By Capt. Jason Christie, Air Force Mortuary Affairs
Operations / Published May 12, 2014
DOVER AIR FORCE BASE, Del. (AFNS) -- (This story is part of
the "Commentaries" section on AF.mil. These stories capture the
experiences of Airmen from a first-person perspective.)
I began my career 15 years ago as a maintainer launching
aircraft with wide eyes and supreme confidence. Aircraft coming and going was
normal to me and had been since I was a child, when my father was in the Air
Force. As I grew into the job, the importance of our work was constantly on the
minds of everyone around me. It was our responsibility to do everything we
could, the right way, to make sure the aircraft came back. I took the
maintenance badge I wore very seriously.
A few weeks ago, I was notified I would be a military escort
for a fallen Airmen returning from the Vietnam conflict. On Dec. 30, 1969, 1st
Lt. Douglas David Ferguson, having received the Silver Star just prior to the
incident that would take his life, was part of a formation of F-4s from the
555th Tactical Fighter Squadron on an armed reconnaissance mission over Laos.
Doug and his still unaccounted for aircraft commander, Capt. Fielding
Featherston, made two successful passes as they strafed their target. On their
last pass, the aircraft went down.
Their names are on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in
Washington, D.C., and on the lesser known, but still revered
"Punchbowl" in Honolulu, more formally known as the National Memorial
Cemetery of the Pacific. Ferguson was posthumously promoted to the rank of
captain.
I traveled along with Danielle Van Orden, an Air Force
funeral director assigned to Dover Air Force Base, Delaware, who painstakingly
works behind the scenes to bring closure to these families, through the Joint
POW/MIA Accounting Command at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, Hawaii, where
Ferguson's remains were identified.
In Hawaii we met his nephew, retired Marine Corps Lt. Col.
Bryan Scott and his cousin, a veteran flight attendant, Sally Savard. The four
of us were inseparable as we brought Capt. Ferguson back to Tacoma to be laid
to rest. Our reactions ranged from lots of tears to lots of laughs and we
eventually came up with the acronym WWDD or "What would Doug do?" to
guide us on our long and emotional journey.
Along the way, we met countless people who went above and
beyond the call of duty in bringing the captain home. From the technicians at
the 15th Force Support Squadron, to the pilots on our flights who honored him
by explaining to each group of passengers who the hero on board that day was;
to the ground crews at each airport we stopped at, who helped me take care of
him and got us to where we needed to be; to the passengers who would flash a
smile or whisper a thank you. Everyone was gracious, kind and amazing.
In the Salt Lake City terminal, an older gentleman with a
World War II veteran hat on saw me in service dress and stopped me to ask, with
tears in his eyes, if I was bringing someone home. I replied, "Yes, sir.
After almost 45 years, Doug is coming home," and then told his story while
the gentleman cried.
Arriving in Seattle, I met Sue Scott, Capt. Ferguson's
sister and longtime POW/MIA advocate and leader. Sue has helped countless
families as they bring their loved ones home all the while wondering if she
would see the day that her brother would do the same. That day, he would
receive the welcome he so richly deserved. The Honor Guard from Joint Base
Lewis-McChord, Washington, rendered impeccable honors, state and local police
and firefighters came out in force for the processional, McChord Airmen
executed a flawless funeral service on base and the Patriot Guard riders,
Vietnam veterans themselves, escorted their fallen brother to his final resting
place.
The wear of a bracelet with the name of a Prisoner of War or
Missing in Action service member has long been a tradition in the military
community. It's a way of remembering and honoring those who haven't returned to
us yet. There was a small wooden box at Ferguson's funeral where those who had
worn his bracelet all these years were invited to leave them as a symbol that
he'd finally come home.
I hadn't worn his bracelet but wanted to honor him in my own
way and though I am a personnel officer by now, I thought of the aircrews and
maintainers on the flightline that day in 1969.
I asked Sue if it was alright for me to place my maintenance
badge in the box as a symbol of our journey and she graciously agreed. As I
removed it from my uniform, the words of my past echoed through my head,
"it's our job to make sure they get home."
Well, Doug, it's been an honor and privilege to have been
your final wingman. You're finally home.
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