I met my sister bright and early at 8 a.m. at Atlanta Hartsfield International Airport for our first ever Sister’s Week in Georgia. She left Southern Illinois, her
husband and two sons at 5 a.m. and we were setting out on a fun adventure together. We planned to drive directly from the Atlanta airport to Savannah to sightsee a bit and to visit the Mighty 8th Air Force Museum to try to figure out what our father had done when he served in the 8th Air Force during WWII. The normally quick trip (4 hours) turned into a 6-hour trip since we were behind a gigantic traffic jam that delayed our plan to get to Savannah for a lunch on the beach! We grabbed a very late lunch but had no time for sightseeing. We had a dinner invitation with Sally and Eric Robyn (https://thedaysforward.com/colonel-eric-robyn/ and https://thedaysforward.com/sally-robyn/ ) which was the highlight for that day.
The next morning, we set out for Tybee Island for a quick sunrise walk on the beach which offered special surprises for us – being alone on the beach, we found lots of shells, some amazingly colorful seaweed (orange and pink – we first thought it was tangled electrical wire trashed on the seashore) and a gigantic horseshoe crab shell. She would take these jewels of the sea back to Illinois to show her students in the Fall.
We brushed off the sand and headed to the Museum. We went directly to the Museum Research Library to which I had been before looking for information. I knew that our Dad had been in Africa and ultimately stationed at Hethel Air Field in Norwich, England – I had even taken a trip to England as a graduation present to myself in 1969 to see where my father had been and to try to find some of the English people that had been so kind to him. He had put me to sleep as a small child with stories of some of his adventures in England and Scotland, but he never told me what his job was – was it still secret?
The staff at the Research Library is always delighted when family members come to share stories or memorabilia, so we had a wonderful visit with them and they brought out books and did some research for us. They directed us back downstairs into the museum to read and look over some displays that might help us figure out what our Dad did. Our uncle and our brother had differing ideas about what Tech Sergeant Smith had been doing at Hethel in the 389th Bomb Group, “The Sky Scorpions” – besides the fact that our Dad said he stowed away on an Air Force plane that made 5 flights over the over France on D-Day; he wanted to be a part of the epic invasion. Was that possible?
We made a second trip back up to the Research Library to try to make sense of what we had seen in the museum. We were in the midst of that conversation when a man in a flowered Hawaiian shirt came strolling into the library. My sister and I assumed he was just another tourist like us. Instead, the research librarian whispered to my sister that he had been POW in Iran in 1979 and was a volunteer historian at the museum – perhaps, he could answer some of our questions. She called him over to introduce us. Memories came flooding back to my mind.
As soon as the introductions between us and Bill Daugherty were done, I blurted out that his first step back on U. S. soil was at Stewart Army Air Field on 26 January 1981. Surprised, he agreed. I, then, said that he had taken a bus drive to West Point. Again, he agreed.
By this time, he was wondering about me – I had been there. He was, then, delighted (or so it seemed) to hear the rest of my story.
Like all Americans, the Rice family had been watching the Iran hostage crisis since November 1979 and praying for the hostages. It was with the same delight as all Americans that we learned the news that the hostages had been released on January 20, 1981 and were coming home! We were more delighted when we learned that West Point had been selected as the place to which the hostages and their families would come for a week of reunions and recuperation. Bill was a “P” (teacher at West Point) in the Math Department at the United States Military Academy at West Point. Could we get a glimpse of them?
West Point is 50 miles from New York City, even so, somewhat isolated in the Hudson Highlands of Orange County. This is one of the reasons that West Point was chosen for the family reunions and privacy the hostages needed. They would be flown into Stewart Field in Newburgh, board buses to cross Storm King Mountain and arrive at West Point where they could rest and relax in the quiet of the beauty of West Point. The local community wanted to do something to welcome them, so crowds of people lined the streets with signs, flags and banners.
The Rice family took off from our quarters in Grey Ghost on the morning of their return to find the best place to see the buses as they drove past. We were looking for a place where we could have room and safety for our four-year-old and sixteen-month-old daughters. As we drove 9W across the mountain, we saw people everywhere with flags, large and small, and signs of welcome, but no place likely to keep the girls occupied or safe on a cold, but sunny January day. Instead, we drove back to Highland Falls to find a place on the street where we could duck into a shop or restaurant if the girls got cold or the hostages were late.
It was exciting to get a glimpse of the buses when the hostages arrived in Highland Falls, but it was over in a second! It was still an amazing experience to be a tiny part of that historical event for our Country. And even more amazing to meet one of the brave hostages so many years later. What an honor.
And later…
We never did figure out exactly what our Dad did in Hethel – he had been trained as an Air Force radio operator, but when it was discovered that he could type, he was whisked into a different position, maybe a cryptographer. We didn’t figure out if it was even possible for him to have stowed away on D-Day (From the information we learned from Bill Daugherty, we believe he may have been on board, not officially on a roster, but not a secret from the pilot and crew). Little did we know that the Sister Week held more surprises for us. After a few days with me in Peachtree City, my sister was to go to see our brother in Marietta. She did just that, but on the first day of their visit, she got a call from home – her husband, a carpenter, was at work that Monday when he fell off the roof he was working on and had been life-flighted to the hospital in St. Louis. He might have broken his neck, head injuries, other broken bones???? How fast could we get there? We worried the whole time we were driving, but by the time we got to St. Louis University Hospital, all the worst of the outcomes had been ruled out. He had a broken pelvis and 5 broken ribs and would recover – he was home recovering for over six months, but he is now back to work – avoiding roofs as much as possible. Thank the good Lord.
In 1981, we were so delighted with our little brush with history that Bill wanted to preserve the flags that the girls waved on January 26 at West Point, so he attached them together and they have been hanging in our home ever since.
If you would like to know more about Bill Daugherty, Third Secretary of the U. S. Mission in Iran (CIA officer), you can check out his book: In the Shadow of the Ayatollah: A CIA Hostage in Iran.
This story is directly connected to “Birth of the Night Stalkers”. Click the button to read that story.
What a great story, Suzanne! Like you said, it is always fun to be a little part of history. BTW, somehow I have not up to now picked up that Bill & I have two things in common … West Point and the fact that we married girls named Smith!
Thanks Suzanne. neat story. Bake
Fascinating story, Suzanne!
Like usual, another fascinating story! Loved the pictures and the recent info. Related well to the recent info since, we too, had recently been to Savannah, visiting the 8th Army museum. Really looking forward to the next edition! Thanks.
Thanks for sharing this wonderful story, Suzanne! Great memories …
Thanks so much, Suzanne, for this interesting story. It brought back memories of my days when we lived in Alexandria, Virginia during the hostage crisis. We lived in a small colonial on Valley Drive in a neighborhood called Braddock Heights. At that time, I was a young attorney with a law firm in DC on K St. To get to work, I would walk about a half mile to a bus stop on Valley Drive, and take the bus to the Pentagon to catch the Metro. Valley Drive was a commuter short-cut, so many people used that route who were heading into the city. One day, I got the bright idea to hitchhike while I was walking to the bus stop. This started a daily routine I continued for several years, until I was able to secure a parking space in my firm’s basement.
One day, a nice gentleman picked me up who was going to the White House, where he worked at the National Security Council. It turned out he was a Navy Captain who was responsible for the Middle East. He had a parking pass to park on the Ellipse in front of the White House, which was only a four or five block walk from my office. We became friends, and he proceeded to pick me up on a regular basis whenever he saw me walking to the bus stop. We would have interesting discussions about the state of world affairs each time we rode together.
After about a year or so, he stopped coming by during my morning commutes. I did not see him for the next year or so. Then one morning, shortly after the release of the hostages from Iran, he pulled up beside me like he always had done, and we were off to the Ellipse. When I inquired about where he had been for the past year, he said that he had been responsible for the daily morning briefing for the President on the Iranian Hostage Crisis, and had been going to work at some extremely early hour every day. He informed me that he was going to be leaving his position shortly to become a professor at a university in NY, where he hoped to write a book about his experiences during the crisis. Some years later, I found he had finished and published his book.
Beautiful story Suzanne. I can feel your excitement with the events. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Suzanne. We all love little brushes with history. I also enjoyed the John Wayne and Red Buttons renditions of the pledge! Oh, how our country needs to hear this words now!
What a delightful story, Suzanne! Like you, I “slept” while my father told of his WWII adventures in Europe. Fortunately, Stony paid attention.
Great story Suzanne. It reminds me that sometimes the best moments in our life result for coincidental meetings with strangers.
Susanne, Thanks again for your story. In the middle of reading again this time I went on Google Maps to look where Hethel Airfield actually was. Avril & I used to drive around the countryside in that general area and I was curious if we had ever been nearby … but we hadn’t. But I did learn that the actual airfield has been bought by the Lotus Motorsports Group and there is now a racetrack and car factory located there. Lotus has probably been making cars there for a long time as I remember wondering if I might buy a Lotus myself when the Best of the Line were trying to figure out cars we wanted to end up with as Firsties. In the end I ended up with a different British sports car but still a British one!
Thank you so much Suzanne. Now I find we something else in common. My Uncle Tommy, the man I’m named after, was a bombardier/navagator on a B24 bomber in Eighth Air Force, stationed in England. Unfortunately, my uncle was killed on a mission over France in the weeks leading up to D Day. You’ve given me an incentive to go to Savannah and visit the museum. Oh, and we were also there at West Point when the hostages arrived, and my daughter Loretta got to meet some of them at the West Point grammar school. What a small world.
Thanks again, Suzanne, for a wonderful story and all you do for the BOTL.
Suzanne, I really enjoyed your story. I actually met Bill Daughtry a few years after his release, at work.. A true American hero.
Another great story Suzanne! I especially liked the part about the Iran hostages – I either didn’t know or with my >30 memory, may have forgotten about their visit to West Point. That must’ve been quite a sight to see. As we used to say on the radio, “And the hits just keep on coming.”