Mr. Ngô Huy Quỳnh was the last surviving graduate in architecture from the Ecole Superieure des Beaux Arts de l'Indochine, which was the first and only French college in Viet Nam for training Vietnamese painters, sculptors, and architects. Although we can never know for sure, Mr. Quỳnh's life story as told below may contain the reason part of Viet Nam's capital was not moved during the 1970s as planned, from its locus "inside the river" (the meaning of Ha Noi's name) to the midlands of Vĩnh Phú Province.
Mr. Quỳnh summarised his life work:
"I consider myself as an architect who is Vietnamese to his core but who had a chance to absorb the best of Western influences. I was born in 1918 into a Confucian family. My father was assistant to a district mandarin in Bac Giang Province, fifty kilometres north of Ha Noi. My mother taught me Chinese ideographs. I had a brother and a sister. After my father died when I was ten, my brother took care of the family by working as a civil servant. We followed my brother's different assignments to Nam Dinh, Quang Ninh, and Hai Phong.
When I was small, I liked painting trees, plants, and flowers. Two friends and I took art lessons while we were in secondary school in Nam Dinh. I came to Ha Noi in 1938, when I was eighteen. I wanted to study fine arts but took the entrance exams for both fine arts and architecture at the Ecole Superieure des Beaux Arts de I'Indochine. There were only five openings for each course. I finished sixth for fine arts but first for architecture. And so, I became an architect.
I stayed with a family near the school and paid the landlord nine (king a month for room and board. I didn't have many friends at school because most students came from rich families. I was too poor to pay the tuition, but the school never asked for it. I attended classes during the day. In the evening, I tutored children of rich families at their homes to earn money. After that, I did my homework until midnight. I loved music and would stay up playing the guitar and singing until very late. One day, I came home to find that my belongings had been searched. Only then did I discover that I'd been sharing space with the editorial board of the communist newspaper, Notre Voix (Our Voice). Whenever I went out, secret agents working for the French followed me.
The Students' Association of the University of Indochina had a magazine. I became its chief editor in 1941. One day at a meeting, I saw the rector of the University give a copy of the magazine to the dean of my school. My school discussed my transgressions at a special meeting, where the main accusation against me was that I was too 'critical' of fine arts in Indochina. However, I was able to defend myself. The disciplinary committee asked that I submit a written apology, but I didn't. I was surprised they didn't kick me out. I guess that, apart from the fact that I was a bright student, my teacher Mr. Arthur Kruze had put in a word for me with the dean. By the way, it's Mr. Arthur Kruze who designed the building that is the office for The Gidi (World) Publishers at 46 Tran Hung Dao Street.
I continued painting. Once, two students from the Fine Arts Department and I held an exhibition and sold all our paintings. Each of us collected about 300 đồng, enough to take a painting trip to Hue, where we enjoyed excursions to various places by boat. After a month, my friends returned to Ha Noi, while I went on to paint in Sai Gon, Da Lat, and then Angkor Wat in Cambodia.
When I was in my third year at the Ecole Superieure, a friend introduced me to a rich man who later asked me to design a villa on what's now Nguyen Du Street in Ha Noi. At the time, I was studying Vietnamese pagodas, so I sketched a house with a curved roof like a pagoda. He liked it and asked me to supervise the construction. Every day, I went to class but sneaked out through the window to visit the construction site. Since I had never studied the elements of building structure, I urged the engineer to share his knowledge. After listening to him, I wrote right on the walls the instructions for him to follow.
One day, when I arrived at the site, I sensed something unusual. I checked the height of the walls and found they were two bricks higher than my design. I asked who had decided to raise the height. The engineer said it was the owner's idea. I told the engineer to lower the walls by two bricks or else I would drop the contract. When I came back to check, he'd lowered the walls to the original design. The house was among the first designed by French-educated Vietnamese architects for Vietnamese in Ha Noi. It is still at 84 Nguyen Du Street. Part of the building is a cafe, and part is an office.
War broke out after I graduated, and our school was closed. I was among its last graduates. I joined the anti-French forces at their resistance base and took responsibility for designing their headquarters.
After the French left in 1954, I became responsible for urban architectural planning for our government and was asked to plan the development of Ha Noi. In 1956, I drew up a map showing the potential development of Ha Noi, including the eastern side of the Red River. Ha Noi has been expanding on that side of the Red River since the early 1990s, but I don't know if the city's leaders have consulted my plan.
During the early 1960s, I led a team of three hundred Vietnamese workers to design and construct the headquarters of the Lao Revolutionary Movement in Khang Khay, near the Plain of Jars in Laos. I remember that during the 1970s there was talk of moving part of Ha Noi to the hilly area of Vĩnh Phú Province so the expansion of the capital wouldn't encroach upon farming land. I presented a report justifying the need to keep the capital where it was. This report was also sent to different government agencies, including the prime minister's office. Later, senior management approved the plan to move the capital. A friend of mine published my report in the National Architecture Review. I was accused of opposing the approved plan and faced a special disciplinary committee. I showed that I had written my report before the plan's official approval, and so I escaped unscathed. As you know, the capital was never moved and remains inside the Red River."