But what about pews and who occupys them? Well, they are roughly terraced rows with a handful of soldiers, mostly a little dirty and bedraggled, trying to keep from becoming more soiled by sitting on their helmets. You find a rifle loaded with a full clip, or a carbine with a jam-packed magazine beside each man. Over there is a blond and baby faced young man, and beside him is a tough looking hombre with a dark beard and dirty finger-nails. And down in the front row are three Korean boys who just sang a couple of hymns in their native tongue, self-conscious to be sure, but, even so, attesting to God’s presence in the hearts of a people torn by war.
And God is in this “chapel”—so near you can almost reach out and touch him.
And the chaplain says, “And men, in the days to come, you must remember the words of Christ when asked where He lived; ‘come and see’”.
Only a couple of times in my life before this evening, have I felt God’s presence in such a way. Perhaps it was the place and the time—I don’t know. Be that as it may, I liked the way I felt.
’Scuse me for trying to be literary. I didn’t mean to—as my efforts no doubt reveal.
Goodnite dear and love our children for me—and miss me, please.
Your man always—
Molt
“By now you have no doubt been notified that I was scratched up a bit on the morning of the 16th,” Shuler wrote to his wife on June 18. He had been struck in the neck, back, and leg by shrapnel and was quickly rushed to a MASH unit. He was then sent to the Tokyo Army Hospital to be treated for his wounds. From Japan he wrote:
I expect to have everything recleaned and stitched sometime this afternoon or tonight. It will be several weeks—perhaps four—before I leave here…. Don’t tell people I’m hurt bad—I’m not—and it’s no use to make a mountain out of a mole hill.
His injuries, in fact, were not life-threatening. But in a tragic turn of events, Shuler is believed to have received infected blood plasma during his treatment, and, while still in Japan, he died of hepatitis on August 24, 1952.
The Vietnam War
Chaplain Ray W.Stubbe Offers Reverend Charles E.Witt His First Impressions of the Marine Base at Khe Sanh, Vietnam
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In a Letter to Friends Back Home, Stubbe Marvels That in Spite of the “Despicable” Living Conditions, He Sees Examples of Faith All Around Him
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On the First Day of What Would Be a Lengthy Siege of Khe Sanh, Stubbe Assures His Parents That He Is Still Alive
“I feel this is where I should be,” Lieutenant Ray W. Stubbe, a Lutheran chaplain serving with the 1st Battalion, 26th Marines, wrote from Vietnam to a fellow minister back in the States. “The Spirit has been working in me here,” Stubbe continued in his letter, dated August 16, 1967—one day after his twenty-ninth birthday.
From early in the morning to late at night, often through excruciatingly arduous patrols, often in fear of paralyzing situations, through personal privations, through sights that cause tears, we continue in the labor of Our Lord, bringing the confidence of His concern for all persons individually, His strength-giving Presence amidst all the difficulties of our path.
Military chaplains like Stubbe have risked their lives in every American conflict since the War of Independence, and many have been killed in the line of duty. When Stubbe left his home in Milwaukee in the summer of 1967 to serve in Vietnam, he knew that the dangers were significant. But, as he expressed in the following letter to Reverend Charles E. Witt, the pastor of his church in Wisconsin, he believed that he was obliged to go where God had called him.
Evangelical Lutheran Church of the
Redeemer 1933 West Wisconsin Avenue
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 53233
Dear Pastor Witt (and others in the upper room):
Please excuse not having written earlier, but I have been in a somewhat unsettled situation, and have finally been given a permanent “roost” here in Khe Sanh, in the extreme upper north and west area of Viet Nam. At least here it is perhaps the coolest area in Viet Nam, although it is very rainy and the monsoons will be upon us very soon. We are surrounded by mountains and everything is very beautiful. Many of the men here remark how this area could be one of the most beautiful areas in the world for a vacation—but the war situation. We, of course, live in bunkers, mainly underground, all of which involves living with the infected rats. One rat recently was on my feet! I woke up at about 4, stretched my legs out, and heard a barrage of squeaks—all I could think of were the 12 rabbies shots in my stomach! The catholic chaplain had one fall right on his bare chest!
The people here are tops. They are courteous, kind, considerate, one to another. They work very hard, often in the most unfavorable of circumstances, yet do it willingly. The Christians that are here are so openly and provide a tremendous witness to others. Many read their Bibles daily, lead a meaningful prayer life. I have huge attendances at my worship services—often perhaps ALL the protestants attached. I have had offerings also—and I don’t receive 5¢ of military currency, but often receive $1.00 bills, sometimes a $5.00 bill! I conduct about one worship service each day, and four on Sundays—so you can see I am very busy. I hop from one hill to another (each hill is occupied by a company), stay over night in their war situation, conduct a service, talk with the men, and leave for the next hill. This has involved dozens of helocopter flights over hostile areas. We have the most trying counselling cases—men paralyzed with fear, anxiety; problems concerning those back home. The need is indeed very great!
Things are fairly quiet here right now. The base hasn’t been attacked since late June. We are surrounded by thousands of enemy—North Vietnamese troops, and can perhaps expect a massive attack in the next month or so—so please remember us in your prayers!—we certainly need them!
Faithfully,
Ray Stubbe
Several months later, Stubbe updated two friends from home about how he and his men were faring at Khe Sanh. Not surprisingly, there were moments of both joy and sorrow.
25 November 1967
Ray Stubbe at 4 months, 10 days. The photograph was taken on Christmas Day 1938 and shows that Stubbe was “prayerful” even as a toddler.
Dear Ellen and Jim:
Thank you so much for the thoughtful letter and the first seasons card which I have received. I am not able to reciprocate with a card since we have none of those luxuries here where I am, so a letter will have to suffice.
It is good to hear that Bob Louis was ordained—but Texas?! Should you happen to have his address, I’d like to drop a letter to him, but, of course, from past experience, I probably cannot expect to receive a reply. It was also good to hear you were able to be back in Waukesha and renew old acquaintances. But most of all, it was good to hear that your thesis is completed and that you would probably be defending it this month. I am anxiously awaiting to hear the results.
It must be very gratifying to work with young minds which are still in the process of forming world views, or, should I say, giving intellectual formulations to some views of life, especially in the area of ethics….
Chaplain Stubbe, far right, with U.S. Marines on Christmas Day 1968
It is impossible not to impose a value system on other people, because we all live together in a society. My value of living in a filthy manner, or free love, of non support to activities beyond my purview, all have social implications—spreading of disease, increase in social disease, the remaining growth of evil. Not to decide to help the brother in need is itself a decision.
I am convinced as I have never been convinced before that the Gospel is the only solution—that is, when people are more concerned with giving than getting, with self-giving than self-fulfillment, with loving than being loved, of understanding rather than being understood, of genuinely being interested in doing good without expecting any returned reward, recognition, and benefit, when people realize that complete forgiveness and selfless service are the only way—only then will everyone be really living!
Things around here are good and bad, mainly the latter. This week I had a memorial service for a young man, with under 30 days left to do here, who attended my worship services, who was kind, with a smile and made people laugh and lift them from depression, anger, and anxiety. He drowned. Another man attended one of my Sunday worship services, with his face all painted with camouflage make-up for going out on a recon. patrol. I saw him again three hours later, dead, having been shot in the head.
The men live in the most despicable of situations. They carve out holes in the hills in which to live, so that they are always damp and cold. I frankly don’t know how they do it. From water shortages, they must go from 6 weeks to two months without a shower. Since they only have one set of utilities (the green uniforms we wear) they go out in patrols, get all wet from rain or river crossings, caked with mud, and must sleep in the same clothes. There are rats all over, and men are continually getting bit, and then have to get the 15 or so shots for rabbies in the stomach. There are mail delays when we don’t get mail for two weeks at a time, and when it does come in, there are always many “dear Johns”—from married women! (One man came to me, almost in a state of shock. He was married 18 years, 3 children, had less than a month to do here, and no previous marriage problems, and he got a “dear John”). There is always the fear of enemy attack. There is the continual awakening at night from artillery suddenly going off at all hours of the night. There is the monotonous diet of C rations. And so on.
Yet, you would be amazed at the faith expressed here. There are evidences of genuine and deep prayer life, of reading and knowing the Bible backwards and forwards, of sacrificial concern for others. The men usually come out in large crowds for religious services. Some, of course, are merely there from fear, and their religious conviction is indeed shallow. Many have come to a religious service of worship for the first time in their lives; some have communed for the first time in two years.
I truly believe that it is when people face death, when they face the loss of all the trivia of modern day society and are face to face with the “bare essentials” of what is human, that they are the happiest, with less to gripe over and less to worry about. I think people are people only when they suffer!
Well we are fairly well blessed where we are. The monsoons that we are supposed to be suffering under haven’t materialized, although we do get a week or two of solid rain now and then. The area is very beautiful—mountains, and sunsets, etc. The local tribes are hospitable and interesting. The base hasn’t been attacked since 27 June. There are some local Bible translators here from Pennsylvania and I have established good relations with them, borrowing some of their Greek translation helps, so that by the time I’m finished over here I will have gone through the whole NT in Greek—I hope so, anyway.
Please write whenever you get a chance, about some of your experiences in the classroom, about your dissertation and its ideas, etc.
Faithfully yours, Ray
In a letter to his parents dated January 20, 1968, Stubbe listed a variety of minor, everyday matters with which he needed their help (making photographs out of slides he was sending home, paying his membership dues for a chaplains’ association, keeping a record of the boxes he was sending home, etc.). He then remarked:
Last night, and at about 2 in the afternoon, just as I am writing this letter, there were B52 strikes against two suspected North Vietnamese regiments (about 3,000 or so men) to our south, about 5 miles or so. These strikes are called “arc lights” and consist of 5,000 and 10,000 pound bombs. They drop so many of them that it sounds like a real bad thunder even at this distance. So things are getting a little warmer here.
His last comment could not have been more of an understatement; the next day marked the beginning of a massive siege of the Marine base at Khe Sanh by communist forces, and Stubbe and approximately 6,000 troops were pinned down for eleven weeks. On January 21, Stubbe tried to assure his parents, who he knew would have heard about the attack on the news, that he personally was fine.
Chaplain Stubbe, who is also featured on the cover of this book, standing in a stream off of Hill 881-South in Khe Sanh, Vietnam
Dear Folks:
First, I’m okay, not even a scratch. The casualties have been comparatively small. So don’t worry.
I wrote my last entry in my log beginning Dec. 1st. Since our post office was hit this morning, I gave it to one of the pilots of one of the planes to mail via registered mail. I don’t know if it will ever get home, but there’s a lot in it; it’s very important to me. So I hope it gets home. Please write me if it does. It’s a green record book diary, covering the period 1 Dec. to today, plus a lot of personal papers.
We are, as you probably hear on the news, under attack. It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever had to face. I awoke at 5 o’clock to the sound of incoming rockets and mortar exploding just outside my hooch! They hit our ammunition dump, and rounds of ammunition were flying all day long. Practically half the base is in ruins, but the casualties were very few because everyone got in bunkers. The only casualties were from the lines on the perimeter of the base from Hill 861. I am writing this as the sun is setting today. I don’t know if you will ever receive this, but I must write it anyway.
The base is quite safe. The airstrip wasn’t harmed, and planes keep coming and going. We still have our artillery for counter-mortar attacks. My hooch’s well-built, sturdy. We have a lot supporting us. So don’t worry.
I feel I’m needed here. I give my every waking moment for these men. They are basically good men, but not particularly religious as such, although I’m quite sure many prayed today! Yet I love them all, and give my daily life for them, and I do it not for personal satisfaction or companionship or a sense of personal accomplishment, but because I feel this is God’s will.
You of course know my love for you both and grandad and all—Peg and Jeane, Jackie, Henry—everyone, but especially you and grandma. I have not always been a good son and I know I’ve caused you grief at times, unsureness and anxiety at other times. But I’ve always loved all of you very deeply.
Well, there’s really not too much more to say in this situation—I’ve recorded all the details of everything in my log.
Love,
Ray
President Lyndon B. Johnson ordered that the base be saved at all costs, and tens of thousands of American and South Vietnamese troops were rushed to Khe Sanh. The North Vietnamese were repelled in early April, but hundreds of Americans were killed and an estimated 1,500 to 2,500 were wounded. (Ironically, the base was closed down only months later.) Stubbe survived the battle for Khe Sanh, and in a letter to his parents written after he was out of harm’s way, he mentioned how close he had come to dying.
So many things happened at Khe Sanh—it’s good I didn’t write earlier—practically anything I might write would either sicken or scare you. But that’s all past now. I must say the good Lord was very merciful and gracious. I didn’t even receive a cut or bruise. But there for a while I was having very close calls every day. One noon, while eating brunch in my hooch, an incoming round went into my wall—through four feet of dirt, 3 feet of sandbags, and bent my steel walls held up by u-shaped engineering stakes—it was a dud!
Stubbe returned to Wisconsin in January 1969 and stayed in the military for another sixteen years. He still preaches occasionally at his old church and ministers to the homebound and others in need.
Specialist Fourth Class Ron “Butch” Livergood Writes to His Parents About Being Overcome with Guilt After Shooting a Viet Cong Soldier
Before heading into a war zone, troops often express their desire to kill as many enemy forces as possible—and, indeed, that is what they are trained to do. But some combatants discover that taking the lives of other human beings can be an intense and even traumatic experience, especially if they came face-to-face with these individuals before killing them. Ron “Butch” Livergood, a twenty-year-old specialist fourth class serving near Ben Luc, Vietnam, sent the following
letter to his parents in Garrett, Indiana, after confronting an enemy soldier. He was so torn up about the incident that he could not even write to his wife, Linda, about it.
Feb. 14, 1968
Dear Mom and Dad
Hi folks, Well I am sorry I havent wrote to you in quite a while, but if you been listen too news you could pretty well figer out. Sigon was hit heavy and we were to. So they have been keeping us busy during day and night. We were mortared last night and about 4 days ago. Two of the fellows in the Company were wounded but nothing to serious. Now don’t you start worrying about me I am O.K. a little nervos but O.K.
I am not worried that much anyway I been reading the Bible off and on and it helps a lot. I think God is protecting me as much as he can. I finally got some film for my camra and I been taking pictures like mad. Mom I don’t know if I should tell you this or not, but I have to tell somebody and I can’t tell Linda because she would worrie to much, and I think you might be able to take it better than her. I think I might have kïlled a person but I am not sure, we were fired at and I seen some men running with rifles so I opened fire on them and one of them fell to the ground. I just pray to God for forgiveness.
It shook me up quite a bit but I am feeling better now, because we went out to where I seen him go down. We found blood but nobody. I am glad of that. Well I am glad I got that off my chest I feel better now. I just hope you can forgive me.
Mom I don’t know if I should tell you things that happen over here or not because not to many of the guys write home about it. But the pressure builds up in me and I just have to tell somebody. If Linda if—knew she might not be able to live with me knowing that her husband has killed a person. Well I change the subject. Hows all the kids back home fine I hope. Tell everyone I send my love and Ill be home in 327 days. I love you both, and I will write more later
Grace Under Fire Page 9