Helping POWs

With his growing wealth from EDS, Perot began in the late 1960s to take the lessons of caring and giving from his youth to a national and international level. Once again, his target for these efforts was America’s warriors, in this case a small group almost forgotten by a country and media, tired and critical of war in Southeast Asia.

In 1969, you created a group called “United We Stand,” and tried to fly supplies for our POWs into North Vietnam. What drove you to do that?

In late 1969, a lovely lady came to see me. Her name was Bonnie Singleton and she had a little boy sitting on her lap. She said to me, “Mr. Perot … this little boy doesn’t know whether his daddy is dead or alive. His dad’s name is Jerry Singleton, and we would appreciate anything you can do to help us.” I began looking into the plight of U.S. prisoners of war – POWs – in North Vietnamese captivity, and the deeper I went, I grew more concerned. We organized a group of volunteer POW wives who went to the North Vietnamese embassy in Paris and made an extended plea to their delegation that received worldwide press, not only from our country but the world.

The North Vietnamese said if we would send Christmas gifts of a certain size to the right location, they would give them to the American POWs for Christmas. We took all those boxes and several volunteer wives, and flew to Vientiane, Laos. Upon arrival, the people in the North Vietnamese embassy said, “No, we won’t let you into North Vietnam and if you try, we’ll shoot you down.” We worked with the North Vietnamese for several more days before they said, finally, “If you’ll deliver these to Russia by Dec. 31, 1969, we will accept them.”

We were receiving huge publicity all over the world about the plight of these men – the American POWs – and about the way they were being treated [by the North Vietnamese]. We then tried to fly to Russia, and got as far as Sweden, when the Russians said to us, “We won’t let you cross the border, and if you do, we’ll shoot you down.” We received an enormous amount of publicity, because the Russians wouldn’t let us do it and the Vietnamese wouldn’t let us do it.

Remember, the one thing that always unified the American people during the Vietnam War was the plight of our POWs. Air Force Col. Robbie Risner spent five years in solitary confinement in a box, sometimes in stifling heat up to 140 degrees Fahrenheit. He was one of the real heroes of the war. When he returned home, he told me a story. When he was being released in 1973, the guard who escorted him to the aircraft said to him, “I think the biggest mistake we [the North Vietnamese] made was the brutal treatment of the American POWs.” By early 1973, things had changed for the better, and our men were coming home. One of the things that had helped improve conditions for the U.S. POWs was the Son Tay POW prison raid in late 1970, and how it scared the North Vietnamese. That leads us to another chapter of the POW story: their return.

What did you do once the Paris peace accords were signed and our POWs began to come home?

I knew in early 1973 that one of the most important things I could do was make sure they [the U.S. POWs] all received a warm welcome when they returned to the U.S. We had all their wives waiting. Soon after they returned, I received a call from Capt. Jeremiah “Jerry” Denton [later a U.S. senator]. He called me to thank me on behalf of the POWs. I told him that we’d really like to thank the Son Tay Raiders within the next couple of weeks, because they were never properly thanked for their efforts. “Done!” said Jerry Denton.

The POWs were adamant that this event be held in San Francisco because they had fantasized about flying under the Golden Gate Bridge. I knew Gov. Ronald Reagan and his wife, Nancy, had hosted POW families from California at their home every Sunday during the war. I talked to them and they were 100 percent on board. I then talked to John Wayne and he was 100 percent on board as well. I sent one of my employees, Tom Meurer, to San Francisco. He called and said, “The ideal time to have a parade is noon, because everyone comes out on the streets.” We had the Son Tay Raiders and their wives and the POWs and their wives on trolley cars [which were then on rubber tires]. We had the biggest parade in the history of San Francisco, and we had only one demonstrator, just a nutty guy running up and down the street, shouting. Col. Arthur “Bull” Simons [who commanded the Son Tay Raid] was there; he made it very clear that his men should ignore him. In the crowd was an old man – and this was not planned – wearing an overcoat and eating a hamburger. When the protester ran by him he reached into his pocket and hit him over the head with a Coca-Cola bottle. It knocked him out! The returning POWs on the trolley cars gave him a giant cheer.

That night, we held a dinner party and the POWs couldn’t have had more fun. John Wayne hosted them to a night on the town and they returned at six in the morning. The next day they took a tour on a cruise boat. One of the stipulations of the POWs was that if they went past Alcatraz, a facility similar to the one in which they’d been held as POWs, they would sing. They sang their hearts out. That was a really great weekend. If you talk to any of them today, they will still tell you stories of that weekend. Nancy and Ronald Reagan, John Wayne, and Clint Eastwood were keys to the success of the event. I remember John Wayne looked squarely at Bull Simons during one of the dinners and said, “Colonel, you are, in real life, the role I only play in the movies.” John Wayne had tears in his eyes. Bull Simons didn’t have tears – he was one of the toughest guys you could ever meet – but I saw a little quiver. It was the only time I saw Bull Simons get emotional.

Telephone Operator

The stories of Perot’s generosity with returning U.S. service personnel became the stuff of legend over the next few decades. While he never stopped running his businesses and making money, Perot always had time for a personal phone call from a soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine, and he made a point of visiting service personnel whenever he was near a base or hospital. Private citizens, family and friends of military personnel, and anyone who cared could reach out to him, more often than not finding willingness to listen and help. Along the way Perot became their friend, benefactor, and sometimes even a personal savior.

You have a reputation for being really good to service personnel, but clearly, you’ve been drawn to the special operations community. Why is that?

Actually, it is all branches of the military. Special operations soldiers are frequently in harm’s way. The Special Forces have had more than their share of the wounded over the years, and those are the soldiers that I tend to work with. In many cases, generals call me on the phone in the middle of the night about a wounded soldier. I’ve received many calls from Gens. Hugh Shelton and Wayne Downing [both former commanders of U.S. Special Operations Command – SOCOM – Shelton was also chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff]; they were deeply concerned about every soldier in their command. You can always count on special operations generals to make sure their people get the best possible medical attention … and since I’ve funded medical research around the country, if a soldier needs something special, I can go through the various medical networks and find the best qualified doctor to treat their soldiers.

Can you tell us about your role in the story of saving Sgt. David Campbell’s life in 1991?

I’ve handled a number of situations over the years, and one of the most complicated challenges I’ve had was during Desert Storm in late February 1991. I was at home on a Sunday afternoon [Feb. 25, 1991] when the phone rang and an AT&T operator said, “Mr. Perot … you’re number is unlisted, but you need to take this call.” Gail Campbell, the wife of Sgt. David Campbell, was calling. She told me that her husband had been severely wounded when a SCUD missile hit his barracks in Saudi Arabia. …

She said, “His doctor says he only has 72 hours to live.” I asked how she happened to know so much about his wounds. She said she had been talking to his doctor, Cmdr. Wallace. She gave me his telephone number. I reached Cmdr. Wallace in Saudi Arabia, and he said, “Ross, I can’t save him, but the right team of doctors can.” I replied, “I happen to know one of the top trauma doctors in the United States, and if I can get him on the phone, I’d like to link him with you.” Dr. John Weigelt was that top trauma doctor. I called him and explained Sgt. Campbell’s wounds, and gave him Cmdr. Wallace’s phone number.

A short time later, Dr. Weigelt called me, and I’ll never forget what he said, “Perot, my team can be on the next plane, but he will be dead when we get there. That’s the bad news. The good news is there are two doctors from the Reserves who are deployed to the Persian Gulf. If you get both of them into that hospital right away, they can save him. The other bad news is that I don’t know what branch of the service they’re in.” He gave me their names. I called the National Military Command Center at the Pentagon where there’s always an admiral or general on duty around the clock. That night, Adm. Thomas Robertson answered the phone. I explained the situation to him, and I gave him the name of the two doctors. He said to me, “Don’t worry, Perot; I’ll take care of it.”

One hour later, Dr. Weigelt called me and said, “You’re not going to believe this, Perot, but both doctors are in the room with him … and he’ll be fine.” Months passed and I was making a speech at the United Nations. At the end of my speech, a Marine general, Richard Neal, came up to me and started punching my chest and said, “Perot, you really fouled up my Sunday night a few months ago! I’m the person the Pentagon called, and sent out to find those two doctors.” I replied, “General, you saved his life,” to which he replied, “That’s why they call the Marines.” Thank goodness David Campbell is back home in Pennsylvania, living a rich, full life, because generals and admirals and top doctors in this country turned the world upside down and got him properly treated.

But they wouldn’t have known to do so unless you had called around and put the right people together … right?

I’m a switchboard operator! [Laughs] In that case, I was a classic switchboard operator. I’m very fortunate to have access to the people who can make a difference – just one step in a long process.

While many of Perot’s lifesaving efforts are for just one individual, other times they take on more substantial, even international proportions. This was the case in 1999 during the turnover of Hong Kong from Great Britain back to the People’s Republic of China, when he got a phone call from a Special Forces sergeant.