Whoops. Somehow August slid right by without a McBride blog post. Okay, it was hot in Texas in August. Nothing new there.
Moving onto September, the month of the Civil War battle at Antietam where the single bloodiest day in U.S. history occurred, more American deaths at Antietam than on 911 when the terrorists attacked our homeland, more American deaths than on D-Day in WWII. Only the 3,000 deaths at Antietam were inflicted on us by us. Never again, I pray With those somber September thoughts, this post is not mine, but from a friend:
A good friend, Dick Gray, was
an army chaplain during Vietnam, serving in a MASH unit. Dick lives in
Galveston now and is an active Mason. While he left the ministry after his army
chaplaincy, he is about to do (by now has done) a Masonic funeral service for a member of the Galveston Lodge who died of COVID. Our email
conversation about that included his sending me the following two stories from
his army chaplaincy, one story here in the states shortly before he shipped out,
the other shortly after he arrived in Vietnam. I found one story sad, the other chilling, and
both compelling. So, he’s letting me post them here.
“In April 1971 while assigned
as one of five chaplains in an infantry brigade, my name came to
the top of the list on a post-wide Ft. Benning rotating Protestant
Chaplains Duty Roster - when a funeral home's request came in for a
military chaplain to assist at the funeral of a young Black infantryman killed
when he stepped on a land mine after six weeks in Vietnam. I declined a staff
car & driver; my then-wife Linda & I drove ourselves about 75 miles to
Lafayette, Alabama from Columbus, Georgia.
Before going, though,
I met with another brigade chaplain who was Black - to get his input; didn't
want to screw things up! Floyd told me that there were three simple rules to follow
at a rural, southern Black funeral: 1) Hang loose; 2) Hang loose; 3) Hang
loose! Then he gave me about a dozen Bible passages they'd expect to hear,
depending on my level of involvement (I had been asked only to help with
military honors at graveside). He also said that sometimes at an event
like this there would be more than one minister: hers; his; theirs after they
married, if different. He said to plan on staying a while!
We got to town well
before the 2 p.m. funeral time - and had trouble finding the funeral home. We
asked for directions at a Norman Rockwell painting gas station-general store.
Old farmers in bibbed overalls playing checkers on an upturned barrel, etc. I
was in my dress uniform, crosses on my lapels.
"Now boy, why
would you want to be goin' theya?" I explained the obvious. "I know,
boy, but THEYA?" They gave us bogus directions that took us way out of
town before we caught on.
Finally got to the
funeral home - and, Duh! - this clueless young chaplain
- fairly recently from likely the most liberal Methodist
seminary in the country - realized it was, of course, a Black funeral home. We
met the white infantry captain from Auburn Univ. ROTC who was the Survival
Assistance Officer. He took us out to the church - a mile off a paved
road deep into a pine forest.
Wood-framed; white
clapboards; some broken windows; Standing room only crowd, Linda counted at
about 350 (and we three were the only whites); flowing out the
front door; people crowded around and looking into the church from the
outside through the open windows. Old upright piano; banged up podium as the
pulpit.
As we walked into the
church I saw a large man up front wearing a large badge; a star. My thoughts
whirling, I said to myself, "Well, at least they've got a Black Deputy
Sheriff" and even said, "Sheriff, it's a pleasure
to meet you" as I shook his hand and noticed that the star said,
"USHER." He handed me a program - which listed two ministers plus
"Military Chaplain - Graveside."
A bit after 2 p.m. I
saw "the Sheriff" waving his arms to motion me to come to the front
of the church. I motioned for him to come to the back of the church - which he
did; and informed me, "Well, Chaplain suh, nobody else done showed - I
guess you'z it." And so it began.
I stood at the front
of the church and looked over the congregation - totally clueless about what to
say. I was grateful to be led to say: "I don't see how we can
possibly go on this afternoon. I'm white; from the north; from a city; and in
the military. You're Black; from the south; in a rural area; and civilians. I
don't see any way for us to come together - unless we do so in the name of our
common God and Christ and for this man and his family. If we can agree on that, we'll begin."
There was a very old
woman seated in the front pew along the isle right in front of the podium -
swishing the flies away with a fan. Turns out she was not "family"
but was the "Mother" figure for that congregation. Total silence. You
really could hear the flies buzzing. Then she slowly stood; turned to face the
congregation; and in a very clear voice announced, "Praise the Lord; we
will begin."
I ended up using every
one of the Bible passages Floyd had given me. Went on for about 40 totally
extemporaneous, podium-pounding minutes - with clapping, and "Yes, Sweet
Jesus!" and "Amen!" all over the place. At one point,
I looked to the rear of the church (where Linda was standing with the SAO
- having refused several offers for seats), and she was in wide-eyed shock.
Paul Harvey's
"The Rest of The Story." - The deceased soldier and gone through Basic Infantry
Training at Ft. Dix. On weekend passes he linked up with city guys from
New York and went home with them to Brooklyn. Met a local NYC girl.
Completed Advanced Infantry Training at Ft. Dix - and married the NYC girl just
before he went to Vietnam; where he died 6 weeks later. He had broken up with his
hometown Lafayette high-school sweetheart - who went out and
married HIS best friend when she learned he'd married the NYC girl.
HIS parents were so poor they were brought to the funeral by a friend in an
old, very rusty pick-up; they did not own a vehicle of their own. And the brand new
NYC wife came in all superiority in a rented black stretch limo - SHE would get
the GI life insurance payment. At the funeral (half-open casket since the lower
half of him stayed in Nam) the former local girlfriend totally lost it; tried to
climb into the casket screaming, "I love you."
I later learned that a
Black staff sergeant accompanied the remains from the Military Mortuary at
Dover (Delaware) Air Force Base - and was denied lodging at the only motel in
Lafayette. He had to stay at the Holiday Inn 18 miles south in Opalika. Guess
the 1964 Civil Rights Act had not reached Lafayette yet!
I wrote up that
blatantly illegal conduct in a report to the Post Chaplain - who took it to Ft.
Benning's Commanding General Talbott. Lafayette was beyond the 50-mile-limit
range of a post commander's typical authority, so Talbott could not take even
the largely symbolic step of placing the motel "off limits" to
military personnel. But he was livid! He'd commanded the 1st Infantry Division
("The Big Red One") in Vietnam.
So Talbott did what he
could: he sent scathing letters to the mayor of Lafayette; the owner of the
motel; and the editor of the local newspaper –along with copies of the Civil
Right Act.
Many years later, when
my wife Kate & son Douglas & I were driving home on a Sunday from
a trip east to visit son Andrew at the Civil War battlefields where he worked
for the National Park Service, I convinced them to detour with me to
Lafayette to look for the church. I found what I was certain was the right dirt
road - but turned around after quite some distance without finding the church
(we were towing a pop-up camper). Went back into town; found a small church (nice, new, brick) on
a paved road - saw the African-American ushers standing out front.
Explained what I was looking for and why. One of the ushers said I WAS on
the right dirt road - just hadn't gone far enough into the woods; that I was
standing at their new church - and he said
HE was there that day for that funeral!
We found the church;
fallen-in roof; mold and dirt and branches everywhere. The old podium and even
the old upright piano still were there. Most of the windows were broken. Found
the soldier's VA gravestone - and one 8' or 9' tall mini-"Washington's
Monument"-style gravestone near the road - with dates of
birth & death - and simply 'MOTHER' in big letters. We're convinced it
was the grave of the matriarch who gave me permission to start in 1971.
And from when Dick
arrived in Vietnam:
I arrived at my 1st assignment in Vietnam. After in-processing
at Long Binh, a C-130 flight north to Cam Ranh Bay. Then a C-123 flight further
north to Phu Cat airfield about 25 miles from Qui Nhon on the coast at Binh
Dinh Privince (the air field at Qui Nhon was closed due to enemy activity
- and Binh Dinh was one province never close to being "pacified" by
either the French or the U.S.). Then by 3/4 ton truck the 25 miles from Phu Cat
to the HQ at Qui Nhon.
The driver explained that I would conduct a funeral immediately
upon arriving. Due to "rotation" of chaplains that HQ had been
without a protestant chaplain about a week. As soon as we arrived at Qui Nhon I
got out my chaplain's field kit (I just dumped my other gear at the chapel) and
boarded a chopper to a nearby MAC-V advisor compound in the boonies. They knew
I was inbound & had tracked me so they could get me asap.
About 25 U.S. personnel (advisers to a South Vietnamese
regiment) and a few Vietnamese translators were sitting on the ground waiting.
I set up my altar on the hood of a Jeep and got under way.
The dead: a U.S. Army infantry major (married; 4 children); his
driver, a U.S. Army corporal (married; no children); and their young, single
Vietnamese translator.
All of whom were killed in an ambush by the Vietnamese the major
advised - because he was too aggressive in searching out the VC."
