Burial at Sea

[Raider Bill]

Burial at Sea
by LtCol George Goodson, USMC (Ret)

In my 76th year, the events of my life appear to me, from time to time, as a series of vignettes. Some were significant; most were trivial...

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 Office. 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's the h-ll'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 r etirement 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 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 He adquarters?" 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 h-ll 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 worst 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 Chaplin 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 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.


Thank God For
Small Favors.

[sawman]

  Very moving. Thanks for sharing.


  Quote:
"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."
Very true statement.
Thanks to all our veterans past and present. God bless you all

smiley_applause

[jdtuttle]

Wow! I'm not ashamed to say this brought tears to my eyes. I had to stop reading for a bit. You see we had a Colonel visit our house November 15, 1967 to tell us my brother Bobby was killed in action the day before. I came home for lunch from elementary school and the Colonel had allready told my Mother. It's a day I'll never forget & it was also my 11th birthday.
God Bless Lt. Colonel George Goodson USMC (Ret) and all those that have his job.
Jim

[BcWoodWorks]

it is because of you that those people had closure. Thank you for your service, and thank you for your strength. We the people, will never forget it.

Strength, beyond Strength. Semper Fi Devil dawg.

[doctorb]

Bill-  

Very powerful.  Very moving.   Could I ask what caused you to post it at this time?  Something stirred inside you.

[scsmith42]

Bill-  

Very powerful.  Very moving.   Could I ask what caused you to post it at this time?  Something stirred inside you.

Bill, +1.

Scott

[sandhills]

It's a little strange but just a bit before I read this my wife and I just finished watching the movie "we were soldiers" which for anyone who hasn't seen it deals a little with the notification of those killed in action.  We have some very close neighbors that lost a son in Iraq several years ago, and were just talking about how hard it would be to give that news to their loved ones.  On Feb. 19 we're having a sending off party for my second cousin, who's also a very good friend of my stepson, he's headed to Iraq.  May God bless all of our troops and help bring them back safely.  Thanks for sharing that RB.

[Autocar]

Iam speechless with tears in my eyes, I know where your coming from and I will never forget them or how proud I am of our country !

[thecfarm]

Now that's quite the post.Yes,I'm proud to say that brought tears to my eyes and than some.

[ely]

im not certain i know anyone who could read that with dry eyes, thanks bill for posting it.

[PC-Urban-Sawyer]

im not certain i know anyone who could read that with dry eyes, thanks bill for posting it.

Ely,

I'm not certain I'd WANT to know anyone who could read that with dry eyes...

Herb

[Raider Bill]

Bill-  

Very powerful.  Very moving.   Could I ask what caused you to post it at this time?  Something stirred inside you.

Doc,

I got thinking of a childhood Friend yesterday, KIA Vietnam. Was one of those all day couldn't get him out of my head things. I was younger and just happened to be in place when the USMC notified his family.
Not sure why I woke up thinking of Phil but couldn't shake it. Figured as long as I was in the dumps I may as well drag you guys in with me.

RIP Lance Corporal Philip W. Leslie

[Norm]

Bill you remembering your friend and helping us to understand has him looking down on you with a big smile. 

[DanG]

I think that Veterans universally appreciate it when we are honored by the thanks of our Countrymen.  I know I do.  But Veterans don't have a monopoly on the trauma of war.  As Bill pointed out, it can have life-shaping effects on youngsters who come into contact with the ugliness under various circumstances.  Only a few years ago I learned of something that had a profound effect on my Sister, while I was in Vietnam.  It took it almost 40 years to come to light.  It was such a simple little thing that meant almost nothing to me at the time, but has affected her for most of her life.  It involved a letter I sent home with a muddy boot print on it.  I had just added a "ps" that it had fallen to the floor when we were hit with mortars and I had stepped on it in my haste to seek shelter.  She was nine years old at the time, and I guess that was when it hit her that Big Bro was actually at risk, and she suffered nightmares for years because of it.  The incident was pretty much a non-event to me, as mortar attacks were almost everyday occurrances, and I wasn't really in much danger from them.  From my perspective, boredom was a much more common emotion than fright ever was, but it took years for me to realize that it wasn't that way for those who anxiously awaited my return and clenched their teeth at every knock on the door.

[Autocar]

His post on Burial At Sea I can't get it out of my mind . To bad every young person in this United States couldn't read this and realize that warm homes a full bellie and a prosperous life style isn't something that just comes with living in America. That alot of young men and weman gave it all. God Bless America and our service men and women and all past veterans ! Bill your the man ,very moving

[DanG]

I see a lot of these poignant and stirring stories on the internet.  I've gotten into the habit of checking them out, and find that most of them are phony.  I'm happy to report that this one is genuine.  LTC Goodson is real, and did indeed write the story from his own personal experiences.  Here is a link to an interview done by one of his peers who has become a blogger:

http://www.thesandgram.com/2009/12/22/internet-legend-ltcol-george-goodson-usmc-ret/

[Magicman]

For me, the best way to greet a Vietnam Veteran is to say "Welcome Home".

Most of them returning home received much less than a welcome from a seemingly ungrateful nation.  Many were almost deemed as being the enemy in that unpopular war.  They just silently came home, with no parades or fanfare, and tried to blend in.  They suffered their trauma in silence and many times alone.

To those that did come home, Welcome. 

[JV]

I have read and re-read this post several times with many emotions.  I lost a very good friend in Vietnam and it's still tough to remember.  Most veterans go through life with little or no recognition with no expectations of any.  I am a member of our county's Military Burial Rites Team.  We do a ceremony at the funeral home and/or at the graveside for any veteran who was discharged honorably.  Unfortunately, this is the only recognition many will ever receive.  So, talk to those you know and quietly get their story.  Sometimes it's therapeutic for all. 

[Raider Bill]

Another part of this I guess is that I have another childhood friend [same age as me, he went Army I went Navy] who's only Son is now in Afganland and according to what I read his units been in combat going on 4 weeks now. He is a Hospital Corpsman assigned to a Marine Line Company. Basically it's not a good spot to be. I was thinking ..what if....... wow. I send Nick a box of goodies twice a month, I just packed another to go out tomorrow.

There is a Motorcycle group called the Patriot Guard Riders that ensure's Servicemen funerals will not be interrupted by a certain group of church people out of Oklahoma. Although I am not a member of the PGR my bike has never missed one in 200 miles of where I live in Florida nor will anyone bother a military funeral while I'm still standing.

[isawlogs]

Bill, I would stand by your side anytime, anywhere.

[Buck]

Bill, thanks for this post. God bless each and every one that has served or is there now.

[Raider Bill]

Bill, I would stand by your side anytime, anywhere.

Marcel, your ok for a Frenchman. You had my back st Subway! ;D

[doctorb]

Bill-

I don't know how the Supreme Court will rule on the case of the Kansas Church vs. Military Funerals, but it is my understanding that the group is having a much harder time getting anywhere near these cerimonies now.  The public is outraged, regardless of political view.

I took an hour or so off from work a few months back when the group threatened to picket the funeral of a serviceman in Baltimore.  I stood shoulder to shoulder with people I didn't know, taking up space on the sidewalks near the church, to assure that the soldier and his family were not faced with this indignity.  I didn't know the soldier or his family.  I hate this war, and wish we would come to our senses.  But to spread another unrelated agenda on the back of the funeral of someone who died protecting me, again, regardless of my political views, was more than I could take.  I left the scene never having attended the cerimony, wishing I hadn't had to be there, but glad I went.  Thanks again for your post.   Doctorb

[isawlogs]

Bill, a man does whats needs be done where ever it needs be done, it was scarry for sure but we made it out and safe, that was the main thing.
  Oh and by the way , that would be Québécois .. not Frenchman ;) We'll sit and talk this through and get you straightened out 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qu%C3%A9b%C3%A9cois

[DanG]

  Oh and by the way , that would be Québécois .. not Frenchman ;) We'll sit and talk this through and get you straightened out 

:D :D :D :D :D
I really, really want to be there and sit in on that talk!! ;D