HEPPNER (ORE.) GAZETTE-TIMES, Thursday. April 5. 19T3 8
Anger Kept Me
Hy Jerry E. Ronenthal and
Alexandrrina Shuler
"Anger kept me going,"
Michael Dennis Benge says in
telling how he survived more
than five gruelling years of
captivity by the Communists in
Vietnam. "I hold no animosity
towards the Vietnamese people
who kept me prisoner," he says.
"I was just angry about the
whole system and I decided I
wasn't going to let It get the best
of me. You know the expression,
illigitimas non carborundum?
' Well, that was my motto."
Mike, a bachelor, returned to
Washington March 8 in the
second group of POWs to be
released by the North Viet
namese and Viet Cong. The
plucky, slightly-built AID advi
sor, however, came back to
more than his family and
freedom. He received the
Award for Heroism, which had
been waiting for him since 1968,
the year he was captured.
Administrator Hannah present
ed the honor Tuesday, March
20.
The crew-cut, 37-year-old na
tive of Oregon was captured by
the North Vienamese Army in
the village of Ban Me Thout,
Darlac Province, during the Tet
offensive January 31, 1968.
From that time until his release
two weeks ago, Mike survived
an ordeal that included walking
more than 600 miles barefooted,
suffering malaria, beriberi,
blindness, loss of hair and
partial paralysis. He underwent
solitary confinement for long
periods of time.
At the time of his capture
Mike was working with the
Montagnards - "mountain
people". He had started work
ing with them in 1963 when he
joined the International Volun
tary Services. He joined AID in
1965. He became proficient both
in Vietnamese and Rhade, a
dialect of the Montagnards.
"There were eight others with
me at my home the night of
January 30, watching the fire
crackers and celebration of
Tet," Mike recalls. "We had
always thought how easy it
would be for the enemy to
mingle with the jubilant crowds
and have an attack in full force
before we would know what was
happening."
That is exactly what did
happen. He knew the noise was
no innocent celebration when a
mortar shell landed in his yard.
At about 8:30 a.m. the next day
the firing ceased for a time and
people began drifting toward
Mike's house from the less
protected missionary settle
ments. Mike, concerned about what
he affectionately and protec
tively calls "his people" -Americans,
Vietnamese and
Montagnards in Darlac Pro
vince, the area for which he was
responsible as AID develop
ment advisor - jumped into his
International Scout and sought
to check how the five American
officials and 28 others under his
supervision had fared.
"I stopped at the nurses
quarters and asked for volun
teers to help me with the
wounded," Mike said. "One of
the nurses came with me. We
went to the missionary com
pound and picked up wounded
and brought them to the
hospital. Then, I visited the
orphanage to see what had
happened there. I proceeded to
check with the provincial
governor and was told there
was only sporadic firing now.
However, when I saw an enemy
tank I knew that it wasn't over
by any means.
"I went to the mission
compound where there were
four IVS and 12 missionaries. I
knew a number had been killed
and wounded. I found out later
seven had been massacred.
"In the village a Montagnard
chief, dressed in ceremonial
robes to 'welcome' the Com
munists as liberators - which
the enemy commanded the
villagers to do -came out to
wave me off. 'All is well here, go
away,' he shouted.
Only when it was too late,
Mike realized that the chieftain
was trying to warn him he was
in danger.
And so he was. Mike, a few
minutes later, noticed "un
friendly and unfamiliar faces,"
and turned his Scout around.
Too late. Armed North Viet
namese soldiers rose out of a
ditch and surrounded him.
"They had a mortar and
automatic weapons," he said.
"I had to give myself up or be
killed.
Marked Man
"Was a marked man for a
long time," Mike adds. "I was
well known throughout the area
by everyone, including the
enemy. And I traveled around
extensively, staying in the
villages for several nights at a
time. It was no real surprise
when I was picked up - it was
long overdue."
His actions, however, had
saved lives. It was for this that
Mike received AID'S Award for
Heroism which was approved
by former Administrator Will
lam Gaud in October. 1968. The
award was given to Mike, who,
"without regard for his own
personal safety, distinguished
himself by his heroic actions to
insure the safety of American
civilians and missionaries dur
ing the Viet Cong Tet offensive
on January 30, 1968."
Mike's work also has been
recognized by the South Viet
nam Government. Two high
level awards wait for him
having been sent to his parents'
beef-cattle and wheat ranch in
Oregon.
At first, when captured, Mike
said, he was kept in a cage
about eight feet square for
about a month. He was interro
gated. "I was coerced quite
extensively," he said. "I tried to
hide the fact that I was fluent in
Vietnamese and Rhade, but
later they found out."
Then he was marched
through South Vietnam to
several camps for the next eight
months. "The enemy made us
walk to show us off as 'soft
Americans who ride autos and
planes all the time'."
Two missionaries from Ban
Me Thuot-Henry F. Blood, a
linguist working in a program to
put one of the Montagnard
dialects into written form, and
Betty Olsen, who worked in the
leprosarium-were captured
with Mike. Both died within the
year. Mr. Blood died in July of
1968 of malnutrition and pneu
monia. Miss Olsen died in
September shortly after they
had been marched into Cam
bodia. According to Mike, she
also was denied medical treat
ment for malnutrition and
amoebic dysentery.
Before her death, however,
she helped Mike survive a
35-day attack of malaria. "I was
blind for awhile in that time,"
Mike said. He added that he was
not given any medical attention
until near the end of his illness.
"We were fed only rice, salt
and manioc at this time," Mike
said. Occasionally, one of the
guards would shoot an Asian
deer and we would have some
meat. Or we would catch a
lizard."
In Cambodia, Mike said,
"they would march us 10 to 12
hours a day along the trail about
30 miles inside the border from
Vietnam. This, remember, was
in 1969, nearly a year and a half
before the military incursion
into that country. We saw a
steady stream of enemy mili
tary personnel and equipment
going in both directions. It was
a continuous stream."
Mike said he was manacled at
night. His legs became swollen;
his feet blistered. "I lost feeling
in my arms; my hair turned
completely white."
From Cambodia, Mike said,
the prisoners were marched up
the Ho Chi Minh trail in Laos,
arriving at a camp outside
Hanoi in North Vietnam De
cember 26, 1969. He estimated
he had been marched 600 miles.
In the camp near Hanoi, Mike
was kept in solitary confine
ment one year. Later, he was in
solitary intermittently. His
black-painted cement-block cell
had no openings for light or air,
but there were holes in the
floor-for the rats. "Sometimes,
there were seven or eight rats in
the room with me," he said.
Flies also were a problem. "I
remember killing 120 in a few
hours."
Mike recounted one of the few
times he was given medical
attention.
"The North Vietnamese
medical doctor was going to
show some other people how . to
give an intravenous injection. It
took him an hour to squeeze out
a few drops. Finally, he called
for a bowl, poured the injection
into it and told me to drink it."
When transfered to the center
of Hanoi proper, Mike said, the
food improved.
"We were fed twice a day
then, each time receiving a loaf
of bread, a bowl of rice and
some greens, pumpkin or cab
bage." He said, however, he was
never allowed to write nor did
he ever receive a letter or a
package during the five years of
captivity.
"Last October, when the
negotiations for the cease-fire
started," he said, "the North
Vietnamese started to fatten us
up with a heavy starch diet. But
when the negotiations broke
down, we went back to the old
diet."
Mike said that one time
during his captivity he was
down to 100 pounds. He normal
ly weighs about 150.
Mike, who has been under
medical observation and treat
ment at the Naval Medical
Center in Bethesda, Md., said
Going
the long imprisonment increas
ed his faith. He wears around
his neck a small cross he carved
from bamboo while in captivity.
"I was never a particularly
religious person, but when
you're in a situation such as I
was you get to thinking that
someone must be looking out
after you. Symbolic of my faith
and also as a sign of defiance-it
bugged the hell out of the
enemy -I made the cross.
"One of the things the North
Vietnamese dislike most, in my
opinion," Mike explains, "is
religion."
Only God....'
"Once, when they threatened
to kill me, I shook my head no,
and told them only God could
take my life. They looked at me
like I was crazy and after that
they more or less left me
alone."
"One of the things I was able
to do," Mike says of his
five-year incarceration, "was to
think about our aid program. I
was always so busy on the job I
never had a chance to think
about how we could do it better.
During captivity, I had plenty of
time.
"The way to help people in the
developing countries," he be
lives. "is through understand
ing and by having a thorough
knowledge of them. Also,
recognition and respect for
their history, culture and way of
life.
One friend who was an
infantry officer stationed Viet
nam while Mike was there, says
Mike "had a devotion toward
the country and the people in it.
I envied (his) ability and
freedom to get to know the
people." He notes Mike's
thorough ability in the Viet
namese language.
Anthropologist Gerald C.
Hickey, who was Mike's room
mate the night before he was
captured, calls Mike "an east
ern Oregon farm boy who came
out to Vietnam in the early 1960s
and fell under the spell of the
highland people. He was what
the Special Forces called a
Montagnard freak."
Mike has a special affection
for the Montagnards. He was
the adopted son of Y Bham Nie
and his wife, a great honor in
the highlanders' society.
Among Mike's personal pos
sessions much of which was lost
after his capture, were dozens
of thin metal-rod bracelets
given by the Montagnards as a
token of love, respect, devotion
and friendship. When his long
time friend Robert Meyers, who
worked as a State Department
officer in Laos, met him to
escort him home from the
Philippines, Mr. Meyers slip
ped a Montagnard bracelet on
Mike's wrist.
A Special Fraternity
"It's a special kind of
fraternity," Mike explains.
At the Bethesda hospital,
Mike is undergoing what he
calls "a $1,000 checkup."
"Early test results for tu
berculosis are negative. I'm
being treated for parasites and
tropical diseases and the doc
tors are checking what may be
a spleen problem, but I'm
feeling good."
Mike speaks with a slight
speech impediment.
"I had it licked before my
capture," he says. "But it came
back with the pressure during
imprisonment."
Despite this, Mike addressed
a crowd of several hundred
persons who gathered at An
drews Air Force Base to
welcome home the 19 POW's
who had been flown direct from
Clark Field in the Philippines
by way bf Hickam Field,
Hawaii.
Mike was the only civilian in
the group, and the last to debark
from the C-141 four-engine jet.
After being greeted by Robert
H. Nooter, Assistant Admini
strator for Supporting Assist
ance, and high-ranking military
officers, he walked to the
microphone.
"You don't know how much it
means to all of us," he said in a
voice that broke several times,
"to once again be back in the
free world. I wish to thank
everyone for all the support that
we have had since our capture.
And for all the wonderful
support and the reception and
the care that we have had since
our release.
"None of us will rest or be
happy until the rest of our fellow
Americans, POWs, and any
other personnel who were with
us in Vietnam are all released.
God Bless All
"Once agin I wish to thank
everyone for all the wonderful
welcome. God bless all of you."
The crowd, many of whom
were children, cheered and
waved their signs, as they had
for each of the military POWs
who had come off ahead of
Mike.
But they were silent for some
of the men who could not stand
erect or salute smartly. An
Army sergeant was wheeled
down the ramp in a wheelchair.
Another, Army Sergeant Gail
M. Kerns of West Virginia was
determined he would walk,
although a head wound that had
loft him partially paralyzed
made It difficult.
Sergeant Kerns laboriously
limped down the ramp, pain
fully saluted each of the
military party, and shook hands
with Mr. Nooter. Then, two
nurses came to his aid. But as
they helped him walk from the
plane, he paused and slowly let
himself kneel to the ground and
kissed the pavement. The
welcomers, many with tears in
their eyes, had not uttered a
sound until this point. Now, they
raised a loud cheer.
"Gail was imprisoned with
me and we got to be good
friends," Mike explained later
in an interview. "When we were
in the same camp I tried to work
with him -- in physical therapy.
But the enemy would not allow
it even after repeated requests.
I was separated from him and
rejoined him just before re
lease. He's quite a great guy."
At a press conference, Mike,
in telling of his relationship with
Sergeant Kerns, nearly broke
down, his voice filled with
emotion.
Mike said he also was
prevented from helping other
prisoners.
At Andrews, after his brief
but eloquent statement, he
strode from the microphone
across the apron to a helicopter
that was to fly him to Bethesda
and reunion with his mother and
father, sister and niece. His
walk, however, was interrupted
by a greeting from Douglas K.
Ramsey, the State Department
Foreign Service officer assign
ed to AID who had come home
just 10 davs earlier after seven
years as a" POW. Mike also was
met by an old friend, Don
Brewster, who had worked with
Mike when he was with the IVS
and again after joining AID in
1965. Mr. Brewster is an AID
officer presently assigned to the
White House.
Waiting at the hospital for the
helicopter were Mike's family,
Mr. and Mrs. Terrel Benge, of
Heppner, Ore.; his sister, Mrs.
Joan Hughes, and niece, Terry.
They call him "Butch", and
recalled his years of growing up
in Heppner. Mike was born in
Denver, Colo., in 1935, and
raised in lone, Ore. He attended
local schools there, graduating
from lone High School in 1953.
He attended Oregon State
University in Corvallis, Ore.,
for two years before joining the
U.S. Marine Corps on January
11, 1956. He left the Marines in
April 1959, and returned to
Oregon State and graduated
with a bachelor's degree in
mechanical technology and
agricultural engineering.
During his college years,
Mike participated as a bull
rider in rodeos. His father
recalls that Mike liked to travel
around with the rodeos, and
although "he wasn't all that
good at it' Mr. Benge says,
"Mike enjoyed riding for rec
reation." Following graduation, Mike
worked for Northwest Aviation
in California prior to joining the
International Voluntary Service
in 1963.
Farm Boy
"Butch is a farm boy," Mrs.
Terrel Benge says of her son,
Mike. "He has a strong consti
tution and an understanding of
life that is close to the soil. If
anyone could come through he
could. He lived that world's way
of life, he ate and slept with the
people, he loved them.
"He has a good head and a
sense of humor and I'm certain
that helped him survive."
"We never gave up" the
Benges say. "Rumors reached
us from many sources. The
Montagnards would pass word
to someone who would write us
he had been seen."
And as if to convince an
observer, Mrs. Benge showed
an up-to-date driver's license
for Mike, paid-up insurance
premiums, a check book,
charge cards.
From around the country
came cards, notes and letters
from friends and strangers,
keeping the flame of hope
burning strong.
"Many letters came from
young people, children, who had
a POW bracelet with Mike's
name on it," Mrs. Benge says.
"They wanted to know all
about him and asked for a
picu;e. And they expressed
their hope and faith."
The Benge family's hometown-
Heppner, Ore., popula
tion, 1,850, is located in Morrow
County, population 3,400.'
"Within two hours of the time
we found out about Mike's name
on the first list of POWs to be
returned, the entire county also
knew," Mrs. Hughes says. "The
place is in an uproar, just gone
wild. Everyone knew Mike ana
so it's a very special thing-his
homecoming -lo all of them."
Before his capture, Mike's
family and the entire town of
Heppner for that matter, was
involved in his work.
"We set up clothes collections
in the schools and churches."
Mr. Benge recalls. "Mike's
mother would spread the
clothes out all over the base
ment floor and mend them
before we sent them off to
Vietnam."
Mike used the clothing in his
self-established food-for-work
program.
"If one of my people wanted a
shirt or a dress, they would
have to learn how to plant a
vegetable garden or improve
animal husbandry methods,"
Mike says. "But they never got
something for nothing."
Then there were the wood
carving tools sent from Hepp
ner to Ban Me Thout.
George Beauchamp, another
AID colleague who served with
Mike in Vietnam, and now in the
Office of Foreign Disaster
Relief Coordination, recalls
Mike's souvenir making pro
ject. "Mike got the Montagnards to
make spears, bracelets, rings
and miniature bamboo toy
houses, and helped them start a
souvenir shop. I'd send him auto
springs from wrecked vehicles
for the mountain tibes to use in
their projects.
"Mike was devoted to those
people. They in turn respected
and trusted him completely,"
Mr. Beauchamp says.
Thus, Mike's job ran 'round
the clock and involved scores of
people including some on the
other side of the world.
The moment Mike walked out
of the helicopter that brought
him from Andrews to Bethesda,
the Benges breathed a long sigh
of relief.
"We of course saw him walk
off the plane in the Philip
pines," Mrs. Benge says. "He
had a big grin on his face. But it
was nice to watch from the
hospital window and know that
he would be upstairs with us in
just a few minutes."
Catching Up
Since arriving in Washington.
Mike has been trying to catch
up on what has happened in the
five years he has been out of
touch by reading the World
Book "Yearbooks". "But I find
it hard to concentrate," he says.
"I keep remembering more
names of people I want to find
and keep thinking of more
things that need getting done if
I'm to get back to work."
Also, he has had visits from
VIP's - Senator and Mrs. Bob
Packwood (R-Ore.) for exam-ple-and
from many old friends
now located in the Washington,
D.C. metropolitan area, as well
as news conferences and inter
views. Among his projects and plans
is a return to school for an
advanced degree in community
development. "And I want to go
back to South Vietnam and
continue my work there with the
minorities," he says. He also
has a book "completely written
in my mind" on his experiences
as a POW. "It's all ready to go
into the typewriter."
On each of the trays of food
brought to his room in the tower
of the hospital, the nurses have
placed a single carnation. Mike
isn't always hungry, but he does
keep the flowers.
"After all the death and
destruction," he says, "i want
to have living things around
me.
Mike is rapidly adjusting to
life back in the States. He notes
the mini skirts, long hair and
new styles.
His 15-year old niece, Terry
comments:
"He asked us to bring his
corduroy suits and some color
ed shirts, and he had the nurses
at Clark go pick out some wide
ties for him.
"He's with it all!"
(The above story was taken
from "Front Lines", the AID
newspaper, dated Mar. 22)
Alfalfa Weevil
Alfalfa hay production in
much of eastern Oregon is being
seriously threatened by a tiny
insect: the alfalfa weevil.
The weevil destroyed the first
cutting of alfalfa in some fields
last year, reports Robert R.
Robinson, Oregon State Univer
sity extension entomologist.
Although it is too early to
assess the extent of danger to
this year's crop, growers must
be alerted to closely examine
their fields following the egg
hatching period in late May,
said Robinson. Fields may need
a chemical treatment applied
before the first cutting.
Freezing weather doesn t
bother the adult weevil that
lives through the winter in
alfalfa stubble and along ditch
banks or field borders.
The eggs hatch in May and
June into larva resembling a
tiny cutworm-green body with
a white stripe down the back
and a huge appetite for alfalfa
leaves. The larvae begin feed
ing in the plant tips and upper
Forage Seminar
Due Apr. 14
Production and the utilization
of forage crops within Columbia
Basin Counties will be subjects
of a seminar in Hermiston on
April 16, reports Harold E.
Kerr, county Extension Agent.
The all-day program will be
held In Thompson Hall on the
Umatilla County fairgrounds
beginning at 9:30 a.m.
According to Kerr, the semi
nar has been planned and
arranged in cooperation with
the Columbia Basin Research
and Extension Advisory Com
mittee under chairmanship of
Lowell Saylor, Echo rancher.
Six staff members from
Oregon State University de
partments of soils, farm crops,
animal science and agricultural
economics will appear on the
program. Discussion will cover
considerations common
throughout the Columbia Basin
area, reaching all the way from
irrigation development on rep
resentative soil types to the
utilization of various crops
through livestock.
Crop potentials and rotation
requirements of developing
irrigated lands have important
implications to the agricultural
production pattern of the entire
Columbia Basin, Kerr said.
This first seminar will deal
with the overall perspective,
and will be followed later by
similar type programs and field
tours which will focus upon
specific components of the big
picture.
No advance registration to
the seminar is required and all
interested persons are encour
aged to attend, the agent said.
Further information may be
obtained through the chairman
and members of the Research
and Extension Advisory Com
mittee or through Extension
offices in Morrow, Gilliam and
Umatilla Counties.
AWARDS
UK
Phyllis Cole won All Events
scratch with 1597.
WHAT'S COOKIN?
Turkey Casserole
2 cups cubed cooked turkey
14 cup butter or margarine
2 tbsp chopped onion
'A cup flour
3 cups milk
cup grated sharp Cheddar
cheese
Vh cups cooked noodles
1 Tsp salt
Vg tsp pepper
Melt butter, add onion and
cook until clear. Blend in flour,
add milk and cook over low
heat, stirring constantly until
thickened. Add cheese, noodles,
seasoning and turkey. Pour into
baking dish. Bake 30 minutes in
350 degree oven. Serves 6.
Threatens Crop
leaves and when present in
large numbers can cause sud
stantial leaf loss and reduce hay
quality.
Robinson suggests sweeping
fields with an insect net to
determine the extent of weevil
population and the need for
treatment.
As a rule, Robinson said, if 10
larvae are picked up with each
sweep of the net, there will be a
loss of 5 percent of the alfalfa
leaves. With 100 larvae per
sweep, a loss of 50 percent can
be expected.
When there are no more than
10 larvae per sweep the week
before the harvest, the loss will
not justify chemical treatment
of the field, Robinson said.
In fields that require weevil
control, growers may consult
local county extension agents
for information on approved
and registered insecticides, he
noted.
A fact sheet on "Alfalfa
Weevil Control in Oregon" is
available from county extension
offices.
T. V. SERVICE
Dy Qusllfiad
RCA
VIDEO-TECH, luC.
461 A E. Mala St,' Hamilton
Mental Health
SOME LAWS YOU
SHOULD KNOW
David E.MItchum,
Mental Health Director
If you ever find yourself in
custody for alleged mental
illness or wake up in a mental
hospital you might want to know
your rights and what you can
expect. A large part of the
Oregon Revised Statutes either
directly or indirectly deal with
mental illness. Chapter 426 is
entirely devoted to the "ment
ally ill and sexually danger
ous," Here are some facts you
might find of some importance.
Two persons can start the
committment proceedings by
notifying the court in writing
and under oath that a resident
of the county is mentally ill. A
person alleged to be mentally ill
can have an attorney and if
necessary, one can be appointed
by the court, to be paid for by
the county.
The doctors who examine a
person must not be related to
the person, plus, one can ask the
court for another doctor's
opinion. Prior to committment,
the mentally ill person can be
released in the custody of a
relative or a friend if he is not
dangerous to himself or others.
Mentally ill persons not
charged with a crime are not to
be confined in a jail if there is a
safe, humane place suitable for
comfortable confinement prior
to hospitalization. The Mental
Health Division of the State of
Oregon can decide which
hospital a person goes to after
they have been committed.
Although a person can be
admitted on an emergency
basis temporarily, he cannot be
hospitalized more than fifteen
days if the committment pro
ceedings are not completed, and
the superintendent of the hos
pital can refuse admission if he
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feels the person is not In
immediate need of hospitaliza
tion. Within forty-eight hours
after the emergency admission,
the person is to be examined. If
he volunteers for admission he
will not be committed. If he
does not volunteer and the
examining physicians feel the
person needs hospitalization,
committment proceedings are
started.
"No person voluntarily
admitted to any state hospital
shall be detained there in more
than seventy-two hours after
(the person) has given notice in
writing of his desire to be
discharged " according to
the law.
A person adjudged to be
mentally ill may be required to
pay for his hospitalization if
financially able to do so.
"Committment to state hos
pitals does not mean incom
petency. Within what the
hospital superintendent deems
important for a mentally ill
person's "medical welfare,"
the hospitalized patient has a
right to communicate by sealed
mail outside and inside of the
hospital. He has a right to
receive visitors. He has a right
to exercise all of the civil rights
accorded to anyone who has not
been admitted to a hospital,
including, but not limited to,
buying and selling property and
voting. Any individual com
mitted under these laws is also
entitled to a writ of habeas
corpus.
These are just a few items
from the law. I hope you will
study the law further if this
interests you. These laws are
very modern. They protect you.
The day a person could be
railroaded into a mental hos
pital for life is a thing of the
past.
...
V