I also made it a point to inform Tom Kirk, who had become like a brother to me, and the other POWs, with whom I was close, about the divorce. I sought not sympathy, but rather, wanted them to know I’d be OK.
We had three busy days at Clark. We underwent physical examinations, during which we were all found to have intestinal parasites that had to be treated. It would take two to three weeks to liberate our bodies from those vermin, during which we were not allowed to consume any alcohol. It would interfere with the medicine used against the parasites. My eyesight had diminished somewhat, so I got glasses, and I had some dental work done. Part of the problem with my eyesight, by the way, had to do with lack of nutrition and spending untold hours in small cells, wherein the eyes did not get the exercise they should have. We had one trip to the Navy Exchange, where, assisted by a tailor, we were outfitted with new uniforms—one set of khakis and one set of blues for us Navy types. I also bought a watch. Those who organized and planned our activities did a great job. Rear Admiral Don Shelton, who commanded Naval Forces Philippines and was an old friend from test pilot years, stopped by for a visit.
As to the immediate adjustments to a radical new lifestyle, I remember being asked some time after we got home, “How long did it take you to get acclimated to eating American food and sleeping on a soft bed?” My answer, “About five seconds.”
Some had trouble adjusting to beds, but I wasn’t one of them. As to food, I really didn’t want to gorge myself. I craved certain items for sure, especially fruit, vegetables, and salads, which I did devour with some intensity. We had been on a low-fat diet in North Vietnam, but I didn’t have an acute craving for beef. When Capt. Jack Fellowes was asked what was the first item he wanted to eat, he promptly answered, “A good old American hamburger.”
Although cholesterol certainly wasn’t a concern (most of us had readings of well below two hundred upon our return), I ate little beef and have more or less continued that trend through the years.
We flew from Clark to Hickam Air Force Base in Honolulu, arriving at two in the morning. Despite the late hour, a crowd met us with enthusiastic cheers. Academy classmates took the time to greet and chat with me, which was a wonderful gesture on their part.
Next stop was Scott Air Force Base in Illinois, jump-off point for those POWs who were to convalesce in the central part of America. The C-141 was configured with individual bunks, which made for very comfortable travel. As we crossed the California coastline, it was daylight, and I marveled at the sight of San Francisco and the Bay area. Only those who have been away from home for a long time can comprehend the thrill of such a beautiful image.
At Scott we proceeded to separate C-9 transports, one of which hauled a group of us to Memphis. Realizing I was the senior officer in the group and would be expected to make a brief address on arrival, I practiced the few remarks I would make, none of which were very memorable.
In Memphis, I was led out first, the others following in trail. I was ushered toward a waiting microphone and rather nervously gazed at the crowd, only to spot my smiling parents and the children. With them were Bob, my oldest brother, and Tommy, my younger brother, who had returned from Vietnam in 1971 following duty as an officer in the Army’s 82nd Division. Yet, here I was, making a speech before I had even embraced my family.
My address was brief, but the subsequent reunion with my family was happily the opposite. It was composed of a heartwarming round of powerful embraces, an abundance of tears and a multitude of joyous “welcome back” expressions. The children were animated, which made me feel better than I did after speaking to them on the long-distance line. However, I noticed my daughters were overweight, and again, I sensed things just weren’t right with them.
I was assigned to the hospital at Naval Air Technical Training Center Memphis but received permission to stay with my family in the Navy Lodge on base, a motel-type facility, which we used for a few days.
I underwent a comprehensive physical exam and was interviewed at length by intelligence officers, to whom I provided all the POW names I held in my memory bank. There was a question as to whether some POWs were being left behind in North Vietnam. In my view, no one was left. I’ve always been taken aback by the notion held in some quarters that our government would turn its back on prisoners. The North Vietnamese seemed eager to rid themselves of POWs. Why would they want to retain any? For what purpose? Certainly not propaganda value.
Later on, when I became chief of naval personnel, I received comprehensive briefings by intelligence officers, and I came away from those presentations with no feelings of mendacity in their reports concerning POWs. Among other groups I know that Red McDaniel, who was in the Hanoi Hilton, and Ross Perot sincerely believed Americans were left in Southeast Asia. Indeed, Pres. Ronald Reagan asked Ross to head up a group appointed to investigate the possibility of men still over there. I suppose this is an issue that will endure for a long time to come.
My son, Bill, had let his hair grow long, and I was advised that female skirt lengths were on their way down compared to what they had been during the peak of the war. There were countless blanks in the six years of history I had missed, and I wanted desperately to fill them in. But there wasn’t time. Although the family reunion was a priceless experience, I realized I had much to do. I had to get on the fast track to resolve family issues.
Midshipman Bill Lawrence (front row, third from right) as Brigade Commander in his senior year at Annapolis. He was also president of the Class of 1951 and finished 8th academically out of 725 midshipmen. U.S. Navy photo
A star high school athlete in Tennessee, Lawrence also excelled at the Naval Academy. He’s number 34 (second row, second from left) in this photo of the 1949 varsity basketball team. U.S. Navy photo
Lawrence, shown here in the 1950 varsity football team photo, also played baseball at the Academy. He had to forego participation in sports his senior year in order to attend to brigade commander and class president duties. U.S. Navy photo
First-tour jet pilot Bill Lawrence when he was in VF-193 in 1953. U.S. Navy photo
Family man Lawrence with daughter Laurie and son Bill Jr. at their home in Patuxent River, Maryland, in 1955. Photo courtesy Lawrence Collection
Lawrence, in 1963 with the Phantom Fleet Introduction Program, following a flight in an F-4B that belonged to the VF-14 Tophatters fighter squadron. U.S. Navy photo
Lawrence was reunited with his family in 1973 in Nashville. (Seated, left to right) Son, Bill Jr., and his wife, Jenny, Bill, daughter Wendy, and daughter Laurie. Standing are brothers Bob and Tom and Bill’s mother and father. Photo courtesy Lawrence Collection
Captain Lawrence speaks to an audience of well-wishers in Memphis, Tennessee, on March 7, 1973 upon repatriation from captivity in North Vietnam. Shot down as a commander, he was promoted to captain while incarcerated. Note wristwatch he bought at the Navy Exchange in the Philippines on his first stop en route home. Nashville Banner photo
Lawrence and Admiral Thomas H. Moorer, one of Lawrence’s heroes whom he revered as a role model, exchange smiles outside the Tennessee legislature in Nashville. Admiral Moorer was Commander Seventh Fleet and was listening on the tactical radio frequency when Lawrence was shot down in his F-4 Phantom. He traveled to Nashville to greet Bill upon his return from Hanoi in 1973. Nashville Banner photo
Rear Admiral Bill Lawrence poses with an A-7 Corsair II attack aircraft in 1974 at Naval Air Station Lemoore, California, where he served as Commander Light Attack Wing Pacific Fleet. U.S. Navy photo
Diane Lawrence and Bill in 1979, just after Diane put on his new shoulder boards as a three-star admiral. U.S. Navy photo
On November 19, 1980 the Hamilton Watch Company presented a Hamilton Chronometer to the Naval Academy in honor of Admiral Arleigh Burke (left) in ceremonies at Bancroft Hall. Admiral Burke posed with Superintendent Lawrence on the occasion. U.S. Navy photo
Vice Admiral James Stockdale, former POW and recipient of the Medal of Honor for his perf
ormance as a prisoner, congratulates Wendy Lawrence upon her graduation from the Naval Academy in May 1981. U.S. Navy photo
On July 20, 1984 a ceremony recognizing National POW/MIA Day was held on the south lawn of the White House. Vice Admiral Bill Lawrence, then Deputy Chief of Naval Operations for Manpower, Personnel and Training, was seated at left and behind President Ronald Reagan as Secretary of Defense Casper Weinberger spoke to the gathering. Seated at right are First Lady Nancy Reagan and Vice President and former naval aviator George H.W. Bush. White House photo
Bill and Diane enjoy a light moment in the garden of Buchanan House, the Superintendent’s quarters. U.S. Navy photo
Superintendent Lawrence, Diane, and their Irish Setters, Max and Maggie, in the library of Buchanan House. The portrait above the fireplace is of Commodore David Porter (1780-1843), a former superintendent. U.S. Navy photo
Among the notable guests Lawrence hosted at Annapolis was the indomitable Bob Hope during Commissioning Week, May 1981. Photo courtesy Lawrence Collection
As Commander Third Fleet, Vice Admiral Bill Lawrence bundled up in a dogsled with Third Fleet’s meteorologist, Commander Maurice Gibbs (behind), during a visit to Scott Base, near McMurdo, Antarctica, circa 1981. Photo courtesy Lawrence Collection
In October 2000 Lawrence was among five “Distinguished Graduates” of the Naval Academy honored at a ceremony with the brigade of midshipmen present. (Left to right): Former Naval Academy and Dallas Cowboys football star Roger Staubach; astronaut Major General William A. Anders, U.S. Air Force; Lawrence; Admiral James L. Holloway III, former Chief of Naval Operations; Commander John J. McMullen, USN (Ret.), owner of the New Jersey Devils hockey team; Captain George Watt, USNR (Ret.), President and CEO of the U.S. Naval Academy Alumni Association; and Vice Admiral John R. Ryan, Superintendent of the Academy. U.S. Navy photo
Lawrence and Senator John McCain in the Naval Academy Superintendent’s tent at the Army-Navy game in Baltimore, December 2, 2000. U.S. Navy photo
Wendy Lawrence (center) with crew members of Space Shuttle Mission STS-114, February 2004. NASA photo
Lawrence with fellow Academy graduate H. Ross Perot, who was an avid supporter of Lawrence and his family throughout Lawrence’s career and retirement. U.S. Navy photo
Lawrence greets President George W. Bush at a Naval Academy graduation ceremony. U.S. Navy photo
Chapter Nineteen
AFTERMATH
I was transfixed by the sight of her, lovely as ever after six years, but her apprehension was almost palpable. The situation was surreal.
WE LEARNED A BIT OF THE HISTORY that took place during our hiatus in Hanoi from newspaper clippings of key events and other documents, nicely categorized by subject (people, politics, international activities, sports, etc.), and provided by the team set up to reacclimatize us to current life in America. We also underwent extensive intelligence briefings, downloading those events of our captivity best kept classified. And we were interviewed by psychiatrists, I supposed, to make sure our heads were still on straight. On a dark note, once all our inputs were compiled, it was determined that 113 POWs died in captivity from torture, malnutrition, or other factors. In a sense, our camp was lucky, because our torturer, Strap and Bar, was a true professional. He knew when to stop before he killed us.
As to my physical condition, apart from the parasites, presumably spawned by our diet of wormy bread, watery pumpkin soup, and occasional fish heads, and needing to add weight, I was in fair condition. That aortic insufficiency detected when I applied for the astronaut program was no worse and would not be an impediment to continuing my naval career. I suffered numbness in my outer right calf as a result of nerve damage presumably sustained when I was in leg irons. My broken shoulder had not healed correctly, but it wasn’t limiting to me. I also had resorption, an unexplained phenomenon that caused my teeth to slowly dissolve away. Fortunately, this problem dissipated, but it took ten years to finally stop. I was told resorption could be caused by trauma, and there was plenty of that to go around in the Hanoi Hilton.
A major public affairs program called for us to make appearances and give speeches at a variety of events. This was necessary, but for me it was rather intrusive with respect to my personal goals of squaring away the situation with Bill, Laurie, and Wendy. I had to give priority to them.
I gave talks now and then, the most prominent of which was an address to the Tennessee legislature. It was here that I recited the poem I had composed in my mind while I was secured to a bed slab by ankle chains in the blistering heat of my single cell in Calcutta. I told listeners how I had leaned and twisted onto my side and stretched my body to the maximum; how this contortion allowed me to catch a glimpse of the outside world through the makeshift window of my one-man cell. I was able to see the top of the courtyard wall and just above it, a patch of brilliant blue sky. That patch of blue lifted my spirits, and in that one beautiful moment, I felt as if a wondrous flow of cool water washed over every part of me. To this day, I vividly remember the sensation of those precious seconds, because I believe God had placed his hand on my head.
As to the poem, my imagined mentor, Sir Walter Scott, need not fear competition from yours truly. I had sought to emulate the magical cadence of his poems and was proud of what I had composed, because “Oh Tennessee, My Tennessee” came straight from the heart. It would not win the Pulitzer but by an act of the state legislature in 1973 it became the official state poem of Tennessee. It follows:
Oh Tennessee, my Tennessee,
What love and pride I feel for thee,
Your proud old state, the Volunteer,
Your fine traditions I hold dear.
I revere your many heroes,
Who bravely fought our country’s foes,
Renowned statesmen, so wide and strong,
Who served our country well and long.
I thrill at thought of mountains grand,
Rolling green hills and fertile farm land,
Earth rich with stone, mineral, and ore,
Forests dense and wild flowers galore,
Powerful rivers that bring us light,
Deep lakes with fish and fowl in flight,
Thriving cities and industries,
Fine schools and universities,
Strong folks of pioneer descent,
Simple, honest, and reverent.
Beauty and hospitality
Are the hallmarks of Tennessee.
And o’er the world as I may roam,
No place exceeds my boyhood home,
And, oh how much I long to see
My native land, my Tennessee
Our oldest daughter, Laurie, was a high school senior and wanted to get into nursing. She and I visited the director of admissions at Vanderbilt in Nashville, even though when she lived on the West Coast, she had applied to UCLA. She was readily accepted at Vanderbilt. I must admit the fact her father was a returning POW helped. She went on to earn her BS in nursing, which she followed up with medical school, also at Vanderbilt, and that led to her very successful career as a physician.
Young Bill was without direction. He’d been out of high school two years, had married his high school sweetheart, Jenny, the year before when they were nineteen and eighteen, respectively. Because of their youth, this union displeased me. Plus, Bill was working a minimum-wage job as a gardener at the church where his stepfather, the Reverend Haines presided. With respect to the future, any sense of purpose had alluded Bill, although he loved music and wanted to study it. I jumped on the chance to get him started in the field and, with his concurrence, enrolled him at Peabody College in Nashville to study music. This meant moving from California to Tennessee, but Bill didn’t hesitate about moving. A career in the world of harmony and composition did not materialize for him, however. Bill Jr., instead, entered the world of computers and has carved out a remarkably successful career as a master of computer science and has written five books on computer netware.
I had a bit more brea
thing room in developing a plan for Wendy. Because Anne and her new husband didn’t object to my taking custody of our youngest child, I ensconced her with my parents, and she attended the eighth grade at Brentwood Academy in Nashville. She eventually attended the Naval Academy, where she graduated with the class of 1981. She requested and received orders to flight training, became a helicopter pilot, had squadron duty, sought assignment to the astronaut program, and was accepted as a mission specialist. At this writing, Wendy has made three flights into space, logging 789 hours beyond the stratosphere.
As I was setting in motion these plans, which I hoped would set our children on a positive course for the future, I made an extremely unsettling discovery. One of the reasons the kids reacted to my return with a kind of reluctant suspicion was because they had been told I was dead! They had no idea I had survived the ejection and was imprisoned. For several years, I admit, my fate was unknown. I had been listed as MIA—missing in action—for three years, which should have been a hint. But in 1970, my name was on a list of detainees that Sen. Ted Kennedy was able to glean from the North Vietnamese. I didn’t receive any letters from Anne, but I had written her and presumed she received the letters, because my parents had received mine. Surely, Anne must have known I was alive.
“Didn’t you see the letters?” I asked the children. They collectively shook their heads.
Laurie said, “We saw only one letter from you, and mother told us it appeared to be contrived. It didn’t look like your handwriting, and it didn’t sound like you.”
Oddly, my father and mother had talked to Anne at least once a week and even visited her once. Yet, they had no inkling of her plans to wed Haines.
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