TBS 2-67 Cruisebook_Updated_7Jan23

John Burwell Wilkes
religion treats this life as a purgatory. Paradise is in the next life.
Truly there was, by our standards, an obvious lack of grief for the
loss of the little baby. He had not been with them long enough to
develop a personality for them to miss, but there was a strong love
and responsibility that wanted this baby to reach paradise.
Bypassing this tough life was not necessarily a tragedy.
For the baby to reach paradise, the baby needed a proper funeral,
which was relatively elaborate and costly for them. If my memory
serves, one of the major expenses was the purchase or
construction of a small pagoda.
This family had no money for the funeral. The only way they
could finance the funeral was to sell their one and only object of
value. Their beloved water buffalo was an integral piece of their
survival ­ growing their rice and producing their milk. Without
their buffalo they would be absolutely destitute, BUT, they were
still willing to make that sacrifice, if that is what it took for the
baby to have his funeral and travel on to paradise.
They did not blame the Marines for the baby’s death. They just
thought that America and Americans were so rich and powerful, a
little money for the funeral would be of no significance to the
Marines.
They were very right about the last point. When I explained what
I had learned from the family to the admin section, the Marines
happily passed a hat around the headquarters as the word went
around. The hat produced 700 US dollars. The Vietnamese family
was ecstatic and began hugging every Marine they could find and
showering them with gratitude that needed no translation.
Although my involvement in this story was instigated for selfish
reasons and not necessarily good leadership, I have always used
this experience to help myself try to remember that a good leader
does not prejudge others before learning the relevant facts. A good
leader communicates thoroughly and always gives others the
benefit of the doubt. I even was to use this story several years later
giving a sermon in place of an absent Episcopal priest whose
friendship was originally developed in Viet Nam. In retrospect, I
regret my reluctance to get involved, and I am very grateful that I
was given the opportunity to facilitate a worthwhile outcome.
Another episode that happened while I was based in the desert
area was a temporary assignment with MACV (Military
Assistance Command Viet Nam) as an advisor to an ARVN (South
Vietnamese) regiment. The Marine officer that had been tagged
for the slot was delayed in the states and MACV needed a
temporary replacement, which somehow fell to me. I suspected
my language training was again the instigator, but my Vietnamese
was not necessary as, I think, all the ARVN regimental staff were
able to speak English.
The regiment was based in a very old, probably French,
compound surrounded by coils of ancient barbed wire. Its location
was a few miles back up the road toward Da Nang. After checking
in with the Vietnamese colonel and making my demand for private
quarters, I was given an old bunker in which to sleep on the
southern perimeter of the compound. It was my only privacy
option, and due to its condition, I also suspected the ARVN staff
was expecting me to turn it down. As I duck walked through the
door, I saw movement and realized the bunker was already
occupied…, by a large King Cobra that was longer than I was tall.
I duck shot out of the bunker backwards, probably much to my
hosts’ glee, but the ARVNs graciously went in and slew the
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