An Officer and a Gentleman Comes Home

By Alessandra Stanley

He looked so horribly vulnerable in that first photograph, a stark, grainy shot of a dazed U.S. soldier, eyes rolled back, mouth agape, body slumped insensibly on the shoulder of his impassive Syrian captor. For a month, that disturbing image came to mind whenever ; Americans thought about the young Navy flyer who had been shot down during a bombing run over Lebanon, the first U.S. serviceman taken prisoner in combat since Viet Nam. Lieut. Robert O. Goodman Jr., 27, did not see the picture until last week, when he was flying back home aboard a military plane. He stared at himself and said numbly, "That's pretty bad."

He looked pretty good getting off a VC-137 jet at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. Wearing his Navy dress blue uniform with gold trim, Goodman began a chaotic week of welcoming ceremonies, television interviews, motorcades and military debriefings. More than just a prisoner found alive and well, Goodman emerged as a self-possessed naval officer who could exhibit surpassing poise and dignity.

At a White House ceremony held only five hours after Goodman landed at Andrews, President Reagan praised the young officer's conduct in captivity, saying he "exemplified qualities of leadership and loyalty." Those traits are deeply ingrained. The son of a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel, Goodman was born in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Later he moved to his father's new station at Portsmouth, N.H., where he pushed himself hard to become an A student and football player in high school. He went to the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis and later attended Navy flight school in Pensacola, Fla. Goodman married Terry Lynn Bryant, whom he had

met in high school. The couple and their two daughters, Tina, 7, by Terry's previous marriage, and Morgan, 2, moved to Virginia Beach, Va., two years ago, when Goodman was assigned to Attack Squadron 85 at Oceana Naval Air Station. Last September the squadron was posted to the Mediterranean aboard the aircraft carrier John F. Kennedy.

Goodman can only vaguely recall the Syrian gunfire that downed his A-6 fighter last Dec. 4, killing the pilot, Lieut. Mark Lange, 26, and leaving Goodman a P.O.W. "I remember the plane being jostled," Goodman said, "and instead of looking at the sky, I was looking at the ground." Ejected from the plunging aircraft, he passed out, awakening to the sensation of "ropes so tight my fingers were numb." His knee and shoulder were injured during the mission. Goodman was taken to a six-story military compound in Damascus and locked in a dank basement room, where he endured threats, occasional beatings ("They weren't trying to hurt me, just trying to scare me") and shrill interrogations. His answers, he said, were "very vague."

A visit from the Red Cross four days after his capture was followed by a move to a larger room and slightly better treatment. He saw a doctor, perused some 60,000 cards and letters that poured in from the U.S., and read books: Sidney Sheldon's Bloodline, James Michener's Chesapeake, Len Deighton's XPD, Robert Ludlum's The Parsifal Mosaic.

"The next thing I was going to read," he said, "was The Right Stuff. " Goodman also watched Syrian television, which to his surprise carried old John Wayne movies and episodes of the television sitcom Gimme a Break. Goodman found his guards' occasional kindness "unnerving," mixed as it was with humiliating, false assurances of imminent release.

Goodman steeled himself by thinking daily about "the P.O.W. experience that I had been trained to withstand."

Learning of his release only half an hour ahead of time, Goodman reacted coolly. He later explained, "I didn't want them [the Syrians] to get to me. I was pretty reserved until I was walking out the door."

In fact, Goodman kept his guard up long after his plane had landed in the U.S. He diplomatically thanked "all the people involved in getting me home a little bit earlier than envisioned," and at times appeared uncomfortable under Jesse Jackson's smothering wing. He was more at ease at the Pentagon. After meeting with Secretary of the Navy John Lehman, Goodman delighted his superiors with his confident handling of the press.

Holding a 15-inch model of the A6, he defended the fighter as "one of the most capable aircraft in the world."

Members of Goodman's family showed their emotions more. When they heard about Jackson's plan to fly to Syria, both his father and his mother, who are divorced, were polite but firm about their misgivings. Jackson tried to reassure them about the mission, and they reacted joyfully to word of its success. Said Robert Sr.: "Jackson deserves all the credit in the world."

Soon after Goodman was turned over to the U.S. embassy in Damascus, the elder Goodmans' were reunited with Robert via satellite on the morning news shows. Before millions of television viewers, they spoke with touchingly awkward grace. Goodman's wife Terry, who had waited out the ordeal at their home in Virginia Beach, met her husband at Andrews with a wordless embrace. Her low-profile role had perhaps been the toughest. "She just kept on," marveled her next-door neighbor, Susan Wachter. "I don't think I could have done it. She's definitely a good Navy wife."

With his wife's blessing, Goodman vowed to return to duty as soon as he recovers from surgery on his injured knee. The weary homecomer had little time for privacy and rest. After a noisy reunion with friends in Virginia, Goodman headed for home-town Portsmouth to celebrate "Robert Goodman Day." He seemed embarrassed by the fuss. As he insisted all along, "I'm not a hero . . . I'm a naval officer." -- Alessandra Stanley. Reported by Bruce van Voorst/Washington and Jack E. White with Jackson

With reporting by Bruce van Voorst/Washington and Jack E. White with Jackson