VIETNAM CHAPLAIN: DECEMBER 1968

Jack Day's

Worlds

Vietnam Chaplain
Central Highlands Diary
December, 1968

Letter to Home, 9 December (3/8, LZ Oasis)

I got an interesting comment yesterday, that my sermon was just like I was teaching. It was intended as a compliment. Yesterday it being universal Bible Sunday I decided at the nth hour (as usual) to just talk about how the Bible was written and then draw several conclusions. Talked about stories told around campfires, tales memorized from father to son of Old Testament heroes, psalms as popular songs, of Christ's parables passed from person to person, then variously collected by the different gospel writers in their own fashion, then the 3 conclusions I saw, to wit:

1) God's respect for man, working thru individuals with all their limitations, not dictating or bypassing them
2) God's faith in man, believing that whatever our foibles or failures something good may come of it all, and
3) if we're looking for God at work, the way the Bible came about gives us a clue that far more often than anything miraculous, we'll find him at work thru quite ordinary seeming events and processes.

It was extemporaneous, low key, and I was enjoying talking about it, so it had a good effect. Col. McClelland was there -- the one who chewed my assistant and me out at Plei Mrong for sitting on his bunker -- and he even left smiling..

Letter to Home, 10 December (3/8, LZ Oasis)

They've really got me on the run here now – all the other chaplains di-di'd out of here and I'm the only one left for 4 battalions. One went on R&R, one DEROSed, and one went on a Catholic retreat. So now here I belong to 1 Brigade and am the only chaplain working at 3 Brigade. As they say, "don't mean nothing."

Our tent is really nice now with a new location, wood floor, rugs, easy chairs, soft lighting from 2 Christmas tree strings, and some red crepe paper decorating the center pole.

My Commanding Officer is a very straight Catholic and noticed the Playmates on the wall last week and hasn't spoken to me since. The fact that my assistant was sitting here in civilian clothes (unauthorized) didn't help a whole lot either.

0105 Tent with Christmas decorations

This badly deteriorated slide captures the interior of the chaplain tent at Christmas time. Hanging from a wire between tent posts are photos of my two-year old son and his mother. My refrigerator is still with us, as is my assistant's tape deck. From somewhere, probably the PX or a care package from home, the red simulated bricks with a "Happy New Year" banner attempted to add a festive touch. A stocking is hanging. Colored christmas lights hang from the top of the tent, as does a red paper bell. What more could one want to capture the Christmas spirit?

Playing chess at the Oasis

Taking a break for a chess game at the Oasis

Letter to Home, 16 December (3/8, Camp Enari)

We're operating east of Pleiku now, and the trains moved to base camp. I didn't want to live in a cubby hole room in a building so talked them into letting me set up my tent here.

Went up to Dak To to get a jeep today. Had to take over the airport and run it for four minutes finally to get a ride up! They had 5 of us waiting to go up. So that's not an enough to fill an airplane, so therefore wait. Fine. But do you have any helicopters going up. Oh, we wouldn't know. Call 140 on the phone. Called. Oh yes, there's a hook loading up right now over at the hook pad. No, you probably couldn't get over there in time. Sorry about that. So I turn to the people at the desk and tell them about the hook – look, you've got 5 passengers – couldn't you hold up the hook long enough to get us on? Oh, perhaps. They call control tower. Yes sir, all passengers for Dak to please go outside. Your hook will set down and pick you up immediately.

Got to Dak To, conferred with Chaplain Brown, exchanged info, picked up his jeep, which I had talked him out of. I do need it more than him. He also, I think, wanted to get it out of the motor pool up there, which was steadily stripping it for parts for other peoples' jeeps. Scrounged a spare tire and gas tank. Fairly nervous about driving because the road has been mined a couple of times recently. So I get to Kontum and the engine starts dying each time I slow down. Negative oil pressure. Bruce checks oil. Oil OK. Fuel pump? No way to tell. Each time it dies it gives no trouble starting again. Make it to Camp Enari. Take it to my own motor pool, where the mechanics are my buddies. Discover one valve whose insides had been pirated. Replaced, jeep runs like atop.

Chaplain in Flak Jacket

_s01 While based at the Oasis, I travelled more by jeep.

Marty Brooks was over last night, his helicopter people brought me in from Blackhawk, where we're working now.

Martin Brooke

0147 Chaplain Marty Brooks

Rarely did we meet people we had known 'back in the world,' so running into a familiar face was a special treat. Chaplain Marty Brooks (left), Southern Baptist, had been a good friend while I was stationed at Fort Eustis. This picture appears to have been taken at Camp Enari. You can tell which of us had more recently had access to clean clothes.

Letter to Home, 20 December (3/8, Camp Enari)

My hooch is now at Camp Enari in the 3/8 area here. I talked the I Bde chaplain out of his jeep and each morning drive about 30 miles out to Blackhawk, a firebase started by the 2/1 Cav, where I Bde has a jump CP – a temporary command point. 3/8 and 3/12 are out in the mountains east of there. The road is the main drag from Pleiku to Qui Nhon, so it's paved, heavily traveled, and relatively secure.

One KIA today– they found some bunkers and when one GI investigated he was met by AK 47 fire. Bad news. Every so often you remember this is a war.

Christmas will definitely be different here. No tree, but the tent is decorated with lights....our troops will be in at Enari for standdown....our unit is operating east of Pleiku now south of the road to Qui Nhon. This being a major supply route, Army Engineers are redoing the highway with a stateside class A pavement. So nice to be able to get on a road and do 60. Of course, now, my jeep, unused to such treatment, needs a new engine. "Sin loi" (sorry about that), as they say.

From the Oasis, more places were accessible by road -- the Camp Enari base camp, 71st Evacuation Hospital in Pleiku, and, occasionally, even one of our units. My assistant obtained a jeep for the chaplain from the motor pool, and we managed to suitably decorate it!

Hippie Chaplain

Photo by Bruce Chaffee, enhanced for web by Ed Chilton

0018 In some circles I was known as the "Hippie Chaplain." Was it the daisy that did it?

Letter to Home, 23 December (3/8 Helicopter Pad, FB Blackhawk)

Am sitting out at the 3/8 pad at Blackhawk this morning. Don't think there will be any birds – they're all sitting on the ground, with the wind too gusty to fly and the mountains still under clouds. This is the first time we've had a chopper pad outside any perimeter or supervision.

0129 Pleiku Jacket

For many, the most honest religious note that could be struck is that on the locally-purchased jacket of this guitar-player at a chopper pad: "When I die I'll go to heaven, because I've spent my time in hell. Pleiku."

Each morning Lambrettas come out from Pleiku and drop off the working girls. "Hey GI, you buy boom-boom?" Girls spend the day talking, laughing, flirting with the GI's. Sooner or later, mostly the GI's succumb, put out their money, & disappear into the bushes, returning with a sheepish look for the chaplain and probably VD for the doctor.

A couple were hanging on me very insistently and finally I pulled out my collar and told them I was a priest. "No can do." They giggled.

Looking out from the jeep where I'm sitting some GI's are unloading ammo to be hauled out to the companies.

A Montagnard boy rides past on a bicycle carrying two models of helicopters he has carved out of wood, hoping to sell them for $5 apiece.

A flock of goats wanders over to the bushes, where the brass is greener.

On the road a convoy passes, lights on. They meet another convoy so each has to ride partly on the shoulder, raising a cloud of dirt.

Letter to Home, 23 December (Mountain East of FB Blackhawk)

6 PM. I got out this afternoon and now am spending the night. Birds mostly aren't flying. However, a general came to see 3/8 HQ and the Brigade CO (a colonel) sent his bird up as an escort, and I hitchhiked. Up here the wind blows. Mist fogged in about 5 PM. When you breath it steams. No coat, no sweater – but I did think ahead: a warm sleeping bag.

We are just about out of water. A water trailer came in a couple of days ago by hook. Water is so far gone you can't get any out of the spigot, but there is a little at the bottom. One of the smaller guys discovered you can get into the trailer thru the top. He climbed in and is handing out cans of water. A group clustered around is making sport, making a drum of the tank, to the edification of the boy inside.

We sang Christmas carols after the service this afternoon.

Christmas

Letter to Home, 25 December, Christmas morning, 6:30 AM (Camp Enari)

Finally made it back to Camp Enari yesterday evening after almost thinking I'd be spending Christmas with C Company.

Some people can't tell the difference between Christmas and Hallowe'en. A couple of grenades were set off down in the artillery area, and someone threw tear gas into the officers club during a floor show. Ran into drifts of tear gas a couple of times last night. Tends to clean out one's eyes.

Today chaplains have their own bird and are going fire base hopping this morning. Chaplain Levering wanted me at Div Chapel at 7 AM. They certainly don't know how to live over here.

Letter to Home, 26 December (3/8, Camp Enari)

Christmas was kind of a weird day here – started out with them giving us a bird that had only 1.5 hours flying time left on it before a 2 day maintenance. Basically that meant that we got out in the AO and were left to our own resources.

I set up an itinerary, showed the pilots where to go, etc. People were glad to see us. Ended up with 4 services. Last place, everyone had been drinking, were half crocked. Best service of all. Told the Division chaplain I recommended drinking before services more frequently. I mean like I sensed the congregation was really right there with me. I think people had been blocking out Christmas and being away from home and all and the drinking loosened all that up and it started to get to them – then I show up. Service was a carol sing type – carols with the old Christmas readings from Matthew and Luke interspersed. Sermon was brief, off the cuff – tie in with mood of Psalm 137:4 – " how shall we sing the lord's song in a foreign land" – how on earth can we celebrate Christmas way out here – and the meaning of Christmas being precisely in the word Emmanuel – God with us, and if that's what Christmas means, we can celebrate it anywhere.

Then, waiting to get out of the last location, must have been about an hour waiting for a bird – when a helicopter finally arrived it was just coming in when this AK-47 opens up. Bird circled and came in anyway from a different direction. Left his cargo and picked us up. Pilot was a bit scratched up. Nothing serious, a couple of holes in the chopper. Was glad to get out. Definitely surprised I didn't have grass stains on my fatigues – amazing how quickly one assumes the prone position! I can remember my first thought was, "God, hope somebody on that hill (where the company was) is still sober. But the sniper was probably on his way through the bushes the second he took his finger off the trigger.

Months later, back in Virginia, I wrote a poem called Homecoming capturing some of the events of the year in Vietnam. Referring to Christmas Day, 1968, the poem reads,

How can I tell her about
Christmas
when we went out on Official Business
with a case of whiskey
singing carols that afternoon
loud, but a little sloppy
like tears just beneath the surface
the sermon text about singing in a strange land
later waiting on the chopper pad
the burst of fire from hidden sniper
the grisly visage of the wounded pilot
the relief discovering the bullet only grazed his hand
the rest was blood.

Normally hard liquor was not permitted in forward areas, but on this festive day the chaplain carried one bottle to each company, a green Santa Claus bringing gifts by helicopter. The presence of a sniper close enough to fire a round grazing the pilot's hand was a reminder that war stops for nobody, no thing, no celebration.

Where we're working is called VC Valley. We've recovered large numbers of enemy ammo, B-40 rockets, tons of rice, etc.

Finally got here and discovered my Christmas dinner was cold cuts and dry bread.

Today went to the hospital to visit, and bought some pink champagne at PX.

John came down Christmas night. Confessed it was the only place he could get a rum coke – the O Club is closed since someone threw in 3 tear gas grenades in the course of Christmas Eve revelry.

Out in the field Christmas Eve, some radio operator read the whole "Night Before Christmas" over the radio. I'll bet Charlie if he was listening tore his hair, figuring if he could just break the code of this poem he would have some really important information!

In Memoriam, December, 1968

20 December, 1968

SP4 Robert Arthur Clark, Mannington,VA; A Co, 3/8

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©1999-2005 Jackson H. Day. All photos taken by Jackson Day or Chaplain Assistant Bruce Chaffee unless otherwise noted. All Rights Reserved. "Letter to Home" contains actual excerpts from letters written at the time. Updated January 25, 2005