When a friend from Austin learned I had spent Christmas 2008 alone, she invited me to a fundraising dinner sponsored by a newly formed group seeking support to build a new planetarium in Austin. It was the last weekend of the year and held at a classy restaurant in downtown Austin. I could not find a way to graciously decline, so I accepted her offer and joined her. I was pleased that it was pretty informal, so I made myself comfortable sipping on tonic water and eating snacks while my friend toured the group greeting and socializing. Halfway through the dinner, the host announced the heavy donors would receive their choice of registered stars to be named in their honor.
My friend was being honored for making a ten-thousand-dollar contribution while many others made more realistic contributions. After looking at the several planetarium and science displays there, I sat away from the crowd and just watched the event. Soon, a lady who seemed as bored as I was sat next to me. She introduced herself as the fiancé of the event organizer. She made small talk.
Feeling like I needed to add to the conversation, I asked her if she was originally from the Austin area. This began a dialogue that I would never have guessed or expected.
Telling me she was born in Ohio, I asked "And what brought you here to the Austin area?"
"Well, I didn't want to leave Ohio because I was still in school, but my father was transferred here to Bergstrom Airbase,1 so he brought the whole family."
Innocently, I asked, "Oh, and he retired here in the Austin area?"
Sadly, she said, "No. He was a fighter pilot and he was shot down over Laos. They never recovered his body."
While I went into slight hidden shock, she continued, "We waited a couple of years and never heard anything about him. Mom didn't want to leave Austin hoping we would hear something about my Dad. We never did hear any more about Dad. So, we just settled down here and I went to UT."2
I was now speechless and probably seemed baffled not knowing what to say. She added "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
When I recomposed myself, I thought for a moment not to share the information I knew. Still, I told her "I'm really sorry about your Dad. Did you ever hear of Project 4043 in Laos?"
She told me it really didn't mean anything to her. I continued "I was in Project 404 in Laos during the Vietnam period. Stop me anytime you may not want to hear what I'm going to tell you."
"Oh, please go on," she said.
I shared with her that I spent 13 months with Project 404 in Laos and one of our objectives being the recovery of pilots shot down over Laotian airspace. She was listening intently. I told her how it was such a sad thing that her Dad was not one of those pilots recovered. I had only indirect knowledge but believe that only three pilots were ever recovered alive during my tour. Mission information was compartmentalized and not openly shared without a need-to-know.
She asked a few questions about Project 404 and wanted me to tell her more. At one point I realized I was saying much more than I had a right to say, so I told her "Look, I can tell you only so much, but there is a wealth of information online if you just google 'Project 404 Laos'."
She must have sensed that I was getting uncomfortable and was gracious enough to change the subject telling me she would research Project 404 online then went on to tell me she worked for an architectural landscaping firm4 in Austin. She gave me her business card just as my friend joined us giving me an opportunity to excuse myself thinking how life deals us such unfortunate twists at times.
I don't normally relive memories that I choose not to revive, yet that night resurfaced in me haunting memories that I had stashed away many years earlier. How weird it was to meet the daughter of one American pilot shot down over Laos whom we never recovered. I played a major role in installing and maintaining radio and teletype communications throughout the Kingdom used in the recovery of pilots and other Americans. I even flew missions in helicopters carrying bodies of recovered American remains. "What if we had recovered her father or her father's body and we were having this conversation forty plus years later?" I kept thinking in my head. "What a different turn of events that would've been! How does a meeting like this happen, I wondered? And what forces were put in place to make this meeting take place?" That meeting happened to be one monstrous coincidence, for certain. My failure meter jumped several notches that night.
I never went to any more planetarium meetings after that, and I never saw or heard from that lady after that night, but the incident revived in me regret, sorrow and remorse which I had fought many years to forever lock away. I was still doing some programming work for my lady friend’s oilfield supply company when Computer Science Corporation, my former employer, asked me to join a British-American team working on a proposal to take over the management of British military bases in Cyprus.5 I never completed my programming work for my lady friend's company and left for England and Cyprus soon after. Seems like my unfriendly ghosts of Laos and Vietnam find every available opportunity to regain entry back into my flooded mind.
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