CHAPTER 17

FEET WET

FEBRUARY 12–16, 1973

JERRY AWOKE EARLY on February 12, 1973, as if he had never been asleep. For many minutes, he lay immobile, staring upward at cracked places in the ceiling. Somebody coughed next to him, and he realized men around him were awake but moving in slow motion.

Most appeared more dazed than alert: deep circles under everyone’s eyes, dry mouths, gaunt faces, lifeless expressions. No one said much as they quietly climbed off their concrete sleeping platform. How could any of them know for sure what the next few hours might bring?

God, is today the day this nightmare ends? Please, God, make it so.

Jerry continued to pray as he moved to get up. The captive looked down at the black satchel that held his new change of clothes.

Thoughts drifted in and out of his mind. As the POWs waited in their cellblocks, small groups formed here and there, talking quietly. Jerry looked around for Will Forby. “Well, what do you think?” Jerry asked.

Will shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Hard to say” was his cautious reply.

No sooner had the two cellmates exchanged these words than the cell door swung wide open and several guards entered. They made the familiar chopping motion at the wrists for POWs to put on their long shirts. This time, however, it wasn’t prison pajamas but the new clothes they had received the day before. Many men found their hands trembling as they tried to button shirts and pull on trousers.

When they were dressed, guards motioned for everyone to exit into the courtyard. Several dilapidated buses were waiting for them. The POWs slowly assembled two by two in the courtyard and began to load up. No one said a word, and the guards didn’t indicate where they were taking the POWs.

Jerry crossed over the threshold of the cellblock door, realizing it might be for the last time. He still was not allowing himself to think about freedom yet.

The several seriously ill POWs, a few on stretchers, were loaded before anyone else, so Jerry went out on the second bus —he was number 30 to be captured among nearly 600 POWs. He and Will sat together. The buses carried 116 men in the order of their capture, supposedly the first wave of POWs to be released. The remaining POWs were scheduled to be released at intervals over the following two months.

The buses slowly made their way out of the courtyard of Hoa Lo Prison, the Hanoi Hilton, and into the streets of downtown Hanoi. Jerry looked at the front of the prison —a different perspective from any he had had in seven and a half years.

The ride to Gia Lam Airport was somber. Oddly, many Vietnamese people lined streets to watch as the buses passed by, and some even waved. It felt surreal —as if the POWs were on a tour riding slowly through the streets. They were seeing Hanoi for the first time. The men talked very little, if at all, and then only just a word or two in low tones. When they arrived at the airport, they exited their bus quietly, cautiously. There was no high-fiving or cheering; everyone remained composed.

Jerry prayed frantically. Oh, God . . . they have brought us to the airport. Can it be true? Can this be the day? Is our freedom at hand? It has been 2,703 days, Lord, since I was captured. Please, God, let it be. Let nothing go wrong . . .

Once at the airport, the bus stopped a little distance away from the edge of several buildings forming the main terminal. From their vantage point, however, the POWs could not see the runways.

After disembarking the buses, men carefully formed up again, two abreast, and began to march quietly through the large crowd of journalists, photographers, military personnel, and citizens who had come to see them. Hundreds if not thousands lined the streets.

As they approached the other side of the airport building, the American captives could see a desk under a large tent where various Vietnamese military personnel were seated.

But it was the sight on the tarmac that caused Jerry’s heart to jump to his throat. He breathed in quickly.

Like gigantic, resting beasts ready to spring to life were two of the most beautiful “birds” Jerry had ever seen —C-141 Starlifters. These planes had been introduced into the line after he was captured: he had never seen one before. The cargo planes were massive, with broad wingspans sleek and swept back and “United States Air Force” painted in bold, bright letters across their gleaming, white sides. Also painted on the planes’ bodies were red crosses, international symbols for medic transportation. These C-141s would become known collectively as the Hanoi Taxi.

Now, many American military officers dressed in clean, crisp uniforms emerged and walked briskly toward the tents. With them, military escorts in flight suits displaying bright white ascots highlighted by embroidered POW emblems disembarked and headed toward the tents. Every bit of brass and the metal insignias on hats, shoulders, and buttons shined as they moved quietly and purposefully toward the POWs. The Americans looked otherworldly. Jerry was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check.

As POWs stood somber in formation, the Americans sent to participate in the repatriation process, called Operation Homecoming, were equally impressed with what they saw. Dr. Roger Shields from the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense for International Security Affairs, who led the task force in charge of planning and coordinating the prisoner release, said later he wished every American back home could have seen their servicemen that morning. Shields himself often said afterward that he had never been so proud to be an American as he was on that day.

The POWs waited for nearly two hours, continuing to stand quietly in rows of two abreast. Jerry looked around at the large group of Vietnamese, military and civilian alike, gathered there. He saw nearly every one of the old foes, men who for 2,703 days of captivity had controlled his fate. Frenchy, Rat, Bug, Mouse, Gap, and many others —they were all present.

Yet the prisoners of war remained subdued and composed, their finest military bearing quietly on display. Jerry felt the most elation he had ever felt in his life internally yet remained completely controlled outwardly.

Jerry looked over at Will Forby, standing next to him. He had done his best trying to rescue this downed fighter pilot out of the jungles of North Vietnam on September 20, 1965. That was the start of their captivity, both men united by the same catastrophic events. During their lengthy imprisonment, he had told Will hundreds of times he wished he could have rescued him successfully —they had survived so much together. God, thank you for this man and his friendship over the years. Let us return to freedom together, this very day. Let it happen now, what I could not accomplish seven and a half years ago when I tried to rescue him. Please, God, let today be the day.

They had been standing a long time —Jerry felt numb. Finally, one of the North Vietnamese camp commandants began calling out each name, one at a time. When each POW’s name was called, he would approach the desk to be greeted by a senior American military officer, then officially turned over to his escort officer, repatriated at last.

It was Jerry’s turn. When he heard his name, he marched confidently to the desk where an Air Force colonel stood waiting.

Jerry stopped and saluted. “Thomas J. Curtis reporting for duty, sir,” he said.

Behind him was Will Forby. The two men together, with an escort officer between them, walked toward the waiting airplane. The commitment to duty and honor was completed: Jerry accompanied to freedom the man he had been sent to rescue nearly eight years before.

The C-141 Starlifter sat on the runway, its enormous back ramp down, revealing the cavernous interior. Up Jerry walked, greeted by Air Force nurses who offered him refreshments —coffee, tea, Coke.

Coke, he thought to himself. I’ll bet they even serve it with ice! He and Will walked up to the front of the airplane and sat down next to each other. Neither did much talking —they still had a “wait and see” attitude. As the other men began to settle into seats arranged in rows, six across with an aisle down the middle, they were given a sampling of US newspapers to read.

Slowly, all forty POWs in Jerry’s group were on board, and the back ramp closed shut. It was eerily quiet, some noise and movement but mostly these “old heads” remained apprehensive. They had been held in the grip of a Communist country for way too long —and technically they were still. The enormous cargo plane gradually rotated in order to point its nose in the direction of takeoff. The aircraft commander then began to ease the multiengine aircraft down the runway, rolling slowly at first. Though a plane’s cabin might be windowless, pilots recognize the sound and feel of various stages of an airplane on its way to slipping gravity. They sat waiting, listening instinctively.

Now came the moment all 116 fliers and other servicemen who were being released had longed to hear: the roar of four 21,000-pounds-force thrust, turbofan engines revving up. Put simply, raw power unleashed. Next, the distinctive lunge forward, then faster, faster, faster, and . . . airborne.

When these pilots who had been POWs for so long were airborne, there was a round of cheers and shouts. But even then, a blanket of guarded optimism remained over this particular group who had the deepest knowledge of their captors.

They asked one of the escort officers to go up to the cockpit to announce when they were “feet wet” —in other words, to let them know over the intercom when they were actually out of North Vietnam airspace and over international waters. Even now, they still did not trust the intentions of those who had held them in hell’s grasp for seven years, some longer. These men wanted confirmation.

Finally, the aircraft commander came on the intercom and announced the most significant words of the day: “To all of you: feet wet.” They were now over the Gulf of Tonkin and headed toward freedom. Though the heavy, thick door separating the cockpit from the cargo area of the C-141 was shut tight, able to muffle almost any noise, there arose such cries and shouts that the entire cockpit filled up with the passengers’ exultation. Men clapped and whooped and pumped their fists in the air. They screamed and yelled and whistled. The jubilation continued on and on, reaching an overpowering crescendo.

In the deafening roar of men celebrating their liberty, Jerry silently thanked God. Then he gave Will, sitting next to him on the plane, a quick nudge with his elbow. His blue eyes brimmed with tears, yet he was grinning from ear to ear.

“See, Will,” he said, “I told you if you stuck with me, I’d get you home.”

The flight from Hanoi, North Vietnam, to Clark AFB in the Philippines took approximately three hours. Men talked, visited with each other, hugged the nurses and smelled their perfume, and smoked cigars and every pack of cigarettes the escort officers had brought along.

Jerry savored each moment, but for the majority of the flight, he remained in his seat, relishing the comfortable cushion. It was the first time he had sat on anything other than concrete and the small wooden stools used for interrogation and torture sessions for all these past years. He couldn’t begin to fathom what a bed with a mattress and pillows would feel like.

He closed his eyes, but his mind continued to race. The day he had awaited for so long was finally a reality. It seemed like a dream.

Jerry chuckled to himself. Some things will be easy to get accustomed to again, he thought. Yet his mind continued to churn —so much still seemed a blur.

He tried to imagine talking to Terry, hearing her voice, listening to her words, but he couldn’t make it materialize in his mind. For so long, he had thought about her and missed her. Now the day was soon approaching when he would see her again. He knew she wouldn’t have changed in the important ways, but still, things would be different —he just didn’t know how.

As the plane approached Clark AFB, the men seemed subdued once more, happy but lost in their thoughts. Since C-141s have no windows on either side, they couldn’t see anything as they came in. But the second they began to walk down the steps, they couldn’t believe their eyes.

Huge crowds of people were all over the airport, standing along the sides of the runways, along the fences, inside the terminal building, and lining the sidewalks all along the front of the terminal. As soon as they caught glimpses of the first POWs exiting the rear of the plane, they cheered wildly, waving flags, banners, signs, and posters.

Jerry was stunned —they all were, really. In his wildest dreams, he would never have imagined seeing this.

Television crews filmed the POWs as they disembarked the airplane and announced the names of each as they came down the ramp. This aired live back in the States, broadcasting in the early hours of the morning. Most military families stayed up all night watching.

Then as the freed POWs rode in buses to the base, crowds lined both sides of every street, clapping, shouting, cheering —men, women, children of all ages —welcoming them back. Jerry was certain every American from anywhere in the region must have been there.

When they arrived at the base hospital, a sea of people greeted them there, too. As they entered the hospital, they were met with the same reaction. Nurses, doctors, techs, and other hospital staff cheered, clapped, and whistled.

But as soon as Jerry entered the building, he caught sight of something that made his emotions soar. Every wall of every corridor was covered with children’s artwork depicting the POWs and hundreds of simple “welcome home” messages. The walls were so covered with their artwork, he couldn’t determine even what color they were painted. Everywhere he looked, all he could see was the unmistakable innocence of children’s drawings and lettering.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway and could go no farther. Soon, he would be reunited with his own children. The full impact of that finally hit him.

After so many years of stoic resistance in the face of unrelenting horror, he had no self-control left. Jerry began to cry uncontrollably. He walked over to the wall covered with crayon art and leaned against it, sobbing into the crook of his arm.

Each returning man had been assigned an escort officer, someone who, after they arrived, would serve as an assistant for whatever these servicemen might need —errands, shopping, or whatever the case might be. These escort officers were chosen from among volunteers solicited by the Air Force. Major Fred Bergold, also an HH-43 rescue helicopter pilot who had spent a year in Pleiku, Vietnam, was stationed in Hawaii at the time. Several months before, when he had heard about the duty assignment, he volunteered and was selected.

Authorities in Washington knew the Paris Peace Accords had been signed, but nobody knew for sure when the North Vietnamese were actually going to release the POWs. Everything remained in a state of flux. So officials had all the escorts sent to Clark —they had been there for three weeks prior to the arrival of the POWs.

Each night at Clark AFB, a duty officer was assigned to monitor the status of events in Hanoi —if and when the C-141s would actually be alerted that they could leave the Philippines and head to North Vietnam. Fred happened to be the duty officer the night the alert came in. During the predawn hours, the C-141s were airborne, headed to Hanoi to pick up and bring back the first wave of POWs to Clark.

As Fred looked over the list of names of those who would be aboard, he came across one that jumped out —Thomas J. Curtis, HH-43 pilot, shoot-down date 20 September 1965. This man flew what I flew in Vietnam —that could have been me. That’s who I want to escort, he thought and began making plans to meet this rescue helicopter pilot in a few hours.

After the C-141s returned later that day and buses had taken the repatriated servicemen to the hospital, their assigned escorts arrived. Fred checked in and located Jerry.

“Lieutenant Colonel Tom Curtis?” he said, “I’m Major Fred Bergold, your escort officer. Welcome home, sir.”

Jerry had been promoted from captain to major and then to lieutenant colonel while still in prison. It was the first time Jerry had heard anyone use his new rank when speaking to him.

“Well, it is good to meet you. But I tell you, Fred, I don’t even know what a major is supposed to do, much less a lieutenant colonel!” The men shook hands warmly and walked to Jerry’s first exam.

Doctors and nurses began tending to the group of men, most of whom had issues of one sort or another, some with serious physical problems. In planning for their arrival, doctors had made tags for them that read “Soft Diet,” thinking after so many months and years of scant food to eat and of such poor quality, their bodies would need time to adjust to standard fare.

The near-riot that ensued caused doctors to change their minds. Orders were given for the kitchen staff to let them have whatever they wanted. Men began devouring huge amounts of everything —their bodies starving mainly for protein. As soon as he could, Jerry ordered a steak, fried eggs, and strawberry shortcake. It was the best meal he had ever had in his life.

All the escort officers had been briefed thoroughly on what they might encounter with the returning POWs. And since Fred had already served a tour of duty in Vietnam as a rescue helicopter pilot, he knew full well what had transpired in the prisons in Hanoi from reports and survival training.

At first, Fred kept the conversation fairly casual, but as he spent more time with Jerry, he thought what an exceptional person he was and what great mental shape this man was in to have endured what he knew Jerry had been through. And Jerry was immediately at ease talking with this particular pilot. They spoke the same language.

After a time, the conversation turned more serious.

“How did you manage all those years in prison?” Fred asked. “I know it was rough.”

“Yes, it was, Fred,” Jerry replied. “Really rough. But we held together. There were many, however, who didn’t make it out.” Jerry had been informed before they left Hanoi that John Frederick, the Marine he was with at Dogpatch, was listed by the North Vietnamese as having died in the hospital. Fifty-five men altogether were listed as having died in captivity in North Vietnam at this time.

“It was rough,” Jerry repeated. “We took a lot of physical abuse, a lot of mental abuse. Those of us who went in at the beginning saw it all.”

Fred listened as Jerry spoke softly, in a completely straightforward but quiet manner —no hyperbole or undue emotion.

“But I will tell you one thing, Fred . . . something we all learned.” Jerry paused and looked straight ahead. “Every man has a breaking point.”

After their conversation, Fred accompanied Jerry to one of the rooms set aside for phone calls home. “Let me get your wife on the line for you, and then I’ll turn it over,” said Fred.

It was time for all the returnees to begin those long-anticipated phone calls home. Some were ecstatic; some were nervous; some found out they no longer had a wife to call —perhaps due to divorce or, in one or two instances, death. But everyone had some degree of anxiety. Each escort officer assigned to a POW initiated the phone call for the serviceman to ensure the connection went through. Once the wife or parent was on the line, he handed over the phone.

Jerry watched as Fred began to place the call to Alexandria, Louisiana. He felt like his mind was about to explode. He took several deep breaths while he heard Fred identifying himself to Terry and then saying, “Good, I have Tom here with me.”

Jerry took the receiver. “Hello?”

“Jerry, how are you?” Terry said. “You look so good —I can’t believe how good you look. We saw you on TV.” Excitement and nervousness propelled her sentences rapidly forward.

Jerry choked down his emotions and couldn’t say a word in reply, so Terry filled in the silence. She asked if Tommy was on the other line. “Tommy, are you there on the phone?”

“Yes, I am.” The unmistakable, deepening voice of a teenage boy.

“Talk, Tommy —Jerry, you’ve just about got a grown son.” His son had been only seven years old and was now almost fifteen.

No one said anything for a moment or two, and Jerry was finally able to check his emotions. “I have some pictures you sent, and I cannot believe how big he is.”

“How recent are those pictures?” asked Terry. Families had no idea what had been delivered to the prisoners and what had not.

Jerry told her he wasn’t sure, maybe a year old. “I can tell how big he is though.”

“How are you feeling?” Terry hardly knew what to say to her husband.

“I am fine, and I love all of you very much,” said Jerry.

“Well, we love you, too. Do you know how much longer you will be at Clark?” said Terry.

“Probably another three days. The doctors will finish the medical check, and then we go to Travis. Where do you want to meet me?”

“We are supposed to meet you at Keesler in Biloxi,” said Terry.

“Is Lori there?” Jerry’s daughter had been four years old when he left for Thailand. Now she was nearly twelve.

“Tommy, get Lori on the phone,” Terry called to her son. “Jerry —Mother, Daddy, and Fayrene are planning to meet us at Keesler too.”

“Good,” Jerry said.

“We are so anxious to see you. Have you had a big steak and baked potato?”

“Yes, I just had a delicious meal of steak and fried eggs and a little strawberry shortcake, and it was great.”

Terry ran out of words.

“I can’t tell you how much I have thought about you all these years,” said Jerry. He struggled to keep his voice steady.

“Well, we have done the same. I know the Lord has been with you just like with us, and I just know he is going to be with us now, and everything is going to be perfect.” Terry felt in some ways like she was talking to a stranger.

“Well, let’s hope so,” said Jerry.

“I am sure it will. We just can’t wait to get you here.” Terry paused and both were silent for a few moments. “We are so excited,” she added.

The conversation continued in this vein for some time, with pauses, tears, stumbles, mix-ups. They both had so much to say, yet they struggled to say it over the phone. They both noticed some subtle changes in the way the other sounded —deeper, more intense, different somehow. They were getting to know each other all over again.

“I’m so proud of you,” said Jerry. “All of you —knowing that you were there, behind me all the way.”

“Well, we have been —you are worth waiting for, needless to say —we just love you so much —” Terry sensed Jerry was crying. “We just can’t wait to get to you —can’t you rush them up a little bit?”

“They want to give us a good physical examination,” he said, his voice catching just a bit. “I don’t have anything wrong with me that I know of —nothing serious or major —maybe some dental work that needs to be done. A few other things —nothing serious,” said Jerry.

Now it was Terry’s turn to become quiet.

“I am not marked or scarred in any way,” he said quietly.

“That’s great,” she said.

Choking back emotion once more, Jerry said, “Just as handsome as the day you married me.”

“Oh, I won’t be able to stand that then!” Terry paused a second. “You sound so good.”

“Sweetheart,” said Jerry, “there are others waiting to make calls too. But I think this will hold me until I can hold you and Tommy and Lori.”

“We will be waiting right there —as soon as you get off that plane at Keesler. Just hurry up! Lori, do you want to tell your Dad anything real quick?”

Lori came to the phone, the little girl Jerry remembered with a child’s voice. “Daddy,” she said, her southern drawl pulling the word out slowly, “I got a dog.”

“A dog?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“What kind?” Jerry’s voice was full of tenderness.

“A fox terrier, and her name is Precious.” Unlike Tommy, who was seven when Jerry left for Thailand, Lori barely remembered the man she was talking to.

“Well, I have so much to catch up on, and I won’t try to do it on the telephone. I love you so much. Tommy and Lori —thank you so much for taking good care of Mom for me,” Jerry said.

“They did take good care of me. You’ll be proud of them, Jerry, and we are proud of you, and we will be waiting for you.”

“See you in about three days in Mississippi.”

“All right, we will be there,” said Terry.

“Bye, Lori. Bye, Tommy. Bye, Terry,” Jerry’s voice was giving way again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Terry replied back.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Jerry couldn’t wait for the moment when a million miles no longer separated him from his family.

Jerry hung up the telephone. Eight years apart is a long time. But the awkwardness of the first phone call home was past, and even during the conversation, Jerry and Terry became more comfortable conversing with each other.

That night, Jerry reclined on a bed with a mattress, sheets, and pillows. He buried his face into clean, white linens —they smelled so fresh —and thanked God.

He suddenly realized something: the hospital mattress and blankets wonderfully buffered all the calluses that covered his ankles, sides of knees, and hips from nearly eight years of sleeping on concrete and wood. However, he learned the next morning that one or two of the group had slipped out and onto the floor during the night, unable to adjust to their soft beds. Not me, Jerry thought and laughed to himself. Luxury feels great!

The next day, Fred escorted Jerry to the clothing store on base to get fitted for a new uniform. Jerry looked in the mirror as the tailor began fitting his new blue coat and trousers. It felt so good to have a uniform on again. And since he had been promoted from captain to major to lieutenant colonel while still in prison, his new uniform would bear silver oak leaves, indicating his current rank —he never owned a set of gold major’s leaves.

Then Jerry picked up some shirts and noticed the polyester. When he left for Thailand, none of the fabrics used in producing military clothing had any synthetics; all were subject to extreme wrinkling.

“Man, this polyester is fine stuff —no more ironing all the time,” Jerry said to Fred.

“I know —you’ll love it,” said Fred. “You want to head on over to the BX?”

“Yes —that would be good,” said Jerry. He had really missed wearing a watch in confinement, and at the base exchange, he quickly located a plain Seiko for thirty bucks. Socks, underwear, and black lace-ups rounded out his shopping basket.

A strong bond developed between these two men during their three days together at Clark AFB. Jerry was glad to learn Fred would also be the person to travel with him all the way to the States.

The group of POWs returning from Hanoi prisons filled their few days at Clark luxuriating in various ways. One man found a bathroom at the hospital with a large tub, went in, locked the door, and filled it with hot water to overflowing. Then he soaked for two hours. It would be the first of six baths he enjoyed —on his first night there. Others simply stood under hot showers for an hour or more at a time.

Once they were given the go-ahead to eat whatever they wanted, men who had been starving every day for years began ordering in abundance. The top item, even over steak, was eggs. One pilot ordered a dozen fried eggs and gulped them down within minutes. Others couldn’t seem to get enough ice cream, returning to the buffet bar over and over to try every flavor available. Many wound up in bathrooms afterward —yet they all agreed it was worth it.

Initial physical examinations had commenced as soon as the former prisoners arrived. Numerous conditions would have to be addressed in the days and weeks to come, including bones that needed to be reset and gastrointestinal problems. Several returned POWs would require operations to correct problems brought on by torture, malnutrition, and grossly unsanitary living environments.

Almost all of them would be checked into base hospitals for treatment, convalescing, and debriefing. Jerry had beriberi, intestinal issues, and extensive dental work that needed to be addressed once he arrived at Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi.

After three days at Clark, the men of Operation Homecoming boarded another C-141 and headed toward the United States. For Jerry, it would mean retracing the route that had brought him to Thailand eight years earlier. During this flight, Jerry enjoyed being in the air again. He found a comfortable position and slept most of the way to their first stop.

The eleven-plus-hour flight carried them into Hickam Field in Honolulu, Hawaii, to refuel. Jerry got off the plane with his escort officer, where Fred’s wife and two children waited to meet the returning hero at the airport.

“I’m on American soil again, Fred,” Jerry said as they stepped off the plane. “I can’t believe it. This feels great!”

As he walked down the stairs out of the airplane, another sea of people lined every available spot at the terminal, cheering, clapping, and waving flags and banners reading “Welcome Home POWs.” The wild applause seemed to last forever.

Jerry accompanied Fred to meet his wife, Judy, and his two children who were waiting in the terminal. As Jerry reached down to say hello to Fred’s young daughter, Bee, he asked her how old she was. She looked up at Jerry and said, “I’m seven and a half years old —that’s how long you’ve been gone.”

He stood quietly for a moment looking at Fred’s little girl, then nodded. “Yes, it is —it’s been a long time,” he said, wondering again what his own daughter was going to look like.

For a couple of hours on the ground at Hickam, Jerry visited with Fred and his family. Bee had written him a letter:

Dear Lt. Col. Curtis,

Welcome back home. I am so glad you are back. Thank you for serving our country.

Love, Bee

Jerry held it and couldn’t speak for several minutes. He folded it and tucked it carefully in his pocket.

At last, the time had come to board the plane again, headed now for the mainland of America.

Jerry sat quietly on this part of the journey. He was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. Every limb of his body felt heavy, yet when he closed his eyes, his mind still raced. Jerry kept thanking God for his return.

The plane flew on to Travis AFB in California. Here, the layover was longer, since many of the men coming home from Hanoi needed immediate attention. The large hospital at Travis, a regional facility that had served as a medical hub all through the war, could offer the full range of services. As before, several hundred military personnel and their families, ecstatic about seeing the prisoners who were returning from Southeast Asia, formed lines around the airport and up and down streets.

When the enormous C-141 set down at Travis AFB, Jerry was in the continental United States again.

Jerry deplaned here on an errand. Fred asked if he could help him, and Jerry replied, “No, I’ll just be a few minutes.” He went into the terminal and sought the help of one of the other military escorts. After he finished his mission, Jerry climbed back aboard.

The C-141 flew then to Kelly AFB, Texas. On the way, sheer physical exhaustion once again caught up with Jerry. He slept all the way there. Yet again the traveling POWs were greeted by huge throngs of joyous crowds.

A few men got off here, but Jerry continued to Maxwell AFB in Montgomery, Alabama. Now, he could not even doze. He was near the end of his journey, and every nerve in his body was engaged.

The plane stopped briefly at Maxwell. Fred took the opportunity to call his wife, Judy. In an excited voice she told her husband what she had just received.

“Fred, the biggest bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen arrived at our house a few minutes ago —it must be thirty inches tall and two feet wide —everything you can imagine: carnations, lilies, daisies, roses, birds-of-paradise —and they are from Lieutenant Colonel Curtis, thanking us for meeting him at the airport and thanking Bee for her letter.”

Jerry’s errand had been successful.

Now Jerry and one other returning pilot boarded a DC-9 and headed to Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi —to his wife, his son, and his daughter.

The past thirty hours had been a blur of flying, throngs of people cheering, sights and sounds of a different world —the world Jerry had left behind. To see women and children and not just men, with everyone dressed in colorful civilian clothing; to be able to walk around in any direction without a guard; to smell fresh air and cologne; to eat a candy bar and peanuts from a machine in an airport terminal —and all this just from flying on one trip —was a lot to take in.

Jerry felt no rough edges to his return. He suddenly realized how easy it was going to be to slip back into freedom, and he rejoiced in everything.

His mind was not yet ready, however, to begin unwinding the tapes of the past eight years. Some of that would occur during the next few days while he convalesced in a hospital at Keesler and began the formal debriefing process. These former prisoners who had been released first were all too aware of the hundreds remaining in Hanoi who were waiting to come home in the following weeks. They wanted to relay as much information as they could during debriefing that might help these others if possible. No one wanted to do or say something that might jeopardize the prisoners’ well-being. Jerry also needed major dental work and attendance to a few other medical issues.

Now, during this last leg of his journey home, his thoughts once more turned to prayer.

Father, thank you again for taking care of us all these years, for providing for me and my family.

In a few minutes, the plane would land and he would be with them again. It almost felt as if it were the first time he had ever seen them.

Jerry thought about what the future might hold —there were so many things he wanted to do with his children: camping, school activities, and mainly just spending time with them. He was their father, and he couldn’t wait to resume that role and try somehow to make up for lost time.

God, thank you for bringing Terry and me through these tough years. Help us put our family back together again.

The plane was coming in for its final approach. It landed and rolled to a stop, and attendants opened the doors. As usual, an enormous crowd had gathered to welcome the returning Vietnam POWs.

When Jerry emerged from the plane, he spotted Terry standing near the bottom of the steps. He descended, and within the next few moments he was holding his wife. Once he placed his arms around her, he didn’t want to let go. He stood frozen for several seconds.

When he pulled back slightly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a stout teenager with a young girl running as fast as they could toward them.

Could these be my children? The boy was so big, and the girl was a little lady —both such beautiful children.

When they reached him, Tommy said, “Dad?”

Jerry engulfed his son in his arms. Then still holding on to Tommy, he turned to Lori. “Sweetheart, I’m your daddy,” he said. It was all Lori needed. She rushed into his arms as he leaned to meet her.