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Show She is one of thousands of American women who Jive in. a limbo, not knowing the fate of their husbands missing in Vietnam; m mm n w m she has only this plea to Hanoi: By MRS. CANDACE PARISH It was only natural for "Candy" Engen to marry a pilot. Her father was a Navy flier, and as soon as she was old enough to be accepted, at SO, she began flying as an airline stewardess. That was in November, 1965. A few months later, she met Charles Parish, a young pilot who had just won his wings in the Navy, and they were married the following November. This is her story: doesn't begin The ordeal differently for any of the women, the more than 1,335 wives and mothers whose husbands or sons are missing in Vietnam. Mine began that hot Thursday afternoon of July 25, 1968. My husband, Lt. Charles C. Parish, U.S.N., was flying an F-- 4 Phantom Jet off the carrier America in the Tonkin Gulf. I had sublet our house at Virginia Beach and come home to be with my parents in Alexandria, Va., while our baby was born. Hunter was a beautiful baby with golden hair and blue eyes. He was not yet three weeks old the day that our telephone began ringing. My parents had gone out, and I was alone in the house. The calls were from Navy officers, asking for my father. He's also in the Navy, so I didn't attach any significance to it though there were a number of calls. I didn't know that the callers were trying to reach my father so he could break the news to me, or that one of our friends was driving around the local shopping center looking for my parents to tell them that Chuck had been shot down over North Vietnam. My parents returned at about 4 p.m. and immediately there was another telephone call. I was feeding the baby. After I placed Hunter in his crib, Daddy came into the living room and said there was bad news. Quietly, he told me all that was known. Chuck's plane had been hit over North Vietnam. Another flier had seen his plane going down at 6,000 feet and tried to make radio contact, but received no answer; he assumed both crewmen already had ejected. Chuck's plane was seen to crash "impact" was the Navy word in 6 Family Weekly, February 1, 1970 Communist territory. If Chuck were able to hide and make radio contact, a rescue mission might still pick him up. We would be informed. I always knew it was possible that my husband might be shot down. It had happened to others and could happen to him. But I never really believed it Even in peacetime the wife of any man who flies realizes that on any flight something may go wrong. But she puts the thought out of her mind, or buries it so deeply that it rarely surfaces for more than an instant. Chuck and I knew that one day his ship would be sent to Vietnam. We knew this early in 1967, when we haA been married for less than three months and the America sailed to join the fleet in the Mediterranean. I flew over that February along with many of the officers' wives, and we had a wonderful time, meeting our husbands at every port the ship visited, then going swimming, and shopping together. But there-waa general belief among us that after this cruise, the America's next duty station would be Vietnam. In August, we wives returned from Europe on a plane we had chartered. When Chuck's ship sailed into Hampton Roads, I was waiting for him, and we rented a house at Virginia Beach. Again, it was a wonderful time. The house was right on the beach, and other fliers and their wives would come over in the evenings. We knew it was transitory. That's part of service life, and you accept it. So was Vietnam, and we accepted without words that Chuck's squadron would take its turn at combat flying. We knew this when I became pregnant, but we didn't talk about it. And I wouldn't change anything. Those were glorious months. We were incredibly happy. When I was pregnant, five-mont- hs Chuck sailed for Vietnam. When Hun- ter was born July 5 in DeWitt at Ft. Belvoir, Va., Army Hospital the fact that I w&s the only woman in the maternity ward whose husband was not with her didn't worry me. I sight-seein- g, s on had Chuck's letters and tapes to read and listen to, and I just knew I had the handsomest baby ever. Chuck was informed by cable, and his taped reply was ecstatic. When I got home, I sent him a tape of the baby crying and told him : "Set your alarm for 2 a.m., then get up and play this. This is what it sounds like. at that hour every morning in this house." Chuck never had a chance When DcC iy told me that Chuck was down, that it actuary had happened, I couldn't believe it. I heard it, I knew it was true, but I couldn't accept it. Chuck is 180 pounds, alert, resourceful, and full of life. People like that don't just disappear. That first day, I kept thinking they would hear from him, pick up a radio signal to home in on, and winch him up to a helicopter and safety. It had happened before and it would happen this time. Only it never did. That evening at about 9 o'clock a chaplain and another officer came to call. The officer was assigned to keep me posted on any information the Navy received and to help me with the financial affairs regarding Chuck's Mrs. Charles Parish writes news of her and son to missing husband, wondering if it will ever reach him. i - i TV ' v. i pay and allotments. An officer is assigned to every woman in uiy situation, and they do everything they can to help. In spite of their best efforts and the efforts of many kind people, it's a very personal nightmare. Mine began that summer afternoon and is still going on. I took our baby and went back to Virginia Beach, where Chuck and I had been together. We lived in a apartment, Hunter, our dasch-un- d Sasha, and I. Two months later, the bundle containing Chuck's belongings was delivered. That was a particularly difficult time, unpacking and putting away his clothes, his toilet town-hou- se articles, his camera. Those first months were the worst. Sometimes a few wives of fliers would get together for dinner or a movie, but it was hard to feign cheerfulness in our position. A news report that Christmas said arrangements were being made to release American fliers held by Hanoi. Later, we were told it had been an error in translation. In the beginning, I hung on every word, every story that mentioned the prisoners in North Vietnam. But there would always be that awful letdown, the realization that there wasn't going to be any list of names or free exchange of mail, at least not this time. borne of the wives still go through this at every scrap of news or rumor that comes from tho Paris talks or from pacifist groups here or abroad. I don't, not any more. I won't let myself get excited. I wait to be notified. I think I'm storing it all up inside me, and it will spill out all over some officer who one day brings me news of Chuck. That poor officer is going to have a scene on his hands. Last September I came to Washington, D.C., with' a number of wives whose husbands were missing or known to be prisoners in Vietnam. We visited the House of Representatives, and the House passed a resolution condemning North Vietnam for its refusal to abide by the Geneva Convention on treatment of prisoners by not furnishing a list of prisoners. Afterward, there was a reception for the families, and we discussed what else we could do. We had formed the National League of Families of American Prisoners to exchange in- - |