Down Deep In The Heart Of A Soldier
By Debbie Daniel (07/12/04)
I waited just a few extra minutes before entering the sanctuary of the church, where I was to sing on this particular 4th of July Sunday 2004.
The guest speaker for this day of celebration was to be a soldier I’d known as a 13 year old girl. I was extremely apprehensive about seeing him after all this time – for fear it would stir up an emotion I might not be able to handle – never thinking it might be a day of memories that would take him to a place where his tears are kept in check . . . but the flood gates had already opened.
I had prepared a special multi-media presentation to go along with the patriotic music I was to sing, and I wanted everything to run smoothly so that all attention would be given to the importance of this, our nation’s birthday, and especially our worship experience in relation to it.
I certainly didn’t want to walk into that main auditorium ready to share “showers of blessings” only to have them turn into a “torrent of tears” running down my face. So, I breathed real deep and uttered an “Oh Dear Lord, help me” and “One-Two-Three-GO” under my breath.
I rounded the corner by the piano and there he was: that wonderful man, Colonel Thomas “Jerry” Curtis, now retired, sitting at attention on the front pew in deep concentration and eyes fixed straight ahead as if preparing for a mission . . . and he was.
Triumphant patriotic music was coming out of every speaker in this great hall and one could not help but want to start marching or salute “something”. . . it was just that grand a feeling.
I, myself, was overwhelmed with the sense of patriotism and God’s goodness as I steadied my approach to this soldier who spent 7 ½ years in Vietnam prison camps – and in my mind . . . released as if just yesterday.
I had grown up hearing the stories, but never first hand. No amount of preparation could have made me “strong enough” as I quietly called out, “Colonel Curtis, I’m Debbie Dan . . . .”
Ever the soldier, he was on his feet before I sounded out my full name, with arms outstretched to hug me soundly. I wasn’t sure he would know me after all these years, but he made the quick assessment of family resemblance and welcomed me to the “day” with his own tear-stained face . . . and it was then I saw true strength.
What a day it was! Every person in that auditorium listened with rapt attention as he shared his POW experience in the jungles of North Vietnam which began in September 1965.
It was a failed mission to rescue a fellow pilot whose plane had been shot down. Jerry Curtis maneuvered his helicopter through the thicket of that Southeast Asian tropical wilderness to make the rescue. Electronically they found the location of the pilot and then had a visual sighting of him. They lowered the cable and horse collar to make the rescue, but when he went to raise the helicopter there was engine failure thrusting the aircraft down into the trees.
His immediate fear was that he may go down on the very man he just rescued. He said: “As we were going down, we must have splintered enough trees to make toothpicks for eternity.” The pilot on the ground was not injured, and after the helicopter was downed, they all ran for cover and waited for help.
When another helicopter did arrive, he knew the flight crew would be greeted with an ambush. He waved off this only opportunity of possible rescue, but also disclosed his position to the enemy . . . thus beginning a long journey in captivity.
I sat thinking about other soldiers whose own horror stories I’ve heard in recent months, but as he began to unravel the events of his day to day life as a prisoner, I could not take my “ears off this man.”
He figured it could be as long as 18 months of incarceration for him and his comrades . . . never believing it would actually be seven and a half long years.
He didn’t have to go into the graphic details of torture . . . we felt it. He did not have to explain being dropped into a hole with hands and legs bound . . . we felt it. He did not have to make us understand what it was like to fight the infestation of tree roaches for a small cup of rice . . . we saw the picture clearly.
Captain Curtis, as was his rank at the time of capture, asked God, “Why me?” and when the answer was clear “Why not me?” – He went to work to make every hour, every day . . . survivable. And to also help other prisoners deal with the same inevitable path they would all endure.
The message was plain but powerful . . . don’t ever take anything for granted. Water from a shower was like heaven-sent drops of refreshment . . . and sunshine after months of blacked-out windows was like a jump-start to an enfeebled body.
Any verbal communication with your compatriots was cause for punishment. A cough, a sniff, and clearing of the throat all became messages of greetings and good-will to other prison mates. Oh, the things you did to build “community” in a position of solitary confinement.
The tears flowed freely from this soldier’s heart. The linen handkerchief wiped a face of obvious pain that welled from a deep place within that will probably never be known by any except those who journeyed with him.
He wanted us to know how simple scriptures from the Bible and songs learned as a child became the “mainstay” of the day. The alphabet was memorized as a grid so that messages could be tapped out . . . your own survival and that of your brother was all that mattered.
It was five years before he received a letter from his wife; a precious lady who would not give up on her soldier. When others believed she should get on with her life and accept the fact he was probably dead . . . she did not lose hope. What a beautiful story . . . and the real beauty is that they are still together today – looking like newlyweds.
The ravages of war can do irreparable damage to a person in just a few short months . . . but this soldier seemed to find a way through God’s amazing grace to endure years of torture, starvation, and no prospects of release; to find hope for himself and to lift the spirits of those around him.
He blamed no one; he used what energy he had to stay alive, prayed for God’s guidance and is still on a mission of hope today.
May we forever be strengthened by the story of such a hero, and may we never forget our past. What a great 4th of July celebration for a country that is so blessed with soldiers like Retired Colonel Thomas “Jerry” Curtis!
As Americans . . . you make us proud!
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