| From Cathy Campbell (to the
POW Network)
I am the oldest of four
children in an Air Force family. I was born in 1951 the year
before my Dad graduated from Texas A & M. He went directly
into the military choosing the Air Force as his career. My Dad
had just graduated from the Air Force Institute with a Master's
degree in Logistics, and we were on our way to Tucson, Arizona,
where he would receive his F-4 fighter pilot training. He had
volunteered for a tour of duty in Vietnam, and on Memorial
weekend of 1968, he left for Ubon, Thailand. He was 38 years old.
Mom and we children moved to Independence, Kansas, to be closer
to her parents.
Dad's squadron was called the
"Nite Owls" because they flew their missions at night. Flying
over Laos they bombed in North Vietnam. His tour was to be at
least 6 months long during which he had to accomplish 100
missions. In order for a mission to be a "counter", their
ordinance (weapons) had to destroy a military target in enemy
territory; otherwise, the mission was considered a "freebie."
Daddy's plan was to finish his tour by Christmas, and then our
next assignment was a Logistics position for him in
Hawaii.
President Johnson called a
bombing halt in October 1968, and this put a serious delay in my
Dad's plan to get his 100 missions completed by Christmas. He
did, however, travel to Kansas on leave to spend Christmas with
us. I remember sitting in church for a midnight Christmas Eve
service studying my Dad's eyes. I wondered what was really going
on over there. He said one thing, but I felt his eyes had
something else to say.
He returned to Thailand, and on
January 29, 1969, his plane was shot down. The following facts
were painful for me: he wrote in a letter the day before that he
had a cold and was feeling a little "under the weather"; the
mission was flown during the day rather than his customary night
routine (which my Dad did not like for the obvious high
visibility reasons); and his regular co-pilot was not with him.
What influence did any of these things have on that day? Who
knows?
The plane was hit by a
ground-to-air missile in the Mu Gia Pass area of Laos. Although
the other planes in the mission did not see any parachutes nor
did they hear any beeper distress signals, they did see my Dad's
plane hit the ground and explode as they circled back. Because of
the uncertainty, however, and given the fact his plane went down
in inaccessible enemy territory the military carried my Dad and
his co-pilot as MIA.
Needless to say, this was a
tremendously hard time for the rest of my family and me. We were
told not to discuss the situation, and "don't cry; he just might
be alive!"
What has happened since 1969?
In February and March of 1973, about 591 Prisoners of War (POW)
were released during Operation Homecoming (Leonard, 1993).
According to a newspaper interview with my Mom in 1993, this was
the "hardest of times" when her husband was not among those
prisoners. "'I think he did live, but now he is probably dead,'
Campbell said" (Rodgers, 1993).
In June 1978 the government
reviewed their records and decided to change my Dad's status from
MIA to KIA (killed in action). The Air Force held a Memorial
service in Las Vegas where my Mom had relocated with my two
younger brothers. The service included a 21-gun salute and a
"missing man" flyover of four F-4 planes. I personally found the
service very difficult and frustrating, and I did not
cry.
Over ten years later in 1989, a
Lao village person went to a military base and offered to sell my
Dad's 1952 Texas A & M class ring for information. The government
and my Mom endured many negotiations of red tape, and eventually
the ring was returned to us in 1991. I finally sat on the kitchen
floor and had a heart wrenching cry as my 11-year-daughter hugged
me. My sister has the ring now, and we siblings plan to donate
his ring to Texas A & M's "Rings with a History"
Museum.
In 1993 we received photographs
of my Dad's Smith & Wesson service revolver that had been
displayed in Hanoi's Air Defense Museum. The pistol bears the
serial number of the one issued to my Dad. Mom's reaction was "I
want my husband's gun!" (Rodgers, 1993). My honest reaction was I
wish they would leave us alone. Exactly who "they" were I did not
know, but I personally found the new information
painful.
The story is not done yet. In
September 1994 we received an unclassified report which stated
"approximately 46 human bone fragments and two human teeth (one
with a restoration)" had been recovered in the area where my
Dad's plane went down. The recovered remains were sent to Hawaii
for extensive testing. A month later we were sent another
unclassified report claiming "Upon further analysis by the USA
Central Identification Lab, these remains were determined to be
inconsistent with records for the individuals unaccounted for in
REFNO 1368." The REFNO 1368 refers to my Dad's F-4 crash site. I
realize the government is under enormous pressure to account for
as many MlAs as possible, but I found the new unclassified
reports very difficult to handle. It hurts so much and has for a
long time.
In the early 1980's people who
fled in boats from war-torn Vietnam gave accounts of four
Caucasians living in a cave in nearby Laos. Where the cave is
located, however, had been bombed during the war. In her 1993
interview, my Mom stated she "hopes a secret, U.S. government
team, known as Stoney Beach, based in Honolulu, will search the
cave when the monsoon season subsides. She said the team intends
to excavate the cave to uncover teeth or bone fragments of anyone
who died there" (Rodgers, 1993). My Mom died unexpectedly in her
sleep at age 64 in 1995. She never remarried. As she had
requested, Mom was cremated and we children placed her urn in
Arlington Cemetery at a special ceremony the Air Force Mortuary
Services arranged for our family. She wanted the remains of my
Dad to be buried in Arlington Cemetery. None of us thought Mom
would get there first. Unofficially Air Force personnel have told
me any recovered remains of my Dad could be placed in a full-size
burial plot in Arlington Cemetery, and Mom's urn could be added
to the plot as well. This would give me an immense peace of mind,
but I realize it may never happen.
I choose to believe my Dad died
in the plane crash, but there are some disturbing doubts which I
find very painful. How did the ring and pistol survive the crash?
It has been very hard for me to grieve. I have lived with a
denial and dread of the intense grief.
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