GUARINO, LAWRENCE NICHOLAS
Name: Lawrence Nicholas Guarino
Rank/Branch: O4/United States Air Force, pilot
Unit: 44th TFS
Date of Birth: circa 1923
Home City of Record: Newark NJ
Date of Loss: 14 June 1965
Country of Loss: North Vietnam
Loss Coordinates: 204500N 1043600E
Status (in 1973): Returnee
Category:
Aircraft/Vehicle/Ground: F105
Missions:
USA Air Corp - Flew 156 missions in WWII in Sicily, India, China and
Indo China. Other Personnel in Incident: none
Source: Compiled by P.O.W. NETWORK March 1997 from one or more of the
following: raw data from U.S. Government agency sources, correspondence with
POW/MIA families, published sources, personal interviews. Update 2001.
REMARKS: 021273 Released by DRV
SOURCE: WE CAME HOME copyright 1977
Captain and Mrs. Frederic A Wyatt (USNR Ret), Barbara Powers Wyatt, Editor
P.O.W. Publications, 10250 Moorpark St., Toluca Lake, CA 91602
Text is reproduced as found in the original publication (including date and
spelling errors).
LAWRENCE N. GUARINO
Colonel - United States Air Force
Shot Down: June 14,1965
Released: February 12, 1973
In June 1965 Colonel Guarino was flying an F-105 fighter plane. He had
received his wings and commission 1943, making him the oldest rated pilot to
be held in captivity. Flying had been his dream since his father had scraped
together five dollars to take him on a flight around the local airport in an
old Jenny. He knew all about pilots and aces of World War I. In fact he says
he read popular aviation magazines "like a crazy man."
At age 19 he signed up for the aviation cadet program. During World War II
he saw service in the North African and Italian campaigns. Later he flew
with General Claire Chennault's Flying Tigers in China. He returned to
civilian life and then was again recalled for the Korean conflict.
Now flying over North Vietnam, his plane was hit. "I had the rotten luck to
land in a village not ten feet from a hut. The people had seen me coming
down in the chute and had vacated the village. Sentries, armed with
automatic rifles, posted on the surrounding hills, kept me under
surveillance." It was then that he describes a unique encounter with Jesus
Christ. "I had to stop packing up my gear because there He was standing
right there. His toes were as high as this room and He was five or six
stories tall. He said "Today I'm going to show you something" and I said
"Lord I know you are." When asked about this experience, Colonel Guarino
speaks warmly and says "I'm telling you, I saw Him standing there!"
Thus was the beginning of nearly eight years of prison during which the Lord
sustained him. His tortures and persecutions were trying - such as no food
for 46 days with his legs in blocks three weeks of that time. He etched a
cross in his small cell and prayed often and fervently. At Clark Air Force
Base the Colonel said "I couldn't have made it if it weren't for Jesus
Christ and being able to look up and see Him in some of the trying times.
Now back with his wife, Evelyn, who was very active in POW/MIA programs, he
is ready to face life with enthusiasm. His son, Allan, Captain, USAF, flew
in the war in 1970. He has a wife and lovely daughter. Son, Tom, served
three years in the Coast Guard and is a professional scuba diver in the
Florida Keys. He is also married. Son, Ray, is married and has twin sons.
Jeff started college in the fall.
It goes without saying that if it were not for the prayers of thousands of
my friends and fellow Americans, some of whom had never heard my name before
they wore my bracelet, I seriously doubt if I could have ever made it out of
North Vietnam.
=========================
Lawrence Guarino retired from the United States Air Force as a Colonel. He
and his wife Evelyn reside in Florida.
And received on July 4, 2001, Independance Day:
Today is the 26th anniversary of my retirement from the USAF. My son Allan
flew over Vietnam while I was a prisoner in Hanoi, retired 2 years ago after
30 years of service. I still hear regularly from my flying buddies of 1943
as we flew against the Huns in Italy, we were only 20 years old then, now I
am 79!! My how time flies, but it is a happy ending with lots of great
memories, I can still get a kick out of thinking how we rammed around the
skies in our Spitfires, our P-51's. F-100s and F-105's. Great days ! Larry.
Story by Leo K. Thorness
You've probably seen the bumper sticker. It depicts an American flag, accompanied by the words "These colors don't run."
I'm always glad to see this, because it reminds me of an incident from my confinement in North Vietnam at the Hao Lo prisoner of war camp, or the "Hanoi Hilton," as it became known.
Then a major in the U.S. Air Force, I had been captured and was imprisoned from 1967 to 1973. Our treatment had frequently been brutal.
After three years, however, the beatings and torture became less frequent. During the last year, we were allowed outside most days for a couple of minutes to bathe. We showered by drawing water from a concrete tank with a homemade bucket.
One day as we all stood by the tank, stripped of our clothes, a young Navy pilot named Mike Christian found the remnants of a handkerchief in a gutter that ran under the prison wall.
Mike managed to sneak the grimy rag into our cell and began fashioning it into a flag.
Over time we all loaned him a little soap, and he spent days cleaning the material. We helped by scrounging and stealing bits and pieces of anything he could use.
At night, under his mosquito net, Mike worked on the flag. He made red and blue from ground-up roof tiles and tiny amounts of ink, and painted the colors onto the cloth with watery rice glue. Using thread from his own blanket and a homemade bamboo needle, he sewed on stars.
Early in the morning a few days later, when the guards were not alert, he whispered loudly from the back of our cell, "Hey gang, look here."
He proudly held up this tattered piece of cloth, waving it as if in a breeze. If you used your imagination, you could tell it was supposed to be an American flag.
When he raised that smudgy fabric, we automatically stood straight and saluted, our chests puffing out, and more than a few eyes had tears.
About once a week the guards would strip us, run us outside and go through our clothing. During one of those shakedowns, they found Mike's flag. We all knew what would happen.
That night they came for him. They opened the cell door and pulled Mike out. We could hear the beginning of the torture before they even had him in the torture cell. They beat him most of the night.
About daylight they pushed what was left of him back through the cell door. He was badly broken. Even his voice was gone.
Within two weeks, despite the danger, Mike scrounged another piece of cloth and began another flag.
The Stars and Stripes, our national symbol, was worth the sacrifice to him.
Now, whenever I see the flag, I think of Mike and the morning he first waved that tattered emblem of a nation. It was then, thousands of miles from home, in a lonely prison cell, that he showed us what it is to be truly free.
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