BARNETT, ROBERT WARREN
Name: Robert Warren Barnett
Rank/Branch: United States Air Force/O4
Unit: 44 TFS Korat Airbase Thailand
Date of Birth: 12 October 1928
Home City of Record: Los Angeles CA
Date of Loss: 03 October 1967
Country of Loss: North Vietnam
Loss Coordinates: 210300 North 1065000 East
Status (in 1973): Returnee
Category:
Aircraft/Vehicle/Ground: F105D
Missions:
Other Personnel in Incident:
Refno: 0845
Source: Compiled by P.O.W. NETWORK from one or more of the following: raw
data from U.S. Government agency sources, correspondence with POW/MIA
families, published sources, interviews.
REMARKS: 730314 RELEASED BY DRV
SOURCE: WE CAME HOME copyright 1977
Captain and Mrs. Frederic A Wyatt (USNR Ret), Barbara Powers Wyatt, Editor
P.O.W. Publications, 10250 Moorpark St., Toluca Lake, CA 91602
Text is reproduced as found in the original publication (including date and
spelling errors).
ROBERT W. BARNETT
Lieutenant Colonel - United States Air Force
Shot Down: October 3 1967
Released: March 14 1973
As I write this on 3 April 1973, I'm at my parent's house in Medicine Hat,
Alberta, Canada. I was released from Hanoi 14 March and arrived at March
AFB, California on the 17th where I met my wife, Anita; daughter, Lori; my
sister Doreen; my brother Don; his family and many other friends. I was
finally home.
I had kissed my wife and daughter, then age 7, goodbye at the Los Angeles
International Airport on 3 July 1967 on my way to Korat AFB Thailand
where I Was to be assigned as an F-105D pilot in the 44th Tactical Fighter
Squadron. As I got aboard the PSA Electra for Oakland on my way to Travis
AFB for my departure overseas I felt a great sorrow and my eyes began to
moisten. Somehow I sensed that it would be a long time before I would see
them again.
In 1967 I was a Major in the Unite State Air Force and have been flying
since 1953 when I entered the Air Force after graduating from the
University of Southern California. My wife and I were born and raised in Los
Angeles and while in college we met and married. We celebrated our 20th
wedding anniversary on 7 June 1972 while I was a prisoner.
My military career consists of three years in the United States Coast
Guard and nearly twenty years in the Air Force. My overseas assignments have
been in Iceland, Ecuador, and Thailand. In the States I've been stationed
at Perrin AFB, Phoenix Air Defense Sector, and Hamilton AFB to name a few.
On 3 October 1967 on my 43rd combat mission over North Vietnam as I
approached my target at Bac Ninh 18 miles northeast of Hanoi a surface to
air missile exploded near my aircraft causing a fire in the engine and
loss of flight controls. Eventually I ejected 15 miles from the coast
northeast of Haiphong. A valiant effort was made to rescue me but I was
captured on the morning of the 5th when the Communists tracked me down with
a dog. My prison life began when I arrived at the "Hanoi Hilton" on 7
October l967 and lasted 1989 days. It is impossible to properly condense
nearly five and a half years as a POW into such a short space.
The many stories that are coming out are true. My wife did not know my
status until 27 March 1970. I did not receive any mail until 18 September
1970. I don't need to elaborate on the treatment as much has already been
said. I feel certain the pressure from the good people in the United States
led to our improved treatment in October 1969. I thank God for this as I
feel certain that many of us would not have held up for another three
years.
I had not been very religious and perhaps am still not in the classic sense
but God came into my life and sustained me. The church services that we
were allowed to have later (1971) and daily prayers gave me great comfort. I
have always and will always believe in our country. We hold that what we
were doing in Vietnam was right. We wanted to come home with honor. Had the
United States just pulled out and had no bargaining position I believe
without doubt that many of us would have been tried as war criminals and
many would never have rejoined their families.
I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their prayers concern
compassion and assistance they have given me and my family. In the midst of
our happiness at being home again I cannot help but feel sorrow for the
many dear friends who lost their lives in Vietnam and for the families whose
loved ones will never return. I pray that they do not lose faith in their
God and country for I'm sure their husbands or sons never did.
November 1996
Robert Barnett retired from the United States Air Force as a Colonel. He and
his wife Anita live in Arizona.
=========================
From - Sat May 13 18:03:29 2000
From: Bob Barnett
Subject: Disclaimer
For anyone who might care.. Re: reprinting of an article
in the Dallas Morning News by Mary Peachin..
There are some errors that cause me some embarassment. I know Mary was very
touched by her visit to Ha Lo and upon her return she called me to show me
photos and tell me about it. She obviously must have assumed that I had
been locked up in Heartbreak for the whole time. and chained in irons.. It
is a grim place that would shock anyone.
However, except for a good part of one day in Heartbreak, I was in the
nobby green room for 5 or 6 days. Lost track. Got the usual initiation,
but not as bad as some, I guess. Was moved to to Little Vegas (Rivera,
Golden Nugget and then to Thunderbird. After just a month was moved to
Annex in Zoo with Digger Odell, Wayne Waddle and Jim Clements. Lived in
cell #10, Pool Hall with Dwight Sullivan for over a year.. Anyway, was at Zoo
until we all moved to Unity. So I didn't live five years in "this" small
cell. Lived in other small cells. No big deal. My airplane was hit 11
miles North of Hanoi, Bac Ninh, but ejected 17 mi NE of Haiphong.
I did spend part of 3 days and 2 nights running around. Was imprisoned
1989 days - left out 1000 days, probably a typo. Actually spent most of
my time with a least 1 - 4 cellmates and later on with up to 27 at Unity.
True about my back injuries, but I think I was just numb. Didn't know it
had been compressed until I came home and had X-Rays. True, was MIA for 2
1/2 years, etc. About stunk so bad.. I remember an "inspection" while in
#10 Pool Hall, Zoo. They opened door and wouldn't come in. Sully and I
wondered what their problem was. They had us go to well and throw some
buckets of water in cell. We must have smelled better after that. Most of
the rest of story fairly accurate, but can't remember me telling her all
that stuff. Anyway, as I said, I am a little embarassed and try to remain
invisible, as I did in jail.. Hard to do sometimes. About waning
nightmares..I have been lucky, my wife has more nightmares than I do.
I felt I needed to at least try to get it straight. I know Mary wanted to
make the article touching and I know the trip to Vietnam made a big
impression on her. At least my trip to Vietnam left an impression on me..
GB Roberto
======================
The Dallas Morning News
Sunday, May 7, 2000
Confronting the past in Vietnam: Whirl of life overshadows war remonders.
Mary Peachin
I entered the tiny, airless, yet musty, cube with trepidation. During
the Vietnam War, my friend Col. Bob Barnett, an American fighter pilot,
had spent five years in this small prison cell after he was shot down
near Hanoi.
I looked at the set of rusty shackles, still bolted to a cement bunk
in an unlighted cell, and wondered if they had held Bob's legs. Was
that the bucket he used as a latrine? A separate cell was empty except
for another bucket. Was this the shower? A small table holding a single
cup appeared to be the dining cell.
As I walked through the infamous place American captives called the
"Hanoi Hilton," I pondered how such a horrific place had been converted
into a museum. And I tried to weave the stories of Bob's imprisonment
into what lay before me.
I was the sole visitor that day; the "Hilton" is not on the tourist
circuit for most Western visitors in Vietnam. It was not listed as an
attraction in the guidebooks I read. Instead, I had made a specific
request to visit the prison because of Bob's stories - his suffering
and his memories.
Twenty-five years after Bob's ordeal, much of the camp has been
replaced by development - including the bright facade of a new hotel.
It's easy to drive down the busy road and miss what's left of the
prison wall, a stone cliff still strung with barbed wire and
electrified cable.
Americans are accustomed to being winners. Visiting Vietnam - a
country that defeated the United States in war and is now unified under
a Communist government - forced me to look at things from another
perspective. The present sights were fascinating, but my mind focused
on the past.
In the quarter-century since the United States pulled out, Vietnam
has changed. Few visible reminders of the war exist, and the country
has modernized significantly, welcoming tourists to experience its mix
of old Asia, crumbling French colonialism and millennial rejuvenation.
One of the top attractions in Hanoi is the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum.
Each day, tens of thousands of people visit the dead leader's glass
sarcophagus, which lies inside a large marble edifice. The building is
surrounded by groves of bamboo, and the entrance is decorated with
symbolic funerary wreaths. All foreign visitors are allowed to enter
ahead of thousands of schoolchildren and other Vietnamese, reducing the
wait in line to about 30 minutes.
Communist Army officers brusquely divided the tourists into groups of
three, checking that we were properly dressed (long sleeves and pants;
no hats), and carried no cameras or handbags. Without explanation, we
were told not to put our hands into our pockets.
As the line approached the interior of the mausoleum, a soldier
pushed me into what had become a double line. Despite the masses of
people, there was silence inside the mausoleum. We marched slowly and
stiffly around the sarcophagus, our eyes on the remains of the
Vietnamese people's hero, and marched out again.
Hanoi was built in 1010 along the Red River delta, in the center of
what was formerly North Vietnam. Numerous lakes frame the city, which
boasts the classic architecture of the Old Quarter and more than 600
pagodas. Despite such "'progress," the city has a limited tourist
infrastructure. There were no modern conveniences, and finding a
restroom - even a non-Western toilet (a nonflushing hole flanked by two
footstep impressions) - was a real challenge. But Hanoi provided two
fascinating days of my life.
Before arriving in Vietnam, I had arranged to tour with an
English-speaking guide. Pham Hong Chuong took me to several
"obligatory" tourist sights: the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, the
18th-century Ngoc Son Temple on an island in Hoan Keim Lake and the
Temple of Literature, which dated to 1070.
At that point, however, I'd had enough of the postcard circuit. I
asked Chuong to show me daily life in Hanoi. I wanted to become
immersed in the culture, to learn how the Vietnamese worked, played and
lived.
Chuong asked the driver of our air-conditioned Toyota Camry to pull
over, and we set off through the Old Quarter of Hanoi. Narrow streets
have one small shop after another, each selling only one item such as
silk, enamel, embroidery, housewares or shoes.
Other markets, including the large Dong Xuan and smaller Hang Da,
specialized in one type of food, vegetable or spice. Hang Da's fish
section offered tanks and tubs of live seafood, including rarities such
as stingray, snail and several varieties of eel. There were many types
of rice, noodles and delicacies such as black eggs.
Fruit and flowers were displayed like works of art. I was
disappointed to discover that the beautiful "red dragon" fruit (thanh
long) contained flavorless white pulp loaded with small black seeds.
The fruits I recognized - including mangoes, papayas, watermelon and
pineapple - proved juicy and fresh.
We walked for miles. Every intersection panicked me. Hanoi has very
few traffic signals, and traffic operates under a complex pecking order
that gives the right-of-way first to oxen, then to pedestrians,
bicyclists, pedicabs or cyclos, automobiles and, finally, trucks.
Miraculously, if you walk straight and slowly, speeding traffic will
avoid you, regardless of the width of the street or direction of
traffic. Chuong instructed me to stay close as we crossed the
traffic-packed streets. I obediently stuck to his side.
On the second day, Chuong took me to some of the villages that ring
Hanoi. One was near where Bob's plane was shot down. In contrast to the
city, the villages appeared to have changed little in 30 years. Each
appears to be self-contained, boasting its own pagoda, communal house
and cemetery (usually in a rice paddy).
Each village has it own craft industry. We first stopped in Van Phuc,
where villagers make silk, boiling and dying the stark white silk
behind their homes, then drying the finished cloth in their gardens. In
Duyen Thai, we saw young people working laboriously on delicate lacquer
ware, their faces masked by scarves to protect them from sawdust and
the fumes of the resin used in the lacquer.
Bicycles loaded with boxes of painted ceramics clogged the small,
dusty main street of Bat Trang. Some residents worked in the kiln,
while others painted or packed bowls for shipping.
The "snake village" of Le Mat is home to generations of snake
collectors, many of whom operate restaurants specializing in grilled,
poached or deep-fried snake. Traditionally, the heart of the snake,
which looks like a small chicken liver, is served to the eldest at the
table. Thought to be an aphrodisiac, it's said to bring vitality to the
eater.
On the way back to Hanoi, we stopped at Pho Ga Noodle Soup
restaurant. Pho, or noodle soup, is eaten daily by the Vietnamese and
is a favorite for breakfast. As I wrestled with my chopsticks, I
watched women in conical bamboo hats called non, carrying their burdens
on a bentwood beam (don danh) slung over both shoulders to support two
enormous baskets. The women scurried toward the markets, knees bent,
loaded down by fruits and vegetables. Men carrying a family of four, or
perhaps a bundle of water pipes, peddled confidently past on bicycles
or motorbikes.
As we made our way back to a charming turn-of-the-century hotel, I
slipped into reverie, far from the swarming traffic, dust, noise and
pollution of Hanoi. And I thought about the conversation I would have
with Bob when I returned.
In 1967, Bob's plane was shot down 11 miles from Hanoi as he was
bombing a pontoon bridge. The jet's engine aflame, he bailed out and
hid in the jungle. After three days, North Vietnamese with search dogs
found him. They blindfolded him and took him to the Hanoi Hilton, where
he was tortured for days.
What's left of the prison took me about an hour to tour. Bob Barnett
was imprisoned there for 989 days - 51/2 years spent alone, shackled in
a small, dank, unlighted cell with a cement bunk and a bucket for a
toilet. I wept during my brief visit. Bob did the same - but he also
counted the days, memorized the names of other prisoners and
communicated with the other POWs by tapping on a shared wall using a
Boy Scout alphabetical code.
At first, he was unaware of the compressed fracture of his back that
he suffered on landing, because the pain was masked by the injuries
caused by beatings. His captors considered him a "criminal," not a
prisoner of war, and would not release his name for 21/2 years. Anita,
his wife of 15 years, knew that Bob was listed as missing in action,
but not whether he was alive or dead. During those years, she lived
with the hope that her husband had survived.
"After I was captured, they tortured me for days. They tied ropes
around me until I was tight like a ball. I could barely breathe, much
less give them the confession they wanted," Bob recalled.
When the beatings ended, he was left to live or die.
He remembers, "I stunk so bad, the Vietnamese guards wouldn't enter
the cell."
His sole job during those years of imprisonment was to place the
latrine bucket outside his cell and retrieve it, empty, later in the
day. He looked forward to his release, predicting that day several
months at a time. As the war continued, he extended the date of
freedom.
Eventually, life in the prison improved. Twice a day the prisoners
were fed rice and the "soup of the quarter," a concoction of seasonal
cabbage, pumpkin or "green weeds." They were also given a small pitcher
of water each day.
Bob was supplied two worn blankets, a cup, a stub of a toothbrush and
- occasionally - some toilet paper. Rubber-tire thongs and pajamas were
later provided. He was not allowed to receive mail for three years, and
he never saw the Red Cross representatives whom the Geneva Convention
specifies must monitor the condition of prisoners of war.
When I returned from Hanoi, I asked Bob how he felt about my visiting
Vietnam and the prison. Had I intruded on his memories, brought back
his years of torture?
He thought, then said the nightmares have waned in the 25 years since
his release.
However, unlike other veterans, some of whom have returned to Vietnam
to satisfy their curiosity - or face down old ghosts - he has no
interested in returning to the Hanoi Hilton.
"I still have those pajamas in the garage, but I don't remember where
they are."
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