APRIL 5, 1965 5:00 A.M.
I lay alone in our double bed, sleeping soundly. It had taken me a while to get used to sleeping alone, but after many nights, weeks, and months of separation throughout our five years of marriage, I had overcome the anxious agitation that had once plagued me. I no longer jumped at every creak or awakened at every bark from our beloved German Shepherd, Schotze. No, I had grown accustomed to the life of an Air Force wife. I knew what I had signed up for. And I was sure that this indeed was the life I had chosen—the life I wanted. God had blessed me indeed.
I had not always possessed this assurance—this deep-rooted certainty that I had chosen well my path of life. Though my love for Carlyle Smith Harris had grown into deep wells of love in a relatively short amount of time, I had insisted on a full six months of engagement. It took me years to tell Smitty why I had insisted on this time frame. With his scheduled assignments, a quicker engagement would have been more convenient. But I needed to be absolutely certain. And as the months melted one into another, our hearts melted into one as well, and my resolve—my determination that this would be the best life, the best path, for me as well as for Smitty—came to live in my heart.
My time of testing quickly came, even before we had the opportunity to say, “I do.” If Smitty ever doubted that I would be an understanding wife, his fears were dispelled when one month before our wedding, he announced it would have to be delayed for an additional month. By now I was as anxious as Smitty was to be married, and I regretted the six-month engagement. Just as I began counting down the days to our blessed event, Smitty was asked if he would take a six-week trip to make demonstration flights all over the Pacific area in the T-37 jet trainer. He was to fly in Hawaii, Tokyo, Korea, the Philippines, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Australia. Between demonstration flights, he and his crew would dismantle the wing of the T-37, and they would be transported in a C-130 transport aircraft.
I knew the trip would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Smitty. I also knew this would be a test of my resolve to be a supportive and faithful Air Force wife, so I joyfully acquiesced in delaying our wedding. I say joyfully because even at a young age I had learned the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness is dependent on our circumstances, whereas joy is another thing entirely. Joy involves looking at the whole situation and seeing the benefits for others as well as for ourselves. Joy is not dependent on our circumstances and is not removed through our situations. Joy is a gift, and joy is a choice. I quickly learned to choose this eternal gift of joy, and this mind-set would prove to be tested far beyond what I could have fathomed.
The delay of our wedding, of course, did not make me happy. It did, however, make me joyful that Smitty had been granted the opportunity, so I chose to joyfully support him. As it turned out, the whole trip was canceled, and our wedding occurred as scheduled.
But I had passed the test. My resolve—my surety in this life I had chosen—was set in stone, and all of life’s chiseling would never change this commitment.
In the wee hours of the early morning of April 5, 1965, I slept soundly—that is, until the dream. Oh, it was so clear, so vivid. I heard the beloved voice of my Smitty calling my name. Louise, Louise! I sat straight up in bed. Smitty? I replied, half to myself, half to the voice I had heard. Why, it can’t be Smitty. He’s in Korat, Thailand. He’ll be there for at least four more days, I thought. Still, the voice had been so clear.
I quickly rose and put on my bathrobe and slippers. I tied the bathrobe as tightly as I could around my almost-eight-months-pregnant body and walked quickly down the hallway. The sound of flapping slippers seemed too loud against the hardwood floor, and I slowed a bit to keep from waking the girls. I didn’t have to wake Schotze, who already stood as if at attention when I entered the kitchen. I took the leash off the hook by the back door and went out into the dark, cool night. I walked all around the house, feeling silly, knowing it couldn’t have been Smitty. Even so, I had to check. The voice—his voice—had been so real. Not surprisingly, our walk around the house did not produce a reunion with my Smitty. I replaced the leash by the door and watched as Schotze lay contentedly back down on his bed on the floor.
I, however, did not lie down as contentedly. As I tried to shake off the dream and fall back to sleep, my mind kept traveling backward through my years with Smitty. I smiled as I remembered.
Carlyle Smith Harris had thoroughly enjoyed being a bachelor officer in the Air Force. He had particularly enjoyed the training flights he took all over the United States with students when he was an instructor pilot and in flights of fighters when in an operational unit. Las Vegas, Miami, San Francisco, New York, and other exciting places were easily within reach of his cross-country flights.
Marriage was simply out of the question for Smitty. He thought it would put a damper on his restless spirit. He persistently avoided any long-term commitments, while actively enjoying meeting and dating girls at every opportunity.
But as almost inevitably happens, he soon became very interested in a girl who showed little interest in him. I had dated a friend of Smitty’s who was about to enter pilot training. He introduced me to Smitty. Soon, instead of trying to avoid any amorous entanglement with the opposite sex, Smitty was actively seeking ways to win my heart and my love.
The early years of our marriage had been idyllic. Robin and Carolyn, our two precious daughters, were three and four years old when Smitty received orders in 1964 to transfer from McConnell Air Force Base in Kansas to Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, where he would fly the F-105 fighter-bomber. We had been happy here for more than a year now.
When Smitty received the assignment, we were all excited and hoped for an opportunity to visit Japan, Hong Kong, and the Philippines while we were there on our two-to-three-year tour. Smitty had been a flight commander in the F-105 at McConnell and thoroughly enjoyed this high-performance aircraft, which he had been selected to fly in international skies. But not everyone was as excited as the two of us were. While we visited my family prior to departure, my mother had expressed fear that Smitty would become involved in the war in Vietnam. Smitty had assured her—and me—that the F-105 was much too large and fast to be successfully used in the close air support role that would be required in the war in South Vietnam. At that time, the air war had barely begun over North Vietnam, where the interdiction of supply routes and bombing of military targets could utilize the F-105’s capabilities. We proceeded blissfully to our new assignment.
The girls and I arrived in late January 1965 after Smitty had been there long enough to buy a home on the island and get settled in his new job. Soon after we arrived, it became apparent that the air war might expand rapidly to North Vietnam. Everett Alvarez Jr., a Navy pilot, had been shot down and captured on August 5, 1964, during a reprisal bombing mission following the Tonkin Gulf incident. Thus, he became the first American POW held in North Vietnam.
In February, Bob Shumaker, another Navy pilot, was shot down and captured over Dong Hoi. In March, one of Smitty’s first missions from Korat was a bombing mission in northern Laos near the Vietnam border. The target, an ammo dump, had been completely destroyed, but one Air Force F-105 pilot had been shot down and later rescued. Also in March, a squadron strength unit made up of men and aircraft from the three F-105 squadrons at Kadena was sent on temporary duty to Korat Air Base in Thailand. The obvious use for this detachment would be an expanded air war over North Vietnam.
Smitty never held back information from me. We were equal partners with different parts in the story of our life together. Even as I lay in the dark, my agitation was not fear. I knew he was a fighter pilot when I married him. This is what he chose to do. He loved it, believed in it, and was committed to it. And I was committed to him. With that thought, the familiar resolve returned, and peaceful sleep returned with it. It was the last peaceful sleep I would enjoy for quite some time.