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Robert H. Burns American Legion Post 16 |
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The Four Chaplains' Ceremony 2011 |
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Most of the men were seasick, and green with nausea. Because they were in submarine waters,
the captain directed the men to keep outer gear and life jackets on at all times. Moving among them were four Army Chaplains:
George Fox (Methodist), Alexander Goode (Jewish), Clark Poling (Dutch Reformed), and John Washington (Roman Catholic). The
Chaplains talked with and listened to the men - soothing apprehensions, offering encouragement, or sharing a joke. By their
concern, their camaraderie with the men and one another, and their very presence, they brought solace. An enemy submarine, stalking the ship undetected, fired a torpedo toward the ship's aging flank.
The missile exploded in the boiler room, destroying the electric supply and releasing suffocating clouds of steam and ammonia
gas. Many on board died instantly; some were trapped below deck. Others, jolted from their bunks, groped and stumbled their
way to the decks of the stricken vessel. Taking on water rapidly, the ship began listing to starboard. Because security reasons prevented the use of distress flares, escort vessels, still close enough
to assist, pushed on into the darkness unaware that the DORCHESTER was sinking. Overcrowded lifeboats capsized; rafts drifted away before anyone could reach them. Men clung
to the rails, frozen with fear, unable to let go and plunge into the dark, churning water far below. The Four Chaplains calmed frightened men, got them into the spare lifejackets, and urged them
over the side. The supply of extra jackets ran out with men still waiting. Having decided to remain with the sinking ship,
the Four Chaplains either gave to or forced upon frightened servicemen their own lifejackets. Too quickly, no more lifeboats could be launched and many men were left aboard, but there was
more for the Chaplains to do. When last seen, they were standing together on the deck leading the men in prayer. With arms
linked in friendship and heads bowed in prayer, they sank beneath the waves. Two of those chaplains were Protestant, one was
a Catholic, and one was a Jew. Monsignor John McNamara, former Chief of Chaplains of the U.S. Navy, said at a Four Chaplains
Award Service, "No casting director in Hollywood could have selected a better cast of characters than these four to portray
the basic unity of the American people." The self-sacrifice of the Four Chaplains was a heroic act. It was not the only heroic act aboard
the DORCHESTER. But it was the identity of these four young men, representing three great faiths of the American people, that
adds symbolism to their sacrifice.
Alexander Goode was too
young for World War I. While George Fox was winning medals on the battlefield in France, Alex Goode was receiving medals in
Eastern High School, Washington, DC, for tennis, swimming and track. He led his class in scholarship too. He planned to follow in
his father's footsteps and become a Rabbi, but that did not keep him from having a laughing, shouting, hail-fellow-well-met
boyhood with all the Protestant and Catholic boys in the neighborhood. When the body of the Unknown
Soldier was brought to Arlington Cemetery, Alex Goode attended the ceremonies. He could just as well have ridden that fifteen
miles -- for after all -- there were trolleys and buses in Washington, and the Goode family had a fine family car, but Alex
thought it showed more respect to walk -- and walk he did -- all the way to Arlington and all the way back....thirty miles.
That's how he felt about the Unknown Soldier. Even while training for his calling he joined the National Guard and kept up
the active membership. He married his childhood
sweetheart and they had a daughter. After his call to a synagogue in York, Pennsylvania, he continued his studies at John
Hopkins University, forty-five miles away, and earned his Ph.D. One day in 1943 Mrs. Goode
received a telegram from her husband...."Having a wonderful experience," it read, and then Mrs. Goode knew that her husband
had found a warm companionship with the men with whom he could share his faith and his laughter.
George
L. Fox George Fox was the oldest.
Up in Vermont they called him, "The Little Minister" because he was only five feet seven inches tall. Back in 1917 he lied
about his age and enlisted in the Army as a medical corps assistant. He won a Silver Star for rescuing a wounded soldier from
a battlefield filled with poison gas, although he himself had no gas mask on. He won the Croix de Guerre - and many months
in a hospital with a broken spine -- for outstanding bravery in an artillery barrage. When George Fox came home
to Vermont he continued his education and became a public accountant as he had planned. He was successful, happily married,
with two children. Then one evening he came home from work and told his wife he wanted to study for the ministry and she approved.
So George Fox became a minister. Then war came again. "I’ve got to go," he told his wife. "I know from experience what
our boys are about to face. They need me." Before he boarded the Dorchester he wrote a letter to his little daughter. She
received it after the news that the ship was torpedoed. "I want you to know," he wrote "how proud I am that your marks in
school are so high - but always remember that kindness and charity and courtesy are much more important.
JOHNNY
P. WASHINGTON Up in Newark, New Jersey,
there was once a little Irish boy named Johnny Washington. Things usually aren't easy for poor immigrant folk. But, Johnny
had his Father's Irish grin and his Mother's Irish stick-toittiveness, and Johnny sold newspapers. Sure, he liked to play
ball, just as much as the rest of the kids in his block, but if he took time off from his newspaper route it was just so many
pennies less to take home to Mom, and there were nine mouths in the Washington household to fed. Johnny loved music and
sang in the Church choir and Johnny loved to fight. It must have been about the time he decided to become a priest that he
was the leader of the South Twelfth Street Boys in Newark, a position which required not only moral suasion but, on occasion,
a black eye and a bloody nose. Johnny was always laughing,
right through his training as a priest and after he was ordained. He played ball in the streets with the boys from his parish;
he organized baseball teams, and when the war came along and his boys went into the Army, Father Johnny went right along with
them as a matter of course. They say that when the Dorchester went down he was still laughing -- laughing and singing and
praying to comfort those who could not reach the lifeboats. (Drape
stole on Cross.)
CLARK V.
POLING Clark Poling was the youngest
of our Four Men of God. Clark's first letter was written to his father. It was written in square block printing and was addressed
by his mother. The letter found Dr. Poling, February, 1918, in a dugout on the Western Front of another World War. the letter
read: "Dear Daddy: Gee, I wish I was where you are. Love, Clark." And in exactly twenty-five years, that eager little boy
received his wish. Clark was the seventh generation in an unbroken line of ministers of the Gospel. He was ordained in a Dutch
Reformed Church and was assigned a pulpit in Schenectady. He married a girl named Betty and they had one little boy, called
Corky. A little girl was born to Mrs. Poling at Easter time after the Dorchester went down in February. When the war came along he did
not want to go as a Chaplain. "I can carry a gun as well as the next guy," he told his father. "I'm not going to hide behind
the Church in some safe office out of the firing line." "I think you're scared" the elder Poling joked. "Don't you know that
the mortality rate of the Chaplains is the highest of all? As a Chaplain you'll have the best chance in the world to be killed.
The only difference is, you can't carry a gun to kill anyone yourself." And so Clark Poling became a Chaplain. Just before Clark sailed he
visited his father and they were alone in Dr. Poling's study when Clark turned to is father and said: "Dad, Dad -- you know
how much confidence I have in your prayers, but Dad, I don't want you to pray for my safe return - that wouldn't be' fair.
Many will not return and to ask God for special family favors wouldn't be fair. No, Dad, don't pray for my safe return --
just pray that I shall do my duty and something more: pray that I shall never be a coward. Pray that I shall have the strength
and courage and understanding of men, and especially pray that I shall be adequate." Dr. Poling tells us that was the prayer
he prayed. Clark Poling was adequate. He taught his men not to bear
personal hatred for German and Japanese soldiers or civilians. His text was simple. Hate the system that made your Brother
evil. It is the system we must destroy. |
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