Imagine a 5 x 5 square numbered 1 to 5 horizontally along the top and vertically down the left side. Picture the letters of the alphabet running in order across each row with the letters C and K occupying the same space on the first row in the third square. Hold this image in your mind because if you are imprisoned in this place, there is no way to write anything down.
The “Hanoi Hilton” wouldn’t get even a 1-star rating today, and thankfully it’s not taking reservations any longer. It’s the infamous house of horrors that took in downed pilots captured during the Vietnam War and tried to break them more—both in body and spirit. The prisoners lived in abysmal conditions, often in isolation, sometimes with a cellmate. They were often ill and frequently tortured. Communication with prisoners in other cells was forbidden and subject to severe punishment. In order to “talk” to each other, they used a simple tap code that newcomers could easily learn.
The POWs could secretly communicate with each other through tapping on the walls, through brushes of a broom when on cleaning duty, and even through coughs. They tapped (or brushed or coughed) each letter according to its line number and then, after a pause, according to its place in the line. For instance, they would have tapped the letter “P” using three taps, a pause, and then five taps. They also used “shorthand.” In the evening, they might tap out G-B-U for “God Bless You.” Two rapid taps in response meant the recipient understood. Several quick taps meant he didn’t.
The prisoners tapped their names, messages of hope and encouragement, jokes, stock answers to interrogation questions, and prayers. They tapped to teach and learn languages. They tapped to tell stories. And they tapped poetry.
In 1967, the late Arizona Senator John McCain, then a Lt. Commander in the Navy, “booked” a room in that “hotel” and stayed for more than five years. As he tells it, poetry saved his life. He memorized Robert W. Service’s The Cremation of Sam McGee through the tap code. McCain said that Bill Lawrence, who occupied the cell next door, would tap a couple of lines through the wall. McCain memorized them and tapped them back. He was still able to recite all 14 stanzas nearly 30 years later.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked”; … then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
I can think of more uplifting poems I’d like to have memorized for such a dire situation, but maybe the fact that Sam survived the furnace with a smile brought hope and a smile to the men sitting in a furnace of their own. Olivia Waxman wrote, “The tale of loyalty and survival must have particularly resonated with two men trying to help each other stay alive in the POW camp.”
Retired Air Force Major General John Borling—then Captain Borling—was shot down over Vietnam in 1966 and was also housed in the Hanoi Hilton. He wrote that poetry was his “meat and potatoes” because the “mental hunger was easily the most ravenous.” The prisoners tapped poems through the walls, including Kipling’s If and The Ballad of East and West, Service’s The Cremation of Sam McGee and The Shooting of Dan McGrew, Henley’s Invictus, and fragments of Shakespeare.
Borling also composed mental poetry, memorized it, and “wrote” it with his knuckles on the wall. His words were tapped on through the cells, and fellow pilots memorized his poems for their own mental health and to “provide a legacy” for Borling’s wife in case he didn’t make it home. Creating poetry, he said, was his way to fight back. He did make it home, and forty years later he compiled all of his poems into Taps on the Walls: Poems from the Hanoi Hilton.
“This is a story about the power of the unwritten word,” Borling wrote in his Introduction. “It is a redemptive story—how poetry saved me during six and a half years as a POW in North Vietnamese prison camps.”
John McCain wrote the foreword. “John Borling, a POW for over six and a half years won this fight [to keep his mind sharp] and contributed greatly to the morale and survival of the rest of us with his poems and incredible talent for storytelling . . . His personal collection of poetry, mentally composed and memorized over the course of his imprisonment, was another valuable source of mental stimulation and discussion.”
The volume is divided into four sections. “Strapping on a Tailpipe,” describes the freedom a pilot feels in flight. Borling wrote about the hard days in “POW and Other ‘Dark and Bitter Stuff’” and holidays in “The Holidays and Hollow Days.” He also wrote a 123-stanza (twelve lines each) epic poem called “Southeast Asia Story.” He wrote odes and sonnets and a ballad and other poems whose forms I haven’t yet identified.
“Sonnet 4 45 43 (In tap code) Sonnet for Us” is one of my favorites.
The world without, within our weathered walls,
Remote, like useless windows, small and barred.
Here, months and years run quickly down dim halls,
But days, the daze, the empty days come hard.
I used to count a lot, count everything,
Like exercise and laps and words of prayer.
What hurt that hunger, thoughts that thirst can bring,
Companions, waking, sleeping, always there.
But policy insanities unwind,
Till bad is good and betterment is worse.
So refuge blanket, net, and molding mind
Create a mingling dream-real universe.
I’m told that steel is forged by heavy blows.
If only men were steel, but then, who knows?
Poetry saved John McCain and John Borling in the Hanoi Hilton. It undoubtedly saved many of the others, too, and created bonds of deep friendship. In fact, McCain told Stars and Stripes that his imprisonment was a very difficult period, “but at the same time the bonds of friendship and love for my fellow prisoners will be the most enduring memory of my five and a half years of incarceration.” Chances are most of us will never find ourselves in a Hanoi Hilton. But there are many kinds of prisons. A few poems tucked in our hearts might just steel us for them, and maybe we can tap out lines to help another live.
Photo by Nathalie, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Sandra Heska King.
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Glynn says
I’m always amazed at stories like this, and perhaps I shouldn’t be. The power of poetry is often astonishing.
Katie says
I agree Glynn, “The power of poetry is often astonishing.”
And the power of language itself – communication – connection: to bring hope, to strengthen faith, to cultivate love.
Sandy,
Thank you for this triumphant tribute to men of steel trap minds:)
Gratefully,
Katie
Sandra Heska King says
“triumphant tribute to men of steel trap minds”
I love that. Thank you, Katie.
Sandra Heska King says
Glynn… I wish I’d known it’s power a long, long time ago. But this. I can’t even fathom.
Donna Falcone says
Oh Sandra, this is amazing. I’m speechless.
Sandra Heska King says
It’s something isn’t it? Poetry literally did save them.
Megan Willome says
So well done, Sandy!
Their choices of poems are so interesting. Obviously, these men came from an educational culture where memorizing poetry was something they did. I wonder if something like “Invictus” might have been assigned, but something like “The Cremation of Sam Magee” might have been one chosen by a student who had to memorize something and perhaps got to choose from a list.
Sometimes I have found comfort in uncomfortable poems. We never know what we might need.
Sandra Heska King says
Thank you, Megan!
Back in the day, poetry memorization and recitation was mandatory. But around the 1960s or so, it kind of fell out of style with the thought that rote learning took a back seat to analysis. I figure McCain and Borland must have been in school during the 50s and 60s? So they still may have been required to do some memorization. I looked up the current Air Force Academy curriculum, and it’s got some heavy English classes in it, including poetry and some “intensive study of Shakespeare’s poetry.” I don’t know what it was like when McCain and Borland were there. The poems all strike me as “manly” poems–the kind guys would like to memorize if they had to. Hmmm… maybe I could ask Major General Borland himself. I think he’s on Facebook…
Will Willingham says
I was still memorizing in grade school, even 6th grade, which would have been early to mid-70s if I’m doing the math right, so good old Mr. Palm must have been one of the last holdouts. Sadly the poems I memorized didn’t stay with me much beyond those grades, except parts of Kilmer’s “Trees.” Even so, I’m glad for the early start on that practice.
This is a terrifically powerful story here, Sandra. So grateful for you telling it. And I’m particularly struck by the idea at the end: that even though many of us will not face a similar situation, life is full of other places where poems, tucked in our hearts, may be the thing that saves us in the end.
Sandra Heska King says
I don’t remember intentionally memorizing anything, but we must have because I remember bits and pieces as well as a lot of the Gettysburg Address and Shakespeare. Classmates have told me we did. But I don’t remember. And if we did, I am guessing we had to write them in an exam. Surely I’d remember if I had to stand up and recite. I remember a little of “Trees.”
Thanks so much.
K says
Sandy,
Again, thank you for this post.
Just a note about McCain:
He was a Navy Pilot and went to Annapolis (USNA).
I think that is where he chose to be buried.
Sandra Heska King says
You are correct, K. I didn’t make that clear in my response to Megan. McCain also wasn’t a model student
I also looked up the USNA’s current curriculum. There are some very cool lit classes. I’m guessing those students have to memorize–and probably did back then for sure.
Thanks for reading!
Bethany R. says
Such a touching and important post. Thank you for writing and sharing it, Sandra.
Sandra Heska King says
Thanks, Bethany! I just can’t imagine. I read some accounts of what happened there. I had to stop.
Diana Trautwein says
This is both beautiful and fascinating. I knew some of it, but I thank you for the details, especially about how the code worked. SO time-consuming — but then, when the time is endless, maybe it doesn’t matter. My eldest daughter had an old-fashioned kindergarten teacher and the way she taught was with songs, akin to poetry in so many ways. They sang EVERYTHING and it stuck well. I think my mom’s ability to hold hymns in her leaky brain when little else lasted speaks to this power, too. It’s a different part of the brain, the part where music lives. And the best poetry is musical, in its own lovely way.
Sandra Heska King says
Poetry was originally meant to be sung. 🙂
What a good teacher, and yes… there are people who have suffered strokes and lost their words–but found them again by digging deep for words hidden in their hearts. I’m so not surprised that hymns (musical poetry) helped seal some of your mother’s leaks.
Sometimes when I get to a challenging line in a poem I’m trying to memorize, I’ll make up a silly tune and sing it to seal it.
Thanks for popping in, Diana. xo
Richard Maxson says
Sandra, thank you for writing so well the details of this story about John McCain and how poetry helped save his life.
Sandra Heska King says
Thanks. Richard. And thanks for reading and letting me know. 🙂
lynn says
Wow! I am surprised as well as humbled by this story of heroes surviving on poetry. Wonderful tribute to soldier poets…and the value of memorization. Glad I took time to read.
Sandra Heska King says
Thanks for reading, Lynn. So what poetry are you tucking into your heart today. 😉
lynn says
I’m trying to commit Ps. 84 to memory…wish I could have my younger brain back for memorizing ease (but then the psalm wouldn’t carry as much meaning for my lived experience, right?)!
Sandra Heska King says
Oh my gosh, I LOVE that psalm. And the song based on it–Better Than One Day–makes me tear up. It originated with Matt Redman, right? I think I’ll join you in that quest–cuz, yeah, I think some things become more meaningful as we grow older.
So let us know when you’ve nailed it, okay? 🙂
lynn says
Yes, I think it’s Matt Redman’s worship song. Ok, Sandra, you’re on…we gotta do this!