Long Road Back : After Being a POW in Gulf, Anxieties and Joys Flood Marine at Home

CAMP PENDLETON — As one of the first hostages seized in the Gulf War, Guy L. Hunter lived through bombings of his prison and beatings that turned his skin raw. In a televised statement releasedby his Iraqi captors, he was forced to denounce the war. And, when no cameras were around, one interrogator threatened to cut off his fingers.

One year later, Hunter likes to say he survived his 46 days of solitary confinement unscathed. But the Marine’s new preoccupation with lines, crowds and the dangers of California tell a different story.

The chief warrant officer no longer can tolerate waiting in lines because he cannot stand any waste of his time. He hates crowds because he suspects people are watching him--and that makes him feel vulnerable. California, with its highway shootings and its crime, has become too dangerous, he says, and Hunter now plans to move east when he retires from 30 years of military service this summer.

“I am scared to death living out here with all the possibilities of bad things that can happen,” said Hunter, 47. “You really value just seeing your family. Golly, they could just slip away and be gone. So you want to get into a sheltered place, more so than you did before.”

Hunter and his commanding officer, Lt. Col. Clifford M. Acree, were the first U. S. prisoners of war seized by the Iraqis when their plane was downed by a missile Jan. 18, 1991. Today, each man says the experience has colored the way they live.

Hunter’s world has shrunk. He and his wife, Mary, 42, no longer go out much. If there are errands, like buying chicken for dinner, they do them together. He savors simple things--a cup of good coffee with real cream. After a diet of broth in an Iraqi prison cell, he loves to pick up sausages, steaks and lettuce. Today, smoking a cigar while looking at the ocean from his back yard at Camp Pendleton is one of his pleasures.

But Guy Hunter’s time there is not necessarily serene. He is loaded with small anxieties. He worries, for instance, when his wife drives alone.

His anxieties do not stop him from making plans and enjoying life. They are more like knots around which he wraps his mind.

“You don’t worry about making it through life, you worry about the people you are attached to. I think occasionally: ‘God, I hope they (his children) don’t come down with leukemia,’ ” Hunter said. “When I fly, for example, it’s much more in the forefront of my mind that I could have to eject. I’m sort of spring-loaded to get out of the plane if it goes bad.”

Hunter’s reactions are common to ex-POWs, experts say. Most behavior quirks fade as time eases memories--a process that can take years.

“The sense of loss of control in one’s life is big when people have been held captive,” said Jeffrey Matloff, assistant clinical professor of psychiatry at UC San Diego. “It is not uncommon for people who are ex-POWs to want to control parts of their lives and to be somewhat constricted in their activities. . . . Many people who’ve been through traumatic events tend to pull back and will want to feel more in control of their lives.”

Hunter--described by some as a gregarious, lovable man--had always been at the top of his Marine friends’ party list. He has been known to jump PLFs--parachute landing falls--off the countertops of bars and whomp any comers at “body contact” pinochle. A blue-eyed, soft-spoken man with a mild Southern accent, Hunter can tell stories until after the cows come home, friends say.

Today, he still gets plenty of invitations, but he no longer enjoys shooting the bull. In fact, Hunter does not socialize much anymore.

“You feel a little withdrawn from things. A lot of get-togethers just aren’t that important,” Hunter said.

“He loves to go out back, take a chair and sit out there and stare after dinner. He’ll be there for one hour,” said Mary Hunter, who cries frequently as she describes their life now. “There’s a lot to see. He just watches the sunset or birds. Everybody needs private time.”

Hunter and Acree were freed March 5 and were among the last POWs to be released. With the distance of a year, each man can begin to assess the changes this experience has wrought.

“Every morning I wake up and realize I am a free man in my own country, I realize I am going to have a good day. I realize it’s much easier for me to sort out what’s important and what isn’t,” said Acree, who will undergo reconstructive surgery next month on his nose, so battered by beatings during his captivity that he breathes through his mouth.

“Some things I was very concerned about in the past are just inconsequential now. I’m calmer, less intense,” said Acree, who says he shaved 90 minutes off what had been a customary 12-hour workday.

Acree and Hunter were stunned by the heroes’ welcome that awaited them when they returned to the United States. Hunter had figured that his wife would fetch him from the Marine airstrip in El Toro and they would grill some steaks at home in Camp Pendleton.

Instead, he hopped off the “Freedom One” military plane and onto a red carpet amid a cheering crowd of several thousand at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. There, he spent a week being debriefed by military officials and examined by doctors. Everywhere, he was hailed as a hero.

“I was shocked. I said: ‘My God, what’s come over these people?’ ” said Hunter, who was the oldest of the 23 American POWs held during the Gulf War. “I kept telling ‘em, for crying out loud, I was the one who got shot down.”

Shortly after Hunter returned home to California, he tried to pick up his old life. The Hunters attended some of the happy hours at the bars on base. At one, a number of Marines pounded down drinks as they swapped war stories. Spotting Hunter, they called out: “Hey gunner! How many missions did you fly in the war?”

Hunter chuckled and yelled back: “Two!”

They hooted: “Nah, it was 1.75!”

Hunter, who served four tours in Vietnam, had to agree that they were right. On the first morning of the Gulf War, Hunter and Acree, the pilot, flew north into Kuwait. Sitting in the observer’s seat, Hunter radioed the locations of targets, summoning fighter jets to bomb the enemy.

“You do feel invincible,” Hunter said.

On the second day, the two men once again flew north. Using binoculars, Hunter found some Iraqi rocket launchers and began talking to Acree about assigning jets. Neither man saw the missile that hit them.

It ripped the canopy off the plane, shredding Hunter’s left eyelid and knocking him out. Hunter regained consciousness as he came down in his parachute in the area he had selected for bombing because it was thick with Iraqi soldiers and artillery.

“He thought he was invincible because of his years (of) experience, his knowledge. He figured he could go out and do anything anyone wanted him to,” said Kerry McMahon, a former Marine who has known Hunter since 1979, when they flew together in a squadron based in North Carolina. “It was probably a rude awakening that yes, he could get hit; yes, he could get shot down, and yes, he could get killed.”

From the day of his capture until he was released, Hunter endured almost constant fear, numbing cold, gnawing hunger and occasional beatings by his interrogators. More than once, he thought he would never again see his wife and their children: Laura, now 13; William, 10, and Lily, 8.

So when he did come home, his family became the focus of his energy. Almost immediately, Hunter set about raising his children to be good, strong adults who would survive and thrive. That meant no more television or Nintendo during the week. It also meant more emphasis on schoolwork--as soon as the children came home, they were to attack their homework.

Initially, the children rebelled. It was bad enough that they lost their father for several months, but then when he returned, he was stricter than ever. The family had purchased a 52-inch color television as a present and now they could not watch it. William would say he had finished his homework when he had not. But, gradually, what seemed like harsh rules became routine.

Laura and William made the honor roll at their schools this past fall, said Hunter, smiling broadly. And he--like every parent--has plans for their future. Hunter hopes all three children will attend college while living at home.

The Marine Corps--facing force reductions--turned down Hunter’s bid to stay one more year. Hunter, whose call sign is “Great White”--after his white mop of hair--will retire this August. He figures he’ll attend college, too, and complete his undergraduate degree, perhaps specializing in education.

He figures he will have to move--perhaps to Pennsylvania--somewhere far away from what he sees as the dangers of freeways and crime in California, with affordable housing and near a good college. Because Hunter is worried about his children, he wants to be with them as they attend college.

As he sits in his back yard, he also likes to plan his future: What will he--a man with expertise as an aerial observer in a turboprop OV-10 Bronco--do after he retires? Perhaps he will teach grade school children, he said.

“Your outlook becomes a lot more optimistic” after being a POW, Hunter said. “If I got through that, I can get through this.”

To Hunter’s delight, the fanfare has faded. When he goes to the store on base, they do not always recognize him. He figures that when he settles in a new community, he will regain anonymity.

In his last full year with the service, Hunter has been inundated with requests from the media. He turned down most, including Time and People magazines, as well as television’s Sam Donaldson on Prime Time Live. He also had to cope with dozens of invitations: Could he attend 18 Independence Day parades from Del Mar to Peoria, Ill.? Could he toss the ball out at Angels and Padres baseball games?

“There were times when it was just like being on a fast-moving carousel,” Mary Hunter said. “There was just so much going on.”

In fact, during his first baseball game since being a POW, Guy Hunter suddenly realized that he did not like crowds. After throwing out the ball on opening night at the Padres game, Hunter found himself gazing at the crowd, the thousands and thousands of people. And suddenly, it hit.

“I remember telling Mary: ‘I don’t want to be here. I’d just rather go home,’ ” Hunter said.

“You don’t have full control of what’s around you. You are better off with fewer people around. When you have any larger group of people, they are all watching you--it seems that way, I know it’s not true.”

Hunter believes he has this feeling because “every time the cell door opened, they were staring at you.” But Hunter, who likes baseball, has no intention of bowing to his anxieties. He plans to attend more games.

“I can function; it’s not a dysfunctional thing. The final result is I feel a little uncomfortable. It’s not that I can’t do it. I’m sure it’s a passing phase.”

Today, talk of the war being fought for nothing irritates Hunter, who believes that the United States stopped Iraqi President Saddam Hussein from taking over Kuwait and possibly Saudi Arabia.

It was a war, he believes, that curbed Hussein and promoted the best interests of the United States as well as the rest of the world. If it were necessary, Hunter says he would wage war in the Persian Gulf again.

“Heck,” Hunter said, “they don’t pay me to sit out here in the back yard.”