American sons, daughters visit Vietnam to honor fathers killed

CHI LANG, Vietnam -- Mickey Olmstead and his sister, Dixie, dug their crude walking sticks into the water buffalo path and plowed forward, determined to reach the top of a mountain in Vietnam that has been the source of 37 years worth of tears and questions.

For two hours, the siblings from Texas pulled themselves up the steep slope until finally reaching a small clearing on top. Large chunks of rich earth were eaten away inside a crater the size of a small house -- the site where they believe their father died when his plane crashed Oct. 17, 1965, during the Vietnam War.

The two were among about 60 Americans from 24 states on a two-week journey to try to retrace the last moments of their loved ones' lives. It's the first trip the Arlington, Va.-based Sons And Daughters In Touch has made to the communist country after three years of planning.

The group included not only sons and daughters, but widows, siblings, nurses who performed triage during the war and some 20 veterans, including a priest. Each came to confront the places that have haunted them for years -- from sites in the Mekong Delta, to Khe Sanh, Danang and the former demilitarized zone.

It was believed to be the largest such trip of its kind, and a first chance for many to connect with the fathers they never knew.

"Everybody has a different childhood. In mine, I didn't have a father," said Dixie Olmstead George, 40, of Irving, Texas. "In the '60s, everybody was married. They didn't divorce. At that time, everybody had a two-parent family, they had a station wagon and I was so different. And then I get on an airplane with 60 people and they were all different, too, just like me."

George has no memories of her father, who died when she was 3 years old. But she's grown up always feeling his presence. None of her father's remains were recovered, and George said she and her brother -- who was 5 at the time of the crash -- have really never stopped grieving.

"I'm grateful because I think it's all just got to come out," said George, sobbing into a tissue Sunday on her way to the mountain. "I've been wondering all of my life what I can do to get rid of this burden and so I guess this is it."

The family has limited knowledge about what happened that day. They know Navy Cmdr. Stanley Olmstead completed his mission of bombing Vietnam's supply lines, and that he and his navigator were on their way back when ground fire struck the nose of the F-4 fighter jet. The 31-year-old pilot's helmet flew off and he slumped over in his seat, unconscious or dead. Seconds later, a fireball erupted from Phuong Vang mountain.

Olmstead and navigator, Porter Halyburton, were listed as killed in action. But a few years later, the family found out Halyburton had ejected from the plane and was a prisoner of war.

"That raised the hopes again, 'Well if Porter is a prisoner of war, then there's a chance that my dad is still alive, too,'" George said.

But after the war ended in 1975, Stanley Olmstead didn't come home. The crash site has recently been investigated by a team of officials that locate American soldiers' remains, but it has not yet been excavated.

It also has not positively been identified as the spot where Olmstead crashed, but others, including Halyburton, have no doubt it's the right place, situated about 80 miles northeast of Hanoi.

Nothing remains of the aircraft, which was picked apart by villagers scavenging for metal. But beneath a layer of dry leaves and dirt, the siblings uncovered a few rusty parts and shreds of rubber -- small physical connections they say will remind them of the day they found peace on the mountain.

A makeshift shrine now stands inside the crater with a simple metal cross and a black and white picture of their dad; photos of the four grandsons he never met are taped to the back. A stainless steel missing in action bracelet is buried as a grave marker.

"I never thought in a million years that we would actually be here, but there's just more feelings and emotions here right now than I can really articulate," said Mickey Olmstead, now 43, of Austin. "I guess this is something I've really dreamed about since I was a little boy. I feel like I've done all I can -- or at least tried to -- to honor my father."

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