A Reunion with Vietnam POW's

 Mid Week--Coffee Break
June 3rd 2013

En-rout to the Nixon Library in Yorba Linda, CA. the eight big shiny buses (truly the limousines of tour buses) carrying returned Vietnam POWs and their guests--mostly wives or other close family members--made their way down Yorba Linda Blvd to the cheers and waves of hundreds of local folks. My enduring impression, through misty eyes, is of the dozen or so first graders lined across the porch of the  KFC all waving American flags and enthusiastically cheering us on.

    As we pulled into the circular drive of the Library itself we were surrounded by throngs of local well wishers and a hundred “Rolling Thunder” bikers who had escorted our buses the last several miles, most of them proud Vietnam Veterans as well. There followed a few short welcoming speeches and introductions by Library officials, President Nixon’s younger brother, Edward--himself an Ex Navy helo pilot--and the President’s daughter, Tricia.

    The next few hours were occupied by staggered tours with 30 or so POWs with each guide, and separated by a golf tournament style “shotgun start” which made the most efficient use of our time. The Library, of course featured President Nixon’s achievements such as founding the Environmental Protection Agency, opening up diplomatic relations with Mao’s Red China, and bringing the Vietnam war to an end with honor--later dishonored by a Democrat Congress refusing funding for promised continued material support for South Vietnam’s armed forces, thereby snatching defeat from the jaws of our victory.

    Perhaps the most noteworthy section was the Library’s comprehensive coverage of the Water Gate scandal, President Nixon’s most unflattering and darkest hour which ultimately led to his resignation of the Presidency. 

    The day concluded with a terrific bar-b-que picnic which also featured Tony Orlando singing his hit song, “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree”, which has become not only the POWs but all returning Veteran’s theme song.

    The next day featured a late afternoon and evening at the Library which reprised the elegant formal welcome home banquet at the Nixon White House in April of 1973. That event--about which I have written separately--featured many celebrities of the day, and thirty or so POWs in an impromptu choir singing the POW Hymn, composed by a UNC music major turned Air Force fighter pilot turned POW, Colonel Quincy Collins. He composed the hymn in prison using four fellow POWs (including yours truly) for his “piano” to get the harmony just right. Well, we did it again for this occasion at the Library. Dressed in dashing Navy and Air Force mess dress (formal), we sang;

               “Oh God to Thee we raise this prayer and sing

                       from within these foreign prison walls

                We’re men who wear the gold and silver wings

                       and proudly heed our nation’s call

                Give us strength to withstand all the harm that the hand

                       of our enemy captors can do

                To inflict pain and strife and deprive every life

                       of the rights they know well we are due

                We pledge unswerving faith and loyalty

                       to our cause...America...and Thee...Amen...Amen!”

    During the four days of the reunion we all stayed at the Newport Beach Hyatt hotel, about a forty five minutes freeway drive to the Library. There were welcome and farewell events at the hotel as well, but the best part was in the “Ready Room”, the center of the action for any military pilot. The Hyatt had set aside a pool-side banquet room well stocked with hard and soft drinks, twenty four hour snacks, and information boards. A dozen round tables with chairs hosted many an animated group retelling favorite sea stories, war stories, and dog fights...complete with appropriate “airplane hands”. 

    A true reunion, some had not seen old cell mates for decades; cell mates with whom they had spent more years than with their wives at the time. Although arithmetic dictated the youngest of us was around sixty five years old, there was a great deal of enthusiasm for a fiftieth  anniversary reunion as well. 

    Speaking for myself,…I'm goin’ for it!

Spinning With the 'Gooney Bird'

Midweek--Coffee Break
 April 15, 2013

    

    In 1964 I was one of the “Red Hot” young instructor pilots at the Vigilante training squadron in Central Florida. The “Vigi” was being integrated into the Heavy Attack Wing there, an aviation community of older, more staid, more conservative pilots, some of whom were even crusty remnants of the Korean war. They tolerated us wet nosed youngsters like a patient old Lab tolerates exuberant puppies.

    Most of these senior and mid grade pilots were checked out in the training wing’s old vintage C-47, a twin engine propeller airplane that had been around since introduced by Douglas aircraft as the “DC-3” in 1935. Officially known as the “Dakota”, but affectionately known as the “Gooney Bird”, it was busy almost every weekend, flown by the older pilots delivering replacement parts and tires to stranded Vigi pilots on cross country training flights at far flung mlitary air fields across the country. Fed up with being away from their families on the weekends, they launched an informal training syllabus to get the younger jet pilots qualified in the lumbering old Gooney. So, we “younger jet pilots” launched the informal “Lieutenants Protective Society”.

      The Gooney Bird was so old it had conventional landing gear with a tail wheel, just taxiing the beast to the runway was a challenge because the nose sat so high you couldn’t see forward around it so you had to taxi back and forth in an “S” pattern to see what was ahead. Having never taxied an airplane with a tail wheel, the first young candidate, in the first few minutes of his first lesson, crunched a wing tip on the corner of a hangar, so he was off the hook.

      The second Lieutenant trainee, like most younger pilots, hadn’t flown a propeller driven airplane since years before in the training command. Starting a conventional reciprocating engine is hardly rocket science, but  more complicated than a simple jet engine. There are three levers controlling each engine, the throttle, the propeller pitch, and the fuel/air mixture. Well, in the process of his first startup he got confused and backfired the starboard engine so violently he blew a cylinder completely off the engine. He was off the hook.

    Then came my turn. I managed the taxi and takeoff uneventfully, but every flying training syllabus includes “approaches to stalls” whereby the power is reduced and as the airplane slows you keep raising the nose higher and higher until the airflow across the wings fails to produce sufficient “lift” to keep the plane flying. You induce an aerodynamic stall. The plane bucks and shudders until you push the nose down and add power to regain flying speed, but if you wait too long, the plane drops into a spin. I waited too long!

      Chief Petty Officer Bernini was the wizened old Plane Captain (the person responsible for the plane’s preparation and readiness). He had thousands of hours logged in C-47s. While airborne, he habitually stood behind the space between the pilot and copilot while drinking his coffee. Although I immediately initiated spin recovery with the controls, we still made about three complete rotations from four thousand feet down to two thousand feet, where we recovered. But needless to say, there were a few very “white kniuckle” seconds of chaos there in the cockpit. But since the Gooney Bird “never spins”, we had to immediately return to base and inspect the plane for structural damage. 

    On the return I noticed Bernini was sweating profusely through his coffee stained shirt. We no sooner shut down the engines and he made a bee line to the Commanding Officer’s office. As related by the C.O. himself, Bernini tossed his wings onto the desk as he managed to stutter out, “Skipper, if you keep trying to check out these crazy Lieutenants  I’m turnin’ in my wings.” 

    All the Lieutenants were of the hook.

    The C-47 has a storied operational past from pre WWII, to Air Molokai right here on Oahu. Fortunately, we will soon have one on display at the Pacific Aviation Museum on Ford Island. I’m proud to have a (very) few Gooney Bird hours in my own log book.

Skylar and The Mighty Mo's Dent

Midweek--Coffee Break
 January 23, 2013

Like many Oahu residents, I have visited the USS Missouri several times. And I never tire of seeing the big dent in the starboard side, deck level, a little aft of midship.
I always imagine the scene of the Japanese kamikaze (divine wind) plane smashing into the ship in a fiery crash, and the casualties it must have caused.
But I just learned from a visiting Big Mo “plank owner” (original crew) that such was not the case.
Skylar Fredrickson, a farm boy from Worcester, Mass., joined the Navy at age 17 – he’s now 85 – to serve his country and to a learn a trade. He was aboard the battleship in the South Pacific during a particularly fierce battle.
As a member of the ship’s R Division (Repair) his “battle station” assigned him to a Damage Control position near the ship’s stern.
“Sky” saw the incoming suicide plane just in time to dive for cover behind a gun turret.
Fortunately, the kamikaze pilot misjudged his dive.
Instead of his plane slamming into a hard, flat surface, it hit at an angle at deck level. Half of the wreckage, with one wing and the pilot, scattered onto the deck, the other half fell into the water – miraculously, it didn’t explode.
The ship’s captain insisted the Japanese pilot be buried honorably. His burial at sea in a canvas bag was as dignified as that of a Missouri crewman, but had to be rushed because of another incoming raid.
Again Sky manned his battle station, again anti-aircraft guns blazed away, but this time a kamikaze plane screamed over his station at 50 feet and crashed harmlessly into the sea.
Another miraculous miss. After the damage to the ship had been mopped up and repaired, Sky took a pair of metal cutters to the big red ball (the Japanese aircraft insignia) on the wrecked wing and cut strips to distribute to his shipmates as souvenirs of the battle.
Of course, Sky was not only proud of “Big Mo’s” fighting prowess, but also of the fact that ultimately it was the site of the Japanese surrender ceremony in Tokyo Bay, which formalized America’s victory in World War II.
Sky literally had a bird’s-eye view of the proceedings. From a perch “12 stories up” he witnessed Nimitz, Halsey and McArthur receive the sword of the Japanese military representative as they all signed the surrender documents – a chickenskin moment.
I interrupted Sky’s animated narration just long enough to ask him, “Why do you think you survived all those harrowing days aboard the Mighty Mo? How did you do it?” He thought for a second, and then in typical Greatest Generation humility said, “Oh, I was just lucky!”

A Japanese Zero about to crash into the Mighty Mo. Photo courtesy of USS Missouri Memorial Association

Pope Francis I

Midweek -- Coffee Break
 March 8th 2013

     This morning, Wednesday, March 13, 2013, I watched on TV the introduction of the new Pope, Argentina’s, 75 year old, Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio. As he walked out the door and through the curtains to the balcony overlooking St Peters square, the 100,000 umbrella’d believers erupted into prolonged cheering and applause for the first Pope from the western hemisphere, the first Franciscan Pope, hence, Pope Francis the First.

    Even though I was a practising Catholic for 35 years, I’ve not been one for the past 20 years, so I felt no special personal attraction to the event. But I did feel a sense of joy and pride, because there is a greater significance in the selection of a new Pope that transends a specific religion or denomination, perhaps because this one man can effect the social and spiritual lives of 1.2 billion believers worldwide.

   Pope Francis the First is about to take the reins of the church when some of its most basic tenets of are being challenged. Contrary to established church doctrine, according to most recent polls, 58% of catholic believers favor abortion “in some cases”, 62% believe the church should accept divorce, 63% favor the use of contraceptives. A growing number of catholics believe Priests should be allowed to marry, that women should have a greater role in leadership and liturgy, and all of this with the overlay of the priestly sex abuse and coverup scandal with horrendous moral and financial consequences. The Vatican gardens are rife with thorny issues. But Pope Francis the First, in his first few words spoken from that famous balcony overlooking the multitudes, indicated he is the right Gardener for the times.

     Like St Francis himself, the Patron Saint of the natural environment, and of animals, birds, fish and all God’s living creatures, the gentleness and humility of the new Pope were clearly evident. After thanking the people for their tremendous welcome, he invited them to pray for him. “Brothers and sisters please pray for me. Let us pray silently together”. And then he prayed aloud, again with the people, the most common and universal prayer of all; The Lord’s Prayer. 

     I think I was especially touched by the event this morning because as a youngster learning California history, I was always fascinated by the Franciscan monk, Father Junipero Serra who founded nine of the 21 Spanish missions spanning the length of the state, and having a major role in several others. And because my catholic faith sustained me through some very dark times in my life.

    Three years ago while travelling in Italy, Susan and I sought out the picturesque town of Assisi where St. Francis ministered to the poor in the early 1200s AD, and we prayed at his tomb there in the lower catacombs of the majestic basilica of St. Francis.

    Finally, in honoring the new Pope, Francis the First, I am moved to share one of Christianity’s most moving prayers which is also set to music; The “Prayer of Saint Francis”. If you choose to read it, please do so  thoughtfully, and appreciate!

                       Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace

                           Where there is hatred let me sow love

                           Where there is injury, pardon

                           Where there is doubt, faith

                           Where there is despair, hope

                           Where there is darkness, light

                           Where there is sadness, joy

                     O Divine Master grant that I may not so much seek...

                     To be consoled as to console

                     To be understood as to understand

                     To be loved as to love

                      It is in giving that we receive

                      It is in pardoning that we are pardoned

                      It is in dying that we are born to eternal life

                                                   Amen

    

                             Long live Pope Francis the First!

               May his rein be fruitful, and  may his legacy be rich.

Drone Critics Missing the Point

Midweek -- Coffee Break 
February, 20th 2013

     

U.S. drone flies in the moonlight | AP photo

I just don’t get it! President Obama has successfully expanded the Bush drone offensive against AL-Qaida and its ilk, and now the bleeding hearts have their undies in a bunch because a few of the targeted terrorists happen to be American, most by unusual circumstances. They question the constitutionality of the policy.
And yet I’ve heard no one question the FBI killing of Jimmy Lee Dykes, the murderer of the Alabama school bus driver and the kidnapper of the 6-year-old child from his bus. After nearly a weeklong standoff, and with Dykes sounding more and more desperate and irrational, the FBI executed a brilliant assault on Dyke’s bunker, killing him and rescuing the child.
The terrorist operatives who have been taken out by drone strikes are frequently quite senior in their respective organizations, are sworn killers of Americans and in some cases have actually orchestrated terrorist attacks that killed innocent Americans. They deserve to die, as Dykes did.
So why the moral outrage? Like so many things fanned by a preying media, they are just nightly distractions from truly important issues. As responsible citizens, we can discern between a valid issue and an irrelevant distraction, and withhold our attention/energy from the latter.
The Navy SEAL who shot Osama bin Laden has granted an interview to Esquire magazine, in which the writer, Phil Bronstein, dwells as much on “The Shooter’s” (he can’t use his real name) beef with the Navy as much as the actual action in Abbottabad, Pakistan, where bin Laden was tracked down and killed.
Seems the now-famous SEAL chose to leave the Navy after 16 years of active duty, four years short of the regulation 20 for retirement benefits. As deserving as he is of his country’s gratitude, and of our admiration and respect for his tough professionalism, it’s difficult to understand his decision to leave on 16.
He insists he was not counseled by the Navy about his post-service benefits. He’s having problems finding a job and making ends meet for his family. After 16 years of honorable service with dozens of dangerous deployments, he doesn’t think he’s being treated fairly.
This just doesn’t wash.
Every sailor knows the magic number is 20 years for retirement benefits, and in recent years personnel scheduled for separation can opt to receive specific transition counseling, training in job-hunting skills such as writing a resume, and Veterans Administration education and health care benefits. If he were suffering from “burnout,” and he may well have been, he had the option of serving those last four years in a training role or an administrative job.
After consulting with one of my local SEAL friends, it’s likely the Navy SEAL Foundation will step in to provide the aid and counseling he may need. Not surprisingly, like the Marines, a basic SEAL ethic is to never leave a man behind.
“The Shooter’s” plight could even cause the military to rethink retirement benefits criteria depending on the career specialty. In some respects, the discussion might be justified, but it also could open a can of worms.

Today is the 40th Anniversary of my release from Vietnam - February 12th 2013

Today's Facebook edition includes my MidWeek column about the day I was released from Hoa Lo prison forty years ago today.  That's the north Vietnamese prison we called "The Hanoi Hilton", just for the irony. In keeping with that irony, there is now an actual Hilton Hotel very near that site in Hanoi. And Hoa Lo prison has now been spruced up as a museum to document and commemorate the "humane and lenient treatment" supposedly accorded to American POWs; and French and Vietnamese prisoners before us.
Today, the fortieth anniversary of my return to freedom, I am reminded of so many things we take for granted which simply didn't exist for me those seven years and nine days; the tender touch of a loved one, the happy giggles of a grandchild, a cup of coffee, scrumptious mocha ice cream, a good book, and...hot water.
I'll never forget standing in a hot shower at the hospital at Clark Air Force Base--our first stop for processing after leaving Vietnam--with the hot soapy water coursing down my body, and my vow to take an occasional cold shower just to remind myself of the luxury of a hot shower. But I've found that hasn't been necessary.
Thank God for our precious freedoms. - Captain Gerald Coffee

Celebrating 40 Years as a Free Man

Midweek -- Coffee Break
February 6th 2013

     This coming February the 12th will mark a supremely happy occasion for me, the 40th anniversary of my release to freedom after seven years and nine days  as a POW in communist North Vietnam.

  In the fall of 1972, Democrat Senator George McGovern was running for the Presidency against incumbent Republican Richard Nixon. From his campaign rhetoric, it was clear to the Vietnamese communists they could get more concessions from McGovern at the ongoing Paris peace talks than from Nixon, so they were literally rooting for him. But when Nixon defeated him soundly, the communists skulked away from Paris and suspended the negotiations.

    In early December after the election, Nixon--in order to pressure the communists back to the table--began bombing the immediate Hanoi area with B-52 bombers (a quantum escalation). Of course the American anti war media called it the “Christmas bombing.” As bombs fell within blocks of Hoa Lo prison, pieces of plaster and debris fell from the ceilings of our cell blocks, but we POWs cheered on the bombers, knowing force was the only thing to which the communists would respond. And after only three weeks, they did. They signed the Paris peace accords which essentially ended the war, and prescribed the means for the release of all POWs.

    The Prison Commander assembled us all in the prison courtyard and announced that we would be released in two week increments, sick and wounded first, and then in order of our shoot down, ie first in first out...which was the only way we would agree to leave.

    After a couple of weeks of decent food, sunshine, distribution of mail and care packages from home (all of which had been stored away back in the dungeons of the prison for years) we were issued new clothes, and a little black duffel bag...as if we had “belongings” to carry out!

    Then, forty years ago this February 12th, we, the first increment of 120 POWs, marched smartly out the main gate of Hoa Lo Prison, onto several small camouflaged buses, and then through the streets of Hanoi, across the Red River to Gia Lam airport, to a most beautiful sight. Three USAF C-141, Jetstar transport planes with American flags and red crosses on the tails stood waiting.

    A parachute canopy had been erected over two tables arranged in an “L” shape on the tarmac, a “recruiting poster” Air Force Colonel in his “blues”s, wings and ribbons sat behind one and a high ranking communist staff officer behind the other. We lined up facing the tables, the Colonel began calling out our names, and as I moved past the commie Colonel he said, “You know, you do not have to accept repatriation; you may stay if you want to.” “WHAT?” said I, turning to the American Colonel, returning his salute,

 and repeating my name, “Commander Gerald Coffee reporting for duty, sir.”

    Escorted by a flight crewman, I walked up the tail ramp of the nearest C-141 and into the hugs of three good looking, probably hand selected, Air Force nurses who smelled soooo good! Then coffee and donuts and laughing and joking and current magazines and newspapers until all were aboard and finally the pilot’s intercom command, “Okay, gentlemen, strap in, we’re ready to go.”

    As the tail ramp was raised and the engines began to hum, and the pilot taxied to the runway, we all became very quiet; “My God, is this really happening? After all these years, is this really it?”

    At the end of the runway the pilot applied full power, then released the brakes. As the big plane gradually rattled through it’s take off roll on the rough runway I strained forward against my shoulder straps, “C’mon you beast get airborne, get airborne.” Finally we felt the nose lift and the wheels break loose, and that hydraulic whine as the wheels clunked up into the wheel wells, and suddenly it became as smooth as flight, and the pilot came up on the intercom, “Congratulations, gentlemen, we’ve just left North Vietnam. Only then did we clap and holler and cheer. 

    Only then...did we believe it!