LOWELL -- When Michael Ben Ho planned his escape from Cambodia's Khmer Rouge in the 1970s, he carried a heavy load -- 26 family members to get out, too.
His daughter, Manita Lam, remembers the journey. Ho found someone who would bring the family to Thailand in exchange for gold.
They walked for three days and four nights, were robbed by bandits twice, and were eventually rescued by the Red Cross on the Thailand border.
"He was the leader of getting everybody out," she said. "Without him, 26 people -- their grandkids, their kids -- would never be here."
It was that same leadership that paved a path for Cambodian refugees in Lowell during the 1980s.
Ho died last month at age 72, leaving a legacy in the city's Cambodian community. After moving to Lowell in 1983, he co-founded the Cambodian Mutual Assistance Association and Trairatanaram Temple in North Chelmsford, one of the area's first Buddhist temples.
When he took a job as a social worker in the state's Department of Social Services, Ho taught the agency about Cambodian culture, said Carole Mathews, a former co-worker.
"We learned about the trauma that every one of them had gone through," Mathews said. "As an agency, we learned what to expect from our employees and how we could help them through these difficult times."
Ho also helped train Cambodian families on what it meant to be employed, she said, and taught them that their children had to go to school.
When a family needed to clean their home, Ho would be there showing them how, she said. Through Ho, the department even began hiring other Cambodian social workers.
"He set a standard for the community that there was a better way," she said. "There was more things you could do with your life. You could be a better person."
To the children who looked up to him, Ho stressed the importance of education. In Cambodia, he managed to go to a French school, and later in life, he pursued a master's degree at Boston University while working two jobs.
Under the Khmer Rouge, Ho had to hide the fact that he was educated because it could be seen as a threat, said his nephew, Kevin Tan.
"He wore glasses, too, which was a sign of intelligence at the time, so he also had to hide that," Tan said. "But, eventually, that carried with him when he came to the States, which was why, even at 50, he pursued his master's degree."
Dozens of awards line the wall of one room at Ho's home in North Chelmsford -- a citation from the state House of Representatives for his work at DSS, a "local hero" title from Community Teamwork Inc., an acknowledgment from former Gov. Jane Swift, and more.
Tan, who was raised by Ho in the house, remembers having to get up early every morning and read for an hour. He also remembers Ho teaching him math tricks.
"Education was kind of like a pathway for him to escape all the struggles he had prior to coming here," he said. "He always valued education, and that's what I've taken with me."

To Ani Vong, who owns the Humanity clothing store downtown, Ho was "oum" -- uncle -- even though they weren't technically related. When a fire ravaged her home when she was in eighth grade, Ho took her family in to live with him for a few months.
Vong remembers Ho as an older uncle who always wanted to give the kids a hard time, telling her to do well in school and listen to her mom.
"He really was just trying to look out for us, to make sure that we provide ourselves with a better life than what happened in Cambodia," she said.
But Ho's emphasis on education even touched Cambodians of his generation. To Them Chea, he was a mentor who introduced him to BU's master's program in social work.
Together, Chea and Ho organized the Cambodian American Voter League to promote citizenship, Chea said. A practice test packet for aspiring citizens still sits in Ho's home, and his certificate of naturalization hangs proudly on the wall with his others.
"He has a good heart," Chea said. "He liked to extend his help to everyone, no matter what, big or small, day or night. He's always very helpful in that sense."
At a time when waves of Cambodian immigrants were adjusting to life in Lowell, Ho set an example of what good could come as a leader in this new country. 
Tan remembers when his uncle asked him what he wanted to be as an adult. Tan said a baseball player and other random professions, but Ho asked him if he ever thought about being president.
He said no, arguing that there has never been an Asian-American president.
"So?" he said Ho responded. "That doesn't mean you can't be the first."
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