Six Years in the Hanoi Hilton Read online

  Praise for

  SIX YEARS IN THE HANOI HILTON

  “I couldn’t put this book down. In ten hours I cried through a box of Kleenex, laughed out loud, inwardly smiled, felt very nauseous, became extremely angry, then was filled with awe and gratitude. Six Years in the Hanoi Hilton should be required reading for every high school student in the nation. It is an American treasure, but then it was written about one. I am proud to have called Jim Shively a friend and I’m proud of his daughter. Amy is a gifted writer. Kudos to her for sharing her dad’s story with the world.”

  —Debra Wilde, former news anchor and journalist, Spokane

  “Six Years in the Hanoi Hilton is an outstanding tribute to a remarkable person. The story of Jim Shively truly shows off the best of the human spirit. Including the brutal, heartbreaking, and heroic six years he spent as a POW, this account also captures wonderful moments from his formative years, days as a fighter pilot, father, and family man. Amy has taken an extraordinary amount of history and detail and with wonderful storytelling has presented us the life of Jim Shively with a great deal of humanness and humor.”

  —Ken Hopkins, program director and morning co-host of the Dave, Ken & Molly show at 92.9 ZZU in Spokane

  “As a classmate of Jim Shively at the Air Force Academy and a lifelong friend, I am truly ecstatic that Jim’s daughter, Amy, has written this book. My wife, Sandy, and I have spent many, many hours not just reading the book, but discussing it in considerable detail. I have not read any other book on the POW experience that impressed me to the same extent. I believe the reader will be greatly pleased and blessed by the absolutely wonderful rendition and research by Amy. Jim Shively was truly a gentleman and man among men, and I will never forget his terrible wounds staring us in the face each day from his heroic resistance. Obviously, by this outstanding book, it is clear his spirit, courage, and excellence remain with us on earth in his daughter, Amy, as well as with him where he is now. Thank you, Amy, this book has been a spectacular confirmation of my very highest opinion of your dear father and my dear friend. All the best to you for its wonderful success, which I believe will greatly bless our country in many, many ways.”

  —Captain Guy G. Gruters, motivational POW speaker and author of Locked Up With God

  “Six Years in the Hanoi Hilton is not merely a story of war, captivity, and torture. It is the story of a special man, one of the best and brightest of his generation. Jim Shively’s faith, inner strength, patriotism, and humility were the hallmarks of a truly great American. He was a man of character and dedication to service. It was my distinct privilege to know Jim Shively. We became friends relatively late in his life. He shared many memories, some about his captivity in Vietnam. But mostly Jim offered a perspective on life filled with a rare honesty and sincerity that made every hour with him an honor. Through the pages of this book, that honor is now yours.”

  —Mike Fitzsimmons, award-winning radio and television journalist, news director, and talk radio host, KXLY News-radio 920, Spokane

  “A wonderful tribute to a great man. This book is great for Vets, family or friends of Vets, and just about anyone who appreciates our servicemen. The stories in Amy’s book are heartbreaking, frustrating, but also inspiring. I love Jim Shively and I love this book!”

  —Dave Sposito, morning co-host of the Dave, Ken & Molly Show at 92.9 ZZU in Spokane

  Copyright © 2017 by Amy Shively Hawk

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, website, or broadcast.

  Regnery History™ is a trademark of Salem Communications Holding Corporation; Regnery® is a registered trademark of Salem Communications Holding Corporation

  First e-book edition 2017: ISBN 978-1-62157-556-6

  Originally published in hardcover, 2017

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file with the Library of Congress

  Published in the United States by

  Regnery History

  An imprint of Regnery Publishing

  A Division of Salem Media Group

  300 New Jersey Ave NW

  Washington, DC 20001

  www.RegneryHistory.com

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Books are available in quantity for promotional or premium use.

  For information on discounts and terms, please visit our website: www.Regnery.com.

  Distributed to the trade by

  Perseus Distribution

  www.perseusdistribution.com

  I wrote this book for Jim’s grandchildren: Savanna, Cruise, Ian, Sierra, James, Ada, Anson, Elsa, and Mabel. May your Papa’s legacy of courage and honor live on in you.

  CONTENTS

  Author’s Note

  Special Note to POWs

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Part One

  1Baseball and BB Guns

  2“What Did I Get Myself Into?”

  3What Happens in Vegas…

  4One Hundred Missions

  5One More Roll

  6Shot Down

  Part Two

  7Heartbreak Hotel

  8Don’t Let the Bed Bugs Bite

  9Mind Games, Exploitation, and Propaganda

  10“A Little Spark of Hope”

  11Hanoi Hannah, Gyro Gearloose, and Ladies’ Underwear

  12Escape and Repercussions: New Levels of Hell

  13Camp Faith

  14Welcome to the Jungle

  15Operation Homecoming

  Part Three

  16Return to Freedom

  17Life in the Spotlight

  18Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

  19Because You Cannot Hate and Live

  20The Last Battle

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Notes

  Index

  Author’s Note

  I am Jim Shively’s stepdaughter. Jim married my mom when I was five, and raised me and my younger sister, Jane, as his own, so I always called him “Dad” and thought of him as such. He was a man of few words. Three days before he died he said he loved me. It was the first time I recall him saying it.

  After he passed away in 2006, I learned that he had made several hours’ worth of recordings about his experience as a Vietnam prisoner of war with a news reporter named Steve Becker. Steve had always been fascinated by my dad’s story and felt that it should be preserved. The project took on urgency when Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2002. Following the diagnosis, he and Steve got together every Saturday for six months to record the story. This book is based on those recordings.

  Listening to those CDs was the first time I had ever heard Dad talk so openly and in such detail about the war. Even when recounting his experience of torture, his deep, gravelly-from-cigarettes voice never fluctuated. He often ended his stories with a laugh. It was just how he dealt with the brutality of his experience.

  Hearing his familiar voice took me straight back to my childhood, to a time when Dad read to my sisters and me, stories like Treasure Island and (my favorite) the entire Little House on the Prairie series. It’s ironic that the hardships in the books he read to us were nothing compared to what he himself had endured—but we never knew until we were much older. Even then, in order to protect us, he kept most of the details to himself.

  Dad loved to r
ead. I rarely saw him without a book or a newspaper in his hand. He always hoped to write a book. I can think of no more fitting tribute to him than to capture his life and put it into words on paper the best I can.

  Dad never spoke much about a personal faith, but, in my opinion, it is hard to miss the hand of God on his life. A thread of Divine Providence tied his whole life together into a thing of beauty. Providence kept him alive in the Hanoi Hilton and supplied him with grace to assimilate successfully back into civilian life. Providence turned what could have been a tragic story of despair and defeat into one of remarkable courage and victory.

  I wrote this book because Captain James R. Shively was a true hero who lived a life worth remembering, worth celebrating, and worth honoring. I wrote this book to honor him and all of those brave men who withstood unthinkable sufferings for love of their country. For years, Jim Shively and his fellow POWs in Vietnam faced torture, starvation, humiliation, and deprivations most of us can hardly imagine. Their incredible service deserves to be remembered. Their story deserves to be shared with every American who values the hard-won gift of liberty we all enjoy. I am honored to write it.

  Amy Shively Hawk

  Special Note to POWs

  To my Dad’s fellow POWs in North Vietnam:

  One thing I have learned while writing this book is that people remember events differently—especially when they happened more than forty years ago. I hope you will give me grace as you read, that I have done my best to stay true to my Dad’s war stories as he remembered them. It is my express wish not to offend any who remember it differently. Jim Shively was not a divisive person. He valued friendship over differences of thought involving such touchy subjects as war, politics, and religion. He believed in camaraderie, loyalty, and respectfully letting others hold to their own opinion, and he taught his daughters to do the same. It is in that spirit of humility that I offer his memoir.

  With highest regard,

  Amy

  Foreword

  As prisoners of war in North Vietnam, deprived of all liberty, we relied on three things: faith in God, faith in our country, and faith in each other. Our faith in God secured our hope that we would survive. Faith in our country gave us encouragement that she would not abandon us, but would do everything possible to bring us home. And faith in each other gave us the strength we needed to get through every day. It was for each other that we did our best, despite the severity of the treatment, to resist the efforts of the enemy and to maintain our country’s code of conduct. Alone we might give up, but for each other we would survive. We could not let each other down.

  Reliance on those three ideologies forged within us a special unity and loyalty. Forty-two years later, those I love most and best in the world are the men I spent time with in prison. Often, we get together to reminisce about the war, comradeship, and the faith that pulled us through. It is during those times that Jim Shively is especially missed.

  There is no doubt that Jim Shively was a great patriot who served both the United States Air Force and our country with a true sense of honor and courage. He was a wonderful man, a natural leader, and an exceptionally strong resistor who served his country with distinction. A man greatly respected, admired, and loved not only by his fellow POWs, but all those who knew him. Much can be learned by reading about a man with Jim Shively’s level of courage and integrity. It is my pleasure to commend this tribute to his extraordinary life.

  John McCain, United States Senator

  Prologue

  Welcome to the Hanoi Hilton

  Hanoi, North Vietnam

  May 1967

  “Nobody asks to be a hero. Sometimes it just turns out that way.”

  —Staff Sergeant Matt Eversmann, Black Hawk Down

  The shock had worn off, and now, instead of being numb, Jim’s body screamed in pain. It was the middle of the night and he was thirsty, scared, and hurting. The handcuffs were fastened so tightly they were tearing the flesh off his wrists. Blindfolded, he had no idea where he was—except that he was lying in the back of a truck, and he had no idea how long he’d been there. Dazed, he began to recall the events of the last twenty-four hours.

  Flying over North Vietnam.

  An explosion in the back of his plane.

  The pilot behind him shouting over the radio headset, “You’re on fire!”

  In a sudden wave, it all came back to him. The violent expulsion from his plane, the open parachute and tranquil descent to earth, the cacophony of yelling and chaos once he landed.

  He had not been prepared for the intensity of their hatred. They tried to kill him, but the armed North Vietnamese gunmen would not allow it, so they stripped and beat him instead.

  The truck began moving again, and he could hear crowds of people. The yelling was getting closer and louder. Instinctively, he curled up tight in a fetal position and braced himself for more blows. The truck stopped again, but the roar of the crowd continued. Someone grabbed him under his arms and hoisted him onto a stool. Blood streamed out of his nose and into his mouth, but he couldn’t wipe it because of the cuffs. They took off his blindfold. Jim blinked repeatedly in the glare of intense spotlights pointed directly at him. He shook his head to focus. A sea of North Vietnamese people surrounded him, swarming to get near. Jim squinted to see their faces. He didn’t understand their words, but he could tell they were making vicious threats. Soldiers holding AK-47s lined the sidewalks, keeping the crowds at bay.

  As Jim’s eyes adjusted, he registered that he was strapped onto a fixed stool in the bed of a truck, wearing only his Jockey shorts. The soldiers had removed the canvas and the wooden sides from the truck, creating a moving platform from which to showcase their catch. Spotlights rigged at the top of this moving “stage” shone hotly down on Jim. The truck drove slowly through the streets of what he guessed was Hanoi. Four guards stood at each corner of the truck, their AK-47s pointed at his head. The villagers and townspeople had all come out to see the spectacle. Some ran alongside the truck. It was an enormous parade, and he was the star of the show.

  A huge rock hit him in the face. The villagers began to pelt him with rocks, sticks, vegetables, and anything else handy, which he couldn’t deflect because his hands were tightly cuffed behind his back. His only consolation was that the guards were being pelted too. Suddenly, a riot of angry men surged through the soldier barricade and climbed onto the truck, headed straight for him. He watched in shock as the guards used the butt ends of their AK-47s to knock them back, but there were only four guards, and the irate mob of people continued to grow in force. Jim was certain they would beat him to death on the back of the truck.

  Without warning, the driver stepped on the gas, throwing everyone but Jim off the back of the truck. Jim stayed in place because his stool had been fastened somehow to the truck. The guards had to run to jump back on. This happened several times—it would even have been comical under different circumstances. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the crowds grew sparse, and they entered a quiet neighborhood.

  HOA LO PRISON

  He saw it from far away as they approached. The building, or rather, series of buildings, was immense. It sat on a vast, tree-lined property right in the heart of Hanoi, and from a distance it could easily have been any other governmental structure. The truck approached the main building, a whitewashed French Colonial with green shutters and louvered doors that looked like it belonged on a Hollywood set. Jim half expected some French foreign legion guy to walk out and greet him. But as the security gate opened to let them in, the compound took on a much more sinister appearance. Rows of razor wire lined the top of the buildings, along with shards of broken glass. The gate swung open to let the truck through, then slammed shut behind them with an eerie finality. He knew exactly where he was.

  Built by the French in 1896 to imprison North Vietnamese rebels, the complex had been officially named “Maison Centrale,” or “prison,” but eventually Hoa Lo had earned itself another name: “Hell Hole.” The pri
son lived up to its moniker. Inside its concrete walls, thousands of North Vietnamese had been stripped and crammed into dirty holding cells, sometimes twenty-five to a tiny room. Either clamped into iron stocks or chained to their bunks, they received little food or water. If not eventually beheaded, they were many times left to live in chains and die in their own excrement.

  The North Vietnamese had learned about captivity, starvation, and methods of torture the hard way, and now they were putting that knowledge to use against their current enemy. Jim had heard about the prison, referred to sarcastically by the American military as the “Hanoi Hilton.” No one knew for sure who had started the nickname, but a prisoner held there had once carved “Welcome to the Hanoi Hilton” on the handle of a pail by way of greeting the next “visitor.” Now it was Jim’s turn to be ushered into the infamous living quarters.

  The guards hoisted him off the truck and strapped the blindfold back on. With his hands still tightly cuffed behind his back, they led him through a series of hallways and doors, making a big show of locking every door behind them loudly with heavy metal keys. Jim knew they wanted to intimidate him. He had the impression that they were taking him down to a basement, because it smelled musty and dirty. Eventually they entered a room where the guards took the blindfold off, set him down on a wooden stool, and left him alone. He took a look around and winced. The menacing room was all concrete—concrete floors, concrete walls, and a concrete ceiling. One dirty bulb hanging down from the ceiling provided all the light in the room—scarcely enough to see a table in the corner and iron bars and u-bolts against the wall. He looked up and noticed a hook suspended from the ceiling. A wave of fear went through him, but he pushed it aside.

  To take his mind off things he decided to study the construction of the walls. Instead of smooth concrete, it looked like handfuls of plaster had been spread roughly on the walls, giving them a rough, egg-carton appearance. He wondered why they had done it that way. He found out soon enough—it was to deaden the sound.