My Last POW Story
After a week or so in the snowy, frozen Nazi-style POW compound, all of us simulated POW's were lined up in about 8 rows for an open-ranks inspection late-late at night. I was in the fourth or fifth row back. We stood there the longest time before the Camp Commandant appeared on the hillock in front. He announced that certain prisoners had been selected for early repatriation to freedom! Without being said, this implied that we were being rewarded for having collaborated with the enemy (a clear violation of the US Military Code of Conduct). He was still mindgaming all of us. He called a few Prisoner Numbers adding the order, "Front & Center!" after each. When he ordered "111, Front & Center!" I decided NOT to cooperate. I flashed to an old memory quote required at the Academy 6 years earlier: "If I can't go back with my self-respect, I won't go back at all!" said by Captain Theodore Harris, held in captivity during the Korean War. Told he had falsely been labeled by the North Koreans as a collaborator and signer of confessions, and thinking he had been portrayed in the US as a traitor, he had to be dragged, kicking and screaming and hog-tied, back across the bridge to the American side for repatriation. Remembering that inspiration, I refused to go belly-up on another captor manipulation, now. When the Commandant ordered again "111, Front and Center," I stood fast! I figured I just might make them go through and check each individual prisoner's metal number disc again -- embarrassing them no end to repeat their earlier search.
This had to be done with spontaneous quick thinking. The Commandant's staff was also thinking fast! The SOBs announced that if Prisoner 111 did not come front and center, each prisoner who was already front and center on the hillock would be made to stand barefoot in the snow until the Commandant's order was followed. I almost complied -- but I needed them to prove their ruthlessness to the great assembly, first. Let's just see if these ersatz Nazis would actually risk frostbite in those trainees & make them go barefoot -- I was standing in the middle of the pack, well-hidden, and could see the boots being removed, socks and all. Damn! (But it was okay.) I stepped one pace backward, faced left, and marched out of ranks -- front and center. They had called my bluff and won that hand of cards. But, in that same moment, I had won the mindgame!
They received me roughly on the hillock, made some bullshit propaganda speech to disgrace us to the assembly of our fellow prisoners, and marched us off to the Commandant's Office. God, did I expect a really bad torture to follow! Once again, we stood in line out in the cold, waiting to enter and salute to the Commandant. One at a time again, the Commandant received us. But the interrogations were going much faster this time between prisoners being admitted into his little "Colonel Klink" building. And no one was exiting when his interrogation was over. Something was definitely different -- what new mindgame were they NOW playing? I reported in, saluted, and the Commandant called "Academic Situation!" That was the only "magic phrase" in the whole training prearranged to let trainees know we were allowed to come out of the roleplaying and discuss with our captors-momentarily-turned-instructors what was happening. It was a roleplaying timeout for instruction and we could trust/believe anything they said in an "academic situation."
I couldn't believe my ears -- which were being told to relax and take it easy. The whole camp would be released (repatriated) in about a half-hour, but we had done well enough "playing the game" to be given a true early release. It was warm and dry in the office and the next room had doughnuts, coffee and hot chocolate for us -- and they were not calling an end to our Academic Situation. You know, it's 35 years later & I just now realized that I probably felt a lot like our real POW's felt when they finally came home from the Hanoi Hilton six years after this story took place! Wow.
If it's not March yet, we must still be POW's in training!
Days later, we were shoveling the two feet of snow off of one long row of underground bunkers onto the second set of bunkers. And when that was done, they had us shovel the snow back again onto the first set of bunkers. I tried to get some of my fellow prisoners to swipe the left-over cooked rice in the big, black, outdoor, cooking kettle when no guards were around & the kettle had been forgotten. I couldn't get anyone to join me taking a small chance in order to feed ourselves later -- we had eaten irregularly for 3-4 days, no one knew when the next meal was coming -- everyone was still hungry! I felt like a recruiting sergeant who got none of his quota asking 4 or 5 fellow prisoners to join me spiriting the big pot into a nearby bunker. The very bunker we were forced to use as a cold, water-logged underground shelter from the still-colder night wind. I felt horrific failure when I couldn't get a single fellow prisoner to help me steal that rice! I hope it was because they knew the guards wouldn't REALLY starve us, but I'm not so sure.
I don't remember what they had us do during daytime -- I can only remember nighttimes with bright Nazi-style yard floodlights everywhere inside the POW camp! Occasionally, the loudspeakers would blare out my number: "111, report to the Commandant's Office!" They did this repeatedly with a couple of Prisoner Numbers ("104" also comes to mind) to make sure the other prisoners thought WE were the collaborators that the prison staff had planted among us. It almost worked on ME, too -- only after one NCO I knew from pre-capture was always in the Commandant's line every time I was, did I know he probably was being manipulated as a "patsy," just like me. One big mind-control game by the guards & Commandant (all were survival & resistance training instructors, of course). But they relished their jobs!
After reporting to the Commandant's Office 3 or 4 separate times, I finally figured an option I HAD to try. I needed to convince at least one other prisoner that we were all being manipulated by the guard staff who was setting me up to seem like a collaborator while REAL collaborators were ACTUALLY given better cover among the prisoner population. I had worked my way down to the far end of the large, outdoor compound & work area (probably 6 acres) where we were still shoveling snow from one set of bunkers onto the other. Now, more than 200 prisoners were spread out between the Camp Commandant's office and me. Our feet were cold because our standard combat boots were not insulated; but, that was good because the guards who would have to search for me would suffer by standing on the wet snow,too! I knew the only identification means was the two-inch metal circle with our prisoner number tied around our necks. I posited: If I didn't just "follow orders" and report straightaway to the Commandant's Office for my individual interrogation, guards would have to examine all the prisoners one by one to read the number around their necks before they could find me. They would have to venture out from THEIR warm cubby-holes or indoor offices to find me! I would have my arms yanked and punched, and I'd be shoved around and put in "stress positions," but I didn't think their rifles would really butt-stroke me like a true Nazi's would have.
"111, report to the Commandant's office!" I worked my way to the small group of prisoners farthest away from the Commandant's Office! After no response from me, 5 minutes later: "111, report to the Commandant's Office." After another 5 minutes of my shoveling snow in the distant part of the yard, the loudspeaker started to lose its patience. Maybe, it was wondering if I had escaped like a couple of other prisoners. Then, I could see extra armed guards coming out from the Commandant's Office, and 4 or 5 guards started at the other end of the compound to grab prisoners and look at the number tethered around their necks.
I sidled over to two fellow prisoners who were talking as we shoveled, and told them to watch the guards at the far end -- I'd bet the guards were looking for ME because I was Prisoner # "111," and had stopped reporting to the Commandant's Office because they were making me into a "patsy" and mindgaming my fellow prisoners. "When they find me, they are going to grab me and haul me off -- I just want a couple of other people to know the Truth!"
After about 45 minutes of the guards out in the bitter, wind-swept cold & snow, they finally reached my corner of the compound! They grabbed my neck-tag, "Here he is -- THIS is 111!" They slammed my arms down from protecting myself, pushed me around obviously unhappy with me, and dragged me with limp legs off to the Commandant's Office for the harshest "interrogation" of my internment! Knowing that the other prisoners SAW this gave me joy & meaningfulness! A "helpless prisoner" had been able to make some of the guards suffer in the miserably cold camp conditions they were exposing US to. I don't think the loudspeaker Commandant felt so powerful either. Don't Mess With Texas, mo-fo's! This had been spontaneous & unscripted, but I doubt I was the only POW trainee ever to do this throughout the bimonthly Survival courses! They never called me back into the Commandant's Office for interrogation again!
Since that day, the number "111" has always been my lucky number and it keeps showing up mysteriously in my life. And not due to any circumstances I know about or could have controlled or caused! I haven't figured out what supernatural signficance the ongoing, occasional appearance of "111" means, but it IS strangely meaningful. And helps me keep on keeping on!
February snow in Spokane -- How had Valentine's been, HERE?
Well. I don't remember much until we were captured and interned in the Korea-style POW camp. Most of that was spent in solitary darkness & little black boxes of one size or another. At least, it was indoors and relatively warm. Damn Soviet music playing in the background.
THEN, we time-traveled back to the Nazi-style POW camp -- outdoors and in the snow! Two feet of snow! We formed a queue at the entry gate and they had us sign in one-by-one for the blanket and candle we were eventually supposed to get. (But didn't.) Damn, I realized halfway through my scrawl that those bastard captors could be videotaping my signing & make it seem like a confession. I stopped without finishing and walked off to the left to enter the main camp gate. HALT! (Oh shit, I almost got away.) Into the fucking doghouse, they threw me! I was the first dummie in there, and a cold night wind blew from the 7-foot-long doghouse's window at one end to the entry door at the other. There were 2-5 inch rocks completely covering the floor to make it intentionally uncomfortable. Jesus, it was cold!
After awhile, they threw another dummie in there with me,,, and another,,, and another! This doghouse could not have been 3 feet wide or 3 feet high, and I was uncomfortable with so many men so close & touching me (they kept adding prisoners until it felt like a college prank to load a telephone booth for a new world's record). Let me remind you, I had never even spent a full night spooned next to my bride (or any OTHER person)! For Christ's sake, we were packed on TOP of each other! At least, we still had our basic clothes on and a jacket -- I felt for the poor naked Jews in the Auschwitz bunkers side-by-side-by-side. But I suddenly learned what the AF must have been trying to teach -- these other men had Body Heat and we were keeping each other warm, unintentionally warm! WOW - that made it tolerable! I could save my strength & pass some time as I dropped off to survive awhile in dreamless sleep.
Married the Day before Leaving for a War Zone
The day before I left to fight in a war in a far, foreign country, we eloped from her college in San Marcos, Texas up to the Georgetown Justice of the Peace. The real J.P. was not working that day -- we had to get the "Acting" J.P. to marry us. I wonder if it was even legal. [That certainly was prophetic -- the acting was to go on for well over 20 years!]
We stopped for supper at a nice restaurant before returning to my regular visitor's motel near the San Marcos college. We didn't even get to spend our wedding night together -- she had to be signed back in to her dorm by 11 PM. We made love a single time on our wedding night, and just got her signed in to the dorm in time. I left for the long drive to Spokane, Washington's Survival & POW School the next morning. First, I took my bride from the dorm for breakfast, and returned her, and we said our secret-marriage goodbye publicly and in too great a hurry.
A Texas highway patrolman stopped me at dusk that day in a speed trap just past the crest of a hill near Amarillo. The daytime speed limit of 70 mph had just gone to 65 (nighttime limit) and I was still at 75. I pulled my military I.D. & surrendered it with my driver's license being sure to say my older Volkswagen "bug" was taking me on the first leg of my year's tour in Vietnam. My new commander would not be happy to see me arrive with my first speeding ticket ever. (I hoped the cop might have been a former G.I. & could imagine having to leave his new wife behind.) Might have worked -- I got to continue with only a Warning Ticket.
