I was born in 1952 and grew up in the "West end" of Tacoma, WA in an area called "Narrowmoor"  Its name comes from its location in the city.....mostly because it overlooks the waters of Puget Sound know as the "The Narrows".  When one looks to the immediate North, he will see the two Narrow Bridges and the Island of Vashon just beyond.  Directly to the West, across " the Narrows" sits the runway of the Tacoma Narrows Airport in the Southernmost areas of unincorporated Gig Harbor.  Turn to the South and you will see McNeil Island and beyond, the distance, the Nisqually Flats.  It is beautiful and growing up in the njeighborhood was about as "Norman Rockwell" as it gets.  Beautiful views, nice homes.....some with swimming pools...lots of families with cool kids to play with.  I was one of, if not the luckiest girls in Narrowmoor.  I grew up next door to the most handsome boy in Narrowmoor, or in the entire West End......maybe even in all of Tacoma or the whole of Pierce County!  All of the girls, from 6 to 60, had a "secret" crush of one kind or another on him.

Captain Douglas D. Ferguson was born to fly.  As far back as I can remember, on Saturday mornings, I awoke to the distinct "hum" of a remote-controlled airplane engine and no matter how much I had planned or wanted to sleep in, it was time to get up...because the hum of that engine meant only one thing.  That was that Dough, or as my Mother would tell me many years later, I referred to him from the time I could speak as "my boy".  He was up and there was no time to waste.  I could watch him fly his planes from both of my bedroom windows.

Years passed, we all grew up.  Some of our Narromoor "gang" were now in High School.  Some had gone on to college, others had full time jobs.  I was in high school and in the 5th year of what would go on to become an extremely successful, 32 year long career, which took me all over North America, showing horses, mostly hunters and jumpers. My career would end, exactly as planned, at the 1992 Good will Games with a Silver Medal.

Now it wasn't just the girls in Narromoor that talked about Doug.  All the guys joined in too.....for a very different reason than his good looks and charm.  Doug had been accepted in the United States Air Force Academy and was now flying the coolest jets and doing it with the same incredible skill that he had shown our entire neighborhood years earlier when he commanded his remote-controlled planes.  We all moved into that stage in our young lives where anything was possible.  So many big things were happening in our world.  Time seemed to be flying by.  One day an invitation cam in the mail.. Doug was getting married.  And though I had a big crush on Doug, the one thing that stands out the most in my memory upon receipt  of the invitation, was that I was profoundly and simply overjoyed for his happiness.  And, upon seeing him (yes, through my tears), how happy he was and how his eyes lit up as he looked at his bride (and how she looked at him), it was obvious to everyone they were in love.  The one thing , on the day of Doug's wedding that i will never forget about was that just as I reached Doug in the reception line how he smiled so broadly, turned to his new bride, introduced me as his next door neighbor and gave me the biggest, warmest, the most wonderful hug that , next to one of my Dad's hugs, was the best I had ever had!  At seemingly odd times that very hug would sneak, unannounced into my thoughts over the next few months.  I always wondered why, but usually I just giggled, sighed and shrugged it off to a youthful "crush".  How was I to know that that hug would be the very last time I would ever see "my Doug", "my boy".

On December 30, 1969, Doug was a member of the ;555th Tactical Fighter Squadron flying crew with Fielding Featherston III aboard an F4-D aircraft.  One of 5 on a mission over the Plain of Jars region of Laos when they were hit by enemy fire and their ship exploded into a fireball.  No parachutes were seen.  No emergency radio "beeper" signals were heard.  However the very next day the crash site was photographed and 2 empty parachutes were visible, hanging in nearby trees.  The area was too heavily defended for a ground search to be possible.  As I write this today.....September 25, 2010. there is still no answer to "the question."

Upon news of this, my life....as I am sure so many others experienced.....changed FOREVER.  Period.  NOT ONE DAY has gone by with out, at the very least a moments thought about Doug.  I talk to him often.  I pry with him often.  My Father, until the day he died, refused to speak about the disappearance of Doug.  It was a subject that was off limits.  It was too painful.....even for my Father...who had overcome his share of hardships in his 85 year4s of life.

It was the same with my Mother until the first U.S. Prisoners were taken in the Iraq War.  My Mom called me at work that day and asked me to stop by her place on my way home.  Actually she basically ordered me to stop by.  Her mood was quite somber when I arrived.  She said, "Sit down Victoria, there is something we need to talk about."   In my heart I knew what it was about.  As I sat down, I looked her in the eye and asked "Doug"?  She nodded and we both burst into tears.  A long overdue discussion followed and through our tears and sadness, I think we were both relieved that it finally had occurred.  A few short weeks later, she passed away.

And I am left with "the Questions."  I have slowly and quite reluctantly, come to terms with the fact that I quite possibly, may never have "the answer."  With the hope that another family, or friend, who is haunted by the same "Questions (s), may someday have their "answer", I have put the Nam Comics up for auction.  All monies earned from their sale will go directly to the National League of POW/MIA Families with the hope of paying for at least a plane ticket for one member of the League organized Family Delegation one one of their trips to Southeast Asia to reach their goal of the return of all prisoners, the fullest possible accounting for those still missing and the repatriation of all recoverable remains of those who died in Southeast Asia while serving our nation during the Vietnam War.  Each member of the League-organized Family Delegation who travels to Southeast Asia funds their trip themselves at an average coast approximately $10,000 per person per trip.  My Mothers' purchase of 4 sets of "The Nam Comics"  baffled me.  The very thought of her even going into a "comic book" store, I must admit, was quite amusing!  When I asked her why she had purchased these comics, she replied", I don't know; I think it was Doug."

And now, 5 years after her death, I get it!

Victoria