We originally posted this blog article on June 19, 2018 – it has been around earlier before publishing it then and came to me yesterday from a great friend and fellow veteran.
It seems that will all the craziness going on in our America – we should share this once again, update with some additional comments, image and cleanup.
Today those same military notifications are taking place. Let's set aside some time today especially and remember those in the past who gave their all, those currently giving their all so that you and I have and enjoy the freedoms that we have today. Pray for our military, and their families. They need our prayers.
Thanks,
If you are a Vet, or if you have ever loved a Vet, please take the time to read this...
Those who would disrespect our flag have never been handed a folded one...
My friend Bruce forwarded this email the with following comments – both his and others who shared this email:
If you can read this and not tear up, check your pulse!!
He got this from another good friend. It is rough to read but, it is something everyone should think about.
This is one of the more difficult stories I’ve read. This Marine had one of the worst jobs. God bless him, and all of you vets.
Burial at Sea
by Lt. Col. George Goodson, USMC (Ret)
In my 86th year, the events of my life
appear to me, from time to time, as a series War is the seminal event in the
life of everyone that has endured it.
Though I fought in Korea and the Dominican Republic and was wounded
there, Vietnam was my war.
Now 42 years have passed and, thankfully,
I rarely think of those days in Cambodia, Laos, and the panhandle of North
Vietnam where small teams of Americans and Montangards fought much larger
elements of the North Vietnamese Army.
Instead I see vignettes: some exotic, some mundane:
§ The smell of Nuc Mam.
§ The heat, dust, and humidity.
§ The blue exhaust of cycles
clogging the streets.
§ Elephants moving silently through
the tall grass.
§ Hard eyes behind the servile smiles
of the villagers.
§ Standing on a mountain in Laos
and hearing a tiger roar.
§ A young girl squeezing my hand as
my medic delivered her baby.
§ The flowing Ao Dais of the young
women biking down Tran Hung Dao.
§ My two years as Casualty
Notification Officer in North Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland .
It was late 1967.
I had just returned after 18 months in Vietnam. Casualties were increasing. I moved my family from Indianapolis to Norfolk,
rented a house, enrolled my children in their fifth or sixth new school, and
bought a second car.
A week later, I put on my uniform and drove 10 miles
to Little Creek, Virginia. I hesitated
before entering my new office.
Appearance is important to career Marines. I was no longer, if ever, a poster
Marine. I had returned from my third
tour in Vietnam only 30 days before. At
5'9", I now weighed 128 pounds - 37 pounds below my normal weight. My uniforms fit ludicrously, my skin was
yellow from malaria medication, and I think I had a twitch or two.
I straightened my shoulders, walked into the office,
looked at the nameplate on a Staff Sergeant's desk and said, "Sergeant
Jolly, I'm Lieutenant Colonel Goodson.
Here are my orders and my Qualification Jacket."
Sergeant Jolly stood, looked carefully at me, took my
orders, stuck out his hand; we shook and he asked, "How long were you
there, Colonel?" I replied "18
months this time." Jolly breathed,
"You must be a slow learner, Colonel." I smiled.
Jolly said, "Colonel, I'll show you to your
office and bring in the Sergeant Major.
I said, "No, let's just go straight to his office." Jolly nodded, hesitated, and lowered his
voice, "Colonel, the Sergeant Major.
He's been in this job two years.
He's packed pretty tight. I'm
worried about him." I nodded.
Jolly escorted me into the Sergeant Major's
office. "Sergeant Major, this is
Colonel Goodson, the new Commanding Officer." The Sergeant Major stood, extended his hand
and said, "Good to see you again, Colonel." I responded, "Hello Walt, how are
you?" Jolly looked at me, raised an
eyebrow, walked out, and closed the door.
I sat down with the Sergeant Major. We had the obligatory cup of coffee and
talked about mutual acquaintances.
Walt's stress was palpable.
Finally, I said, "Walt, what the hell's wrong?" He turned his chair, looked out the window
and said, "George, you're going to wish you were back in Nam before you
leave here. I've been in the Marine
Corps since 1939. I was in the Pacific
36 months, Korea for 14 months, and Vietnam for 12 months. Now I come here to bury these kids. I'm putting my letter in. I can't take it anymore." I said, "OK Walt. If that's what you want, I'll endorse your
request for retirement and do what I can to push it through Headquarters Marine
Corps."
Sergeant Major Walt Xxxxx retired 12 weeks
later. He had been a good Marine for 28
years, but he had seen too much death and too much suffering. He was used up.
Over the next 16 months, I made 28 death
notifications, conducted 28 military funerals, and made 30 notifications to the
families of Marines that were severely wounded or missing in action. Most of the details of those casualty
notifications have now, thankfully, faded from memory. Four, however, remain.
MY FIRST NOTIFICATION
My third or fourth day in Norfolk, I was notified of
the death of a 19 year old Marine. This notification came by telephone from
Headquarters Marine Corps. The
information detailed:
§ Name, rank, and serial number.
§ Name, address, and phone number
of next of kin.
§ Date of and limited details about
the Marine's death.
§ Approximate date the body would
arrive at the Norfolk Naval Air Station.
§ A strong recommendation on
whether the casket should be opened or closed.
The boy's family lived over the border in North
Carolina, about 60 miles away. I drove
there in a Marine Corps staff car.
Crossing the state line into North Carolina, I stopped at a small
country store/service station/Post Office.
I went in to ask directions.
Three people were in the store. A man and woman approached the small Post
Office window. The man held a
package. The storeowner walked up and
addressed them by name, "Hello John.
Good morning Mrs. Cooper."
I was stunned.
My casualty's next-of-kin's name was John Cooper!
I hesitated, then stepped forward and said, "I
beg your pardon. Are you Mr. and Mrs.
John Cooper of (address)?
The father looked at me - I was in uniform - and
then, shaking, bent at the waist, he vomited.
His wife looked horrified at him and then at me. Understanding came into her eyes and she
collapsed in slow motion. I think I
caught her before she hit the floor.
The owner took a bottle of whiskey out of a drawer
and handed it to Mr. Cooper who drank. I
answered their questions for a few minutes. Then I drove them home in my staff car. The storeowner locked the store and followed
in their truck. We stayed an hour or so
until the family began arriving.
I returned the storeowner to his business. He thanked me and said, "Mister, I
wouldn't have your job for a million dollars." I shook his hand and said; "Neither
would I."
I vaguely remember the drive back to Norfolk. Violating about five Marine Corps
regulations, I drove the staff car straight to my house. I sat with my family while they ate dinner,
went into the den, closed the door, and sat there all night, alone.
My Marines steered clear of me for days. I had made my first death notification.
THE FUNERALS
Weeks passed with more notifications and more
funerals. I borrowed Marines from the
local Marine Corps Reserve and taught them to conduct a military funeral: how
to carry a casket, how to fire the volleys and how to fold the flag.
When I presented the flag to the mother, wife, or
father, I always said, "All Marines share in your grief." I had been instructed to say, "On behalf
of a grateful nation...." I didn't
think the nation was grateful, so I didn't say that.
Sometimes, my emotions got the best of me and I
couldn't speak. When that happened, I
just handed them the flag and touched a shoulder. They would look at me and nod. Once a mother said to me, "I'm so sorry
you have this terrible job." My
eyes filled with tears and I leaned over and kissed her.
ANOTHER NOTIFICATION
Six weeks after my first notification, I had
another. This was a young PFC. I drove
to his mother's house. As always, I was
in uniform and driving a Marine Corps staff car. I parked in front of the house, took a deep
breath, and walked towards the house.
Suddenly the door flew open, a middle-aged woman rushed out. She looked at me and ran across the yard,
screaming "NO! NO! NO! NO!"
I hesitated.
Neighbors came out. I ran to her,
grabbed her, and whispered stupid things to reassure her. She collapsed. I picked her up and carried her into the
house. Eight or nine neighbors
followed. Ten or fifteen minutes later,
the father came in followed by ambulance personnel. I have no recollection of leaving.
The funeral took place about two weeks later. We went through the drill. The mother never looked at me. The father looked at me once and shook his
head sadly.
ANOTHER NOTIFICATION
One morning, as I walked in the office, the phone was
ringing. Sergeant Jolly held the phone
up and said, "You've got another one, Colonel." I nodded, walked into my office, picked up
the phone, took notes, thanked the officer making the call, I have no idea why,
and hung up. Jolly, who had listened,
came in with a special Telephone Directory that translates telephone numbers
into the person's address and place of employment.
The father of this casualty was a Longshoreman. He lived a mile from my office. I called the Longshoreman's Union Office and
asked for the Business Manager. He
answered the phone, I told him who I was, and asked for the father's schedule.
The Business Manager asked, "Is it his son?" I said nothing. After a moment, he said, in a low voice,
"Tom is at home today." I
said, "Don't call him. I'll take
care of that." The Business Manager
said, "Aye, Aye Sir," and then explained, "Tom and I were
Marines in WWII."
I got in my staff car and drove to the house. I was in uniform. I knocked and a woman in her early forties
answered the door. I saw instantly that
she was clueless. I asked, "Is Mr.
Smith home?" She smiled pleasantly
and responded, "Yes, but he's eating breakfast now. Can you come back later?" I said, "I'm sorry. It's important. I need to see him now."
She nodded, stepped back into the beach house and
said, "Tom, it's for you."
A moment later, a ruddy man in his late forties,
appeared at the door. He looked at me,
turned absolutely pale, steadied himself, and said, "Jesus Christ man,
he's only been there three weeks!"
Months passed.
More notifications and more funerals.
Then one day while I was running, Sergeant Jolly stepped outside the
building and gave a loud whistle, two fingers in his mouth....... I never could
do that..... and held an imaginary phone to his ear.
Another call from Headquarters Marine Corps. I took notes, said, "Got it." and
hung up. I had stopped saying
"Thank You" long ago.
Jolly, "Where?"
Me, "Eastern Shore of Maryland. The father is a retired Chief Petty
Officer. His brother will accompany the
body back from Vietnam ...."
Jolly shook his head slowly, straightened, and then
said, "This time of day, it'll take three hours to get there and
back. I'll call the Naval Air Station and
borrow a helicopter. And I'll have
Captain Tolliver get one of his men to meet you and drive you to the Chief's
home."
He did, and 40 minutes later, I was knocking on the
father's door. He opened the door,
looked at me, then looked at the Marine standing at parade rest beside the car,
and asked, "Which one of my boys was it, Colonel?"
I stayed a couple of hours, gave him all the
information, my office and home phone number and told him to call me, anytime.
He called me that evening about 2300 (11:00PM). "I've gone through my boy's papers and
found his will. He asked to be buried at
sea. Can you make that
happen?" I said, "Yes I can,
Chief. I can and I will."
My wife who had been listening said, "Can you do
that?" I told her, "I have no
idea. But I'm going to break my ass
trying."
I called Lieutenant General Alpha Bowser, Commanding
General, Fleet Marine Force Atlantic, at home about 2330, explained the
situation, and asked, "General, can you get me a quick appointment with
the Admiral at Atlantic Fleet Headquarters?" General Bowser said, "George, you be
there tomorrow at 0900. He will see
you."
I was and the Admiral did. He said coldly, "How can the Navy help
the Marine Corps, Colonel." I told
him the story. He turned to his Chief of
Staff and said, "Which is the sharpest destroyer in port?" The Chief of Staff responded with a name.
The Admiral called the ship, "Captain, you're
going to do a burial at sea. You'll
report to a Marine Lieutenant Colonel Goodson until this mission is
completed..."
He hung up, looked at me, and said, "The next
time you need a ship, Colonel, call me.
You don't have to sic Al Bowser on my ass." I responded, "Aye Aye, Sir" and got
the hell out of his office.
I went to the ship and met with the Captain,
Executive Officer, and the Senior Chief.
Sergeant Jolly and I trained the ship's crew for four days. Then Jolly raised a question none of us had
thought of. He said, "These
government caskets are air tight. How do
we keep it from floating?"
All the high priced help including me sat there
looking dumb. Then the Senior Chief
stood and said, "Come on Jolly. I
know a bar where the retired guys from World War II hang out."
They returned a couple of hours later, slightly the
worse for wear, and said, "It's simple; we cut four 12" holes in the
outer shell of the casket on each side and insert 300 lbs of lead in the foot
end of the casket. We can handle that,
no sweat."
The day arrived.
The ship and the sailors looked razor sharp. General Bowser, the Admiral, a US Senator,
and a Navy Band were on board. The
sealed casket was brought aboard and taken below for modification. The ship got underway to the 12-fathom depth.
The sun was hot.
The ocean flat. The casket was
brought aft and placed on a catafalque.
The Chaplain spoke. The volleys
were fired. The flag was removed,
folded, and I gave it to the father. The
band played "Eternal Father Strong to Save." The casket was raised slightly at the head
and it slid into the sea.
The heavy casket plunged straight down about six
feet. The incoming water collided with
the air pockets in the outer shell. The
casket stopped abruptly, rose straight out of the water about three feet,
stopped, and slowly slipped back into the sea.
The air bubbles rising from the sinking casket sparkled in the sunlight
as the casket disappeared from sight forever....
The next morning I called a personal friend,
Lieutenant General Oscar Peatross, at Headquarters Marine Corps and said,
"General, get me out of here. I
can't take this anymore." I was
transferred two weeks later.
I was a good Marine but, after 17 years, I had seen
too much death and too much suffering. I
was used up.
Vacating the house, my family and I drove to the
office in a two-car convoy. I said my
goodbyes. Sergeant Jolly walked out with
me. He waved at my family, looked at me
with tears in his eyes, came to attention, saluted, and said, "Well Done,
Colonel. Well Done."
I felt as if I had received the Medal of Honor!
'A veteran is someone who, at one point, wrote a
blank check made payable to 'The United States of America ' for an amount of
'up to and including their life.'
That is Honor, and there are way too many people in
this country who no longer understand it.'
I am honored to pass this on and I hope you feel that
way too.
I want to say "Thank you" for your service
to every Veteran who reads this.
In God We Trust
