The wives launched their own Operation Homecoming by readying their homes, going to the beauty salon, gathering families close, painting welcome-home banners. Children were lined up and spit-polished; many were told stories of the fathers they’d never met.
* * *
On this February afternoon, the League of Families San Diego office was decorated for a party, with banners hung on the walls, painted with slogans like NEVER FORGOTTEN and WE DID IT. There was a buzzing, nervous energy in the room.
Frankie felt the women’s pride and fear. She overheard several of them talking about the preparedness briefing the Navy had given the POW wives, who had been told not to expect too much from their husbands. They’d been given a flyer: We don’t know what shape the men will be in, physically or emotionally. As you know, there have been reports of torture. For these reasons, we suggest you plan your reunions carefully, keep your husband in a quiet setting until he tells you he’s ready for more. No big parties, no magazine or television interviews, no loud noises or big expectations. Some of these men, as you well know, have lived in captivity, in harsh conditions, for up to eight years. This will have taken an extreme toll on their minds and bodies. Do not expect them to be themselves right away. We expect them to be sexually impotent and prone to hostility toward those they love.
Torture. Captivity. Prone to hostility.
How could men come home after years of such treatment and be anything but hostile? Frankie listened to the wives as they expressed their nervousness—I’ve gained weight, lost my spark, not as young—and wondered aloud if the men they’d married would still love them. She listened to their plans to attend the return of the first group arriving in San Diego—on Valentine’s Day—and felt a strong sense of pride.
But, as proud as she was of her service to the league, it was over now. She didn’t belong in this room full of wives. She put down her empty cake plate and headed for the door.
“Frankie!”
She stopped, turned to see Joan moving toward her. The two women hadn’t seen each other in months, but there was no mistaking the joy in the woman’s eyes.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” Joan said, touching her arm. “Your help meant so much.”
Frankie smiled. “Thanks, Joanie. I’m glad your husband is coming home.”
It was the perfect goodbye.
One chapter in her life closing—Vietnam—and another opening up. Marriage and motherhood.
* * *
On the day the first group of POWs was scheduled to land in Manila, Frankie poured herself an iced tea and sat on the sofa watching TV. Walter Cronkite was saying: There have been stories of torture, as we know. The men in the Hanoi Hilton, mostly pilots, devised an ingenious way of communicating with each other. Today, one hundred and eight of them will land in Manila, the first stop on their way home …
“Hey, babe,” Henry said, scooting in beside her.
“It’s starting.” Frankie felt almost as anxious as the wives must be right now. This was really it, the end of the war.
Grainy color images of the war filled the screen, then changed to images of Navy wife Sybil Stockdale speaking to the Senate, to audiences, to Henry Kissinger. Walter Cronkite narrated it all: The League of Families worked tirelessly to bring these American heroes home from their ordeal. Moments from now, a plane full of POWs will touch down at Clark Air Force Base. In two days, they will step on American soil for the first time in years.
And then: It’s here. The jet has landed at Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines, ladies and gentlemen.
Frankie leaned forward.
On-screen, a jet rolled down the runway. Lights blared on the scene. The jet came to a slow, bumping stop. Images of a cheering, jostling crowd: men and women, straining at a barricade to keep them back. The camera focused on a sign that read HOMECOMING 1973. WE LOVE YOU, JOHN!
The jet door opened.
All but one of these men who flew to freedom were shot down during some of the fiercest fighting of the war. Here is Navy Commander Benjamin E. Strahan, shot down in September of 1967 … and Air Force Major Jorge Alvarez, shot down in October 1968 …
Men emerged one at a time from the plane, saluted, and walked down the ramp. They looked skinny, but their hair was regulation-short and they stood tall. A few limped.
A man stepped out of the plane, saluted to the crowd gathered on the tarmac.
Navy Lieutenant Commander Joseph Ryerson Walsh, shot down in March of 1969, presumed dead until a year ago …
Frankie straightened.
Rye shuffled down the ramp, holding on tightly to the yellow railing. The way he walked was uneven, a limp maybe, and he held one arm in close to his body.