Messages From John
By ERNEST C. BRACE
May 2, 2008

Under the glaring lights of a circus tent set up on the south lawn of the White House I met John Sidney McCain III face-to-face for the first time. President Richard Nixon had invited the Prisoners of the Vietnam War to dinner.

It was May 24, 1973. Almost five years previously I had met John under harsher circumstances. We had been confined as POWs in solitary confinement in adjacent cells at a camp the prisoners of war had named "The Plantation" in Hanoi, North Vietnam. We talked to each other through a wall for over a year, of family, our capture, girlfriends, troubles we'd been through, and on Sunday we told each other a movie.

John had been shot down over the center of Hanoi by a Soviet surface-to-air missile. Upon ejecting at near the speed of sound from his A4E attack jet, John dislocated his shoulder and broke his arm in several places.

He landed in a lake and would have drowned except that a group of civilians waded into the lake and dragged him ashore. There they proceeded to beat him and at one point stuck him with a bayonet. Soldiers rescued John from the civilian mob and delivered him to Hoa Lo Prison in central Hanoi, where he was thrown into a cell in the part of Hoa Lo the American prisoners had named "Heartbreak Hotel." John had passed in and out of consciousness several times since his capture, and awoke lying on a dirty concrete floor. An American tune was playing over a loudspeaker somewhere. It took a few moments before John realized it was "Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley."

When an interrogator entered the cell John would only reply to his demands with name, rank, serial number and date of birth. The interrogator told him he would die in that cell unless he started answering the questions. John lost track of the days he had been in the small cell. One day the interrogator entered the cell with two other guards and asked John why he had not told them his father was Admiral McCain. Without any further questioning they moved John to the local hospital and gave him medical treatment for his broken bones and puncture wounds. John was heavily sedated and awoke in a body cast.

John was now in solitary confinement because he refused to co-operate with the North Vietnamese efforts to exploit his father's position. His father, Admiral John Sidney McCain II, was Commander in Chief of Naval Forces Europe when John was captured. Since John's capture in 1967 his father had become Commander in Chief of Naval Forces Pacific, (CINCPAC), a much more significant posting considering John's captivity. John was considered a valuable prisoner by the Hanoi Government and they occasionally tried to use him to their propaganda advantage. John refused to cooperate. They had even offered John early release, but he refused because he knew it would not only embarrass his father, but he felt there were other prisoners in much worse shape that should be exchanged before him. John was in solitary for punishment.

John had cellmates for a while after his release from the hospital. He was still in a body cast and needed help with his bodily functions. Col. Bud Day, USAF (Medal of Honor) [mentioned in Karl Rove's "Getting to Know John McCain"] was one of John's first cellmates, along with Major Norris Overly USAF. John lost his cellmates because he refused to cooperate with the camp authorities. He would not write or read propaganda for them and refused to see "peace delegations" that asked to see the Admiral's son. As soon as John could function without help the Vietnamese took away his cellmates.

I was in solitary because I was a civilian pilot working under contract to USAID/CIA when captured in Laos. Since I had been captured by North Vietnamese troops in Laos in May 1965 I was kept hidden from other prisoners. I was never listed as a prisoner and never allowed to write home or receive mail or packages. The Vietnamese were not supposed to be in Laos in 1965. The Americans used civilians and Thai Special Forces for counterinsurgency forces in Laos.

My first three years and six months of captivity had been spent in total solitary in a small bamboo cage in a valley near Dien Bien Phu in western Vietnam. The last two years and six months I was confined in stocks, irons and ropes because of four attempted escapes, two from the cage. In August 1966 I made my last attempt to escape. Punishment from that attempt crippled me to the point I could not walk. Two years later, when they took me into Hanoi in October 1968, I was in poor health and could walk only by leaning against a wall or some other support.

I had not seen or heard an American since my capture. I had no idea of what had happened in the war or to what extent the Americans were now involved. During the trip in a Russian truck from Dien Bien Phu into Hanoi I observed road and bridge construction There was no air activity and I was under the impression the war was over. What I did not know was that President Johnson had gone to limited bombing in the autumn of 1968 in an attempt to get the peace talks in Paris moving again.

I was taken to a camp the prisoners had named the "Plantation."

A rice mat and a change of clothing were on the bed. Rubber-tire sandals were on the floor near the bed. The dim light was from a single bulb dropped by its cord from the ceiling. It must have been about 25 watts at the most. The guards did not enter the room. They slammed the shutters closed and dropped the bar into place.I heard a padlock snap closed. Then a very oriental voice came through the louvers, "Sleep."

I crawled over to the bedboard. Pulling myself up onto the bed I sat and looked around. It was the largest cell I had been in since my capture. I picked up the black pajama-like shirt and trousers and saw that I had a set of underwear or shorts of the same black cotton cloth. The rice mat was new and I rolled it out onto the board. I let the mosquito net down around me and tried to get some sleep. It had been a full day and then some.

I woke to someone opening my louvered window. It was the guard from the night before. He pointed at my bucket and grunted for me to set it outside. I hadn't used the bucket yet and indicated so in broken Vietnamese and Thai. He scowled and slammed the shutters closed.

I could hear a radio playing off in the distance and tried to make out what it was saying. It was some oriental woman speaking English and hard to follow. Then I heard what sounded like the Kingston Trio singing "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" Strange place!

The guard was at the shutters again and handed me a jug of hot water and half a bread roll. I made motions like eating with chopsticks and asked if he had some rice. I was hungry. He scowled and shut the louvers with a bang. I sat on the bed and ate what had been given to me. I could hear other cell doors being opened and closed and then it got quiet in the camp.

I was sitting on the floor with my back against the inside wall when I heard a tapping on the wall behind me. It was the rhythm of "Shave and a haircut" but the "two bits" was missing. The officer had warned me about making noise in the room or tapping on walls. I sat there thinking, "That's nice; there must be an American next door."

The "Shave and a haircut" was tapped again. This time I replied with the "two bits" which seemed the natural thing to do. A rapid series of tapping in some kind of rhythm ensued and I scooted away from the wall thinking that I had been tricked by the guards. There was silence after the tapping stopped. A few minutes later the tapping started again. I did nothing.

After some time a slow, steady thumping started that had no rhythm. I started counting. The thumping stopped and I tried to convert the number of thumps to a letter of the alphabet. The thumping resumed before I got my letter. I then realized I should be saying the alphabet rather than counting. I got "wal" on the last series of thumps. I didn't know what to do. The thumping resumed after some time, and I said the alphabet, and got "out ear to wal." I figured it must mean "put ear to wall" and shuffled along to where the tapping was coming from. I tapped twice on the brick wall with my knuckle as I pressed my ear against the wall.

A voice on the other side, obviously an American, said "If you hear me buddy tap twice."

I tapped twice in reply.

He got excited then and said he had been trying to contact me all morning, since morning was best while the guards were occupied with the buckets and morning water. He rattled off a couple questions and when I did nothing he slowed down and told me how to reply.

One tap was "no" – two taps was "yes" or "copy" – three taps was "I don't know" – and a rapid series of tapping was "repeat." I tapped twice that I understood.

He told me that his name was John McCain, he was a Navy Lieutenant Commander and had been shot down about a year prior, in 1967. He told me he was talking by wrapping his shirt around his cup and pressing the bottom of the cup against the wall. I tapped twice.

He asked me if I had a cup. I tapped once.

A lot of questions followed, "Are you an American? Are you a Pilot? Are you Navy? Airforce? Army? Civilian?" He got excited again when I replied "yes" to civilian.

"CIA?" he asked.

I tapped "no" and he immediately apologized for asking.

Had I been a prisoner long was the next question. I tapped slowly four times. I Should have tapped three, but did not know how I could get the half in there.

John explained that the "Shave and a haircut" rhythm was the call-up signal for a tap code the prisoners were using. The "two bits" was the go ahead. Since he could use his cup on the wall there was no need to tap, but he would teach me the tap code anyway. A solid thump was a danger signal and meant get away from the wall. Even though we had voice communications I started practicing the tap code.