An Emotional, Exuberant Welcome Home

ALL the plans for their homecoming were aimed at protecting and pampering some fragile survivors. The exuberance of the 143 American prisoners making their way home last week indicated that the official solicitude may have been unnecessary.

Elaborately bland hospital menus were torn up as the men wolfed down their first American food in years. Some were painfully limping as they returned, most were gray-faced and underweight, and a few seemed a little dazed. But the majority of the men, on first inspection, seemed physically fit, emotionally taut and almost boyishly delighted by their re-entry into the American world.

Many refused to sleep at all in the first days of their freedom, but stayed up talking all night, savoring the experience. As one doctor prepared for an examination of Navy Lieut. Commander Paul Galanti, a prisoner for 6 1/2 years, the patient dropped to the floor, did 50 push ups, then walked around the room on his hands. "Knock it off, Paul," the doctor laughed. "I get your point."

All week the men were filtering home in stages to their families--from Clark Air Base in the Philippines to California, then to regional military hospitals. The reunions there were the most poignant. Air Force Major Arthur Burer, gone for seven years, arrived at Maryland's Andrews Air Force Base at 4 a.m., and had barely walked past the honor guard when his wife Nancy, followed by a horde of relatives, rushed onto the tarmac to hug him. At California's Travis Air Force Base, Air Force Major Hayden Lockhart Jr., shot down over the North in 1965, was welcomed home by his wife Jill and a son, Jamie, whom he had never met.

The homecoming was from the start an emotional event, not only for the prisoners and their families but also for millions who watched the various airport ceremonies on television. For the first time in many years of the Viet Nam experience, the nation was indulging in an unabashed patriotism. Navy Captain Jeremiah Denton set the tone when he stepped off the C-141 hospital plane that ferried the first batch of men from Hanoi to Clark. Denton smartly saluted the welcoming brass, then stepped to waiting microphones. "We are honored to have the opportunity to serve our country under difficult circumstances," he said. "We are profoundly grateful to our Commander in Chief and to our nation for this day." Then, his voice quavering with emotion, he added: "God bless America!"

Navy Lieut. Commander Everett Alvarez Jr., who was captured in 1964 and became the longest-held prisoner in North Viet Nam, bounced down the ramp after Denton. In the second plane from Hanoi came Air Force Colonel James Robinson ("Robbie") Risner, an Air Force ace from World War II, Korea and Viet Nam, who was captured in 1965. "It's like we've been asleep for seven years," he said.

After an eleven-hour delay, the first prisoners freed by the Viet Cong in the South arrived, looking more gaunt and dazed from their captivity than the men from the North. Douglas Kent Ramsey, a civilian adviser captured in 1966, walked off the plane in his prisoner's pajamas and with a subdued, satisfied smile, bowed to welcoming officers--an oddly Oriental touch.

That first night of freedom at Clark, the men indulged in what one officer called "an orgy of eating"--liver smothered in onions, fried chicken, steaks. The prisoners did not select one meat or another but ate them all, then tore into the cornflakes, heaping salads and triple-scoop banana splits. At 3 a.m., one prisoner went back to the cafeteria and ate an entire loaf of bread, each slice thickly coated with butter.

The meticulous planning for room assignments did not last any longer than the hospital diets. The men hopped from room to room, switching beds, or roommates, until they were satisfied with the arrangements. At 3 a.m., the command center received a call from the doctors that the civilian prisoners were wide awake and wanted to talk, so debriefers were sent over to get on with the processing. Meantime, the first next-of-kin calls were being put through to the U.S. "Say, Honey, it's me," one prisoner stammered. "I hope you haven't burned all your brassieres." "Hi, Mom." "It's been a long time." The calls, which were to be limited to 15 minutes, averaged 40.

By the second night, the doctors realized that they could not keep the men penned up much longer. Four busloads of them were taken on a shopping expedition to the Base exchange, where the men snapped up cameras, radios, stereos, portable color TV sets, jewelry and perfume. If, as feared, they found it difficult to make choices after their long captivity, they did not show it.

"Hi." Two of the prisoners, Navy Commander Brian Woods and Air Force Major Glendon W. Perkins, were rushed back to the U.S. immediately to see their mothers, who were critically ill. By midweek, the rest began flying home. The welcomes were short and emotional. At Virginia's Norfolk Naval Air Station, a crowd of several hundred people sang God Bless America! and Onward, Christian Soldiers as they waited in the wet night for Denton, Galanti and Navy Captain James A. Mulligan. "Hi, everybody," said Mulligan. "There's something great about kids waving American flags."

The three and their families were driven to Portsmouth Naval Hospital for private reunions, complete with champagne, that lasted nearly until dawn. Mulligan, gone for more than six years, called photographers to take pictures of him with his six sons, some of them sporting long hair. Later, his wife reported: "His biggest shock is the way society as a whole has changed. The mood of the country has changed. Also the Catholic Church. It's like beginning to live all over again." Mrs. Galanti said that her husband wanted to hear about the moon shots, about President Nixon's China trip. "He's interested in Women's Lib," she added, "and he goes along with it. I'm glad about that, because I've become pretty aggressive."

The President, despite his obvious pleasure, did not participate directly in the welcomes. He had said earlier that he did not want to interfere in what should be family occasions. Still, his presence was ubiquitous throughout the week. Apparently by prearrangement among themselves, the P.O.W. spokesmen all made a point of thanking the Commander in Chief for their release (see box). The President wrote letters to many of the families and also dispatched corsages to their wives.

For the present, the men were ordered not to discuss their lives in captivity, at least not until all the prisoners are released. A reasonably clear general picture about the life of prisoners in the North had already emerged: captives there were held in camps, sustained by regular though substandard diets and permitted to keep themselves physically fit. It was a hard but organized life. "During some of our darkest days," Capt. Denton recalled, "we tried to cheer one another by emitting a signal, the soft whistling of the song California, Here I Come. We usually knew we were whistling in the dark."

Little information had been collected about captivity in the South. As the prisoners came back from that oblivion, a few fascinating details emerged. No prisoner of the Viet Cong had received a single letter since April 1970. Kept on the move, the men to some extent became inured to such illnesses as malaria and dysentery.

Explained Frank A. Sieverts, a State Department expert on P.O.W. affairs who talked to the prisoners at Clark Air Base: "After two or three years, the cycle of illness and health stopped alternating and stabilized at a somewhat lower life-supporting plateau." Treatment for injuries was frequently crude --sometimes wounds were lanced with rusty nails. Said one prisoner from the South: "This stuff about not being able to live without sex is nonsense. What I dreamed about was food and medicine."

Army Captain George Wanat was more bitter than most about his captivity with the Viet Cong. He told his father in Waterford, Conn., "I'd kill those bastards if I ever saw them again." He reported that he had been kept in solitary confinement for five months "in a bamboo cage full of ants and poisonous snakes." His diet, he said, was rice and pork fat, rationed at one bowl a day, plus some water.

It was also becoming obvious that the prisoners in the North had maintained a fairly rigid internal system of discipline and command. Communications among the prisoners appear to have been excellent. They exercised vigorously, kept their minds active by teaching one another foreign languages and other subjects. It probably was no accident that the men's statements as they arrived back in the U.S. had a certain uniformity. As for the antiwar statements that the North Vietnamese elicited from some of the prisoners, including himself, Robbie Risner said at a press conference at Clark: "I think we should consider the source of those statements. They were made in prison. At no time during my imprisonment have I failed to support my President, my country and my President's policy."

At week's end Hanoi was to release 20 more prisoners. The next group was promised in another two weeks. For those already out, the period of adjustment seemed to be going rapidly. In Miami, Navy Lieut. Commander Ralph Gaither stepped off the plane into his family's arms after 7 1/2 years. Later, his sister Shirley reported: "He wants to buy a sailboat, but his fondest desire is to drink a can of beer under a backyard tree."

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