How a simple bracelet led to lifelong connections with a real hero.

When I was an eighth grader in 1972, the Vietnam War was always in the news. Lots of people, including many of my friends, wore POW/MIA bracelets. Each simple bracelet was etched with the name of a prisoner of war or a soldier listed as missing in action, as well as the date of capture or loss. The goal of the effort was to raise awareness of the plight of military personnel who were missing or held captive. 

This sounded like a good idea to me, and I had enough babysitting money to pay for a bracelet, so—like millions of other Americans—I ordered one. Mine was etched with “Capt. James E. Ray” and “5-8-66.” Months went by.

My dad was the head football coach at La Porte High School, and a member of his coaching staff was married to a woman who had gone to Conroe High School. I’ll never forget the day their son looked at my bracelet and announced, “Mom! She’s got James Ray on her bracelet!” I soon learned that Ray had gone to Conroe High School, and furthermore, he had graduated from Texas A&M University, where my father, grandfather, two uncles, and a cousin had attended. He was a U.S. Air Force pilot whose F-105 fighter-bomber had been shot down over North Vietnam.

I wrote to Ray’s family through the POW/MIA awareness organization, and his mother wrote back. She told me her son had been reported missing on Mother’s Day of 1966. About nine months later, his status was changed from missing in action to prisoner of war. Three years after his capture, his parents finally got a letter from their son. Mrs. Ray wrote, “That was a great day!”

In early 1973, the POWs came home. Some of my friends wore bracelets that bore the names of soldiers who did not return, but “my” POW came home, and I watched the TV coverage closely. Ray had been released after spending six years, nine months as a POW—a length of time that seemed overwhelming to me. Years later, I did the math and realized that at the time of his release, Ray had been held captive for almost exactly half my life.

La Porte isn’t far from Conroe by Texas standards, so my dad drove me to Ray’s homecoming celebration at the Conroe High School stadium. All over town, yellow posters announced “Welcome Home Major James Ray.” (Unfortunately, the townspeople jumped the gun–Ray hadn’t been promoted to major yet.) At the conclusion of the ceremony, the honoree rode around the track in a convertible, waving to the people in the packed stadium. When the car came around to where we were sitting, my dad, a maroon-bleeding Aggie, flipped Ray a thumbs up. Ray responded in kind.  

Unbelievably, our family soon learned that the pastor of our church, Dr. Ray Mayfield, had been the pastor of Ray’s church, First Baptist Church of Conroe, when Ray was in high school. Our pastor contacted the recently-released POW—who was practically a celebrity by then—and invited him to speak at our church. I got a front row seat that day and was thrilled to get to meet “my” POW. I knew many people who had worn POW bracelets, but I didn’t know anyone else who had experienced a face-to-face meeting.

To say that Ray’s homecoming was an inspiration to me would probably be an understatement. I kept a scrapbook of newspaper and magazine clippings; I took off my bracelet, bent it flat and saved it in the scrapbook. I remember many details from this time, including my admiration for Ray’s heroism, his military bearing and his obvious delight to be home. One story left me particularly in awe. I heard that for years, Ray’s father and a few men from First Baptist Church in Conroe met once a week to pray for Ray’s safety and release. One fine morning in 1973, the prayer group had a guest appearance by the former POW himself. I’ll bet there were some sweaty eyeballs that day.

A captive audience

Six years later, I was a sophomore journalism major at Texas A&M, taking a course that required students to write one article per week for publication in The Battalion, the campus newspaper. One day, my brother, who was a junior in the Corps of Cadets, told me that Col. James Ray would be speaking to cadets. Would I like to cover the event for The Battalion? I could probably count on one hand the number of college classes that I skipped, but I cut a class that day to attend Ray’s presentation. I loved it when his speech included the perfect ending to my article: “Ray said he doesn’t mind talking about his experiences as a POW because ‘I kind of enjoy it when it’s my turn to talk to a captive audience.’”

Ray spoke to a captive audience once again on Veterans Day 2023—50 years after his release—at the invitation of the Heritage Museum of Montgomery County. Of course I attended. Many of Ray’s high school classmates were there, and I witnessed lots of hugs. During his presentation, Ray talked about the unlikely jobs he’d held before entering the U.S. Air Force that had helped him when he was in pilot training. He also mentioned a Conroe teacher whose husband had been a Japanese-held POW during World War II, and how he had been able to read some of the man’s first-hand accounts about his experiences as a POW. “I know this was kind of preparing me for some events later on,” Ray said.

Ray mesmerized the audience with details about his dangerous mission, his fiery aircraft, and the radioed warnings to “Get out, get out, get out!” He reported that he “used escape and evasion techniques for about four and a half minutes” before his capture. He then described in detail the horrific torture he endured. There were also lighter moments, such as his tales of retaliatory pranks on over-zealous upperclassmen while he was a freshman at Texas A&M. He then told about using some of the same techniques to outwit his captors in Vietnam. Unlike his experiences in Aggieland, however, the consequences for being caught were torture or possibly even death. Ray also told how the “tap code” prisoners used to communicate while in solitary confinement was crucial to their well-being. 

Prisoners were kept in solitary confinement when space allowed, Ray said, but as the war lingered, the number of POWs grew. At one point, he lived with three other men “in a room that was smaller than a lot of walk-in closets.” He noted that there was a Southern Baptist, a Mormon, an Episcopalian and a Jew in the same cell, but their shared belief in Judeo-Christian principles helped them through their ordeal.

Ray also told the audience why he was willing to serve and endure unspeakable hardship. He quoted part of the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident. . . life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. . . deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.” Never before in history had a government derived its power from the consent of the governed, and this, he said, makes America worth defending. “After the Bible,” he said, “the two most important documents in the history of the world are the Declaration of Independence and our Constitution.

At the end of the presentation, Dr. Suann Hereford, executive director of the Heritage Museum, asked for a show of hands. How many attendees had worn POW bracelets with Ray’s name? At least 20 hands went up. Then, she asked how many people had their bracelets with them. A handful of us raised our hands. Apparently, I was not the only person who was inspired by Ray’s heroism.

For more information about Ray’s wartime experiences, watch the American Warrior series on YouTube.