By DAVID EPPS
Pastor

I enlisted in the Marine Corps on a Tuesday afternoon, Feb. 10, 1970. Two days later, I left for boot camp and arrived at Parris Island, S. C., on Friday the 13th. The Vietnam War was raging and my next-door neighbor, a kid named Lonnie, had already become an Army Ranger and had been shot to pieces. He survived but recovery would be slow. Jimmy, a soldier, and Joe, a Marine, would not be so fortunate. These friends from high school would be dead at 19 and their names inscribed on The Wall.

I hated the idea of war. One of my favorite songs of the era said in its lyrics, “War! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing! Say it again!” But it was my duty to serve and, if I were sent to Vietnam, I would go. My father was a World War II veteran of the United States Navy and he made no secret about what he thought of those who fled to Canada to avoid the draft. So, if I had to go, I reasoned, I wanted to go with the best, and, in my mind, that meant the Marines.

The funny thing about it is that I spent all my active duty time in the United States. I was stationed at Parris Island, Camp LeJeune, N. C., Fort Lee, Va., and Quantico, Va. After that, I went home. The war was still going on, and would be until about 1975. Somehow, I missed it all. The closest I got to action was being assigned to the Riot Control Battalion near Washington, D. C. and having to guard a nuclear ammunition storage depot. Not that I complained about it. I felt extremely fortunate to have missed Vietnam.

The problems came later. Over the years, I began to feel guilt at not having gone to Southeast Asia. I began to think that, somehow, I had shirked my duty. Perhaps, I should have volunteered. As Viet vets came to me for counsel over post-traumatic-stress-related issues, my guilt intensified. I was proud to be a Marine but ashamed at never having been in combat. I even joined Vietnam Veterans of America, which permitted Vietnam-era veterans to join, even if they hadn't been to Vietnam, but later let my membership expire.

A few years ago, I journeyed to The Wall to read the names of people who had died in Vietnam. Strangely, I began to feel as though my name should have been on the Wall. More guilt. More shame.

Then the Gulf War came. We organized prayer services for our military, wrote to men and women in the Persian Gulf, and prayed for peace and safety. When the war was over and the soldiers came home, we participated in the joy and even honored two of the men who had served on a Sunday morning. I felt even more guilt about not being in the war.

A few years ago, I was taking a police instructor's certification course at the police academy. One of my classmates was a retired sergeant major who had served two tours in Vietnam. Every time I was with him, I felt as though I had let him down. Finally, near the end of the two-week course, I privately shared my thoughts with him about these matters. I apologized to him for having let him down and expressed my sorrow for not having served my country. He looked at me for a long moment, put his hand on my shoulder, stared at me intensely and finally said, “That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life!”

I was startled by his response. He continued, “When you tell me that story, I think of a terrible car wreck down the street at the intersection. Cars are wrecked and burning, people are trapped inside the flaming vehicles, body parts are strewn about, and the shrieks and moans of the dying fill the air. Blood is all over everything and the smell of death fills the nostrils. Then I imagine you coming upon that scene and saying, `Gee, I sure wish I'd been in that car wreck!' That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

He looked at me for a long moment and then his face softened. “Dave, I spent two tours in Vietnam. The first tour wasn't too bad but when I went back for the second, it was a disaster. The politicians betrayed us, men died needlessly, and we lost a winnable war. You need to understand this: Vietnam was a car wreck.”

He assured me that, because I had enlisted and was willing to go, that I had no reason to be ashamed. “No one who was there will hold it against you,” he said. “I appreciate your willingness and availability. Just be grateful you were spared. You ought to thank God,” said the sergeant major.

The truth is, I wish nobody ever had to go. I have a son in the military and I pray he never has to go. To all the veterans of all the wars who had to go, “Thank you.” To all those who served and did their duty, but never had to go, well, “Thank you, too.” May God grant that our sons and daughters never find themselves in the flaming, horrible car wreck that is war. May they never feel guilt for being alive.

“War! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!”

[Father David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church. He may be contacted at CTKCEC@aol.com or at P. O. Box 2192, Peachtree City, GA 30269.]333

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