A TRUE BAND OF BROTHERS

One of the most despised, yet most rewarding duties that a soldier may be assigned to do, is that of survivor assistance. It is the type of duty that can be classified as an oxymoron, for it represents the bitterness of having to attend to a fellow warrior as he is laid to his final rest, yet brings out sweet memories of what he represented and what he died for.

During my long career in the Army I was assigned as Survivor Assistance Officer on several occasions. The most difficult one, was one I actually volunteered for.

Shortly after my first tour of duty in Vietnam I was assigned to the Atomic Support Agency in New Mexico. Less than a month after arriving at my post I received a call from the parents of a young Infantry Paratrooper who had been killed in action.

The parents pointed out that I had been the platoon leader of (for the parent's sake let's call him Johnny) in Vietnam and he wrote them often about how much he loved the men in his platoon and how I had brought them back alive from so many dangerous missions.

They agreed that since Johnny felt so strongly about me (his Platoon Daddy as I was dubbed) they asked if I would honor them by acting as his Survivor Assistance Officer. I asked and received permission to do so.

Johnny was no different from any of my other platoon members, a young (nineteen I think) Paratrooper who loved the Airborne and was very proud to be serving his country.

I do remember that he was somewhat shy, and didn't drink or smoke when back at base camp. He was also a devout Christian, who talked more about his church than a girlfriend or car or the usual things the other men often discussed.

I met his casket in Oakland California and escorted it to his hometown of Birmingham Alabama. Over the next several days, I assisted the family in arranging the funeral, a military honor guard, a massive amount of paperwork, and many other duties; including meeting his pretty young fiancée, whom he never told anyone about.

Despite the fact that I was a total stranger, the members of the church congregation treated me as if I was Johnny's best friend (which in a way I guess I was). I went to a number of great dinners in several homes and everywhere I went I was told how proud Johnny was of being an Army Paratrooper, and how proud he was to have been in my platoon and serving his country in time of need.

The day of the funeral turned out to be a bright sunny day and the church services were some of the best I have ever heard. Everything went great until we were at the cemetery.

As the Paratrooper Honor Guard was removing Johnny's casket from the hearse in preparation to carry it to his gravesite, a group of people gathered and begin to toss insults at us.

The were mostly young people; some were the flower children of that era, but others were middle age or older, all were protesting the War in Vietnam.

I was completely appalled by this act of desecration, and many of the names they called us were hard to swallow; names such as baby killers, butchers, murderers and so forth. I stoically withstood their insults until several in the group got the audacity to shout the -N- word.

For you see, Johnny was one of the few black soldiers who served in my platoon.

As a true Band of Brothers, race was never, never, a factor among us. We were all Americans fighting in what we considered a just cause, doing our patriotic duty as Paratroopers. It came down to the fact that we weren't fighting because we hated the enemy in front of us, it was because we loved those behind us.

Should the truth be known, we (all of us) would rather stick with our black brothers who fought with us, than any of the "hippie" or "racist" people back home. We were all Paratroopers, race or creed was never even brought up!

I remember this incident as one of my finest moments in life. I stood up to that miserable excuse for humanity and tore into them with my best Drill Sergeant voice. They quickly left shortly thereafter; either from shame or from the fear I am certain I put into them.

After the funeral was concluded and I went to salute the family and take my leave, Johnny's mother said something that still warms my heart to this day.

"Reckon there ain't no N------ in the Paratroopers, is there?" She asked, her voice full of pride and respect.

"That's a big part of what Johnny fought and died for," I told her. "That's a big part of what all we Soldiers and Sailors, and Marines, and Airmen are all fighting for."

It may take more time for the rest of America to catch up with us, but someday, somehow, we will all be a true "Band of Brothers."