THE WALL OF FACES

I have not forgotten you. I chair the Adoption Committee for The National League of Families of Prisoners of War and Missing in Action in Southeast Asia. We will always remember the 1,889 Americans still unaccounted for in Southeast Asia and the thousands of others that lost their lives. We will not stop our efforts until all of you are home where you belong.

We need to reach the next generation so that they will carry on when our generation is no longer able. To do so, we are attempting to locate photographs of all the missing. If you are reading this remembrance and have a photo and/or memory of this missing American that you would like to share for our project, please contact me at:

Candace Lokey
PO Box 206
Freeport, PA 16229
[email protected]

If you are not familiar with our organization, please visit our web site at :

www.pow-miafamilies.org

Photo provided by:
United States Air Force Academy
Association of Graduates

Photo provided by:
United States Air Force Academy
Association of Graduates

MAJOR

THOMAS EDWARD CLARK

WAS A DISTINGUISHED GRADUATE OF THE

UNITED STATES AIR FORCE ACADEMY

AT COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO

IN THE CLASS OF 1963,

AFTER HAVING ALREADY SPENT TWO YEARS AT

PENN STATE UNIVERSITY.


HE WAS SOMETIMES REFERRED TO AS THE 'OLD MAN'

WHILE HE WAS AT THE USAF ACADEMY.

HE WAS INTERESTED IN POLITICS, FLYING AND

LOOKED FORWARD TO A MILITARY CAREER.

NEARLY SIX YEARS AFTER HIS GRADUATION, TOM CLARK

WAS FLYING A MISSION IN HIS F-100D " SUPERSABRE "

IN LAOS OVER THE HO CHI MINH TRAIL JUST

NORTHWEST OF THE DEMILITARIZED ZONE WHEN

HIS AIRCRAFT WAS SHOT DOWN. CIRCUMSTANCES

SURROUNDING HIS CRASH INDICATED THE ENEMY

PROBABLY KNEW HIS FATE, BUT IN 1973 HE WAS

NOT ONE OF THOSE RELEASED WITH THE OTHER

PRISONERS OF WAR AND SO TOM CLARK REMAINS

ONE OF NEARLY 600 AMERICANS WHO WERE LOST

IN LAOS AND HAVE NEVER RETURNED.

HE WAS PROMOTED TO THE RANK OF MAJOR DURING

THE PERIOD HE WAS MAINTAINED AS BEING

MISSING IN ACTION.





YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN
NOR SHALL YOU EVER BE

"Tommy's Fantom": by Mike Blades

The sun burned cold and bright as Tommy burst out of the house, leaving the screen door to clang loudly against the frame as it bounced to a close. Down through the backyard he ran, towards "The Hanger." It was nothing more than an old tool shed, but to Tommy it was so much more -- It was where adventures began in the morning and ended somewhere around dinnertime. The love of his life waited for him there, silent and sleek, yet waspish and incorporeal. The Fantom, in its charcoal gray and green coat, could quicken the pulse of any young boy. The wheels were well oiled with the rusty old oil can that his father had thought lost, and the wings were wiped down to catch the frost that the roof didn't stop. He ran his hands across a wing and put a bit of his weight into it, testing its strength to see if it would take another flight, and another fight. Circling the Fantom, he took note of his armament and cleared the doorstops he used for chocks; today, he carried a wing full of twenty pounders and a full magazine of lead and iron for his twin Vickers machinegun. Carefully, Tommy pushed The Fantom through the doors and as the sunlight caught the glisten on its wings, the earth trembled at it's power and might. This old radio-flyer gave a new meaning to the word "radio-flyer."
He was airborne within a minute or two, dodging flocks of starlings and punching clouds as though he owned the skies. He circled the neighborhood a few times, mostly out of a warm-up, and to see how she was going to hold up. Briefly, the thought of strafing the neighbor's dog came into mind. A welcome payback for all the times Tommy had to pick up the trash that had been spread all over the front yard. He saw his mom walking down the drive to fetch the newspaper and he hollered down "Mom," and she waved, then disappeared as he passed into a cloud. The cloud was long and thick, allowing only a small amount of light to peep through. It was hot and than cold, dry and than wet. It seemed bright for a spell, but grew dark and than light again. As he continued on, a scared feeling took over him, but he gathered his courage and pressed onward, as only he knew how to do. The clothing that he wore felt to tight and small for him at times, but than the feeling would disappear as quickly as it had come. At times he thought that he heard cheers and laughter over the hum of the engine, and yet he also heard sobs and cries. A strange weariness swept over him almost putting him to sleep - then he was suddenly awake and revitalized, as though he had slept for sixteen years. As the confusion dissipated, the cloud began to lighten, becoming more and more transparent. When he broke through, he adjusted his harness, set back into the cockpit and settled in for the flight. Occasionally, he checked his gauges and glanced around at the terrain below; a fighter pilot can never relax his guard. Gentle hills rushed by, smothered in a dense, green cover. A canopy so thick, the jungle floor was hidden entirely. Those within - the ones he sought this day were tucked away as well. He nosed the Phantom down to stay masked to the terrain, being careful in staying low to avoid the radar. He checked his navigation map and his equipment to be sure he was still flying on the right heading.
As he glanced towards his wingman, a puff of black smoke caught his attention and the phantom bucked like an old mule. He heard a racket in his head - gear, but ignoring it, he rolled to the left and cut away in a sharp bank trying to find the source of the problem -- AA fire; It was more tedious than trying to find that 'ol needle in a haystack. As he pulled up and leveled off, the plumes of smoke were increasing all around him, and his bird was rocking and screaming. Once again, he rolled to the left and swooped down to have himself a look. As he pulled back on the stick to level off, the Phantom shook like it never had before. A sound more deafening than the largest waterfall swept through the cockpit followed by some small, sharp puncturing sounds; right away, he knew that he’d been hit! As the engine belched and flamed-out, he fought the stick to keep control and aimed the burning Phantom towards a lightly covered clearing, all the while screaming into his headgear that he’d taken fire and was going down. As he wrestled with the controls, he frantically peered from right to left, focusing on the ground, trying to regain his bearings. The floor below was moving here and there, some faces warm and friendly, and others yet fierce and cold. Was that his mother going out for the paper? "Mom," he hollered "Mom." She looked up at him and...


Although the story itself is not true, the character and incident at the end is too real. Tommy is actually Major Thomas E. Clark, an F-4 Phantom II pilot in the United States Air Force. On February 8, 1969, Major Clark was shot down by Anti-Aircraft fire, while flying a mission over the country of Laos. Even as these words jump out at you, Major Clark remains an American POW/MIA, and has been now for 29 years, 8 months, and 22 days. Lets bring him home -- back to the rolling hills of Emporium, Pennsylvania. If he remains alive today, lets embrace him as the largest of heroes. If he has passed on, let us surround him in the love of Pennsylvania soil and remember him as the largest of heroes. It's not enough to remember our POW/MIAs anymore. It's time to bring them all home!!!


The Patriot's Inn
http://www.geocities.com/Pentagon/Bunker/2026/index.html





**Note to the reader: Tommy's Fantom is a small excerpt from a larger, on-going project to document and write about POW/MIAs (Vietnam era) that once called Pennsylvania home. This story is the first in a series of 112 separate stories that will, hopefully, one-day serve to raise public awareness about the POW/MIA issue.