September 1 - In Memory

Dear Jimmy, Thirty years. Thirty years! How can it have been so long ago? Sometimes it seems a lifetime ago. Sometimes it seems unreal. You are not forgotten, Jim. I’ve often thought of telling “your story”. Forgive me for starting at the end of your amazing life. On September 29, 1984, I wrote this: “We buried my brother today. How hard this is to write, to realize it is true. And what a complicated story this is to relate.” It was Labor Day weekend 1984 and we were all out of town: As I recall,Mom and Dad, Jimmy IV and Alanna in Gatlinburg; Allen, Kit and I in Arkansas. Allen went to play golf after lunch, while thirteen-month-old Kit and I stayed at the house rented for our holiday vacation. It sure seemed like a normal Labor Day holiday, just another September 1. I remember a strange disquieting feeling around 3 p.m. that afternoon. Looking back, I wonder if that was the moment our world cracked, shattered. We all returned home on Labor Day—I imagine we got together for a family meal when we picked up Alanna, but cannot remember for sure and I didn’t write anything in my journal. Mother called me Tuesday, September 4, asking about Allen and the children, and then asked if I could come to their house. Of course, I said, shaken by the strange, stilted conversation. I drove over immediately. “As you can tell, much time elapsed from Jimmy’s death to his burial. We did not learn of his death until Tuesday, September 4, when a Washington Post reporter called mother at home to get more information on Jimmy’s life. What a cruel way it was to learn!” That’s why Mom sounded so different on the phone. She’s just hung up talking—no, listening to the Washington Post reporter. On that day, my parents’ home became our operations center and the battle to recover my brother’s body began. “We will probably never know the complete story surrounding his death. In the latter part of August, Jimmy, according to his former wife, told her that he was flying medical supplies to Honduras and that he would be in no danger. On September 1, he was killed.” Every day followed a similar, bizarre pattern of its predecessor. “The news media, for the most part, was compassionate, but the national impact made things difficult to deal with…that was among my jobs. Allen and I and the children spent the night at Mother and Dad’s from September 4 until September 27 and I have spent each day there until today (September 29). It was where I was needed and where I belonged.” My background in broadcasting served as some preparation for me as I handled the pressure of the media. It wasn’t easy, but it was easier since Allen and I worked with or had met many of the local reporters. Even the national media were respectful as they went about doing their job. I thought of Dana Parker’s family, knew they were probably equally bombarded with local and national news attention, and hoped they had someone to fend for them. It took us until September 19 to get positive identification from the Sandinista government, two and a half weeks following Jimmy’s death. “After my family's pleas to President Reagan, our U.N. Ambassador Jane Kirkpatrick, Tennessee’s senators Howard Baker and Jim Sasser, and Tennessee Governor Lamar Alexander for help—and with help all along from Congressman Don Sundquist and his press secretary, Joel Wood, plus pleas from Senator Sasser, and aid from a new State Department-assigned fellow, Tom Furey, Jimmy and (fellow American) Dana Parker’s bodies were released to the U.S. Consul in Nicaragua, Robert Fretz, on Saturday, September 22 (Mother’s birthday) and came home Wednesday, September 26.” We met the airplane at Memphis International airport. A doctor from U.T. Medical Unit confirmed the identification so there would be no doubt. “Family visitation night was Friday, with many people in attendance. (Jimmy never met a stranger.) A Central American refugee, looking for ‘a family member’ told me he was ‘so sorry I no know Jim. I appreciate what he did…his sacrifice. I want to say thank you.’ How beautiful.” Jimmy was laid to rest, with full military honors, very close to home. The Powell, Drotor, and Blair families gathered and were surrounded by military personnel Jimmy had served with, as well as long-time family friends and co-workers, all there to give us strength and support. “Jimmy’s suffering is over now. He can rest in peace. I shall never understand a government who made two families suffer for nearly a month, which did nothing as far as refrigeration or embalming to preserve the bodies, who did their utmost to be difficult. But it is not my place to feel bitter and wish for revenge. God shall be their judge; His will be done. God give you hugs from us, Jimmy. 1947 – 1984” Jimmy, in your final letter given to Mom and Dad by those who were with you in Central America, you closed with the words “…I know you will be proud.” You always excelled at that. With love, Rocky --------------------------------- Thanks to a man I’ll call “Chuck”, and to Oliver North’s testimony during the Iran-Contra hearings, we did find out ‘the rest of the story’. Chuck just showed up one day at Mom and Dad’s. He said he needed to tell them about Jimmy. He said that he tried to go to the press, but received anonymous threats that he would be killed if he talked. Chuck told us about meeting Jimmy and hanging out with Jimmy and his friends. We knew by what he said that he really had met and befriended my gregarious brother. Chuck‘s story included a timetable of Jimmy’s preparation for this mission, including that somehow someone had pulled strings to get Jimmy a new passport in just a couple of days. Chuck said that Jimmy was killed when he was on a covert mission for our government to steal a Soviet helicopter from Nicaragua. (Intriguing and somewhat believable, considering the October 2, 1982 incident when my parents received word from the Coast Guard in Miami, Florida, that Jimmy and the private plane he was piloting had not arrived at either destination he had logged in either his flight plan or alternate. We didn’t even know he was out of the country! For days -until October 5- Allen and I did detective work, were thrown red herrings and heard stories that people telling them would, with the next phone call, retract, talked to one of our state’s congressmen that finally paid off. Looking back, pretty bizarre. Someone flew Jimmy to Memphis and there were never any questions from the FAA or any authority concerning the crash at sea, his rescue supposedly by fishermen, etc. ) Fast forward to the Iran-Contra hearing when Mother called me. She had been watching and recording the hearings and captured on tape Oliver North testifying how the U.S. Government sought to steal a Soviet Hein helicopter. Bingo.