1965 THE ZOO
Shu had been out of the cell on a clean-up detail. He returned, grinning, with a quiz for me. He said, “Smitty, select one of the following:
A. I just saw a Red Cross vehicle filled with packages for us.
B. I just saw a naked woman.
C. I just saw an American officer in uniform in camp.
D. All of the above.
E. None of the above.”
I thought for a moment and selected E. Shu laughed. “No, you are wrong. The correct answer is B.” I couldn’t believe it. But Shu explained that he had to go into the bath to get a bucket of water, and sure enough, a Vietnamese woman (one of the workers) was stark naked a few feet from him when he entered.
I should explain. There was a great deal of work going on in camp. The outer walls had been completed, but now walls were being constructed around each building for security and to keep us from seeing and communicating with our friends. More than half of the workers were women. They dressed in rags with patches over patches on their pajama-style clothes. They seemed to do the very hardest kind of work—unloading trucks, carrying heavy baskets of bricks, and digging ditches. The men did the construction—laying bricks—and directing the women. We even saw one woman in advanced pregnancy toting bricks around. By government edict, all Vietnamese workers, both men and women, are equal. The Vietnamese version of women’s liberation appeared to have some undesirable side effects.
In April 1966, a new POW was moved into the cell next to ours. He did not respond to the Tap Code, so we attempted to obtain voice contact with him. While one of us looked through the crack under our cell door to scout for guards, the other tried to talk to our new neighbor. He responded in very broken English. We found out he was a sergeant from Thailand who had been a crew chief on a C-47 aircraft. He had been shot down about one week earlier.
He asked, “How long have you been prisoners?”
We answered, “Since February and April of 1965.”
We could hear him gasp and almost sob. “Oh no! So long?”
When we asked him if he was married, he answered, “Yes, I have one wife.”
In Thailand, men have a number one wife and can have as many others as they can afford and desire. Ty, as we named him, soon moved in with the other Thai we had named Tim. We often saw them sweeping and working outside. We envied their being permitted the luxury of being outside their cells during the day but were glad they weren’t locked in their cells, except for brief minutes each day. No prisoner had an easy experience in the camps, but those from the United States seemed to be targeted to even greater degrees.
Propaganda efforts were being intensified over the speakers in our cells. Not only did we hear the radio program for American fighting men in the south, but the camp authorities were also reading other propaganda directed specifically to us. Over and over we heard that we were criminals and would be tried for our crimes. The guards became even more hostile and tried to enforce the bowing regulation more strictly.
It was impossible for the Vietnamese to enforce all these regulations, but they tried. Men who had attitudes that were perceived to be bad were put in isolation cells. These were special cells separated from other POWs where communication was almost impossible. They were small, dark, hot, and dirty.
At the height of the increased propaganda and concerted effort to enforce camp regulations, I was taken to interrogation on July 6, 1966. The guards were hostile and as demanding as possible. They grumbled and tried to hurry me to get fully dressed. In our cells we wore shorts but had to put on long-sleeved shirts and pajama-like trousers for interrogation. I was sure this was going to be trouble. I had been accused many times of a bad attitude. Perhaps they would try again to get me to write something. Dog went right to the point.
“Here is a letter for you from your wife. Now you may return to your cell.”
I was dumbfounded. The address was to me, and I recognized Louise’s handwriting. There must be a trick, or perhaps the letter contained bad news. My heart pounded in anticipation as I walked back to my cell.
When I opened the letter, a picture fell out. There were Robin, Carolyn, and a smiling chubby little boy. Tears welled in my eyes. I turned away from Shu because I couldn’t control my shaking, sobbing body. My little girls and my son!
I wiped my bleary eyes to see better. They were on a beach—in Clearwater, Florida, the letter said. I thought my emotions were completely inured because of my imprisonment and that I had absolute control, but I was blubbering like a child and embarrassed that Shu could see me so shaken up.
I read the letter, the first of many times. It was a happy one. They missed me and loved me. Lyle was born on May 14, 1965. Mother, Dad, my brother Joe, and Louise’s family were doing well. All sent love. They prayed for my return. I read and reread the letter. I refused to go to the bath so I could look at my picture and letter. This had to be one of the happiest days of my life, though short-lived, as other events were about to unfold.
By coincidence, Louise had moved next door to her sister’s home in Tupelo, Mississippi, where Captain George Hall’s brother had lived—the same George who was now a POW with me at the Zoo and who had helped pass the directive to follow the Code among the POWs. I never found out how George knew of the arrangement, but he had been waiting for an opportunity to share this information and boldly took a chance. As he was dumping his bucket, he said, “Tell Smitty Harris that his wife is next door to Janice and Dick Blake in Tupelo, Mississippi.”
The guards did their best to stop communication but simply could not cope with an unexpected bold move by an American. They were so startled by George’s statement, which they did not understand, that they merely fussed and fumed. Perhaps he was not communicating, only uttering an oath or extraneous remark. If they turned him in, it would be a reflection of their own inability to control the Americans. At any rate, I got the message, and George was not punished.
I was extremely pleased that Louise had chosen Tupelo as her new home. Janice and Dick were super fine people, and I knew Dick would do everything possible to be a foster father for the children. It was a great consolation to know where they were and to picture their activities in Tupelo.
I had been in the home that Louise bought and had liked it. Heretofore I had no idea where my family was, but this scrap of information provided a solid base for my thoughts. They were near family and friends, and someone would be able to help them when needed.