Two Tales From a Vietnam War Chaplain

 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."