Letters Home: One Man, Three Wars

Get off my stinking bus and get on my yellow footprints-do it now, or words to that affect, was my introduction to the Marine Corps. And so it began.

– But when the smoke cleared, I was still standing. – At this point, our whole personhood of worth would be judged by our haircut, shoeshine, the rifle badge on our chest and the stripe on our sleeve, nothing else mattered. – You know we are getting paid for this. – In fact today, we are working in the minefields now, making sure nobody gets blown-up. Today we are supposed to get baths. It was a month yesterday since I had one. Like I said, I don’t know when I’ll be home. - I’ve got the best job in the Navy, I get to wear camouflage, go camping, tell people about Jesus and I get paid for it. – They look like boys, but they fight and die like men. – It’s all about Jesus, everything else is foam and bubbles. – Let everyone know, yes, I am on the frontlines, yes, it is very hot and yes, I’m doing just fine. Well better go, have to go WAG and then to the staff meeting, about the same thing. – I’ll get straight to it … I was shot at today… but they missed. – But before we were to board, others had to get off. We were filthy, ragged, torn, well weathered and worn. – Even though it was not 135 degrees, even though I was not sleeping in the dirt, even though I was not getting shot at, this was perhaps the most difficult day of my entire Chaplain career … As I stood by the passing mourners, my heart sank in despair. Young widowed wives wept away future lives together that would never be while mournful mothers and fathers would wilt in their hearts for the fallen family flowers which would never bloom again.