Five Years to Freedom: A Reflection
A Veteran's Response to James "Nick" Rowe's POW Memoir
I approach this book as both a combat veteran and a chaplain, aware that stories of war and captivity carry weight for many readers. What follows is a personal reflection, offered with respect for those who served, those who suffered, and those still seeking to understand the costs of war.
Let me start this book review with a WOW!!
Five Years to Freedom is a memoir written by James N. Rowe, recounting his five years as a prisoner of war in South Vietnam. Originally published in 1971 by Little, Brown and Company, it was later republished in 2005 by Presidio Press as part of their Presidio War Classic series. The paperback edition runs 465 pages.
This book was a gift to me, and I will admit I was somewhat dreading reading it. I have read many accounts from Vietnam-era POWs, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could absorb. Despite my hesitation, once I started reading, I quickly found myself drawn in. I spent hours immersed in Rowe’s story, often finding it difficult to put the book down.
Lieutenant Rowe arrived in South Vietnam in 1963 as a Special Forces advisor to the South Vietnamese Army—two years before the United States fully committed conventional forces to the conflict. By the time America officially escalated its involvement, Rowe had already spent two years in captivity.
The book opens with Rowe already in Vietnam, then backtracks to his journey into the Army through West Point and later into the Special Forces at Fort Bragg. Early in the book, he is captured by the Viet Cong, and the core of the narrative centers on his recollection of the five years he spent as a POW. His ability to recall details of captivity is remarkable. After three combat tours of my own, I know I do not retain memories with the precision Rowe demonstrates.
As I read his story, I experienced a flood of emotions. Having been in combat myself, I could relate to the fear and tension he felt on patrol with South Vietnamese forces. At times I felt anxious for him; at others, I was filled with anger. Even though I knew he survived, I found myself cheering him—and those with him—on.
The greatest impact on me as a chaplain was Rowe’s realization, while in captivity, of his need for faith. At a time when many ask, Where is God?, Rowe instead cried out to Him. Though he attended church growing up, his faith had been largely nominal. It was in captivity that turning to God sustained him.
I found myself quietly chuckling at how human his faith journey was. Like many of us, when things were going well he would forget God, only to cry out again in the midst of trial. His “good days” were often worse than what we might call our bad days, yet he would suddenly realize he had not prayed in some time. That honesty made his story all the more compelling.
The end of Chapter 9 and all of Chapter 10 left me both excited and in tears as Rowe came to the realization that he was finally going home.
I was, however, somewhat disappointed with the ending. It felt abrupt, almost as if it were setting up a second book that never came. The conclusion left the story feeling unfinished.
What struck me most deeply came near the end of the book, on pages 394–396, where Rowe discusses the basic doctrine of communism. As I read those pages, I could not help but reflect on current events in our own country. The emphasis on no family, no religion, and no nationality felt unsettlingly familiar. As someone who served during the Cold War and stood against communist aggression, it saddened me to see echoes today of what Rowe witnessed and endured more than sixty years ago.
I highly recommend this book. In my opinion, it deserves a place near the top of any serious reading list on war, captivity, and human endurance. It is absolutely worth the price of admission.
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