boat jolted, then built speed, heading into the open waters of the South China Sea. Hearing a buzz behind them, the passengers looked back. Two công an boats cut through the water, giving chase. Dinh cranked the engine harder.

“I remember the feeling,” Kieu Thuy says, “of the water on my face, as my dad sped up.”

An estimated 2 million Vietnamese fled by sea in the decades following the fall of Saigon. Rowboats. Flatboats. Fishing boats. Another million fled Laos and Cambodia. Some relocated via orderly evacuation and resettlement programs in North America, Europe or neighboring Asian countries. Many others took more desperate measures. Between 200,000 to 600,000 Vietnamese died from capture, drowning or starvation.

These asylum seekers came to be known as Vietnamese boat people, a name that has come to be regarded as pejorative — the sort of dehumanizing language often used in indexing immigrants. Other displaced people in recent years — be it Cubans or Haitians crossing the Atlantic to Florida, or Afghans fleeing to Australia — have also been deemed “boat people.”

Tracey Nguyễn Mang is the founder of Vietnamese Boat People, a non-profit that preserves stories of the Vietnamese diaspora in podcasts and public programs. Her family escaped when she was 3, and she recalls growing up with a stigma that was assigned to the older generations and inherited by the younger — the persistent idea that being a boat refugee meant “being inherently desperate.” The stigma created “a culture that you don’t show your vulnerabilities.”

“There’s a lot of unspokenness, not just from the public, but even within families,” Mang says. “Part of that is the trauma. Part of it is culture. Part of it is generational language barriers. It takes decades, when it comes to history like this, for communities to even be comfortable talking about it.

“When you migrate to a different country, your only focus is to survive. It’s to assimilate. It’s to give your child a life you risked everything for. You’re not worried about publicizing your hardships. You’re really just head-down surviving.”

Today, second, third and even fourth generations are unpacking what it took to come of age in a different world. Mang says they are reclaiming the idea of what it meant — and what it means — to be boat people.

“They were not desperate,” Mang explains. “They were courageous. They were survivors. And not only do they survive their journey, but they had the resilience to come to a country and rebuild their lives.”

The South China Sea is larger than the area of India. From Subic Bay in the north to the Strait of Malacca in the south, its 1.4 million square miles touch the beaches of Vietnam and Malaysia, of Singapore and Brunei, of the Philippines, Indonesia, China and Taiwan. Two-hundred and fifty-some-odd land features — islands, reefs, shoals — dot waters defined by a complicated history of critical geopolitical trade passages and conflicting territorial claims. Its edges both guard from outsiders and connect the Indian Ocean to the Pacific, linking one part of the world to the other.

Dinh Du pushed his hand-built engine to its brink, charging into those waters. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the police boats fade behind. After all the prep, all the planning, the escape was no longer about running, but instead about surviving. Their hopes hinged on two options: rescue by a passing boat or making it nearly 700 miles to Singapore. The alternatives? Capture or death.

Two days and three nights passed. Chapped by the sun and low on supplies, the 83 aboard drifted along nearly 400 miles south of Ho Chi Minh City, somewhere east of the Malaysian coast. They spotted passing ships over the previous days but none stopped. By now, they were halfway to Singapore. There was no turning back.

That third night was a particularly calm evening, darkness divided by the glint of lapping waves reflecting a big moon slung low. Emptiness everywhere.

Then the leak began.

It was around 3 a.m. on May 26, 1982. The sea seeped in slowly, at first, soaking food and clothes stored along the bilge. Some flinched awake, feeling the ocean upon their feet. As the boat jerked, Dinh told everyone to remain calm. He was prepared for this, he said. He activated an electric pump he installed in case of such an emergency.

The pump gargled, burped, sputtered. Nothing.

Everyone aboard scrambled and flailed, cupping hands, scooping water. One distraught passenger, a villager, jumped overboard, leaving water rippling in place, never resurfacing.

In the chaos, Kieu Thuy watched her father wrench at a pump that wouldn’t respond. She saw the moment wash over him. Bare acceptance. In Vietnamese he said to her, “I can’t fix it.”

Dinh reached for the lone distress signal on the boat. Pressing his eyes closed in prayer, he raised one hand into the air and fired a single flare streaking into the night sky. The pop above lit up an empty sea.

The Brewton was home to 18 officers and 260 sailors, enlistees from all over the United States. (National Archives and Records Administration)

The USS Brewton’s six-month 1982 WestPac deployment set out from Pearl Harbor in late April, taking the ship and its men to Subic Bay in the Philippines. Commissioned in 1972, the 438-foot-long Knox-class frigate was a “sub-hunter.” Initially tasked with tracking Soviet submarines, by ’82, the ship was active, but growing dated. Its radar display amounted to indistinguishable green blobs on a black screen. More glaringly, it wasn’t yet equipped with satellite navigation.

“We were still shooting stars,” says Jack Papp, a surface warfare officer.

The Brewton was home to 18 officers and 260 sailors, enlistees from all over the United States. Some were there because they chose to be — young guys from the Naval Academy, ROTCs or officer training school. Others perhaps as a consequence, maybe having once stood in front of a judge who suggested he join the Navy instead of the correctional system. Some were young men seeing the world for the first time. Others were old-timers who saw heavy action in Vietnam. They were White, Black, Asian, Latino. They sent messages home using ham radios.

“We were probably more representative of what the country looked like than you’d imagine,” says John Popek, a main propulsion assistant on the ship.

That is, even if the country was unsure how to feel about them.

“You have to remember, at this time, people did not thank you for your service,” Popek says. “It was a different time. Morale was terrible. There was still a hangover from Vietnam.”

Crossing the Pacific, the Brewton in May 1982 arrived at Subic Bay, where it was scheduled to accompany the USS Ranger, an aircraft carrier, through the South China Sea to the Strait of Malacca. Days rolled together. “At sea, you sort of go into auto-mode,” says Papp, 24 years old then, 65 years old now. “You do division work. You take 12 off. You do it again.”

The early morning hours of May 26 were no different.

Until a single burst of light popped over a far horizon.

It was around 0400 when a call came from the signal bridge reporting what was potentially a distress signal in the distance. Capt. Owen C. Martin Jr., in his final night as Brewton’s commanding officer, had a decision to make. Pursue or stay the course.

In the engine room, Popek felt the boat lurch, its 35,000-shaft horsepower steam turbine powering down.

“I immediately knew something was happening,” he remembers. “Ships are not great unless they’re moving forward. You don’t just slow down.”

Word spread that something might be out there, somewhere. Martin sent a deckhand to wake up Capt. Robert K. Bolger, who was scheduled to be sworn in later that day to relieve him as commanding officer. If they were to attempt a rescue, any refugees taken aboard would be his responsibility.

As Bolger rose, Martin called for the captain’s gig and a utility boat to investigate, sending Brewton’s two smaller vessels out into the dark. A few minutes later, they radioed back, reporting a small wooden boat, roughly 30 feet, was located and in peril, taking on water. Given orders to inspect, the Navy sailors boarded the shaky craft. One of the Vietnamese passengers, a man who’d previously been jailed for working with the U.S. Army, translated between Dinh Du and the U.S. sailors. Those sailors radioed back to Martin that the boat posed no threat. Martin responded by declaring all 82 aboard as refugees and moved the Brewton next to the boats.

On deck, a row of sailors lined the railing, looking out into the black. Some pointed, making out some shapes in the distance.

The Brewton’s spotlight lit up the water.

The 82 refugees left behind all their belongings when boarding the USS Brewton. (USS Brewton cruise book)

“I just remember being up there as we pulled alongside it, seeing all the people on that thing and just thinking, ‘How the hell is that thing even floating?’” says Dave Taormina, a 20-year-old radioman at the time.

“They were in a state of shock,” Popek says.

The refugees climbed onto the two smaller naval vessels before boarding the Brewton, leaving all their belongings behind. The hull of the frigate rose like a wall in front of them. They arched their necks, looking up 50 feet to the deck above, seeing faces looking back at them.

One by one, the 82 climbed up the Brewton’s accommodation ladder, reaching the top, grasping at sailors’ hands to pull them aboard. Some Vietnamese-speaking crew members surveyed the refugees. Martin and Bolger urged everyone to gather whatever extra clothes or supplies were available. Seeing some babies among the rescued, Bolger searched the Brewton for humanitarian goods, knowing diapers were stored somewhere.

Other sailors set up a medical triage on the fantail. Some rushed to warm food in the galley. Others stocked showers with fresh soap. Mattresses were spread around the deck. Spare clothes were distributed, sending children scampering away in T-shirts down to their ankles.

Children were among the refugees taken aboard the Brewton. (USS Brewton cruise book)

The sailors set up a projector. Everyone settled onto the mattresses with bowls of Rice-A-Roni. “Saturday Night Fever” flickered upon a screen, making it the first American movie most of them would see.

Concerned about leaving an unmanned boat on the open sea, a few sailors shot 50-caliber machine guns into the water, sinking Dinh Du’s boat.

All told, the refugees spent less than half a day aboard the Brewton. The USS Fox, an American cruiser, was deployed to pick them up for transport to Singapore. Under an afternoon sun, the 82 were lowered into a few small launches for transfer to the Fox. Drifting back out into the South China Sea, with life jackets cinched tight, they looked up and waved.

“Cảm ơn! Cảm ơn!”

Thank you. Thank you.

Leaning over the railing, the sailors waved back.

Dropped off in Singapore by the USS Fox, the 82 Vietnamese boat people entered the UN Commission for Refugees, hoping to be accepted, but fearing a quick return to Ho Chi Minh City. When resettlement options were presented in areas of North America and Europe, they felt profound relief.

Dinh Du, then 42, told officials he had a brother living in Southern California and hoped to join him there.

After three months in Singapore, the family was shipped to Galang Refugee Camp in Indonesia to await processing for relocation in the United States. They learned basic English and took classes on American customs and financial literacy.

After three months in Singapore, the family was shipped to Galang Refugee Camp in Indonesia to await processing for relocation in the United States. (Courtesy of Yvonne Vu)

Six months later, in the spring of 1983, Dinh and Hongyen, along with their five children, arrived in the United States. They were prepared. Hongyen had the family savings — roughly $7,000 saved up for years from the battery business — sewed into pockets of her clothes at the time of the rescue.

They settled about 30 miles south of Los Angeles, near the Little Saigon section of Orange County, what is now home to nearly 200,000 Vietnamese-Americans — the oldest, largest concentration of Vietnamese-Americans anywhere in the United States. The dominion is a point of pride for those forced to leave so much of themselves behind. Signage in Little Saigon’s major commercial area is almost exclusively in Vietnamese, as are television stations, radio stations and newspapers in the area.

When the time came to fill out U.S. citizenship forms, all the children picked American names. Among them, Kieu Thuy chose Yvonne. Her sister Nga chose Kandi.

In time, they created families of their own. Yvonne met her husband, Douglas Vu, a fellow first-generation Vietnamese immigrant, and had two children. They built a comfortable life in Fountain Valley, Calif., about five miles from her parents in Westminster, near Little Saigon.

As her children grew up, Yvonne shared stories that felt like fables. How grandfather built a boat with his own two hands. How they ran through that jungle in the rain. How that searchlight appeared way out in the distance, out in the South China Sea, turning in their direction from an American ship.

These were the bedtime stories.

The ones her daughter fell asleep to.

Hongyen Dao, left, and Dinh Du fled Vietnam to provide a better life for their children. (Jennelle Fong for The Athletic)

Hongyen Dao, 78, sits with perfect posture, smiling under smoke-gray hair, hands crossed upon her lap. She’s lived in this home in Westminster for 20 years. Her garden is spectacular, complete with orchids planted long ago.

It’s late in the day, that time when an afternoon sun hits just right, lighting up the shell inlays of ornate cabinets and the dark cherrywood of Hongyen’s hand-carved chairs. The living room is bright and one story turns into the next. A few pictures are shared with Hongyen and her daughters, Yvonne and Kandi; pictures recently pulled out of John Popek’s attic. Photos of American sailors and Vietnamese refugees milling about a crowded boat deck. Photos of children being lowered onto smaller boats. Photos of their family in life jackets waving goodbye to the men atop the deck of the USS Brewton.

All three women cover their mouths and fight back tears. Yvonne and Kandi shuffle through the pictures, narrating along.

“That’s my brother!”
“That’s my cousin!”
“Oh my god.”
“I’m going to cry.”
“Our uncle!”

Hongyen leans forward quietly, brushing a hand across each picture. She says nothing, but her eyes say everything. When the time came to leave Cần Giuộc four decades ago, she nearly called off the whole escape. Her mother, elderly and frail, was in no condition to journey into the South China Sea, and Hongyen couldn’t bear to leave her behind. There would be no one left to take care of her.

Explaining this quietly, Yvonne shakes her head and puts up a hand. “We don’t talk about that,” Kandi whispers.

Hongyen never saw her mother again.

Photos of the rescue shared with the family brought back waves of memories. (Jennelle Fong for The Athletic)

With each picture, every moment comes back to the surface. The room quiets as Hongyen speaks in Vietnamese.

“All we wanted,” Yvonne translates, “was a better life for the children.”

As afternoon turns to evening in Little Saigon, a car door shuts outside Hongyen’s house and all heads turn toward the door.

Here is Lilia Vu.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiii!” they all cheer.

Hugs give way to conversation and Lilia explains she hoped to have gotten here earlier, but an afternoon photoshoot with a new sponsor ran long. Then traffic from Los Angeles was brutal. She’s still in full makeup from the photoshoot and jokes that her face is sore from smiling. It’s been a hectic day and she’s barely eaten. Of course, Yvonne has a bowl of pho waiting on the table for her.

Lilia is a 26-year-old professional golfer. A former UCLA star, she’s spent the last five years navigating the highest highs and the lowest lows of the pro game. She has the disposition to match — charming and candid out of the spotlight, quiet and uneasy in it. She’s proud to say she spends half her free time devouring books, and embarrassed to say she spends the other half on TikTok.

Dinh Du, center right, stressed to Lilia Vu, pictured at age 4 with cousin Regina and brother Andre, that she needed to find joy in her game to achieve her goals. (Courtesy of J. Lindeberg and Yvonne Vu)

Navigating the world has gotten a little trickier of late. Lilia has spent most of the last 15 months in some sort of dreamscape. Five wins. Two major victories. Nearly $5 million in earnings. Endorsements. Fame. Attention.

She won her first LPGA Tour event in February 2023. Then won her first career major, the Chevron Championship, eight weeks later. Struggles followed, leading to fear those wins might’ve been flukes, but then a win at the AIG Women’s Open made Lilia the first American woman to win multiple majors in a single year since Juli Inkster in 1999.

All this from the same player who finished the 2020 season ranked 1,330th in the world.

Today, after 28 weeks ranked No. 1 in the world between August 2023 and March 2024, Lilia is a bona fide star.

But here, in her grandmother’s house, Lilia is still Kha-Tu Du Vu, her given name. The little girl who grew up speaking Vietnamese to both her parents and grandparents and copying the swing of her older brother, Andre, who would later play golf at UC Riverside.

Lilia eats her pho and then, as evening settles over Little Saigon, walks into the living room to join her grandmother. Side-by-side on the sofa, they lean close together, sharing words only one another can hear. They both smile. Then Lilia puts an arm around her and leans in close, giving a gentle squeeze.

Nearby, atop an ornate bookshelf, pictures of Dinh Du sit next to a burning candle. A gold urn sits under a red flower.

Growing up, Lilia looked at her grandpa — her “ông ngoại” — as a sweet old man who worked at an auto shop during the day and doted upon his wife at night. Dinh cooked dinner for Hongyen nearly every evening. He built her a green awning in the backyard and tended to a koi pond. He had a bad back and sore knees.

Only later did a different version come into view.

In March 2020, Lilia’s young career felt fully stalled. Once a college All-American and the No. 1-ranked women’s amateur in the world, she turned pro a year earlier and immediately earned status on the LPGA Tour. Then, just as quickly, she lost that status. Missed cuts stacked up. Bad thoughts crept in. Maybe she was never that good in the first place. Perhaps law school was a better option.

Amid a growing pandemic, Lilia was scheduled to play a low-level tournament in Florida, but needed to visit her grandfather first. He was in a hospital with some heart issues. Doctors expected a full recovery, but Lilia wanted some time with him before traveling. She opened up about how she was feeling.

“I told him that it was all too much, and I just — I didn’t have it,” she says now. “I couldn’t figure out how to have fun anymore.”

Dinh Du saw the stress in his granddaughter’s eyes and told her to stop worrying and start playing. He said to focus on her golf and ignore everything else, to find joy in the game again.

Lilia heard him, but maybe didn’t understand him. Not fully, at least. She was 22. The tournament in Florida ended with another missed cut, and Lilia returned home to learn she was too late. Her grandfather was in emergency care and unresponsive. He died March 9, 2020.

In that ending, a journey once foretold could finally be fully understood. How this mechanic from Cần Giuộc breathed life into generations. How a 32-foot boat built by his hands changed so much for so many. How he never once took credit for any of it.

“He didn’t get the family out of there because he wanted praise for it,” Lilia says. “He got them out of there because he had to get them out of there. It’s just mind-blowing to me that all this had to happen for me to have the chance to be here today.”

Four years after Dinh Du’s passing, his granddaughter, Lilia Vu — Kha-Tu Du Vu — will travel to Paris this summer. She’ll board a plane, cross an ocean, and stand upon the biggest stage in the world, one so big it can be seen from the villages of Vietnam and the shores of the South China Sea. Lilia will represent the United States in the XXXIII Olympic Summer Games.

“I’ve learned that if you want something, you have to go,” she says.

Epilogue

All told, five members of the USS Brewton crew, men ranging from 65 to 80 years old, were able to be tracked down for this story. Capt. Martin died in 2012. To a man, each said the same thing about May 26, 1982 – the rescue was the single greatest highlight of his military career. All were awarded the Navy Humanitarian Service Medal for their actions that morning.

“You drop them off and wonder, you know, are they gonna be OK?” Jack Papp said recently. “Where are they gonna go? What’ll happen to these people?”

“I’ve always thought about those folks,” said John Thompson, now a 68-year-old CFA, then a 26-year-old lieutenant junior grade, “and just wondered how things have turned out for them.”

Bob Bolger, who took over as the Brewton’s commanding officer the same day the Vusietnamese were transferred to the USS Fox, is 81 now. He likes hammy jokes, giving tours at the San Diego Maritime Museum, and hanging out with his 2-year-old grandson, Ryder. When contacted for this story this past winter, Bob didn’t quite believe what he was hearing — that a 12-year-old girl from that tiny boat in the South China Sea had a daughter on her way to becoming a U.S. Olympian.

He also couldn’t believe Hongyen, Kieu Thuy and Nga lived only an hour up the road.

So a reunion was arranged.

It was a Saturday morning in late May, nearly 42 years to the day that the Brewton came upon a small ship in a large sea. Bob ambled down a street along Coronado Island, not far from the Naval Amphibious Base.

Spotting “Capt. Bob” coming her way, Yvonne Vu brushed away tears and covered her mouth. Her sister Kandi did the same. Hongyen clasped her hands together, repeating, “Cảm ơn. Cảm ơn.” Thank you. Thank you.

Gathering on a small bench, all four shared stories of where they were and what they remembered. Yvonne told Bob she wished her father was still around to meet him. Bob said he wished the other men of the Brewton could meet the family.

Bob handed Yvonne his copy of the cruise book from the Brewton’s 1982 WestPac deployment. She leafed through alongside her mother and sister, all leaning together. Handing it back to Bob, Yvonne was met by an outstretched palm. No, no, he told her. You keep it.

“That should be in your family,” he said.

For the next generation.

(Illustration: John Bradford / The Athletic; graphics/motion design: Drew Jordan, John Bradford / The Athletic; photos: Jennelle Fong; Amy Remus / Getty Images; video: Brett Michel)

Before the second day of the women’s competition at U.S. Olympic gymnastics trials officially began, 80 percent of the five-person team was virtually locked in. 

Simone Biles, Suni Lee, Jordan Chiles and Jade Carey had separated themselves from a field depleted by injuries on night one to claim the top four spots in the all-around standings, and the quartet of Tokyo Olympians fit together to form a well-rounded team with individual medal potential across multiple events. 

But the Paris Olympics, unlike the Tokyo Games, will feature five-person teams in the artistic gymnastics events. Three contenders who were firmly in the mix to make the team — Shilese Jones, Skye Blakely and Kayla DiCello — withdrew from the trials because of injuries that occurred while in Minneapolis for the meet. Jones, a prohibitive favorite to make the team, didn’t compete Sunday after injuring her knee warming up a vault Friday. Blakely ruptured her Achilles during podium training Wednesday before competition began, and DiCello sustained the same injury on her first vault of the meet Friday. 

After two days of intense, unpredictable competition, Hezly Rivera earned her spot on the squad that boasts four seasoned veterans. 

The Olympic team final takes a “three up, three count” format in which three athletes compete on each apparatus and all three scores count. The U.S. could fill the three spots on each event with a trio out of Biles, Lee, Chiles and Carey, but that combination has slight weak spots on uneven bars and balance beam that could be improved with the addition of a gymnast who can be put into the lineup to contribute a few more tenths. 

Enter Rivera.

The 2023 junior all-around national champion made her senior elite debut earlier this year and just turned 16 at the beginning of June. She hasn’t had much experience competing internationally, but she was a member of the team that took silver at junior world championships last year. Rivera, a native of Oradell, N.J., used to train under Maggie Haney, who was 2016 Olympian Laurie Hernandez’s coach, but Haney is currently suspended for five years by USA Gymnastics for verbal and emotional abuse of athletes. Rivera and her family moved to Texas where she now trains at WOGA under Valeri Liukin, who coached his daughter Nastia to the Olympic all-around title in 2008. 

Her routines on uneven bars and balance beam are the key elements to how she fits in the team-building puzzle. Her 6.1 difficulty score on bars sets her up to score over a 14.000 when she hits, and she can also contribute a score in the upper 13-low 14.00 range on beam with a 6.0 difficulty score. 

On Sunday, she scored a 14.300 on bars and a 14.275 on beam, which placed her in a tie for first on that event. 

Imagine being a junior in high school and competing at the U.S. Olympic Trials?!

That dream is a reality for 16-year-old Hezly Rivera. #USAGTrials24 pic.twitter.com/n8A9wmsMgQ

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— NBC Olympics & Paralympics (@NBCOlympics) July 1, 2024

Her two lower-scoring events, vault and floor exercise, are not an issue because Biles, Chiles and Carey excel on those apparatuses. In Paris, she will likely be counted on to do beam in the team final and serve as a backup option for the bars lineup if Lee, who has been dealing with a kidney-related health condition, cannot perform on competition day. 

When the stakes were high and even some of the veterans felt the nerves, Rivera proved she could handle the pressure. Now she’s headed to Paris.

Required reading

(Photo: Andy Lyons / Getty Images)