My chaplain friend from Vietnam said, “When all is said and done, more is said than done."

[jody]

Coming home today from a government research project to which I am contributing, after arriving at the office to an in-box full of one or two important items buried among over a hundred emails ranging from “of no value” to “stupid people wasting bandwidth” I believe Chuck’s statement needs to be revised:

“When all is read and done, more is read than done!”

PS: Chuck hitchhiked on FAC aircraft to minister to troops in the most remote regions of Vietnam.

:toast: to Chuck, veterans from a half century ago when we were young and naive:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

[pinboy3niner]

1. I knew a chaplain like that in Vietnam

He hitched rides on our re-supply choppers to conduct worship services for Infantry units in remote jungle areas of I Corps--and to hold memorial services for recent losses.

The tables were turned on Christmas Day, 1969, when I wound up hitching a ride to the field with him. Normally I'd have been in the field, but that changed temporarily, and my plans to link up with my little brother to see the Christmas Day show Bob Hope was doing for the 101st Airborne Division were canceled.

Rather than spending the day in basecamp, I wanted to be with the troops in the field. A chopper was assigned to the chaplain Christmas day so he could visit every one of the battalion's field units, and he was happy to give me a ride.

His first stop was a jungle hilltop occupied by a platoon of Co. D, 2/501 Infantry. The chaplain conducted a memorial service, complete with helmets perched on the butts of M-16's, for Delta Company's recent KIA's. Then the chaplain left on the chopper to visit the other units, promising to pick me up at the end of the day.

Hot chow--reserved for holidays--was choppered out to grunts who subsisted for a month at a time in the jungle on C-rats and--if they were lucky--freeze-dried LRRP rations once in a while. I spent the day mostly playing poker under a poncho hooch with Joe Rufty, the platoon leader, and a handful of his men.

Joe had gotten a Christmas package from home with chocolate chip cookies, a bottle of whiskey, and a laugh box. The cookies were shared, the whiskey passed around so everyone in the platoon got a taste but no one got high in case something happened. And, as we played cards, every once in a while someone would reach over and push the button on the laugh box, triggering the recorded laughter, and we all cracked up, every time.

My memories of that day on "Christmas Hill" are bittersweet--we lost Joe about a month later when he went down in a hail of NVA machine gun and AK fire on another godforsaken hill out in the jungle.

Complicating the memory is that I was nearby when Joe went down. I could hear the firefight just over the hill, and as Joe lay there wounded there was nothing I could do to help. We couldn't hump there in time, and though my platoon had voted unanimously to volunteer to rappel into the firefight to reach him, HQ rejected the proposal as too costly.

The toughest thing, even after all these years, is the feeling that, if I were the one who was down, Joe would have been there for me...

At the same time, I'd love to be able to see that chaplain again today. I'd thank him for giving me, back in that time when we were so young and naive, the opportunity to know Joe Rufty.

I apologize for the length--that's the only chaplain story I have.

:toast: Jody.

:patriot: