POW and MIA wives were forced to consume propaganda from the North Vietnamese strained through COLIAFAM’s antiwar/“peace” filter. Peace didn’t really mean peace: instead it meant pro-Communist rhetoric. Like the North Vietnamese pig-fat soup their husbands had to eat to survive, the POW wives were force-fed an antiwar propaganda diet. They had to accept this if they wanted their letters to go through. Those who refused, like Navy POW Edwin “Ned” Shuman’s wife, Eleanor Sue Allen Shuman, were punished by having their mail cut off. Sue would later tell a Congressional Hearing Committee of her near nervous breakdown during that time.56
By early 1970, a great number of the POW/MIA wives appeared to be playing by the COLIAFAM rules. But these women had learned quite a bit under the LBJ regime about underground resistance and managing difficult people. The women had taken on their own government and had made critical progress. They had helped reject one ineffective administration, and now they were being given more attention under a new president whose goals meshed more favorably with their own. Next, they would use the peace activists to further their communications with their husbands and to help with accounting for the missing, accepting (but not buying) peace propaganda as a price to be paid.
While the peace activists might be the power brokers in Hanoi, the POW wives were on their way to becoming an even more powerful lobby in Washington. Sybil, Jane, Phyllis, Andrea, Louise, Helene, and hundreds of other wives were about to have a showdown in the nation’s capital, supported by a posse of patriots: their new champion, Texas cowboy Ross Perot; Kansas senator and decorated World War II veteran Bob Dole; American astronauts like Apollo 13 commander James A. Lovell (many astronauts of the era were former test pilots and sometime drinking buddies of certain POWs); and even the Duke, western movie star John Wayne. The cavalry was coming, if the wives could hold the fort down just a bit longer.
Thirteen
MAY DAY DEBUT
AS 1970 DAWNED, ATTITUDES were only just beginning to change for the better for minorities. Women’s rights lagged even further behind. Shirley Chisholm, the first black woman elected to Congress, in 1968, would confirm this, declaring, “Of my two ‘handicaps,’ being female put many more obstacles in my path than being black.”1 She was not the only one who had lost her patience with the sexism so prevalent in American society. Women of all races, colors, and creeds were pushing back and organizing themselves into feminist groups. These groups were not composed of just intellectuals and students; housewives were also jumping into the fray. One female journalist reporting on the burgeoning feminist movement ominously warned her male readers, “They [feminists] were all pretty mad … You guys better watch out. They’re coming to get you.”2
This same all-points bulletin should have gone out to members of the State Department, the Pentagon, and the U.S. military who dared stand in the way of Sybil and her League of Wives. The POW/MIA wives did not identify as feminists, but they were facing many of the same problems as their more radical sisters. Most of these military wives chose to ignore these gender issues and move forward instead with their own agenda. As Louise Mulligan put it, “A woman can do anything she puts her mind to.”3 Feminism, in the minds of most conservative military wives, was associated with the left and Communism. Furthermore, their fight was focused on their husbands’ plight, not on their own status, which they selflessly deemed a much less pressing issue at the time. Andrea recalled, “It was now starting to build by 1970, now we’re getting up to Capitol Hill. We’re going to do whatever we have to do, say whatever we have to say to get those guys home.”4
Unlike most of his government colleagues, Republican senator Bob Dole had gotten the League’s all-points bulletin. His strong, independent mother, Bina, had raised him to respect feminine force. Dole understood exactly what Louise was saying: a woman could do anything she set her mind to. The savvy politician knew better than to stand in the League’s way.
Dole was born in rural Russell, Kansas, on July 22, 1923. His father, Doran Ray Dole, ran an egg and cream distribution station and, later, a grain elevator. Doran missed only one day of work in forty years and taught all his children that in life, “there were doers and there are stewers.”5 Bina was a traveling saleswoman, selling Singer sewing machines and vacuum cleaners. Bina reportedly “was not afraid of confrontation and lived by the practical slogan: ‘Can’t never did anything.’”6 These independent, hardworking parents would pass their deep-rooted work ethic on to their son.
The young Dole grew into an outstanding student and popular athlete. He possessed leading-man good looks, a wry, midwestern sense of humor, and an easy rapport with both men and women. As with so many men of his generation, Dole’s college career at the University of Kansas and his dreams of becoming a doctor were interrupted by World War II. After his military training, he deployed to Italy in 1943 as second lieutenant in the Army’s 10th Mountain Division, quickly distinguishing himself with his courage under fire. The young serviceman was seriously wounded in April of 1945 just three weeks before the war ended while attempting to save a fellow soldier during combat. Enemy fire caught him in the right shoulder and back, resulting in permanent physical disabilities. The wounded serviceman then spent a total of thirty-nine months in military hospitals.
Dole was awarded two Purple Hearts and a Bronze Star with an oak leaf cluster for his heroism. Now a decorated war veteran, the young man began taking classes toward his bachelor’s degree at the University of Arizona and returned to his home state, where he completed undergraduate degrees in history and law at Washburn Municipal University (later Washburn University), in Topeka, in 1952.7
The young veteran’s career in public service began at the age of twenty-six: he served one term in the Kansas legislature, then went on to serve four terms as the Russell County attorney. In 1960, he was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives, and in 1968 he became a member of the U.S. Senate.8
* * *
When Bob Dole first arrived in Washington, in 1961, he knew he wasn’t, as Dorothy said in The Wizard of Oz, in Kansas anymore. By 1969, when he moved into his Senate position, he knew well how to navigate the corridors of power in Washington. But the lack of attention to imprisoned and missing servicemen embroiled in the Vietnam War seemed inexplicable.
He had a determination to represent his country, with a focus on veterans and the disabled, given his own war experiences. The former soldier had already proved he possessed courage, and he was shocked by the division he saw within the government. The new senator was even more discouraged by the ignorance some of his political colleagues displayed regarding the Vietnam War, now playing out on television and wreaking havoc on families across the country. Sons, fathers, and brothers were being swallowed up by a jungle country thousands of miles away. In 1970, many politicians in Washington still seemed almost oblivious to their plight.
Senator Dole was stunned to find that in both the House of Representatives and the Senate, even at this late date, “no one knew what a POW or an MIA even was.”9 He vowed to change that, out of a deep sense of empathy for the American prisoners of war, some of whom had been trapped for as long as six years in filthy, crumbling Vietnamese prisons. He stood nearly alone in his concern for the POWs and MIAs at this time, without much popular or political support.
The new senator must have thought, Hadn’t Americans lived through the Korean War and World War II? Perhaps it was just blatant denial of an unpopular conflict. Regardless of the “why,” the midwestern politician was determined to raise awareness of the POW/MIA issue, making this cause one of his first missions. He soon teamed up with Charles A. Moser, chairman of the Freedom Rally Committee (FRC). Moser held the FRC gathering in D.C.’s Constitution Hall on February 21, 1970, the weekend of Washington’s Birthday. Dole was a part of a bipartisan slate of speakers that also included Thomas Downing, a Democratic congressman from Virginia; Dr. Walter Judd, a former Republican congressman from Minnesota; and film and TV actress Arlene Dahl. But Moser’s real star was Loui
se Mulligan, the outspoken POW/MIA advocate and League area coordinator from Virginia Beach.10
Louise did not mince words at the Freedom Rally.
She forcefully pointed out that the League’s Paris trip in September and early October of 1969 had produced no tangible results, save bad publicity for the North Vietnamese. “To date, they [the North Vietnamese] refuse to even let the wives and mothers know if their husbands or sons are in fact prisoners. They later stated that if the families were to come to Paris, they would tell them what they wanted to know. They went to Paris, at considerable expense and inconvenience. Upon arriving in Paris, they met with delaying tactics and frustration. Calls to the North Vietnamese compound were met with replies such as: ‘There is no one here who can help you!’ or ‘We do not understand.’ And always met with laughter in the background.” Louise further noted that even when Sybil, Andrea, and the other wives finally gained an interview at the embassy, they received no information on their husbands and sons. “The wives and mothers were shown propaganda films and pictures … They were told to go home and demonstrate, join peace groups. I question how peaceful these peace groups are!”11
Only three hundred guests turned up for the rally. After all the publicity, this was a disappointing and demoralizingly low turnout. By comparison, antiwar rallies in Washington led by the New Mobe and others were generating hundreds of thousands of protesters. The October 15 Moratorium had drawn 250,000 protesters in D.C. and two million nationwide. The November 15 Moratorium March on Washington, a month later, had been even more massive—the largest antiwar protest of the era, with as many as half a million attending.12 The POW/MIA movement had to change its tactics fast to try to capture public interest—and support.
On Friday, March 20, Senator Dole’s office issued a proclamation on behalf of Louise, Sybil, and all the POW/MIA wives and families. This time, it was not simply a request for help, but instead a call to arms. On the Senate floor, Dole said he was “shocked that only 300 persons attended the rally in Constitution Hall,” in February. (The hall seats 3,811 people.) Dole said, “It was then resolved that ‘Constitution Hall would be filled within 90 days in a resounding demonstration of support.’” The Appeal for International Justice, scheduled for May 1, would show the POW/MIA wives and families that America did care about the plight of their loved ones, and it would show the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong that their behavior was not acceptable.13
Like Moser, Dole enlisted the aid of a bipartisan committee. Comprising six senators and six representatives, the group was evenly split between Democrats and Republicans. The Kansas senator emphasized that “while some Senate and House Members have differing views about the conduct of the Vietnam war, all agree that American prisoners in Vietnam have not been treated in accord with the 1949 Geneva Convention.” This seemed to be the one issue of the war that almost everyone on both sides could agree on.14
Determined to rally the nation around this cause, Dole rounded up heavy-hitter support for the League. Well-known public figures and politicians like astronaut James A. Lovell, the Apollo 13 commander, Arizona senator Barry Goldwater, and even Vice President Spiro Agnew were invited to be part of the May 1 program, as was Texas mogul Ross Perot.15
These men all lent connections, political star power, or money to the cause. However, the workhorses who would really deliver the goods—the bodies needed to “fill the hall”—were the women. One of Dole’s first calls when he began organizing the May Day event was to Sybil. She recalled the 11 p.m. phone call she received in late February from the senator. Her job? “It was to get as many families there as possible. This required getting government transportation, which we were able to do, but it all required tremendous time and effort.”16
Sybil and Louise thus became the super-organizers of the POW/MIA wives and families for the event. With the help of Washington-area military wives and other active supporters like Jane Denton and Phyllis Galanti, Louise and Sybil delivered what the well-intentioned Moser could not: bodies in seats.17 Parents, wives, and children all came to D.C. to support the cause. The Air National Guard airlifted seven hundred POW/MIA family members, at the government’s expense, for the meetings on May 1 and 2.18
Sybil, Louise, Jane, and many other POW/MIA wives and family members arrived early in Washington for a series of hearings of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs Subcommittee on National Security Policy and Scientific Developments, with Wisconsin congressman Clement Zablocki in charge. Zablocki was a liberal Democrat, a strong anti-Communist, and a supporter of the Vietnam War. That Wednesday, hundreds listened as MIA wife Kathleen Johnson, just back from an April trip to Paris (Kathleen had also been on Perot’s “Spirit of Christmas” flight in December of 1969), testified in front of the committee, along with Senator Dole and Congressman L. Mendel Rivers.
On Friday, even more families and wives had arrived in the nation’s capital. The audience at the hearings swelled. POW wives Sybil, Jane Denton, and Valerie Kushner—a POW/MIA activist and wife of Captain Hal “Spanky” Kushner, a prominent figure in the 2017 Ken Burns series The Vietnam War—were among those who told their stories to the committee. Ross Perot testified, lending his powerful voice to the proceedings.19 The Texas wives came out in force for Perot, with Bonnie Singleton lined up to speak at the May 1 evening program. Sandy McElhanon and Paula Harkness also attended with their children.
The Texas wives would also be strongly supported by their congressman Olin Earl “Tiger” Teague, a Democrat and the longtime whip in the House. The World War II veteran had just returned from a trip to South Vietnam, where he had watched pilots take off from aircraft carriers for bombing runs, many never to return.20 Like Senator Dole, Teague was a leader on veterans’ issues. He was not about to let his Lone Star State ladies down on May Day. He would also be a speaker at the evening event.
Both Teague and Dole would give these women full credit for their fierce dedication to the May Day rally and the POW/MIA cause. Speaking specifically of the League ladies, Dole declared, with a wink, “You turn a bunch of women loose on a project, they’re gonna either get it done or kill everyone in their wake.”21 Unlike so many government officials before them, both Dole and Teague had the smarts to give the women the platform they needed and to then get the hell out of the way.
* * *
Constitution Hall, the site of the February Freedom Rally and of May’s Appeal for International Justice, is a beautiful neoclassical building designed by architect John Russell Pope. Situated near the White House, it is smack in the middle of the nation’s capital.
Built in 1929 by the Daughters of the American Revolution, Constitution Hall is perhaps best known as the building where singer Marian Anderson was banned from performing in 1939. Anderson biographer Allan Keiler noted that the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) “refused to allow her use of the hall because she was black and because there was a white-artist-only clause printed in every contract issued by the DAR.” At that time, the hall was segregated. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt later resigned from the DAR in protest.22 But by May 1, 1970, thirty-one years after the Marian Anderson debacle, segregation was gone. The new National League was born fully integrated: it included the wives, parents, and family members of prisoners of war and missing from every branch of the American military, regardless of race.
This gathering of military wives and their families, supported by high-level politicians, entertainers, and astronauts, had a common goal: to let the world know about human rights injustices.
Another relic that was blown away (at least temporarily) by the prisoner and missing issue was military hierarchy among the women. The rank order of the men, which by association was conferred onto their wives, melted away, becoming unimportant. Working hard and collaboratively was what defined the wives now. This old-fashioned caste system, at least for the time being, was rejected by the group. Bob Boroughs’s son Tom later recalled that his father had been a strong proponent of this approach, urging the women “to
get rid of the military wife hierarchy and work together to get the men out … Of all the things my dad did, that was the thing he was most proud of.”23
* * *
Senator Dole opened the May 1 Appeal for International Justice/National League evening as the master of ceremonies promptly at 8 p.m. After the Air Force Band played and the Reverend Edward Elson, chaplain of the U.S. Senate, gave the invocation, Senator Dole gave his remarks, in line with the international justice theme. “Today we say that justice will never come to Southeast Asia unless we who do not have loved ones missing or listed as prisoners start to become as indignant as those who do.”24 This was everyone’s fight, whether for or against the war.
Dole emphasized the legal violations of the North Vietnamese: they had refused to honor the Geneva Conventions, to identify American prisoners, to allow prisoners to receive mail from their families, or to give them adequate food or medical care. This was not a partisan cause: “It is a cause of humanity.” Dole ended his impassioned speech by circling back to the League ladies who had confronted the North Vietnamese on the men’s behalf. “We sense the anguish of these families in the repetition of the wives’ question to the North Vietnamese in Paris, ‘Am I a wife or a widow?’”25
Sybil, as the coordinator of the National League, stepped up to bat next. She must have looked out over the crowd with satisfaction. She and Louise, Dole, Perot, and their many supporters had indeed filled the hall to capacity. She began her speech by addressing the government’s “keep quiet” policy head-on, noting that only after years of silence and the accumulation of evidence about prisoner torture and maltreatment did the government finally start listening to the families. “We began to speak out in 1968 and were grateful when the U.S. government publicly expressed concern for our men in 1969.”26
The League of Wives Page 19